The Chimeric Ascension of Lyudmila Springfield

Chapter Ninety-Five: Sharpening Resolve – Part Three

The nightmares didn’t come, and I had a decent night’s rest for the first time since coming here.  That feeling…I had forgotten it… It was foreign—not uncomfortable.   

Something smelled delicious, so I walked downstairs to find a bountiful display of gorgeous deliciousness and asked the chef what had happened.    

Greggie had worked for two hours to make a beautiful, High Elf-friendly breakfast. He had gotten the idea from Tris during his early morning workout with Elly and Ami.     

The master of the house didn’t descend for another thirty minutes. I partly wondered if she wanted to believe what her nose had smelled since she was utterly shocked by what she saw.    

“It’s…” Lord Springfield shed a few tears as she pinched a vegetarian dip between bread and ate it. “Delicious… It’s incredible...” She turned to her allies and told them to try it. 

"Aha! Greggie can make yummy things without his Soul Warrior abilities," said Ami, patting him on the back. "His abilities really make his food a home run." 

"It's filled with mana to increase your magic capabilities,” he said, taking off the apron and chef’s hat.    

So, breakfast was a hit. Niva, however, couldn’t eat anything because of the impending surgery. Lord Springfield wasn’t upset when I told her the risks of general anesthesia. 

“Umm… How long will it take?” asked the powder blue cyclops with light purple scales. Niva's [Mana Perception] eye stared at us with unwavering bravery.    

“At least three hours, not including preparation,” replied Tris, who had pulled out documents concerning the optimal path her nerves needed to follow. Primrose removed Niva's prosthetics, and Tris used illusion magic. "You must use your abilities to create corridors along these paths to the specified thickness." 

I understand." Keeth activated his skill and touched the prosthetic foot, although it would take a while since he needed to be extremely precise. Keeth measured the light beams Tris had made with a ruler and found them even more punctilious. 

"I think I'll go for a little walk around the village," said Lord Springfield. 

“That’s a good idea! Master, I’ll come get ya when it’s time.” Tilde flashed a wink.  

“Quella?” Lord Springfield looked my way. “Care to accompany me?”  

“I don’t mind,” I replied, nodding. We left the mansion, walked to the village square, and encountered Lei. The slime was playing with a few spirits and happily bounced over. It curled around Lord Springfield’s legs and danced on her head before wobbling away.  

It was cute.   

From there, we walked into the forest and wandered around. Lord Springfield was mostly silent- like she didn't know what to say. “What does forgiveness mean to you?” she suddenly asked.   

I reflected for a moment, considering the weight of her question. "Forgiveness, to me, is a release from resentment’s burden. It’s a choice to let go of the hurt and embrace understanding."  

“At what point is forgiveness possible?”  

"When one is ready to acknowledge the pain, understand the motives, and open their heart to the possibility of healing, even in the face of past wrongs."  

“Is that what you believe?”  

“To me, there are different levels to forgiveness. I can forgive someone for adding milk to my coffee when I didn’t want it. Or if someone pushes me because they weren’t looking? I can shrug that off. Some things can’t be forgiven, though.”  

"I see... Theorize this hypothetical. In the ancient Vredi Forest, picture a High Elf, neither beautiful nor smart, longing for a life of her choosing. Her family's cruelty led to a harrowing existence—sold, beaten, discarded. Could you forgive them?"   

"No."  

“Consider another scenario: A High Elf, condemned to death, faced excommunication and a clandestine experiment. Her peers, manipulated by a biased, despicable queen, deemed her unworthy of life for a crime she never committed—for refusing to live how the world wished for her to live even after fate had intervened. Upon awakening, bitterness consumed her. The air around her crackled with the acrid scent of despair, and the taste of betrayal lingered on her tongue. Initially driven by a thirst for revenge against those who orchestrated her fate, she uncovered the truth—a manipulation of her peers’ judgments by those in power.”  

Lord Springfield’s gaze stretched across the desolate expanse of melancholic decay. Her eyes, mirrors of the haunted forest, fixated on the dead plains before her. The skeletal remains of trees, now mere silhouettes of their former selves, stood as monuments to the passage of time and the relentless grip of decay.  

