An exit, it's an exit!
The two of them, stumbling through the tunnel, finally saw hope. Sean climbed up the steep incline first to open the cover above, but suddenly his ankle was grabbed and he was irresistibly yanked down.
"Move over, I'll go first," Twila brushed past him going up. "With that scrawny frame of yours, a lousy second-circle mage, you might pop up in a den of thieves and get your head chopped off."
Sean wanted to explain. "I'm not actually..."
"Like hell! Shut up!"
Twila cut him off.
Blabbering idiot. She was about to open the hatch and he was yammering on endlessly. Was he trying to get them discovered?
This was a smuggling tunnel; who knew what was up there!?
Sean shut his mouth like a beaten puppy, with nowhere to air his grievances.
He could only secretly admire the girl's full, rounded curves as she half-crawled upward.
They say elf women are all skinny as rails. To have developed like this was already impressive. To work in the cutthroat mercenary business and still remain unsold as a slave, it must have been because she was skilled at disguising her gender.
Twila paid no attention to what was going on behind her. Using her dagger to prop up the hatch cover slowly, seeing no movement, she carefully peeked through the gap.
Outside was gray and dim, with faint light coming through cracks in the walls. It seemed like a small storage room.
Gently opening the cover, she walked two steps to the door and pushed twice before realizing it was locked.
There was a keyhole, a two-way lock.
She casually reached for the small pouch on her belt, pulled out two long needles, and after fumbling with the lock for just a few seconds, heard a click.
As she put away the needles, Twila was amazed. If she hadn't touched the lock, she wouldn't have known she had this skill.
The original owner's memories were awakening bit by bit.
But judging from what she'd seen so far, this body's profession didn't seem like a rogue's; it leaned more toward assassin, and a damn brave one in frontal combat too.
Twila gently pushed the door, her line of sight slowly extending outward. Sean, right behind her, had his heart in his throat, fingers slowly wreathing with flames, ready for battle.
He'd made up his mind that if they ran into danger, he'd do everything in his power to get this little elf out.
The next moment, the girl suddenly accelerated, forcefully pushing the door open.
The wind rushing in almost extinguished the flames on his fingers.
Then came voices.
Layered and scattered: men, women, young and old, voices like waves.
They were in a dark alley squeezed between apartment buildings on both sides. One exit led to a bustling market, the other to a crowded plaza.
A little boy holding bread passed through the alley. Seeing the two people walking out of the warehouse covered in battle smoke, dirt, and blood, he got scared and ran away.
Sean finally relaxed, dispersing the flames in his hand. "Now what?"
Twila didn't even look at him, walking toward the plaza on her own, leaving only a wave over her shoulder. "Go home to mommy."
She knew the plaza on this side was called Starlight Plaza, home to the Golden Bay History Museum. Walking west was a long downhill road called Halberd Avenue. She couldn't remember what came after that yet.
But this was the direction home.
The original owner of this body had a home.
Left behind, Sean was at a loss. "What, what, what, what about me?"
"Don't you have a mom?" Twila couldn't help turning back to snap at him.
This weakling mage was like a kicked puppy and seemed to have no life experience. Like he'd only recently entered society? Such a bookworm.
Although in her previous life she'd also been just a student, she'd barely spent any time in class. Even with college entrance exams approaching, there were still several elective teachers she didn't recognize. But she had memberships at all the nearby internet cafes and patronized whichever one had promotions.
Plus, with the original owner's constantly awakening memories combined with her own, her street smarts were way better than the weakling mage's.
Seeing the elf wasn't in a good mood, Sean wisely stopped in his tracks, scratching his head, wondering if he should tell his family elders about this first.
As for where the elf could run to... he'd accumulated quite a bit of military merit these past days. If he asked those uncles in his family for help and checked with the mercenary guild for her records, it shouldn't... be too difficult, right?
So he turned around and walked toward the market.
