Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 145: Erasure

The mountain stretched wider now. The slope tapered into a kind of ridge that was flat enough to walk three across, steep enough on either side to make slipping a regrettable life choice.

The snow here had been crushed down by wind and weight. Not fresh. Not soft. Old and bitter, the kind that didn’t melt, just got angrier.

Lindarion adjusted his grip on the sword at his hip. He hadn’t drawn it, but it helped to feel the weight there. Like something tethering him to the moment.

Ren walked slightly ahead, still looking around like she was sightseeing instead of marching through mountain frost.

Meren muttered something about his boots being too tight. Ardan stayed close to the rear. Lira took the middle. Eyes sharp. Shoulders squared.

They didn’t speak much now.

The quiet had settled too cleanly. Like it didn’t want to be interrupted.

That was the first sign.

The second came when the wind dropped again, not just softening, but stopping. Abrupt. Like a held breath.

Lindarion slowed.

So did Ren.

Her body language didn’t change much. Still casual, still upright, but her fingers twitched once at her side.

He looked up.

The trail turned slightly ahead, curving around a stone outcrop tall enough to hide anything or anyone behind it.

That was the third sign.

Then the voice came.

"Hold."

Lindarion stopped moving.

The voice was male. Not old, not young. Measured. Like someone trying to sound calm before pulling a knife.

Ren didn’t turn around. "Took long enough for something to go wrong."

Five figures stepped out from the side of the trail.

The bandits didn’t look like much.

Rough gear, secondhand weapons, layers of mismatched furs that smelled like they hadn’t dried properly in months.

The one in front had a scar down his cheek and a grin that said he thought he was the smartest man on the mountain.

Ren muttered under her breath. "Why is it always the overconfident ones?"

Meren stepped slightly behind Ardan. "I vote we negotiate."

Ardan didn’t respond. His eyes were fixed forward, unreadable.

The man with the scar took a single step closer. "Toll for the trail," he said. "Simple exchange. You give us your packs. We let you keep your legs."

Lindarion didn’t move. He just let his fingers brush the edge of the hilt again.

’I really hate stupid ultimatums.’

The scarred man raised his voice. "No heroes. No screaming. Make it easy for yourselves."

Lira stepped forward.

No dramatic movement. Just a quiet step off the line. The wind didn’t move her cloak. It just stopped.

The bandits didn’t notice. Not yet.

But Lindarion did.

The air had shifted.

He glanced at her. Her posture hadn’t changed. Her expression hadn’t moved. But the mountain knew. The shadows under her boots were darker than they should be.

The scarred man squinted. "What’s this now? Your leader stepping up?"

Lira raised her hand.

One of the bandits in the back blinked, took a step, then collapsed.

No sound. No struggle.

Just a body dropping like the light in him had been snuffed out.

Another turned, panicked. He drew half a breath and vanished into the treeline. Not ran. Vanished. Pulled.

The scarred man’s grin cracked.

"What the—"

Lira flicked her wrist.

The third one screamed.

Lindarion didn’t see the weapon. Just the way the man clutched his chest like something was hollowing him from the inside.

The rest turned to run.

Too late.

The shadows stretched.

Thin and long, like fingers across frost. Each one moved with precision. Quiet. Like it had memorized how fear sounded when it was too late to do anything about it.

Ren whistled low. "Show-off." ƒreeωebnovel.ƈom

Meren opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Ardan didn’t blink.

Lira stepped through the fog as the last one fell. No blood. Just stillness.

She turned back.

"You were saying?" she asked the man with the scar.

He hadn’t moved. His sword was still in its sheath. His mouth hung open. His legs didn’t seem to remember how to shift.

Lindarion didn’t pity him.

Lira tilted her head. "Speak."

He tried. Failed.

Then he dropped the sword and fell to his knees.

Lira looked bored. "Not original."

"Please," he managed. "Please. I didn’t know—"

"I know."

She stepped forward.

He flinched.

She didn’t touch him.

Just crouched.

Her voice came quieter. Still even.

"There are better ways to ask for help than waving a blade at strangers."

He nodded quickly.

"I won’t kill you."

He started to cry.

"But I’m not saving you either."

She stood.

The man stayed on his knees.

Ren crossed her arms. "Can we go now, or do you want to start a counseling session?"

Lindarion exhaled.

’Well. That was efficient...I haven’t seen anyone use darkness affinity this efficiently ever..’

Ardan finally moved forward. "Let’s keep moving."

Meren stared at the man. "He’s gonna freeze."

Ren gave a one-shouldered shrug. "Then he’ll learn faster next life."

Lindarion followed them without another look back.

The trail ahead curved into the rocks again. Snow dusted the path, but the wind had lost its bite.

He glanced at Lira as she walked beside him.

"Subtle."

She didn’t smile. But her shadow did.

—

The wind picked up behind them.

Not sharp, not cruel. Just that same mountain breath pushing the cold through every open seam.

Lindarion didn’t look back.

The sound of the last man’s sobbing stayed behind, small and pitiful against the stone. It wasn’t loud enough to echo. Just enough to be remembered.

They walked in a slow line again. Meren trailing a little too far behind. Ardan near the front. Ren in the middle, hands behind her head like this was a lazy hike and not the aftermath of a silent massacre.

Lira stayed close to the rear.

Her steps didn’t leave prints in the snow anymore.

Lindarion shifted his scarf up just a little. Not because he was cold. Because his mouth had too much to say and none of it sounded worth hearing.

He’d seen magic. Fought with it. Bled from it.

But Lira’s didn’t just kill.

It erased.

Not violently. Not like fire or lightning. Not even the sharp edge of a blade. It just... removed people from the equation. Took them apart like a thought you forgot halfway through.