Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

Then Erebus leaned back slightly, resting on his hands like they were catching a breeze instead of tension.

"I didn't think you'd survive," he said.

"You said that the first time too."

He nodded once. "And the second."

"And after the third, you stopped checking."

"I stopped caring."

That wasn't news. It just sounded different now. Older. Heavier.

Lindarion remembered every moment.

First meeting he was beaten the shit out of.

After that his first kill. No speech. No warning. Just the look Erebus gave him when he hesitated, and the fist that followed until he stopped hesitating.

He remembered coughing up blood in the cold.

And walking back with the bounty alone.

"I was a smaller," he said.

"You were old enough."

Lindarion stared at him. "You used me."

Erebus tilted his head. "I trained you."

"You abandoned me."

"You survived."

That silence came again.

It was the worst one.

Because Erebus believed it.

Every word.

Every lesson.

Every broken bone.

None of it had been cruelty.

Just… design.

"You ever care if I lived?" Lindarion asked.

"No."

That landed. Direct. Unflinching.

"Then why train me?"

Erebus looked at him.

Really looked.

And for the first time in years, Lindarion felt something shift. Not pity. Not warmth.

Recognition.

"You reminded me of someone who didn't flinch either."

He didn't say who.

Didn't have to.

Erebus had been trying to build something from memory. Maybe from regret. Maybe just repetition.

"And if I hadn't made it?" Lindarion asked.

"Then I'd have found someone else."

Lindarion nodded once.

That was the real answer.

Nothing personal.

Never had been.

Erebus stood slowly. Not threatening.

Not kind.

Just there.

"You want me to follow orders now?"

Lindarion shook his head.

"No. I want you to listen."

"And if I don't?"

"Then I kill you."

Erebus stared at him for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

And this time, it did reach his eyes.

"Finally."

—

He didn't go back to the others right away.

The talk with Erebus hadn't left him angry.

It left him hollow.

There was no weight to the conversation, just the usual cold calculus, spoken between two people who didn't waste breath on old stories.

But that was the part that stayed with him. The ease of it. Like nothing had happened. Like it was all just a ledger they'd balanced years ago.

Lindarion leaned against a low slab of rock overlooking the camp.

Wind pulled at his coat. Not strong. Just persistent.

He let it.

Footsteps approached from behind. Quiet. Deliberate. Not hostile.

He didn't turn.

"Was it necessary?" Lira asked.

He didn't answer right away.

"You heard."

"I always do," she said.

She stepped up beside him, glancing toward the slope where Erebus had gone, where he'd disappeared into the rock like the shade he was.

She didn't ask again.

Just waited.

Which somehow made it worse.

He spoke without looking at her. "He trained me."

"I figured."

"I was way smaller."

A pause.

"You don't mean in sword drills."

"No."

The wind shifted.

She didn't move.

He exhaled slowly. "First job was the worst one. Second one, I didn't come back without killing either. Once he broke two of my fingers and made me finish a mission without them."

She was still silent.

He kept going.

"One mission, he left me alone in a flooded cave system with three targets and one blade. Didn't come back for me. I finished it. Carved the last one down with a broken spear. When I made it out, he didn't ask how I'd done it. Just handed me the next contract."

"That's when you stopped flinching," she said.

He nodded once.

The silence stretched again.

Then she asked the real question.

"Why didn't you kill him now?"

His throat felt dry. "Because I wanted him to see me standing."

She studied him.

Not judgmental.

Not pitying.

Just reading.

He didn't look away.

"I thought I was going to die out there," he said. "More than once. Every time, I thought—'he did this. He made me bleed, he made me kill. He left me there.' And I told myself—when I get out, I'm going to put a knife through his throat."

"But you didn't."

"No."

"Because you needed him."

"No," he said. "Because I don't anymore."

That sat between them for a long moment.

He glanced at her. "You think I'm a monster for not finishing it?"

"I'd be more worried if you had," she said. "That kind of rage rots everything. You're better than that."

He didn't know if that was a compliment.

She didn't say it like one.

She said it like a report.

Lira leaned back slightly, looking toward the sky.

"You were a child," she said.

"I still am."

She looked at him. "You've killed more people than some kings."

He didn't flinch.

"I know."

"And you're still alive."

He nodded.

"That counts for something."

"I don't know if it should."

She shrugged. "Doesn't matter what should. Only what is."

She looked back toward the ridge.

"He's dangerous."

"I know."

"You're still letting him stay."

"I need him."

"For now," she said.

Then.

"But if he turns?"

"I'll end it."

Lira's gaze lingered on him a moment longer.

Then she nodded.

And walked away.

No judgment.

No comfort.

Just understanding.

—

Lindarion stood at the edge of the map.

The mountain wind scraped softly across the outcrop, dragging cold over stone. The sun hadn't cleared the ridge yet. Shadows still ruled the slope. But everyone was awake.

Erebus leaned against a broken column at the side of the circle. His blade rested sheathed, but his posture said it might not stay that way.

Lira sat opposite him, elbows on knees, eyes unmoving. No tension. But no trust, either.

Sylric stood just left of the map with arms crossed and an expression that read more like a hangover than concern.

The mercs were spaced in a semi-circle, Velna, Rythe, Derran, Mekir, Kael, Stitch. A few new faces from Sylric's silent summons stood further back, watching Lindarion like he was either about to impress them or get them killed.

Luneth was last to arrive.

She didn't speak. Just took her place beside Lira and didn't blink.

Lindarion tapped the edge of the map with one gloved finger.

"This is what we know," he said.