Powerless Boy is reborn as Lustful Elf
Chapter 53: Jusin and Grielsa leaving

Chapter 53: Jusin and Grielsa leaving

Alex stepped forward, pouring the grain into a trough.

The horses nickered softly, their warm breath brushing his hands as they ate, their horns casting faint shadows.

He marveled at their elegance, familiar, yet touched by something otherworldly.

Jusin leaned against the fence, watching them. "There’s a report—old tales, mind you, that there were once unicorns," he said, his tone thoughtful. "Single horn, pure white, the whole bit. But they’ve been lost to us, died out or wandered off, no one’s sure."

He scratched his beard, eyes distant for a moment, then shrugged. "These two-horns are what we’ve got left. Sturdy beasts, though."

Alex nodded, running a hand along one horse’s flank, feeling the subtle difference in its coarse hair, so close to a human horse, yet not.

Twin horns arched elegantly from their brows, spiraling upward like pale branches carved from moonstone, catching the late afternoon sunlight in glints and glimmers.

They munched peacefully on the grain Alex had poured into the troughs, their jaws working in a slow, rhythmic motion, eyes half-lidded with contentment.

One of them flicked an ear in his direction as he stepped closer, snuffling at his sleeve as if checking for more food.

Jusin was mid-sentence, one hand raised in a broad, animated gesture toward a low wooden enclosure where a cluster of twinlights darted about like flickering embers come to life.

The creatures, fox-like in build but far too elegant for the term, moved with a restless grace, their sleek russet fur shimmering faintly under the sunlight.

Each of their bifurcated tails pulsed with soft bioluminescence, glowing faintly blue at the tips like a pair of twin lanterns swaying in rhythm.

"And these little troublemakers," Jusin was saying, voice warm with the affection of familiarity, "they’re quick as shadow and twice as cunning. Don’t let the glow fool you, they vanish the moment you try to touch"

A soft rustle cut through his words like a breeze slipping through silk.

He turned, and Alex followed his gaze just in time to see Griesla approaching from the side path, her arrival as silent as it was sudden. Her simple gown, a pale flax color that fluttered gently around her ankles,

She carried no bag now; the pouch of seeds she had taken earlier was gone, replaced by the firm set of her jaw and the deliberate purpose in her steps.

Her storm-gray eyes flicked to Jusin, sharp and purposeful, the kind of glance that carried weight without needing explanation.

There was a quiet urgency in them, not frantic, but insistent, like the calm before a brewing storm.

The soft background of rustling straw and snorting animals seemed to fall away as she spoke, her voice rising just enough to cut through the pastoral murmur.

"Jusin," she said, her tone light but edged with precision, her singsong cadence oddly at odds with the gravity in her expression. "We need to get supplies from the market near the border."

Jusin froze mid-gesture, the easy rhythm of his explanation faltering as Griesla’s words sank in.

For a moment, he just stood there, broad shoulders squared against the soft light filtering through the rafters.

Then, slowly, a long breath escaped him, drawn-out and weighted, like air hissing from an overworked bellows.

The sound wasn’t dramatic, but it carried the weariness of a man who’d been hoping for just one quiet afternoon without errands pulling him away.

"Forgot about that," he muttered, the words half-swallowed by his sigh. His voice was low and gravelly, like stones shifting underfoot.

He lifted a hand and rubbed the back of his neck, fingers disappearing into the rough tangle of brown hair.

His tone carried a reluctant edge, a weariness that suggested the market wasn’t a place he relished visiting.

His hazel eyes, normally sharp and clear, dulled for a brief moment ,

But then, with a small shake of his head, he pushed it away.

The heaviness slipped behind his eyes like a door clicking shut, and he turned back to Alex.

"We’re off to pick up some seeds and animal feed," Jusin said, his voice finding a steadier rhythm, though a trace of that earlier reluctance still lingered at the edges.

He adjusted the strap of his worn satchel across his chest, glancing briefly toward the gate as if gauging just how long the errand might steal from his day.

"It’ll take us a while," he added, a practical note slipping in, smoothing over whatever hesitations remained.

Then he turned back to Alex, nodding toward the heart of the compound. "But you’re free to explore. Get a feel for the place. Inolda will be around, she’ll help you out if you need anything."

Alex nodded, brushing his hands together absently, the rough texture of grain still clinging to his fingers like the remnants of a moment not quite finished

He glanced around the open-air enclosures, their low fences stretching into soft hills and dappled light, and felt the quiet hum of the Hold settling around him.

The thought of wandering Elaris Hold alone stirred something in his chest. a tangle of curiosity and unease.

There was so much he hadn’t seen, corners left unexplored, rhythms of life he hadn’t yet learned.

But even that slight tension was quickly eased by the sudden, uninvited image of Inolda, her smirking mouth, the bounce of those pink curls, the sharp wit that hid beneath her every word like a blade under silk.

He didn’t know her well, not yet, but something about her presence had already begun to feel... grounding.

"Got it," Alex said, his voice steady as he met Jusin’s gaze.

There was a brief, unspoken exchange in that glance, understanding, perhaps, or something like respect, quietly forming beneath the surface.

He shifted his attention to Griesla next, catching the way her expression eased just slightly, the taut line of her lips softening in subtle approval

Jusin reached out and clapped a broad, calloused hand on Alex’s shoulder.

Then he turned, his shoulders stiff with familiar reluctance as he gave his tunic a half-hearted tug, brushing off the streaks of mud that clung stubbornly to the worn fabric. "Right," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "Let’s get this over with."