The Retired Supporting Character Wants to Live Quietly-Chapter 200

Chapter 200 – Kirrin’s Black Forest (23)

After settling things on Drebren’s side—

I was heading toward Nemara’s residence when Kirrin came running after me from behind.

“Headmaster. Don’t come.”

She waved her hand, trying to stop me.

“It’s dangerous. Go be with your brother and sister.”

“But I still have to go. Dad must be in danger.”

“I heard someone named Mohican—no, Morkan or whatever—showed up. If you get caught up in that, you could die.”

But Kirrin was immovable. She only sped up and ran alongside me.

Suddenly, I grew curious.

Does Kirrin not resent Nemara?

He raised her through force and made her live a life completely devoid of her own will.

If it were me, I’d probably hate him enough to want him dead. But why is Kirrin running into danger, saying she wants to save her father?

“Headmaster. Don’t you hate your dad?”

“I do. But not completely.”

Kirrin replied.

“Dad was cold to me and was really disappointed that I had no talent as an assassin.”

She shook her head.

“But that’s because he’s a dark elf. And for a dark elf, he actually showed me quite a bit of affection. If he hadn’t cared for me at all, I would’ve been killed by his hand a long time ago.”

I’d heard something like that before.

The reason all dark elves are such exceptional assassins isn’t just their innate racial traits—but also because those who don’t show promise as children are killed by the clan leader.

Only children with potential to become assassins survive and grow up, which is why the dark elves naturally formed into a society of elite assassins.

Now that I think about it, Kirrin surviving and reaching adulthood wasn’t a normal thing for dark elves.

Honestly, the lack of communication among these dark elves is truly excessive.

When we reached Nemara’s residence, the situation had taken a strange turn.

Countless corpses—presumably killed by Nemara—were strewn about, yet a large number of dark elves still surrounded the area.

On the ground before Nemara’s residence, two ominously sharp blades were protruding, and beside them, a female dark elf lay dying, her leg split in half.

At the center, Nemara lay collapsed forward, and standing before him—another dark elf. That must be Morkan?

The dark elf presumed to be Morkan had drawn a dagger and was bending down, as if to slit Nemara’s throat.

Seeing that, Kirrin screamed and ran forward.

“No! Dad!!”

At her voice, Morkan turned and threw the dagger.

I rushed to intercept it—but at that moment, a net sprang up from beneath Kirrin’s feet and hoisted her into the air.

What the— A trap?

Now I noticed that the collapsed Nemara had something like a wire in his mouth.

Could he have triggered the trap to save Kirrin?

Good grief. Didn’t expect to see a tragic family drama in the Black Forest.

Enraged at losing Kirrin, Morkan tried to kill Nemara, so I quickly intervened.

When I severed his wrist, Morkan screamed in pain, and in that moment Drebren, Zakrion, and Sharian burst in and began attacking the other dark elves.

Looking down at Nemara, I saw his eyes closed and wondered if he was already dead, so I placed a finger under his nose.

Thankfully, I could feel his breath. So he’s not dead yet.

But why does he look like he’s on the brink?

I examined Nemara’s body carefully—and found dozens of poison darts embedded in him.

This is a disaster.

Even for a dark elf, being hit this many times could paralyze the heart.

I need to wrap this up and get him treated immediately.

“Professor Dian… I have something to say…”

As I was about to rise, Nemara spoke with difficulty.

“What is it?”

“Kirrin… Kirrin…”

But he could speak no more and dropped his head.

Kirrin, huh…

# # # #

Morkan’s surprise attack was fully subdued before morning came.

After Drebren and his siblings conducted interrogations, all the details came to light.

Nishira, wife ranked first in the clan, had once been in love with Nemara’s elder brother Morkan.

When Morkan fled after losing the Karssal duel for clan leadership, and Nemara became the new leader, Nishira became his wife, in accordance with dark elf law.

But even after that, Nishira secretly continued her affair with Morkan, and gave birth to a son, Baltar.

Meanwhile, Nemara brought in a human woman and took her as his wife—which Nishira couldn’t accept.

She was already bitter about being separated from Morkan—then her husband marries someone from another race? And even has a half-blood child?