As the wind whispered through the lifeless branches, a lament for the vibrant past, Lord Springfield’s tears mingled with the echoes of the forest’s demise. Each drop seemed to carry the weight of lost vitality, tracing down her cheeks like liquid sorrow. The leaves, now brittle and lifeless, drifted downward in a macabre dance—symbols of a once-thriving ecosystem now reduced to a haunting, silent symphony of deterioration.  

Her story and Shuuta’s were too alike to be a coincidence...  

No. Lord Springfield can’t be him. It’s impossible. Miracles don’t exist. They never did. It must be a coincidence… If it’s not, then Shuuta would’ve killed us… Besides, bribery, trickery, and manipulation have existed since the beginning. History repeats in a cycle. Mistakes and events of the past will always come around.  

“What should the High Elf do with that anger when it has been all she had ever known? When it was the guiding light in the fleeting fathom of darkness that kept her sane? The taste of bitterness lingers on her tongue as a constant reminder of her betrayed trust. When the power she now wields can be traced to that defining moment to let wrath into her heart? When that desire beget the strongest ally in the world to join her cause? The weight of her decisions presses on her shoulders, a tangible burden she carries through the decaying forest. Is it not deserved? Does knowing the truth eons later…equate to everything she felt being a lie? The air, thick with the scent of decay, seems to stifle her as she grapples with the shattered illusions of her past. When something is…all you have ever known…how does the High Elf face the truth when she doesn’t want to believe it?”  

“It’s a daunting process, for sure. The High Elf must navigate the labyrinth of her emotions, transcending the anger that once defined her, to forge a new understanding and emerge from the shadows of deception. The crunch of brittle leaves beneath her every step mirrors the fragility of her resolve. That is easier said than done.”  

“Does it make her a coward if she wants to choose deception over reality?”  

“Possibly. It’s a defense mechanism that exists to protect her. The truth can be frightening. Even if the High Elf’s peers’ actions were manipulated by a higher being, the emotions were true to her. The distant howl of the wind seems to echo the turmoil within her. Those emotions cannot be denied. To deny them would mean betraying who you used to be. One’s ego can be fragile. It is what defines us. It’s our ‘self.’ However, I…believe the High Elf would need to accept it eventually. She can still rely on her prior bias to help her, but I believe that’s all it can do—be a source of inspiration that dwindles every time it is used.”  

“…” Lord Springfield remained quiet and lost in deep thought.    

“I’m sorry you were wronged,” I added.  

Lord Springfield chuckled. “Is it that obvious? I was never one for subtlety. I’m not as smart as I appear to be. I’m not as wise as the other High Elves. I feel...like I was never meant to be what I am. I try to fit in. I try to become what others perceive me to be. Tell me. How do you live as something you have no experience in? A thousand years is a blink to an elf like me, yet when you were trapped within a dark stasis for most of it... I feel more like an oni...” Lord Springfield’s eyes glimmered like sparkles as she spoke about her adopted family. This Ichiha was a wonderful woman. Kokan sounded like a devoted father with a big heart. Irisa... If she was even ten percent as friendly as Lord Springfield made her out to be, I’d like to meet her and her positiveness. Erin sounded just adorable.   

Tilde, Tris, and a Lionfolk named Sekh had been with her since the beginning. Sekh was severely injured, but Lord Aetos promised to heal her after the transplant.   

“It seems like your anger has led them into your life. Even if the hatred was born from false premises, the bonds you’ve forged with them cannot be anything less than resolute. I can tell from your words that you care for them very much.”  

“I do. Without my loved ones... I fear...I would’ve become something the world would recoil from. It’s ironic. If I had this power back then... I wouldn’t have endured that hell. Yet I wouldn’t have met the ones I’ve come to cherish. The suffering... It may sound weird, but without it? I wouldn’t be here. You probably wouldn’t be conversing with me. Tris is adept at reading between the lines. She holds more wisdom than even the wisest High Elves-- the ones who can trace their memories back to 10,000 years. You’ve suffered at the hands of your summoner. Forgive me for asking this... Do you ever see a series of events that...would have made you appreciate what you endured? Is the pain you’re now experiencing worth it for this hypothetical future that may not come to pass?”  

