Icariel didn't answer her question. Instead, his gaze drifted past the elf girl. He raised his finger, pointing at the three figures standing behind her.
"Who are they?" he asked, his tone quiet but firm. "The mana they carry… it's overwhelming."
The elf girl glanced back. "My father and the warriors who came with him," she replied, confused. "But hey—I asked you first—"
Before she could finish, Icariel started walking. His bare feet splashed softly in the blood-stained earth as he moved toward her. When he reached her, he stopped just beside her small shoulder and gently placed a hand on it.
"Now that you've reunited with them… you'll be returning home," he said, his voice calm, almost detached. "I'm happy for you. And… thank you for showing me."
He continued walking, silently passing her father and the two armored elves, never glancing back. There was something off about him—different from the boy she'd spoken to for the past two days.
"Hey!" she called out. "Stop! What happened to you? What happened here? That light—what was it?"
But Icariel said nothing. He didn't stop.
The elf girl took a step forward, confusion flashing in her eyes, but before she could speak again, her father raised a hand and stepped past her.
"Human boy," he said firmly, his tone sharp and clear. "I have one question for you. And your answer... will determine whether I let you live or end your life right here."
Icariel came to a halt.
"Father! What are you saying?!" the elf girl said in disbelief.
"Don't interfere, my daughter," her father said, his demeanor suddenly harsh and serious. The shift in his tone silenced everyone.
Icariel turned, his face pale, his eyes exhausted. "What question?" he asked quietly.
The elf girl's father pointed to the soaked blood on the forest floor where Icariel had been standing. "That blood. You, standing here, with no wounds. And earlier... the light. That green light—it wasn't natural."
His eyes narrowed. "If my guess is correct... you used a healing spell. A high-level one, no less."
The elf girl gasped, stepping back in shock.
"But… but that's impossible! I only explained the theory to him today! Even if he used one, it should've been low-level!"
The silver-haired elf spoke again, but this time his tone softened—gentle, directed at his daughter.
"My dear… look closely at the place where that boy was standing. Perhaps you didn't notice it earlier—maybe from the worry, or from the shock of that light."
Confused, the elf girl slowly turned her gaze to where Icariel had stood just moments ago. And that's when she saw it.
A strange emptiness.
A silent anomaly.
Right above the blood-soaked earth—there were no mana orbs.
Not a single one floated in the air.
"What…?" she muttered, her eyes widening. "That's… not possible."
Her father's voice remained calm but sharp, the edge of a veteran in every word.
"When healing magic is used, mana sacrifices itself. It answers your desire to heal and vanishes. That's normal. But this…" His gaze narrowed, sharper than before. "Even a High-Class Elf healing spell wouldn't burn through this much mana."
His eyes now locked on Icariel, unblinking. "So I'll ask again… Human boy—what did you just do here?"
Inside Icariel's mind, the voice spoke firmly. "You can't lie to him. His perception of mana… his ability to detect falsehoods… it's far beyond that of the elf girl. Answer truthfully."
Icariel's shoulders twitched slightly. He muttered under his breath, "…What did I do?"
A flashback ignited in his mind—
"Calm down, Icariel. You can do this," the voice had said when the wound had struck too deep.
But all reason had fled him.
Panic.
His thoughts spiraled.
Terror.
And his fear—his oldest, cruelest companion—took over.
"No… no… no—I don't want to die—I won't die—please—I can't—I won't—I don't want to—don't take me—don't take me—don't take me!"
He muttered. Screamed. Begged. Words tumbling out like a terrified child.
He didn't hear the voice anymore. Didn't hear anything. His hand was at his stomach wound, pressing down, but he was anything but calm.
Then—
Tears fell.
Tears he never shed for Grido.
Never.
Not for Fin, when he was sliced in half.
Never.
Not for Irena, Fin's mother, who still tried to shield him after losing her son and husband.
Not for Groon or Groon's granddaughter, who protected him and were crushed by a dungeon monster.
Through all of it—he never cried like this.
But for himself, in that moment, he did.
He begged the mana to let him live.
To let him stay.
He cried like the desperate sixteen-year-old boy he was.
He begged. He wept. He pleaded with life to let him stay.