Finding that other wives also had complaints about this, Nishira began secretly rallying them.

They would eliminate Nemara, who had tainted their pure bloodline, and install a new clan leader.

Thus came today’s events.

But Nishira met a wretched end.

When a blade sprang from the ground, Morkan used her as a stepping stone to dodge, and she couldn’t escape.

Her leg was cleaved in two from heel to thigh, a fatal wound. She died from massive blood loss at the scene.

It’s likely Morkan never loved Nishira at all. He simply used her as a pawn in his scheme for power.

The other wives and children who had sided with Nishira were all killed by Drebren and his siblings.

Apparently, that’s how these matters are handled. I don’t quite get it myself.

Nemara did not wake for an entire day.

He’d been hit with far too many poison darts.

Maybe Morkan had deliberately used poison because a direct confrontation would be risky.

Still, his heart was beating and he was breathing, albeit faintly, so it was too soon to despair.

“Dad… Please… open your eyes…”

Kirrin neither ate nor drank and stayed at Nemara’s side.

Had Sharian not forced food into her mouth, she might’ve collapsed right beside him.

“She finally fell asleep.”

Said Sharian, stepping out from Nemara’s room.

“That girl’s so stubborn.”

“It can’t be helped. This is a matter of parent and child.”

Just then, Drebren and Zakrion approached.

They were holding containers filled with some steaming liquid.

Probably a concoction made from herbs gathered by the dark elves.

I’d seen them prepare it—it was almost like brewing some old-fashioned medicine, the effort they put into it.

Problem was, this was already the third or fourth attempt.

None of the previous brews had shown any effect.

Can you really just feed him stuff like that? Isn’t it hard on the liver?

“This time, let’s pour the whole container in, Zakrion.”

“Yes, Brother. Even paralytic poison can't withstand brute force.”

These crazy dark elves…

“Whoa, hold on!”

I stopped the two as they were about to head inside.

“If you pour all that in, he’ll suffocate. And giving too much at once might cause side effects.”

I pointed to the bizarre-smelling brew.

“These herbs haven’t even been properly tested.”

“That’s not true, Professor Dian. They’ve been passed down through generations…”

“So you mean you just got lucky by trial and error. Like with fugu toxin. Let’s do it my way instead.”

“Ssshh…”

Drebren and Zakrion exchanged troubled looks.

“At least let us try on our own first. If that doesn’t work…”

“It’s been two days already. No sign of improvement. What if you keep dumping that stuff in and he actually dies?”

“Hmm… but still, letting an outsider into the Black Forest is…”

“I’m already here, so what’s one more? Let’s just call them. If Nemara dies, that’ll be a problem, right?”

“Well, that’s true…”

When Drebren looked at Zakrion, he quickly averted his gaze.

Seeing him dodge, Drebren turned to Sharian—who just shrugged.

“You decide, Brother. You’re practically the clan leader now.”

“…Right.”

Drebren set down the container, folded his arms, and after a moment, spoke heavily.

“We’ll do as the professor says.”

“Good. I’ll go get them.”

# # # #

“Phew…”

Lormane let out a long sigh as she looked out the window.

She had just returned from the grand conclave of the Church.

Her head felt like it was going to split from the mountain of problems plaguing the Church.

Not just the Empire, but issues across the entire continent demanded her attention.

Though the Grand Temple—the Church’s headquarters—was located in the Empire, the Church’s influence extended far beyond.

Being the dominant religion across the continent, its authority transcended national borders and race—leading to an unending flood of ridiculous and impossible demands.

If she could, Lormane would quit being Grand Chief Administrator and run away.

But a priest couldn’t just leave the Church at will.

If that were possible, more than half the Grand Temple staff would’ve already fled.

Even central imperial officials, notorious for their heavy workloads, were known to be speechless when dispatched to the Grand Temple—saying the burden here was on another level.

This past week was especially hectic, and from lack of sleep, Lormane had begun hallucinating at times.

Like seeing Dian entering the temple gates right now.

There’s no reason for Sir Dian to be at the Grand Temple at this hour.

“Hey, Lormane!”

Dian, climbing the long stairs of the temple, raised his hand and waved.

What the—? So it’s not a hallucination?