“I don’t know. I’ve been forced to commit unspeakable acts against my will to protect those I care about. I can still see their crying faces... I still hear their cries and moans...and smell the burning flesh of lives that shouldn’t have been snuffed out. Those vivid images will never leave me for as long as I draw breath.”  

Why am I being so open with her? It…feels right.  

“Another question. Do you think you can forgive yourself?”  

“I don’t think that can happen,” I confessed. If Lord Springfield was being this open...I had to do the same. “I will state that I’m glad I’m here. Last night... The nightmares didn’t come. It’s been over 230 days since we were summoned, and not a single night has been free from mental anguish until now.”  

Lord Springfield retrieved her flute and played a naturalistic melody. Fragments of light broke from her skin and danced to the ground, where the dead grass returned to life. It spread to the trees, which regained their luster. I didn’t need [Mana Perception] to know this was an illusion. “If only you could’ve seen it in its prime. It was truly a forest without an equal. Yet I still don’t know why it was burned down. Aetos Village is a mere recreation. A copy cannot be as true as the original... I know that...more than anyone.” Lord Springfield’s voice continued to flow as she played.   

“In my eyes...” I chose my words carefully. “You depended on your anger to endure the darkness, but you’re not in there anymore. You don’t need it to remain sane or focused. It may still be your greatest source of strength, except you don’t need to let it define you.”  

Lord Springfield smiled softly and said, “Thank you for listening to me. It means a lot. I was at a loss last night, but dawn seems to be approaching." 

She really is a kind-hearted soul...  

“May I ask one more question?”  

“Of course.”  

“If you’ll forgive me for my intrusion… Your nightmares… How do you handle them?” Lord Springfield explained that she feared Sekh would hate her since they had shared a mutual revenge for the same group of people. However, now that new knowledge had come to light… She didn’t want to disappoint Sekh.   

Lord Springfield knew the worry was unfounded. Surtr was originally Sekh’s spirit. He held a connection with his summoner deeper than any other spirit. Tris and Tilde knew exactly how Sekh would respond and what her actions would be. They had reassured Lord Springfield last night, but she said the torment still came. “It’s taking all I have… to hold it together. What can you do when you know the truth and still fear the opposite? Does that make sense?”  

She’s…really struggling…  

“Emotions are irrational. Fear has ways of creeping into your subconsciousness. It’s never a good feeling. I’m sorry. I’m not the best person to help you, although…perhaps it’ll help if you reminisce about the good memories you shared with her? I’m willing to lend an ear if you need it, Lord Springfield. Let your past experiences—the ones you can verify—overwrite your dread. I cannot promise it will be easy. Still, I can tell you care deeply for Sekh. And I know she carries the same fondness for you.”  

“Sekh…” Lord Springfield began and recanted a dozen stories as we walked through the forest. I remained silent and let her speak… I didn’t judge her for the tears she shed when Sekh almost died to save her from spiders and goblins when they were still weak…   

Her voice had started meek, but I loved how it grew intensively with each tale. I was glad this was helping her… I really was...  

I hope you’ll be reunited with her soon.  

"I said dawn is coming. Chaos will foreshadow it. I cannot forgive the ones responsible for...what happened to me. They will die. I will kill them. And I will have my revenge. My enemies will rue the day they did this to me. Standing over their corpses will be my greatest feat." 

"Your enemies, huh?" I looked out at the forest. "May your revenge be swift, Lord Springfield. Maybe... Maybe I can have mine one day. I have plenty I wish to kill." 

She smiled. "Then may yours be swift as well, Quella. This world is cruel and beautiful. You can find worth in the hidden shadows, and you can find disgust front and center. Maybe I need to hear it myself. Once isn't enough. Twice isn't. It may become a mantra I repeat each morning to remind myself of what I'm fighting for. Lyudmila Vredi Springfield will kill her enemies. And she won't ever stop progressing towards that goal until her enemies lie bloodied and defeated at her feet. Does that make me mad?” 

