— Esta’s POV —

  My name is Esta.

  Long, silky blonde hair frames my face, complementing my light green eyes.

  I was once a free elf, living in the tranquil of a normal village, nestled between the vast forests of the homeland of the elves, Rosenwood Kingdom, and the human lands.

  For over a century, I lived in peace, sheltered by the vast forests and the warmth of my family.

  But…

  That peace was shattered two decades ago when I reached the age of 125.

  The Herrschaft Empire, a militaristic human nation to the east, launched a brutal campaign against non-human races.

  With the backing of the Liberia Holy Kingdom to the south, they declared that the world belonged solely to humans.

  Our village was among the first to be struck, a merciless assault that left devastation in its wake.

  The attack came without warning—soldiers clad in steel, descended upon our village like a storm.

  They swept through the streets, torches setting homes ablaze, blades cutting down those who resisted.

  I still remember the screams.

  The smell of burning wood.

  The sky, blackened by the smoke of our homes.

  My mother, embracing me, pleaded for mercy that never came.

  My father, a normal hunter, stood at our doorstep, sword in hand, shielding me and my mother.

  My brother fought alongside him.

  But, what could two elves do against an army?

  I won’t forget the spear that impaled my father’s chest.

  The way my brother’s sword arm was severed in a single stroke.

  My mother’s final cry before she was silenced forever.

  The last sight I had of them was their lifeless bodies lying on the crimson-stained ground.

  They massacred nearly everyone in the village.

  I was dragged away, kicking, screaming, cursing the men who tore my world apart.

  They laughed.

  One of them, an officer with cold, golden eyes, wiped my brother’s blood from his blade and said,

  "Tie up the survivors. The young ones will fetch a good price."

  And so, I was bound in chains.

  The village burned behind me as I was herded onto a slave wagon, along with the few who survived.

  They had taken everything from me—my family, my home, my freedom.

  I prayed for Rosenwood to send help.

  I prayed for the war to end before we were sold.

  But no one came.

  The days blurred into one another—hot, endless roads by day, cold cages by night.

  A year into my captivity, the Katza Dynasty of the Zharova Confederation, the catkin dominion within the beastkin nation to the south of Rosenwood, joined the war on the kingdom’s side.

  They halted the empire’s expansion, but at great cost.

  The war rages on to this day.

  The war had become a deadlock, and those of us already enslaved were beyond rescue.

  At first, I clung to the hope that my people would come for us.

  That someone would break our collars and take us home.

  But the empire had no intention of letting us go.

  For two years, I remained in the hands of a slave trader, paraded before leering nobles and merchants like livestock.

  I was nothing but a product, a piece of merchandise to be inspected and bid upon.

  They auctioned us off like objects, one by one.

  Then, one day—

  He arrived.

  The very noble who had ordered the massacre of my village.

  He saw no tragedy in what he had done, only a transaction.

  With a sneer, he purchased me for 50 gold coins, as if my life—my suffering—was worth nothing more than a bag of money.

  Filled with anger and resentment, my eyes locked onto him.

  However, any attempt to retaliate triggered a shocking jolt from the collar, a cruel reminder of my powerlessness.

  Then, he took me to his mansion, where my nightmares truly began.

  The years that followed stripped me of my dignity.

  He, his son, and even his butler, treat me as their plaything.

  I was forced to serve, my every action dictated by the collar around my neck.

  Every night I slept on the floor beside either his or his son’s bed.

  The butler gave me the food after he forced me to beg to have sex with him.

  He didn't even give me water to drink after I ate my food, but he forced me to drink his white stuff instead.

  At lunch time and dinner time, he made me act as a table.

  I lay down on the table with the food on top of me, then served me along with the food to his masters.

  After the father and son finished ate, they used me together, sometimes the butler joined too.

  That was my everyday life there.

  They didn't even give me a single cloth.

  Even when they want to go to war.

  Every night on the way to the battlefield, that nobleman and his son always used my body as they pleased together.

  Once they were satisfied, they gave me to the soldiers who were doing watch duty.

  Of course, the soldiers had the same look as them.

  That nobleman even provided medicine everyday for me so I couldn’t get pregnant.

  That way, he, his son, his butler, and the soldiers can rape me freely without worrying the aftermath.

