Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Long-Haired Elf (Part Two)

Then, the elven ranger immediately lowered his head and stepped aside, afraid that a single misstep would give Fayein another excuse to extort him.

“Hey, Jeff, you’re here too. Long time no see—how have you been?” Fayein looked genuinely delighted at my arrival. She walked over, giving me an affectionate once-over from head to toe and back again. Before I could reply, she took a step back, licked her lips with greedy anticipation, her eyes gleaming like gold, and nodded meaningfully:

“Not bad at all—your equipment…”

Under the intense gaze of the sorceress, I suddenly felt an inexplicable chill. It was as if her eyes had stripped me completely—right down to my underwear—and then turned everything into gold. I had no doubt that, in her eyes, I was a walking purse clothed in currency, ready to be turned into a pile of cash at any moment. As for myself, I was worth little more than a couple of grease spots, a few iron nails, a pinch of charcoal, half a bucket of water, and a handful of phosphorus powder.

“Oh, you’re still using that sword?” Fayein pointed at the “Sabertooth Ripper” hanging at my waist.

“Yeah, I haven’t found a better replacement yet.” I was seriously beginning to suspect that beneath Fayein’s seemingly delicate human features lay a trace of dragon blood. She exuded an aura, something akin to a dragon’s oppressive presence, that made it impossible not to feel guilty in her company. Her obsession with collecting items and wealth was even greater than any dragon’s—at least dragons only hoarded treasure, while she wouldn’t spare even the most worthless hay or twig.

“Don’t forget, when you finally swap out that sword, you promised me the money from selling it…” Fayein’s eyes sparkled as she stared at my weapon.

“Uh… I will…” I felt as though there were a “Lamb for Slaughter” sign pasted to my backside.

“Hey, Xuanzi, I just noticed—what’s that on your face?” Just when Aria Melody thought all of Fayein’s attention was fixed on me and was secretly relieved, Fayein suddenly spotted his dramatic transformation.

“It’s… um… a new piece of equipment Jeff made for me…” Aria Melody was so mortified he wished he could bury his head in his trousers to escape Fayein’s inquisitive gaze. Crestfallen, he explained, “You know… my optic focusing device malfunctioned, so I couldn’t adjust my vision and everything was blurry. But with this, my sight is finally back to normal…”

“No way—really? That’s incredible.” Fayein’s eyes widened in genuine astonishment.

“Yeah, yeah…” Emboldened by her surprise, Aria Melody relaxed his guard, cheerfully stroking his long ears. “I guess the game’s simulation system is just that good. It uses software tweaks to digitally zoom, achieving something like optical refraction…”

“Can I take a look?” Fayein asked, but her hands were already deftly removing the glasses from the elven ranger’s face for inspection.

“What, you call these glasses? You couldn’t see a ghost with these! How nearsighted are you, anyway? The lenses are thicker than paving stones!” Fayein wobbled a few steps after putting them on, then sank to the ground, dizzy and disgruntled.

“Twelve hundred degrees, I think…” Aria Melody scratched his head in embarrassment. “And a bit of astigmatism…”

I had no idea what “twelve hundred degrees” meant for a person’s vision, but Fayein looked even more stunned than when she’d first encountered this strange invention called glasses. She quickly handed them back, gazing at him with genuine sympathy.

“It must be hard for you to play like this. I’m really sorry—if I’d known your nearsightedness was this bad, I wouldn’t have been so ruthless in exploiting you.”

Aria Melody’s eyes brimmed with tears at her words. “Miss Fayein, I never knew you were such a kind and gentle girl…”

“But…” At that moment, the sorceress’s eyes twinkled with mischief. “Since you’ve managed to endure such heavy exploitation practically blind, you must have untapped potential. Keep it up, comrade—I have faith in you, ahahaha…”

With the mercenary sorceress’s wicked laughter ringing in his ears, our elven ranger turned ashen, wishing he could dash his head against the thick lenses of his glasses.

“By the way, Fayein, didn’t you say someone wants to change classes and needs our help? Where is she?” Remembering the reason for our gathering, I turned to ask the sorceress.

“I’ve already sent word—she’ll be here any moment…” Ignoring the devastated, stone-like Aria Melody, Fayein glanced out as she spoke. Suddenly, she pointed behind me. “Look, there she is now.”

I turned to see an elven woman waving at Fayein as she walked toward us.

I’d often said that Fayein was a beautiful girl, but in truth, among all the women I’d met, the vast majority could be called “beauties.” Even the diminutive gnome women, with their adorable, eternally youthful faces, inspired affection—they were like living dolls that would never grow up. Among the many races on the continent of Falvey, perhaps only the minotaur and half-orc women, with their robust frames and coarse features, were hard to warm up to—and they were so few in number that even the homeliest among them attracted second glances simply for their rarity. Meanwhile, beautiful women were so commonplace as to be unremarkable.

But the elven woman approaching now was different.

She was, without a doubt, beautiful—slender brows, downcast eyes, lips as rosy as cherry blossoms, a pale neck like sculpted jade. Yet all of this was quite ordinary. These were traits shared by countless elven women of Moonstream City; perhaps not all were as striking as she, but none were much less so.

What set her apart was the long, jet-black hair cascading down her back. Each strand was like silk, falling well past her knees and swaying gently in the evening breeze, merging with the night itself. When the moonlight brushed her hair, it left rippling waves of color that seemed to flow behind her, as if she wore the moon’s shadow as a cloak, leaving a trail of ethereal radiance wherever she went.

She wore a fitted suit of leather armor, brown boots, and around her neck hung a magical pendant blessed by the goddess of nature, Natchenia—marking her as a ranger, just like Aria Melody. However, the weapon in her hand revealed that she had chosen a path quite different from his.

She carried a firearm—a musket, to be precise. Such powerful, slow-firing weapons were a specialty of the dwarves, and even for the strongest dwarf, this musket would have been considered impressive. From stock to muzzle, it was longer than an outstretched arm, rivaling a polehammer for sheer size. The barrel was as wide as a fist. In the hands of this refined, delicate elven woman, the musket created a striking contrast—a wild, untamed beauty that left a lasting impression.

Above her head floated a fresh, evocative name, perfectly suited to the moonlit tranquility of the night—Wild Goose Formation. That was her name.