Actually, going from the plaza along Halberd Avenue east up to the highlands was closer, but right now he really didn't want to provoke the little elf. A bit of a detour was fine.
Looking all disheveled with battle smoke and grime, as soon as he appeared in the market, it caused quite a commotion.
Sean was extremely uncomfortable. First he tried to straighten his clothes, quickly realized it was futile, then immediately covered his face and pushed through the crowd, running toward home.
The same thing happened on Twila's side, but she was much more composed, frowning as she strode toward home.
At the same time, she muttered to herself. "How come the city acts like there's no war going on?"
The pedestrians on the street wore bright clothes, walked leisurely, chatting and laughing. Facing a warrior coming down from the battlefield, they looked more surprised than anything...
...But right now there was fighting outside the city walls, people dying every moment! Just raise your eyes and look out there; you could still see smoke filling the sky!
It wasn't until she'd walked briskly for dozens of minutes, passing through two inner city gates, that what she saw became more normal.
Desolate streets, sparse crowds, occasionally armored soldiers passing by, but one thing was missing: tension.
It was like... everyone was certain the orcs absolutely couldn't breach the city.
After traveling a while longer, Twila turned into an alley.
She followed the flashback memories as she walked.
There was a drainage ditch here where you could often see drunks and corpses. In the summer after rain, you could sometimes catch a kind of pink-green frog whose secretions contained a toxin that made people more prone to anger.
The back door of Full Moon Pavilion; in the corner of the courtyard, the service maids' used bathwater. Soak in it for a moment when no one's around, and the perfume scent that clung to you was enough to throw off a bloodhound's nose...
Countless memories flashed through her mind.
But strangely, why would the original owner have thought to use perfume scent to mask her own smell? Didn't she know her own identity?
Full of doubts, Twila stopped in front of a wooden door.
"Home?" She repeated the only word remaining in her memory with confusion, looking at the plaque painted with a sword and shield on the wall.
What's this? The original owner ran some kind of side business?
So where's the key?
Leaving the task of finding it to her body's memory, Twila reached for the small pouch hidden inside her leather armor at her waist. Among poison, flash crystals, and other trinkets, she skillfully pulled out a copper key from the inner layer.
Unlocking, pulling the door... a room of only a few square meters appeared before her eyes.
Dust danced in the mottled light and shadow.
A kerosene lamp hung from the ceiling. A dozen various weapons were piled around the walls, but a closer look showed they were all secondhand goods, some still cracked. A ladder in the corner led to the second floor.
Looked like the bedroom was upstairs.
Looking at the supposedly familiar layout, large sections of the original owner's sealed memories opened again.
As a mercenary, she sold salvaged weapons and equipment to supplement her income.
She also found the reason for dressing as a man. Elves were built entirely to human aesthetic standards. If caught, you'd be sold and impossible to find. Plus, because of their lifespan, they had an extremely long shelf life. So female elves with any looks who left the two major elf settlements of Greenleaf Heart and Emerald Bay would disguise themselves to some degree. Twila was one of the more thorough ones. Working as a mercenary alongside colleagues who mostly operated in gray areas, doing jobs for money with flexible moral boundaries, she simply disguised herself as male.
Otherwise her colleagues might stab her in the back and sell her at any moment.
Due to the existence of leather armor and other protective gear concealing her figure, plus elf bodies being fairly slender regardless of gender, she hadn't been exposed so far.
Of course, three years had passed since Twila entered human society to make a living. Careful with her disguise out of habit, her movements had naturally become more masculine.
No need to worry about that. The current Twila would only be even more mannish than before.
Climbing the ladder, the second floor had only a bed, a wardrobe, and a miscellaneous box. She collapsed on the bed as if all strength had left her, letting out a short breath, very weak. "Ah... exhausted..."
Her voice sharp and raspy.
To maintain the disguise, the original owner had deliberately damaged her vocal cords. But healing them would be simple. Just find any cleric or priest and have them cast a minor restoration spell on her throat.