Chapter 172: You

"If you're hoping to see some sorrowful emotion from me, you'll be disappointed."

Svan shook her head and explained quite calmly:

"To me, he is merely a bloodline reference, useful for making my research more accurate."

Herbert carefully studied her, then after a long while, helplessly shook his head and raised his hands in surrender.

"Fine, I give up."

Their worldviews and values were truly completely different.

Under this premise, methods applicable to other races are entirely inapplicable to races like the Dark Elves.

Imagine a scenario.

A righteous paladin confronts an evil being who has murdered his kin.

"You killed your father—that's wrong! I must purify you."

"Ah, yes, I killed him—so what? I didn't kill your father."

One could only say that such a straightforward reply would instantly kill any conversation, leaving nothing but furious brawling.

Seeing the topic had run its course, Herbert naturally shifted to another subject and resumed chatting with Svan about her research.

Although Svan didn't reveal much, her unusually excited tone suggested the results were significant.

To be fair, Herbert was genuinely interested in her research—only in the aspect of physical enhancement.

After battling the Dragon Lady for several days, Herbert had learned one truth.

To forge iron, one must first be hard oneself.

With only her alone now, he was already stretched thin, constantly at risk of being overwhelmed.

If more people come in the future, sssss… he'd be completely drained!

That's right—a powerful body is the key to a happy, thriving family.

"Is there anything else I can help you with regarding your future research?"

Herbert's words were merely polite social pleasantries; he had no real intention of offering assistance.

But surprisingly, Svan gave a precise answer.

"Stila."

"Huh? Who… oh."

The name sounded unfamiliar at first, but after a moment's thought, Herbert finally recalled it.

"Your sister? The one who became the current head of the family?"

"Yes."

Her.

Stila Moore, Svan's younger sister, the very source behind all those Dark Elves' dangerous missions.

They were willing to risk everything to rescue Svan, yet refused to face Stila directly—proof enough of her power and terror.

Herbert blinked, curiously asking: "You want to kill her? Do you have a grudge?"

You, this kin-slayer, are awfully diligent!

Killing your father isn't enough—you're going to kill your sister too? Are you planning to wipe out your entire bloodline?

Are you that eager to become an orphan?

Old Master Bruce would probably shed envious tears.

"No, we have no personal grudge."

Svan shook her head slightly, calmly: "But as my kinswoman's sister, her bloodline offers me additional reference."

Herbert raised an eyebrow; though Svan said they had no personal grudge, he sensed something peculiar in her words.

No personal grudge doesn't mean no other grudge.

Herbert didn't object, but asked curiously: "Do you two have a bad relationship?"

"Never been good."

"Never been good, huh…"

Herbert didn't outright refuse, but neither did he respond.

He was thinking: Would killing Stila benefit him in any way?

She was powerful, and far away in the Shadowlands; he was here, minding his own business, no reason to go out of his way to provoke her.

No matter how he looked at it, this didn't seem like a worthwhile deal.

Svan saw through Herbert's thoughts and added: "I know my sister. You may not care about her, but she won't let this go."

"She never lets any enemy slip away."

"She will hide like a spider in the shadows, weaving a vast net of conspiracy."

"Then wait—until you, or anyone connected to you, steps into it—before striking like a venomous snake, swallowing them whole."

"That's the kind of Dark Elf she is: evil, venomous, mad, and exceptionally patient."

After hearing Svan's description, Herbert blinked and asked curiously: "So, according to you, I'm already on her radar?"

"Yes."

Svan pointed at the various legendary skulls on the lab table, calmly saying:

"Though those people weren't particularly strong and were hostile toward her, she has long regarded them as her own property."

"For whatever reason, in her eyes, you all killed her property."

"Believe me, she will exact her revenge."

After saying this, Svan fell silent, watching quietly as Herbert frowned in thought.

The room sank into silence.

After pondering for a moment, Herbert finally laughed.

"Heh, is that so."

He shook his head, looked at the unruffled Svanje, and said with some helplessness: "Young Lady Svanje, you're not being honest."

"The two of us are clearly already this familiar with each other, so why must you resort to these schemes and tricks?"

"It wasn't 'you people' who killed her property — it was you. We acted together, didn't we?"

"How can you so lightly extract yourself from it?"

Herbert pursed his lips, didn't dwell on it further, and said with a light laugh:

"But this actually isn't much of a problem. After all, her malice toward the monastery is genuine enough. But… this kind of meaningless deception makes me feel very unpleasant."

Svanje: "……"

She was silent for a moment, shook her head, and said: "Lord Herbert, I did not mean it that way. You are being a touch overly sensitive."

"Me, sensitive? Haha, perhaps."

Herbert couldn't help but laugh.

Who could be more sensitive than you dark elves?

"Some things, we might as well speak openly and directly."

Svanje furrowed her brow tightly, and only after quite a while did she shake her head helplessly and slowly ask: "Then… will you help me kill her?"

Since she had, as Herbert wished, spoken plainly, Herbert did not conceal anything either, choosing to directly express One's Own Thoughts.

He said:

"I refuse."

Svanje:?

"Heh."

The white-haired youth stood up, and laughed mockingly at the dark elf:

"I refuse you, not because I lack the ability to do it, but because you still haven't told the truth — you've hidden key information."

Asking someone for a favor while still holding something back — are you joking?

Herbert, seeing her fall silent, did not press her for the truth.

There's no rush on this matter; give her some time to think it over.

"If she's willing to come, then let her come."

He turned and left, tossing back a low murmur tinged with mockery:

"Mist Monastery has never been the sort of place where one can simply come and go as one pleases."

(End of chapter)