Translator: CinderTL
The figure hovering just a few steps away was impossibly small, barely reaching Roland's knee.
She radiated a soft, almost translucent glow, like moonlight solidified into essence, gently pushing back the surrounding darkness.
This light wasn't static; it pulsed faintly, as if breathing, its source seemingly the pair of iridescent butterfly wings behind her, as thin as dragonfly wings.
The wings vibrated at a speed imperceptible to the naked eye, emitting a barely audible hum that kept her suspended effortlessly in the damp night air.
Her face was exquisitely delicate, as if carved from mother-of-pearl and moonlight by the finest artisan, possessing an otherworldly beauty.
Her disproportionately large, crimson eyes—like deep forest pools—were fixed on Roland with a mixture of lingering fear and evident curiosity.
More precisely, they were fixed on the Mithril Longsword in his hand, the blade that had nearly pierced her.
Her red hair, like flowing stardust, shimmered with tiny sparks as it cascaded loosely over her slender shoulders.
She wore simple garments woven from luminous dots and natural fibers, resembling living flower petals that merged seamlessly with her radiant aura.
Despite her diminutive size, the pure and concentrated aura of magic emanating from her felt almost tangible, causing the air around Roland to crackle with a faint electrical charge.
This aura was distinctly different from the oppressive weight that emanated from the depths of the Mistland.
It was more vibrant, more refined, yet carried an undeniable sense of otherworldliness, a feeling of estrangement from this realm.
"Wait! I mean no harm!"
Sensing the relentless pressure radiating from Roland, the tiny figure involuntarily shivered. She hastily raised her slender arms, her voice trembling visibly.
"I just... I just came to ask for help!"
"Help..."
Though Roland sensed no immediate malice, he remained on high alert. His body remained taut as a bowstring, his grip on the sword unwavering.
Meeting Roland's hawk-like gaze, the luminous sprite had no doubt: at the slightest sign of aggression, the cold Mithril Longsword would pierce her heart without hesitation.
And this time...
Recalling the deadly, air-rending flash of cold light from moments ago, and sensing the inexplicable yet steadily escalating surge of power emanating from Roland, she swallowed hard, completely abandoning her initial mischievous intentions.
She wouldn't be so lucky again...
Before Roland could even ask another question, the petite figure, as if freed from restraints, began speaking at an astonishing pace, pouring out her intentions in a torrent.
Her clear, melodious voice rang like birdsong in the forest.
"I... I'm Tracy, a pixie. I live..."
Tracy moved her arm stiffly, pointing slowly toward the mist-shrouded region in the distance.
"I live there."
"I came here to ask for your help... Please..."
Her voice suddenly turned mournful, filled with deep sorrow.
"Please help us save our home..."
"Pixie?"
Roland's brow furrowed slightly at the name.
Pixies were tiny, ethereal creatures dwelling deep within ancient forests or hidden magical realms.
Ancient texts described them as condensations of moonlight and forest dew, their bodies radiating a soft glow, their backs adorned with shimmering, iridescent butterfly wings that allowed them to soar silently through the air.
Pixies are naturally mischievous, even prone to pranks, and particularly fond of using shimmering dust or illusions to trick those who wander astray.
Legend has it they possess innate magical talents, allowing them to easily conceal themselves, scatter bewitching, sleep-inducing mists, or even temporarily transform people into harmless small animals through playful spells.
In ancient lore, they are revered as guardian spirits of the forest, deeply connected to the core pulse of nature.
Recalling the descriptions of pixies in ancient texts, Roland's taut nerves relaxed slightly.
According to the records, these elven creatures are inherently friendly, indulging only in harmless pranks and never resorting to malice or transgression.
Even so, Roland remained vigilant.
"Save your homeland? I'm sorry, but our destination isn't the Mistland, and besides..."
He straightened slightly, his eyes fixed on Tracy's every move.
"Why did you choose me to save your homeland?"
"Because... because..."
Seeing the unwavering caution in Roland's eyes, Tracy sighed in resignation.
"Among the ships passing through the Mistland, I sensed no presence stronger than yours. Please..."
Realizing that no amount of pleading could sway the young man before her, the pixie abruptly changed her tone.
"If you succeed in saving our homeland, I promise you, the Pixie Queen will bestow her blessing upon you."
"A blessing?"
Roland's heart stirred slightly at these words.
Pixies themselves were inherently weak creatures, but perhaps due to some fundamental law of the world, the blessings they bestowed were extraordinarily powerful, with diverse and potent effects.
According to ancient texts, many renowned heroes had relied on pixie blessings to safely navigate life-threatening crises.
A surge of warmth coursed through Roland's veins, but he quickly shook his head, suppressing the sudden impulse.
He had always preferred gathering information first before deciding on a course of action.
Yet despite his extensive inquiries and observations, his knowledge of the Mistland remained woefully limited.
While pixie blessings were undoubtedly powerful,
for Roland, risking his life for such a reward seemed far too steep a price.
Seeing the young man shake his head again, Tracy's deep crimson eyes shimmered with a faint light, and a soft sob escaped her lips.
But Roland remained unmoved, simply saying quietly, "Do you have anything else to say? If not..."
Sensing the clear dismissal in Roland's tone, the petite pixie hastily wiped away the tears from the corners of her eyes.
"Could I... stay by your side for a while?"
"I exhausted all my strength crossing the Mistland to escape, so..."
Tracy clasped her hands together, pleading with a sorrowful voice.
"I only need to stay on your ship temporarily. Once I regain my strength, I'll leave immediately and won't cause you any trouble. Moreover..."
Despite their brief exchange, the petite pixie had already discerned Roland's pragmatic nature from his words.
"In return, I can offer you any assistance you might need."
"Assistance?"
The pixie's proposal made Roland pause to consider.
Temporarily sheltering a pixie would be no inconvenience to him.
Though he had no intention of venturing into the Mistland to save her homeland, Roland also had no desire to antagonize the pixies.
According to ancient texts, these creatures lurked throughout the world. While they cherished their freedom and often traveled alone, they were entirely free from the conflicts over resources that plagued other races, maintaining remarkably harmonious relationships among themselves.
In other words, earning the friendship of one pixie meant gaining the goodwill of her entire race.
However, before extending his hand, Roland needed to ensure the pixie harbored no ill intentions.
As he pondered this, he heard faint footsteps behind him.
A clear, spirited female voice, strikingly different from the pixie's crisp tones, followed.
"Mr. Roland? What are you doing here so late?"
(End of the Chapter)
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