My Servant Is An Elf Knight From Another World-Chapter 866 The Detective’s Secrets, Part 3

Castus Salnor.

I was never one for names, I don't think I mentioned that enough yet. I get it, I hear it, and then I forget it. That's usually how it goes.

It was different for Castus, however. Even after long enough to forget, to never recall again - I still remember.

If I rack my brain hard enough, I could almost vaguely put a face to the name. Some murky silhouette of an old man. I could see him saggy, wrinkled - yet also robust, sprightly despite appearances.

But what he looked like wasn't what earned his name the elusive spot it held in the back of my mind.

It's what he was, and who he was to the moment at hand… Please visit 𝒇𝒓𝗲e𝔀𝗲𝚋ｎoѵℯƖ. c𝑜m

From memory, deep dormant memories, I remembered him being the one to seek Ria deep within her forest dwelling. For many winters, many cycles of the seasons, coming to her with pleas to aid the fight against Terestra, and always leaving with adamant denials in return.

And he was also never alone. There was always someone else by his side, with short, stubbly little arms barely reaching to clutch the hems of his cloak.

Ruria.

From the bits and pieces I can recall, Castus treated her as close and loving as one could a daughter. He sheltered her, taught her, and gave her the warmth and affection that only a father could best provide.

Alas, if only that was all he was to her.

"Never really talked about him much, did we?" Ria cracked open another can, curling her legs up her seat, like a bird getting snug and comfy in its nest. "Actually, no - we never talk about him at all. It was always… a touchy subject, weren't it?"

Irene lifted her arms, slowly, rigidly, like they weighed heavy, crossing them in the usual angled, imposing way she does, before speaking quietly in a mustered calm.

"So why start now?"

"Tonight's our only night, right?" she calmly, mirthfully threw back, tilting her drink in the gap between her smirk. "Gotta spend it the best we can. Might as well hold no bars with what we got."

I didn't know if it was in my place to just boldly and carelessly squeeze myself between the both of them like a know-it-all in way over his head. But damn if it wasn't at all tempting to swell my lungs and play that fool anyway.

The only thing holding me back from wearing the dunce cap was Irene herself… 'cause honestly if she really didn't want this talk, she wouldn't have given Ria the slightest leeway to instigate it in the first place.

It's as the age-old proverb says: 'Don't feed the troll'.

You're curious, you're clever," Ria said, her tone with a touch of admiration. "After his tragic passing - you can't fool me into thinking you didn't delve into his life before he was a doting father. I know you know it's ingrained in your bones to wanna know more. It's only natural of you, after all."

"So?" Irene asked, one word, short and concise, speaking to so much more.

"So what I don't get is - if you know what you know, then why don't you act like you do?"

Ria let out a burp, pulling a sort of dissatisfied wince, and gave her head a quick shake.

"Hold on - lemme set the scene real quick. Picture this: you're a young adorable kid, raised by a single, loving father. He cared for you, he watched you grow 'till you're able to waddle on your two feet - basically taught you everything you know."

"Your point," Irene demanded, her low voice like a knife to the throat.

"Getting there," Ria assured, giving her throat a clearing cough that sprinkled embers everywhere. "Now we fast forward a couple of years. Your dear dad's dead. Slain in cold blood by the very same cult of fools he has pledged his whole life to. All for the heinous, unforgivable sin of loving young, innocent, demon you. The utter tragedy of it aside, for all intents and purposes, your dad's a hero. In your eyes, at least - you see him as nothing else. But outside of you… is he though?"

Irene took a step forward, then another, and with every lumbering foot forward, I almost expected to see fissures and brimstone erupting from beneath her.

"Castus Salnor," Ria said, swiveling her half-drunk can in a loose hand. "In his youth, renowned for his discovery of a rare moss that, when brewed with a mixture of other ingredients, was discovered to be extremely fatal to a number of Demon species. The Succubi especially. Then decades later - appointed by the Seven Churches as a Warrior Magus. Leading the charge for the swift, merciless eradication of all Demonkind that plagues the land. And boy, was he ever up to the task. Could even say he enjoyed it somewhat. Let's face it, he probably did. And once again, for his actions, to his people, to mankind - a hero through and through."

She paused, smacking her lips, breathing in deep.

"But to your people, to your kind - you specifically… deliberately ignoring it, scowling at me now about it… well, the question still remains. You know what you know - so are you ever gonna start acting like it?"

"What?" Irene asked, stopping her march, her piercing eyes looming at her from across the table. "You want me to hate him for it? Is that it?"

"Shouldn't you?" Ria raised her brows. "He vilified your kind, slaughtered your family, left you an orphan - I think we're way past the basic prerequisites here."

"He spared my life," Irene rebutted. "He cared for me, sheltered me, gave his life for me - "

"So he had a change of heart," Ria let out a scoff. "So what? He loved you, so you're not allowed to hate him? All that death and suffering, all his misdeeds - what, it balances out? You know he still lied to you about what he's done anyway, right?"

"He didn't lie."

"Ah, that's right. He just didn't tell you about it," she scoffed again, louder this time. "Big difference there, excuse me."

"Ria - "

"Look, I'm just wondering is all - alright? We never discussed this," with a thunk, the beer can left Ria's grip, clattering against the table's glass surface. "I don't particularly care if you hate your old man or not. Hell, I don't. I still consider him a friend - pain-in-the-ass he was regardless. But you can't deny with your specific circumstances, choosing to go against what makes sense both logically and emotionally… kinda warrants some explaining here, don't you agree?"

This… sounded familiar. Uncannily, frankly.

A parental figure, loving and caring from as far back as you can remember. Then the truth's unveiled, cat's out of the bag, and you find out the death and cruelty layered behind every tender word of affection, every embracing hug you've ever received….

Does that sound familiar at all or was it just me?

Once I became aware of it, it was hard not to notice the parallels between Irene and me. And just like me, she has faced the very same dilemma that I still didn't have the answer for.

The question of hate. The riddle of forgiveness.

Long ago, I already realized that as much as I tried to, as much as I wanted to, I just couldn't bring myself to despise Mom for doing what she did. And I haven't the faintest fucking clue why I couldn't.

But again, Irene had been through this road already. And a person like her, she'll know her answer, and perhaps maybe… if she was willing to share… I'd know my answer too… finally put this whole thing to rest.

Who knows? Her conclusion might just be the same as my own, and I just never realized it.

She returned to her seat. Irene, nonchalantly plopped herself down, grabbing an unopened can just sitting close by.

"It's simple, really," she said, cracking open the drink and taking a brief sip. "I just don't give a damn."