According to plan, Dylan had taken advantage of their moment of confusion to isolate and eliminate them one by one. Meanwhile, Élisa had busied herself hiding the bodies and retrieving the anima gems.
Their teamwork was fascinating: Dylan delivered the killing blows, while she—without even letting the corpses hit the ground—propped them up with her body, indifferent to the blood splattering her. She worked flawlessly, assisting Dylan without fail.
Even Dylan himself was impressed by her efficiency. His gaze drifted toward her as the three of them gathered beneath a lone tree, counting their spoils under the cover of night.
Élisa sat cross-legged, wiping the monster blood off the gems with a torn scrap of fabric—what had once been part of Maggie's undergarments, now repurposed as a rag.
"This elf…" Dylan thought, his gray eyes lingering on the young woman's shaved head. "Earlier, she mentioned she hadn't left the forest in thirty years. Just how old is she, really?"
