Emperor's harem: Transmigrated with SSS mana talent
Chapter 110: [Oh, I’m so scared]

Chapter 110: [Oh, I’m so scared]

As Kael loomed silently above, eyes gleaming behind his red mask,

Yue’s voice whispered just beside his ear—calm, but pointed.

"Both are Rank 3. You sure you can handle them?"

Kael didn’t even blink.

"With ease."

Yue snorted.

"Right.

Overconfidence looks cute on you.

Just a shame your beloved murder-goblin pet Venom isn’t here to bail your ass out."

Kael chuckled under his breath.

A quiet, amused sound.

"Please. I’ve almost mastered ten percent of Dream Dance. Besides..."

His gaze slid toward the struggling elves below.

"They’re injured. This isn’t even sparring. It’s stress relief."

Still, the mention of Venom tugged at something in his mind.

He imagined the slime currently loose in the castle—probably devouring an alchemy lab or converting the armory into a biohazard playground.

A slow smile tugged under the mask.

He’d catch up with that chaos later.

For now—

The old woman was muttering, her hands weaving through the air.

Spellcasting.

Kael narrowed his eyes, watching the pattern.

She was fast.

Faster than most human mages her age.

But still slower than him.

SSS-rank talent comes with perks, he thought.

Her right eye suddenly burst with a spurt of blood—magic feedback backlash—and she staggered, gasping.

The young elf caught her before she collapsed.

"Elder!" he shouted, horrified now.

Not at her injury.

At the masked man watching silently.

Unmoving.

Untouchable.

Kael tilted his head slightly, amused.

He could guess what spell that old hag had tried.

Some form of revelation or divination magic, probably. A peek behind the mask.

A glimpse of what hid beneath.

Hah.

He almost felt flattered.

The beauty of the mask wasn’t just the theatrics.

It was control.

They didn’t know who he was.

What his face looked like.

What gear he wore.

What rank he carried.

All they saw—

Was red.

Uncertainty. Mystery. Fear.

The young elf finally found his voice—and with it, a pitiful attempt at bravado.

"W-Who are you?!" he called out, voice cracking halfway through.

"What do you want?!"

Beside him, the old woman stiffened and subtly tried to nudge him back.

Kael tilted his head on the branch. Slowly. Like a predator getting bored with its prey.

His voice, when it came, was low.

Even.

And absolutely not trying to reassure anyone.

"I’m the devil," he said.

Then paused.

Just long enough for the words to settle like fog in the clearing.

"And I want... both of your lives."

The young elf’s face paled to the color of wet chalk.

His knees almost buckled. One hand instinctively went to his side, like a dagger was going to leap into it for comfort.

The old woman inhaled sharply, body stiffening.

She knew. That wasn’t bluster. That wasn’t a line.

That was someone used to making good on his threats.

"Don’t," she whispered. A warning, barely audible.

But too late.

Because the young man, clearly trying not to cry or piss himself, blurted out:

"Y-You bastard! Do you even know who I am?!"

Kael blinked.

Yue audibly snorted.

The old woman turned to him, eyes wide in horror.

"No, no—stop—"

But the idiot went on, still shaking, trying to look heroic while his legs betrayed every inch of fear.

"You’re standing in front of the apprentice of Grand Sage Ilrien the Whisperer!" he declared, voice cracking just slightly.

"If I survive, my master will come for you—and you won’t have a good end!

Just step aside!

We’re only here to find my junior sister!"

A heavy silence.

The old elf woman let out a strangled sound, facepalming with the weight of a century’s regret.

You could almost hear her soul leaving her body.

She turned slowly toward him, like crushed glass.

You just told him everything but the color of your underwear.

Kael’s masked head tilted slightly.

Yue snorted beside him.

"There’s no shortage of idiots in the elven gene pool, apparently."

Kael laughed—low at first. Just a breath, a flicker of sound.

Then it built.

It rolled out across the clearing like cracking bones, growing louder, more jagged, until it echoed through the trees like something unhinged had woken up.

Both elves flinched.

The young one swallowed hard, sweat dotting his brow.

The old woman’s hand twitched toward her robe.

Kael’s laughter stopped as abruptly as it began.

He lowered his head.

Eyes glowing faintly now behind the red mask, like coals buried under ash.

"Oh, I’m so scared," he whispered.

The young man dared a breath. "See? I told you. We’ll just—"

He made to rise—nervous, hopeful.

Kael’s voice cut through him.

Flat. Cold. Final.

"I’m so scared," he said again, "that I can’t possibly let you live.

What if you bring your master?"

The boy froze.

"I—wait—wait, you’re overreacting—we’ll forget—"

Kael stepped off the branch.

Landed soundlessly.

His voice came one last time, low and close.

"Dead are best at keeping secrets."

The silence that followed felt thick enough to choke on.

The old woman hissed, fingers flaring with green light as she began to chant.

"You’re making a mistake, young man," she warned, breath already tight with strain.

Kael tilted his head, sidestepping casually as her spell sparked against a nearby tree.

"I’ve made plenty of mistakes in life," he said.

"Let’s see if I regret this one too."

The younger elf moved next, arms weaving sharp, practiced circles.

Nature energy bloomed—a tangle of vines and wind pressure.

Both elves fell into rhythm, casting in sync, weaving twin spells of entrapment and impact.

A commendable duo.

Too bad Kael wasn’t playing by the rules.

He moved with a languid grace, limbs bending and twisting unnaturally, each step echoing like a half-remembered lullaby.

His form wasn’t polished.

But it was... wrong enough.

Wrong enough to unnerve.

To make the dream seep in.

Leaves curled unnaturally where he passed.

The light dimmed just a fraction too long after he moved.

Reality bent, not enough to notice, but enough to make both elves doubt.

Yue hovered above, expression unreadable.

Watching. Evaluating.

Kael, for his part, felt the pulse of the Dream Dance guide his steps—he’d only grasped ten percent, but even that was enough to smear the edges of what was real and what wasn’t.

The woman launched a series of thorn lances—each aimed to bind.

Kael ducked.

Spun.

Let one graze his shoulder.

Then twisted low and vanished into the undergrowth.

The young elf turned wildly. "Where—?!"

Kael reappeared behind him with a soft whisper of breath against his ear.

"Boo."

The boy screamed and leapt forward, narrowly avoiding Kael’s blade.

The spells came faster now—blasts of wind, roots erupting, poison barbs arcing.

But they weren’t hitting.

Kael wasn’t dodging them in a conventional way—he was... flowing past them.

Twisting wrong.

As if the world forgot, moment to moment, where his bones should be.

Soon, the clearing was torn with claw marks of magic and broken branches.

Dirt churned.

Mana buzzed thick.

The elves were panting now—chests heaving, hands trembling.

The old woman clutched her side. Her eyes were wide, not just with exhaustion—but fear.

The younger elf gasped out,

"Just... who is this guy?"

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