And that was when it happened.
His hand glowed.
Then his body.
Then the air.
Mana all around him—green and bright—responded.
To his fear.
To his desperation.
To his raw, primal desire to live.
The light swallowed him whole.
It blinded the trees. The sky. The forest.
And when it faded—He was standing. Woundless. Healed. Fully.
The voice spoke only one thing, filled with awe: "Never have I seen a response from mana like that."
But Icariel didn't care.
"Ah… I'm alive…" he whispered, his breath shallow. "I… survived…"
Then White Sense alerted him—he felt it. Someone had entered his detection range and was approaching. Four mana signatures.
"The elf girl… and three more?" he muttered. "Their mana is overwhelming."
His shoulders slumped slightly. "Damn it. Not now. I'm not in the mood for any of this. I almost died."
Back in the present, the elf girl stood before him. Her father waiting. The others on guard.
And Icariel—still hadn't answered.
But the truth… was already hanging in the air like the last whisper of that green light.
His mind raced.
"He said he'd kill me depending on my answer…" Icariel's eyes scanned the elf man in front of him. "I don't know what he's capable of—but I'm sure even if he didn't outnumber me, he'd still catch me if I tried to run."
The elf hadn't even listened to his daughter when she pleaded. His resolve was iron.
"Like the voice said… I'll just tell the truth."
Icariel took a breath, closed his tired eyes, then opened them slowly. His gaze met the elf's directly—dark eyes locking with emerald green.
"What did I do?" Icariel repeated the question, his tone calm, careful. One wrong word could cost him his life.
"I desired," he said, the night air humming between them as moonlight traced the sharp lines of his expression, igniting his eyes to liquid fire.
"…Huh?" the elf girl's father muttered.
"I desired to stay alive. That's all," Icariel said plainly.
The elf's eyes widened. So did the two blonde elves behind him.
"That doesn't answer my question," the father pressed, but Icariel continued before he could be interrupted again.
"I asked your daughter to teach me how healing magic works. She explained the theory, and she healed my arm as a demonstration. Since then, I've been trying to replicate it.
"I started by making small cuts… but nothing happened. No response from the mana. I realized… maybe the wound wasn't serious enough. Maybe my desire to heal wasn't strong enough. So I had an idea."
He paused. The elf girl stared at him, completely still.
"I tried to stab my leg," Icariel said. "Something bad enough to trigger real fear. But… I was exhausted. My body was barely holding up after training all day. My vision blurred, and I missed. The sharp stone went into my stomach instead."
A silence fell over the forest clearing.
"You idiot…" the elf girl whispered, the words barely audible.
Icariel glanced at her, just briefly. Then turned back to the elf lord.
"I was… really dying," Icariel continued, his voice quieter now. "I was slipping. I was losing my mind. And in that moment—more than ever before—I just wanted to live. I begged for it. And then… it happened. The mana responded. I don't know how or why, but it did. And I was healed. That's when you arrived. I don't know what that light was, or why the mana sacrificed was so much… but that's all I can say."
He finished. His chest rose and fell slowly, his eyes still locked on the elf girl's father.
The man was silent, then finally muttered in disbelief, "Wounding yourself to increase the chance that mana would respond to your desire…?"
He narrowed his eyes.
"…What kind of odd thinking is that for someone your age?"
The other elves looked uneasy, but he held up a hand.
"And even then… if it were that easy, anyone could do it. But…" He took a long breath. "I detected no lies."
He gave Icariel a long, hard look.
"To think… you, a human kid, truly used a high level healing spell after just a day… I can't say anything else but…"
A grin tugged at the edge of his lips.
"…Magnificent."
The tension in the air finally lifted.
"And I apologize," the elf girl's father added. "If I sounded hostile, I had no other choice but to stop you from leaving."
"No worries," Icariel replied, his tone flat with fatigue. "I need to go now. I'm tired."
He turned to leave.
The elf girl raised her hand instinctively—wanting to stop him—but she froze midway. Her fingers curled back as her father spoke once more.
Icariel didn't even flinch. He was too drained to care.
"Where do you think you're going?" the elf girl's father said, his voice calm but firm. "I didn't say I was finished with you yet."