“I think it makes you determined, Lord Springfield.” 

“Determined? I suppose so. I shall never deny the flames that kept me going in the darkest night. I will never betray them because it means betraying myself. And I can’t do that. Don’t I owe it to my spirit and body to fulfill their wishes? They’re as much me as myself. Together, we make up Lyudmila Vredi Springfield. That’s an identity I’ve come to cherish. And I cannot splotch it with the ink of failure.”  

“…” 

“Quella, I’ve never been true to myself for most of my years. Maybe the presence of someone like you is what I needed. You’ve heard my vow. And you’ve heard my declaration. If nothing else, you’ve witnessed my resolve. If…I ever stray from my path, can I trust you, as someone who’s obviously been harmed by this cruel world, to guide me back?” 

This stuff happened in fiction and involved helping the protagonist recover from the path of wanton vengeance. Was she asking me the opposite? 

“You must think me to be crazy. Asking to be escorted back on a path filled with bodies I’ll use to fertilize this bountiful nature and fuel my resolve.” 

“Maybe if I was just summoned. My heart’s become numb to death and killing. I sometimes think I’m crazy. Maybe...” I looked up at the sky and…smiled. “Maybe the crazy ones are the ones who survive. Maybe we have the advantage.” 

Seriously… Talking to her is… It just feels so right.   

“Hahaha!” Lord Springfield laughed, and I knew the pressure weighing heavily on her heart had been eliminated. “Then shall I do the same for you?” 

“If you wouldn’t mind.” 

“Not at all, Quella. Not at all. Shall we return to the mansion?” I nodded, and we left the forest, running into Tilde as she closed the door.   

She was about to fetch us. She said things were ready, and we entered and proceeded to the primary atrium to learn it had been turned into an operating room. Surtr stood on the floor above us, looking out over the balcony. We had to dress in hospital scrubs and wash our hands thoroughly before entering past the curtains.    

Niva was sitting on a white bed. Her prosthetics were on a nearby table. She looked nervous as she gripped her wooden staff.   

Keeth and Tris intelligently conversed as he crafted scalpels and other tools.   

“You can still say no,” said Lord Springfield. “This isn’t something you’re forced to do.” 

“I... I’m nervous. I’m even scared, Mila. Even still... I want to go through with this! I can handle it!” Niva’s eye flashed with determinism. I saw a shiver, though. Hell, it was hard to find someone who wasn’t scared the immediate moment before they went under the knife.  

“Okay. Go ahead and lay down. Here, I’ll hold onto your staff.” Niva handed it to Lord Springfield, and the High Elf—my ‘comrade in craziness’-- turned to me. “It’s your time to shine, Quella.” 

I nodded and used a spell to guide Niva to a deep slumber. Kneeling, I focused on keeping her on the border of awake and dream—leaning slightly towards the latter. To be safe and sound, I had my most powerful healing spells etched into magic circles I had carved around the bed.  

Keeth took a deep breath, looked at Lord Springfield, picked up the scalpel, and made the initial incision, starting a lengthy surgery that had never been done.  

It took five hours and a dozen mana potions, but the work was done.   

Niva’s nerves had been stretched through the passageways Keeth had molded into the prosthetics, and although it felt like metal...  

It was undoubtedly just as sensitive as her biological limbs.  

Immediately after she woke, I used my healing magic to cure any discomfort, then used a spell to dull any pain she may have felt.   

“It’s… Mila, I….I can feel it…” Niva lifted her mythril arm and moved the fingers. Tears streamed from her eye. She touched her cheeks and scales, then gently took Lord Springfield’s hand.   

“I’m glad,” she replied, helping Niva sit. Keeth and Tris returned after Lord Springfield called for them, and those two gave her a quick medical exam. Mary offered her expertise. She had medicinal knowledge from her time in our world and brought up aspects I hadn’t considered.   

We watched as Niva walked around the atrium. She was slow at first. Mythril was lighter and superior to flesh and scale, so she was lopsided—even more than before the pseudo-nerve mesh was applied.   