  Any attempt at defiance was met with a searing shock that coursed through my body, leaving me gasping on the floor.

  I was a possession, nothing more—a trophy of conquest, a tool to be used at their whim.

  Every day blurred into the next, each one worse than the last.

  But the worst cruelty was not the pain—it was the breaking of my spirit.

  The pain of my body was nothing compared to the wounds carved into my soul.

  I was made to witness horrors that would haunt me even in my restless sleep.

  They brought prisoners before me—elves, rebels, those who dared resist.

  In the depths of despair, they coerced me to wield my wind magic against prisoners of war, my fellow elves.

  I was ordered to strike them down, to wield my wind magic as a weapon of execution.

  And if I hesitated, the collar would tighten, the pain would intensify, until my choices were stripped away entirely.

  Apologies whispered through my tears with every magic I cast before I took their lives.

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  I lost count of how many I had condemned.

  It hurts.

  Even though there was no scar on my body, I still felt the pain.

  The years passed in a blur of suffering. I stopped counting the days.

  The pain persists, an invisible torment etched upon my soul.

  For fifteen years, I endured their cruelty.

  Fifteen years in which my name became meaningless.

  The war outside raged on, but within these walls, time had long since lost its meaning.

  Sanity eludes me, my gaze drifts skyward when solitude claims me.

  I no longer cried—there were no tears left to shed, yet my heart continues its silent scream.

  The face that stared back at me in the polished silver mirror was not mine anymore.

  She was hollow.

  Empty.

  A husk.

  Family echoes in my thoughts, a haunting melody of longing.

  I wished for death.

  I wish I could die and join them.

  Death's embrace seems a preferable fate.

  I begged for it in the silence of my mind, even as my lips remained obediently sealed.

  Even if I’m saved, can I recover myself?

  If salvation would not come, then let me die and be free of this torment.

  Yet, amidst the darkness, a flicker of desire endures.

  Something inside me refused to break.

  Hatred kept me alive.

  The hatred for those who stole everything from me.

  The hatred for the noble whose hands were drenched in my family’s blood.

  Should the slimmest opportunity arise to shatter this empire and holy kingdom or topple the human race,

  I'd seize it willingly,

  even at the cost of my life,

  or perhaps my very soul.

  I swore that if I ever escaped…

  if I ever had the power…

  I would burn everything to the ground.

  But—

  I knew that I didn't have enough power to fulfill my own wish.

  I still had my magic. I still had my mind.

  And most importantly—I still had my hatred.

  If I could not destroy the empire myself…

  I would find someone who could.

  Awaiting the arrival of one with the strength to fulfill my fervent wish.

  Someone powerful.

  Someone willing.

  Should they lead me to the battlefield, allowing me to vanquish my foes.

  No matter who they were, no matter what their goals…

  I promise to myself that I will serve that person.

  Forever.

  I vow eternal servitude.

  If they wished to conquer the world, I would march at their side.

  If they sought destruction, I would be their blade, standing at the foremost of the battlefield.

  Even if it meant betraying my homeland—the kingdom that had left me to rot in chains—I would not hesitate.

  I've been forsaken by my homeland for two decades of war.

  What remains of my country holds no sway over my allegiance.

  I care not if it crumbles or stands.

  The world had forsaken me.

  But I would not go quietly.

  Herrschaft. Liberia. Rosenwood.

  I will watch them all burn.

  Three years ago, it felt as if the goddess had finally heeded my plea.

  The noble and his son were sent to the battlefield.

  They took me with them, as they always did, parading me before their soldiers like a trophy.

  But fate had other plans.

  A battle broke out, and they were slain in battle.

  And just like that—the collar around my neck unlocked on its own, falling away like a broken shackle.

  I was free.

  Yet I was surrounded by thousands of empire soldiers, deep in the war camp.

  Escape was impossible.

  My fate was already decided.

  So I made a choice.

  "Haha…”

  The laughter that tore from my throat was something foreign.

  “Hahaha…”

  Something wild, something unhinged.

  “Hahahahahaha!”

  It was the sound of shackles breaking.

  I no longer wanted to run.

  I wanted revenge.

  I wanted to go berserk.

  I succumbed to the madness that had brewed within me for fifteen years in that accursed hell.

  A chance for revenge, even if fleeting, beckoned.

  And I seized it.

  I raised my hands.

