Reincarnated as an Elf Prince

The Sword Saint bowed his head lower. His voice was measured, each syllable controlled.

"As commanded, my lord. An intruder was discovered at the perimeter of the estate. A human, though not an ordinary one. He bypassed the outer wards and struck down my guards without hesitation."

Kaelith's eyes narrowed faintly. "A human?"

"Yes." The Saint's tone remained steady, though his jaw tightened at the memory. "He was cloaked. His presence concealed. But his power… unmistakable."

"Describe."

The Saint hesitated for the briefest moment, not from uncertainty, but from the difficulty of putting into words what he had faced.

"He wielded multiple affinities," he said at last. "Fire, lightning, ice… but also darkness. And divine."

The noble's hand stilled mid-tap. His violet gaze sharpened.

"Divine?"

"Yes." The Saint's throat felt tight around the word. "I am certain of it. It burned. Not like flame, but like judgment itself. Only a handful of strikes, but enough to confirm it."

The silence that followed stretched long. The faint crackle of the runes on the pillars was the only sound.

Kaelith leaned back slowly, expression unreadable. "And yet you stand before me. So this human is dead."

The Sword Saint's jaw clenched.

"No, my lord. He lives."

The noble's eyes narrowed.

—

The admission hung in the air like smoke.

Kaelith's voice, when it came, was cold. "Explain."

The Saint's head bowed lower. He despised speaking the words aloud, but honor demanded it.

"I fought him directly. He is unrefined, reckless, yet his power… it is not something that should exist in one so young. He drew upon shadows as though they were his birthright, yet without discipline. I struck him down. Crushed him beneath the weight of his own arrogance. But—"

He hesitated, the memory sharp in his mind: the boy's last stand, shadows tearing him apart from within, and yet still he had risen, snarling, reaching for his sword as though death itself had no claim over him.

"But he did not die," the Saint finished. "A priestess intervened. Dragged him into the underground before I could deliver the final strike. By the time I pursued, they were gone."

—

Lord Kaelith's violet eyes burned brighter.

"You failed."

The words were not shouted. They did not need to be.

The Sword Saint's head sank lower still. "Yes, my lord."

The silence stretched again, heavy with disappointment.

Kaelith's voice came softer this time, though no less dangerous. "You, the strongest blade of my house. The one even other nobles whisper of with dread. And yet a nameless human child slipped from your grasp?"

The Saint's fingers dug against the stone floor beneath him.

"Name him what you will, my lord. Child, human, nameless… but do not mistake him for ordinary. He carries something… unnatural. Not only the divine, but the way the shadows bent for him. And—" His eyes flickered, remembering the flash of that sword cutting through his guard. "He bears a blade not of this continent."

—

At this, Kaelith's expression sharpened further.

"A blade?"

"Yes," the Saint said. "Dark as night, yet glimmering with… something older. When he struck, even my own steel shuddered. I do not know where he acquired it, but it is no common weapon."

Kaelith leaned forward slightly, his violet gaze piercing through the Saint like fire through paper.

"And you think he will return."

The Saint's jaw tightened. "I know he will. His eyes burned with it. Defeat will not keep him away, it will drag him back. Stronger. Wilder. More dangerous."

—

Kaelith rose from his seat at last, descending the steps of his dais with unhurried grace. His robes trailed like spilled ink across the floor, the sigils shimmering faintly with each movement.

He circled the Saint slowly, studying him as though weighing a weapon in his hand.

"Strange," the noble murmured. "For you to speak so of a single opponent. You, who have never bent the knee to another blade. You, who cut down challengers without thought. And yet this human unsettles you."

The Saint's fists clenched. "I am not unsettled, my lord. I am wary. There is a difference. To dismiss him would be a mistake."

Kaelith paused behind him, eyes narrowed in thought.

"Perhaps," he allowed. "Or perhaps you let your pride twist the memory. You see an echo of yourself in him and call it danger. You see your youth, your recklessness, and you fear it."

The Saint's teeth ground together.

"No," he said quietly. "It is not myself I see. It is something worse."

—

Kaelith's steps carried him back to the throne. He lowered himself with fluid grace, hands resting lightly on the armrests once more. His violet gaze lingered on the Saint with chilling detachment.

"Very well," he said at last. "If you are so certain, then prepare. Strengthen the wards. Double the guard. Spread word among the lesser nobles, quietly. I will not have whispers of divine affinity reaching beyond these walls."

The Saint bowed low. Relief did not reach him, only grim resolve.

"And when he comes again?" he asked.

Kaelith's eyes glimmered faintly. "Then you will not fail a second time. You will cut him down. And if you cannot…" His voice dropped, cold and final. "…then perhaps the boy will prove more worthy of the title Sword Saint than you."

The words stabbed deeper than any blade.

The Saint bowed lower still, hiding the rage and shame that twisted his features.

"As you command, my lord."

—

The great doors closed heavily behind him as he left the hall. The runes etched into their surface glowed faintly, sealing shut once more.

The corridor beyond was colder, narrower, lined with grim statues of long-dead warriors. His armored boots struck the stone with steady rhythm, but his mind was anything but steady.

He replayed the fight again and again. The boy's face. The blade. The shadows that should have consumed him, but instead bent to his will. The divine light that burned like no flame he had ever faced.

He clenched his fists until the gauntlets groaned.

He had not lied. Lindarion would return. And when he did, it would not be the same battle.

The Saint had won once.

But he had no illusions of it being so simple again.