The Lizardfolk-cyclops proudly raised her wooden staff and channeled [Woodland Shield]. The mana fluttered down its handle, fusing her weapon onto her mythril arm, where it turned brown. The spell had used both as catalysts and replaced her fists.  

“Is this the idea you had?” 

“It is, Mila. I don’t have to use the staff, though.” Niva’s arm returned to normal. She held her weapon with her biological hand and channeled [Vine Manipulation] through her prosthetic. A bunch sprouted off her forearm. A few formed a hook and stretched to the second-floor balcony. It constricted, pulling her up with it, yet it snapped like plastic. Lord Springfield jumped and caught her in her arms and told her to be gentler.

Niva meekly apologized, blushing like a slightly ripened tomato. Tilde flapped her wings and said it was time to celebrate! She asked Greggie if he could cook something, and he was more than willing. This was what he loved the most. He rolled up his sleeves and said he had the perfect meal in mind. Tris, Primrose, and Tilde offered their assistance in the kitchen.    

Lord Springfield invited the rest of us to the backyard. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” she said, summoning a pistol for Niva to hold. It looked like a Beretta. She went through a lecture on firearm safety and began tossing pots and pans that just…manifested into existence.   

She looked behind and was happy to teach us how to shoot. She had a shotgun and an automatic rifle that Greggie had mentioned was supposed to be just a prototype. I believed he said it was Italian, althoughmy knowledge of them didn’t extend past knowing how they worked.   

Melusine was nervous. The recoil frightened her so much that she dropped the weapon. It clattered against the ground before Lord Springfield summoned it to her hip—every gun was linked to her mana. “It can be scary, but it won’t hurt you,” she said. Melusine was hesitant, but she tried again.   

And she apologized and said this wasn’t for her, and Lord Springfield respected that. Elly recalled that she spun a fake revolver in a music video. Ami said she had gone shooting in Mexico, and Keeth had molded quite a few after coming here.   

I liked the lever-action rifle the best. Holding it… Feeling how much care went into its elegant construction…  

I knew why Shuuta had loved them so much.   

Lord Springfield also produced ear protection, and we spent the rest of the time until dinner shooting at the objects she tossed into the air.  

A couple of her hands had silencers. I knew those were often misconstrued to entirely eliminate a gun’s noise, but… I couldn’t hear anything when she pulled the trigger. It was more silent than readying and loosening an arrow.   

Even breathing was a dozen times louder. Perhaps the trigger would’ve cried if it was rusty, but it was meticulously maintained and polished to a sheen.  

Meruria was lying to us about that, huh? I bet she’s never told a single truth in her miserable existence.    

We chatted over tea and coffee after enjoying a delicious, masterful feast until it was late. Niva said she felt sleepy and tried to wipe her eye and accidentally bonked herself. She followed Lord Springfield’s advice and went to bed early with Primrose after being escorted her to her bedroom.   

“We received a message from Aello,” said Tris. “Sathtshas will be recreated tomorrow morning.”  

We again offered our assistance. Lord Springfield returned, but she remarked that we needed to rest, so it was time to resign to our rooms. She asked me to remain, and Lord Springfield thanked me again for our talk in the forest.   

Receiving her gratitude… It felt like it was above me. Acting or saying something like that would be disrespectful, so I didn't.  

"I'm happy to discuss things with you, Lord Springfield. I believe our talk bore fruit for me, too," I replied. 

She left me with a melancholy smile. Was she perhaps thinking of her past?  

She didn’t reveal much of her past before meeting Sekh, Tilde, Tris, or her adoptive family, but my mind filled the blanks. I wouldn’t dare dream of asking her to recant the explicit horrors and depraved fate she had endured back then.   

Lord Springfield was far too kind to recall that.  

I wrote about her and my mental picture of Sekh in my diary until the yawns couldn’t be ignored. The soft, fluffy pillows called my name, and it, again, pulled me to that fathomless void.   

It wasn’t dark.   

It wasn’t warm.   

It was…just something that existed. It was neither beneficial nor harmful.