"Alan, look—there's someone over there."

  "Yes, Saintess, but... wait! Don't approach him. That’s one of the Blue Lion’s Fangs. He’s dangerous."

  "But… he’s badly injured."

  "Mercy is wasted on the Lion’s Fangs."

  Who’s speaking? The voices—a girl’s gentle tone and a boy’s sharp warning—jolted him awake from his "post-death revival."

  His eyelids fluttered open, sunlight stinging his vision. The metallic swish of a blade cut through the air.

  "Saintess, he’s moving. Stay back!"

  "Relax, Alan. I sense no malice in him."

  So loud. The arguing intensified the throbbing in his left chest. A faint scent of mint and herbs drifted closer, soothing yet unfamiliar—nothing like the synthetic perfumes of his past life.

  As the aroma enveloped him, warmth seeped into his body, dulling the pain. Still, his chest felt hollow, no heartbeat echoing where his heart should be.

  He forced his eyes fully open. Above him loomed a cerulean "lake" of sky, framed by two figures: a pink-haired elven girl and a black-haired elven boy.

  The girl stood at the edge of his vision, her hair crowned with a circlet of white crystals. Her violet eyes, flecked with petal-like patterns, softened as she smiled. Below her, the boy glared, a silver blade poised at his throat.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  "You’re awake! I wasn’t sure I could heal you," the girl said.

  His fingers twitched. I can move? After days paralyzed in the desert, hope surged. He tried to sit up.

  The boy yanked the girl behind him, blade pressing closer. "Don’t move, or I’ll strike."

  Since when are elves this hostile? He froze, eyeing the lethal edge. In his past life as a soldier, he’d disarmed foes—but this boy’s speed was inhuman.

  "Alan, stop! He means no harm," the girl insisted.

  "Saintess, he’s a Fang. We can’t trust him."

  The boy raised his sword. "Any last words, Lion’s dog?"

  Lion’s dog? The term sparked an idea. Channeling his past interrogations, he blurted: "Wait! I hate the Blue Lion too. They killed my family. Left me here to die."

  The boy hesitated, gaze dropping to the bloodstained hole in his chest.

  "Alan, stand down. By my authority as Saintess, I command you," the girl said firmly.

  Reluctantly, the boy sheathed his blade. "If you betray her, I’ll carve out your hollow chest."

  The girl knelt beside him. "Can you stand, stranger?"

  Stiffly, he reached for her offered hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong, pulling him upright.

  "Thank you…"

  "No need. And… I’m sorry for Alan’s behavior." Her smile warmed him oddly, despite his missing heart.

  "I’m Fiora Laevyn Phaeyrviel," she said. "This is Alan Enk, my guard."

  He hesitated. What name do I use? His past life’s identity clashed with this world’s norms. "Aldmer Han," he finally said, omitting the surname.

  "Just Aldmer? A single-name traveler? How rare!" Fiora’s eyes sparkled.

  His cheeks flushed. Why does her gaze make my pulse race? A pointless thought—he had no pulse.

  Alan watched coldly. "If you harm her, I’ll ensure even your ‘immortal’ body regrets it."

  Fiora touched Aldmer’s arm, her fingers lingering. "Let’s get you to shelter. The desert nights… aren’t kind to the wounded."

  As they walked, Aldmer glanced at his healed-but-hollow chest. What am I now?

  And why did this Saintess’s kindness feel more dangerous than any blade?