Chapter 83: Confusing System
Cynthia crossed her arms tightly as she stood up, her boots making a soft splash against the shallow water beneath them. Her gaze locked onto Tyr with a storm of disbelief and irritation swirling in her eyes.
"Are you telling me my technically great-great-grandfather or something was alive this whole time and just waited for his descendants to find this random location?" she said sharply, her tone laced with exasperation.
Tyr tilted his head, lowering his arms in a slow, placating motion. "Yes? I’m an elf, after all. I can live for eternity without leaving my prime..." he replied with a light chuckle, as if stating the obvious.
Cynthia narrowed her eyes. Her foot began tapping rapidly against the water, sending ripples outward like little shockwaves of annoyance. "Then why make this convoluted trial?" she shot back, her brows knitting together.
Tyr’s expression grew slightly defensive as he folded his arms again. "To make sure my descendants are worthy. Isn’t that the point of trials?" he countered, his voice firm with ancient pride.
"I wanted only the ones with both strength and wit. Not just magic. Heart."
Cynthia scoffed. "Can’t you just like... I don’t know? Train your descendants? It’s far more efficient than this trial that would likely kill ninety percent of your children who find it." Her foot tapped faster now, matching the rising pitch of her frustration.
Tyr laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his head. His silver hair shifted slightly in the moonlight. "My friends said the reactions from my trial would be... happy, not irritated," he said, half-sheepish, half-defensive.
Cynthia sighed and looked him over again—this legendary figure who, minutes ago, was nearly slicing her in half with divine swordplay. "It would’ve worked a few centuries ago, when people were still the noble type... not... an eighteen-year-old like me..."
Tyr’s shoulders slumped. His head dropped with a dramatic groan. "Can’t believe I wasted so many resources on this trial just for my descendant to react like this..."
Without missing a beat, Cynthia stepped forward and gave him a light punch on the arm—a casual, almost familial gesture. She didn’t let herself linger on the fact that the same arm once cleaved dragons, or that this was a man sung about in ballads.