  Before they could react, the winds around me shifted.

  My magic, long suppressed, erupted in a storm of fury, relishing the first taste of taking lives with my own will.

  And for the first time,

  I wielded my power not as a weapon forced upon me—but as my own.

  Blades of wind cut through the air, faster than the soldiers could react.

  The first fell, then another, and another.

  Laughter echoed as their screams resonated with my newfound exhilaration.

  "Die, die, die, die, die! Hahahaha!"

  For the first time in fifteen years,

  I felt joy.

  Blood splattered across my bare skin, my hair, my face.

  It painted the earth red.

  Every second counted in preparation for the next assault.

  The soldiers who had once jeered at me, who had once watched me suffer in silence, now screamed as my wind magic tore them apart.

  "Keep screaming! Your agony composed the symphony of my vengeance! Hahahaha!”

  I didn’t count how many I killed.

  A hundred? A thousand?

  I did not stop.

  My wind, once gentle, had turned into a tempest of slaughter.

  It surged forth, carrying my rage, my grief, my endless torment.

  My magic, once light-green, darkened into a deep crimson.

  The wind I controlled was no longer the gentle breeze of the forest—it was a storm of death.

  I absorbed mana, releasing it as a relentless torrent of red wind magic.

  Bathed in sunlight, my crimson winds painted a gruesome ballet.

  Crimson wind blades cleaved the bodies of soldiers.

  Crimson wind spears punctured their flesh.

  Searing heat lacerated the air along with their screams as the melody.

  I painted the battlefield red with their corpses.

  The Empire took everything from me.

  Now, I would take everything from them.

  The sun dipped below the horizon, and still, I fought.

  Yet, the army remained vast.

  Even rage has its limits.

  In the end… my body betrayed me.

  Exhaustion crept into my limbs, my vision blurred.

  Blood-soaked and spent.

  Before I could summon another magic,

  I collapsed among the dead.

  Oddly, a smile adorned my face.

  Even if death awaited, I cared not.

  Though my goal remained elusive, the satisfaction of vanquishing so many human soldiers filled me with contentment.

  I expected death that day. Welcomed it, even.

  But fate was not so kind.

  As I attempted to open my eyes, darkness enveloped me.

  Limbs unresponsive, my senses confined by cloth covering eyes and mouth, hands and legs bound with unforgiving rope.

  I was inside a carriage.

  What a foolish action.

  They should have ended me, but in their oversight, a glimmer of hope emerged—time, though uncertain, awaited to grant my wish.

  After they noticed I had woken up, they used my body.

  But it was nothing.

  I had lived everyday for 15 years getting used by many men.

  Familiarity dulled the resistance within me.

  I have known since a long time ago that having sex felt good, but I couldn’t feel anything before because my mind was filled with despair.

  But this time was different.

  A hint of revenge was released, and with a flicker of hope, I embraced the fleeting pleasure over tears as they played with my body.

  Yet, deep down, a secret desire lingered.

  A dream of sharing intimacy with a man who I love and loves me back.

  Haha… what am I thinking of?

  There’s no way a man would love a dirty girl like me.

  But…

  Even if it’s just one-sided love.

  Even if it's just once.

  I wanted to feel it.

  I wanted to be embraced by the man I love.

  Weeks later, the destination revealed itself as they untied the blindfold.

  Three soldiers from the empire were in my vision.

  As expected, even the soldiers themselves were rotten.

  I had slaughtered an entire battalion of men.

  Yet, instead of sending me, who killed many soldiers, to their higher up,

  instead of executing me,

  They sold me again to earn some money for themselves.

  Those spineless, greedy cowards…

  Months passed.

  An adventurer with fiery red hair and a formidable greatsword purchased me for a meager five gold coins.

  For two years, I shared existence with him and a fellow slave of the cat race.

  Another abusive treatment awaited me once more.

  I did not expect kindness.

  I was not given any.

  But I had learned one thing from my time in chains.

  Freedom is an illusion.

  True freedom can only be taken by force.

  And if I could not break my chains, I would wait for the day someone strong enough could.

  I no longer care if that person is kind or cruel.

  Whether they are a hero or a monster, it does not matter.

  As long as they can grant me the vengeance I crave,

  I will follow them to the ends of the world.

  Even if that means watching the world burn.

  l will laugh.