CH 2: Dark Elves, Goblins, and a Cursed Name

Opening my eyes, I heard voices in a language that felt oddly familiar. Before I could think about it, the cold mechanical voice echoed once again:

> Voice: “Due to insufficient body capability, Archery God Talent has been stopped at 20%. If not improved by the same amount within one year, talent will be lost.”

“What!!!” Shocked, I rolled off what I realized was supposed to be a bed, crashing onto the ground with a loud thud.

Rubbing my sore arm, I looked up—only to freeze. Three elf-looking females were walking toward me.

How did I know they were elves? Easy. I’d watched a lot of anime in my past life.

One looked about my age, another around twenty-five, and the last one was clearly mature—forty, maybe more. And of course, they were all beauties.

I just… stared.

The youngest tilted her head and said, “Brother, your nose is bleeding. Did you hurt yourself?”

Looking down, I realized I really was bleeding. I wiped my nose in a hurry and shook my head, trying to deny it. She giggled, her bell-like laughter filling the room.

“You missed a spot,” she teased, walking closer. She wiped the bloodstains with her sleeve.

The mature-looking woman stepped up, bent toward me, and flicked my forehead. “What were you doing deep in the cave? What if a goblin had attacked you? What do you expect me to do then?”

Before I could answer, she pulled my head against her chest.

…And yeah, let’s just say my brain stopped functioning. The sensation was… overwhelming. Too overwhelming. My nose bled again.

Pulling me away, she sighed and began wiping my face. Embarrassed, I quickly wiped the blood myself.

By then, the woman who looked around twenty-five was gone, leaving only the little loli who called me “brother.” Suddenly, a loud horn blared outside. Footsteps thundered in every direction.

And then—memories poured into my mind.

My name… is Daemon. Apparently, that’s what my mother named me. I had been living in the Dark Elf clan for two years now. Everyone, except for Elle (the mature woman) and her daughters Brielle and Anelle, looked at me with nothing but disgust.

Why? Because in this world, any human born with white hair and eye colors other than brown, royal gold, or sometimes blue, was considered cursed. And me? I had white hair and black eyes. The ultimate curse combo.

Damn it. This body I transmigrated into is so annoying.

Still, I hated those looks of disdain. And you’re probably expecting me to say something like: I’ll become stronger! I’ll kill all my enemies! I’ll bring vengeance upon the world!

…Nah. That’s not me. I’m just gonna be a low-key transmigrator. A symbol of peace and prosperity. Violence is not the key.

Back to reality—the horn blared again. Elle dashed toward a row of daggers hung on the wall and grabbed a dark bow. Before rushing out of the tent, she turned back.

“Daemon! Take care of your little sister, Anelle!”

And then she was gone.

Outside, chaos reigned. Dark elves—male and female—rushed around, weapons drawn. Even now, some still spared me their usual looks of disdain. Not like I cared.

Ignoring them, I held Anelle’s hand and stepped outside. Using my sharpened hearing, I moved toward the source of the commotion. But before I could get far, my hand was yanked back.

“Daemon!” Brielle, the twenty-five-year-old, glared at me. “What are you doing outside? Take Anelle inside and hide!”

Before I could reply, green-skinned, hideous creatures burst out of nowhere.

“Ahhh! Goblins!”

The screams spread like wildfire. Elf warriors, caught off guard, faltered. The goblins took advantage of the chaos, charging at nearby children.

I froze. Blood splattered across my face.

But… strangely, I wasn’t frozen from fear. Something inside me stirred—bloodlust. A burning flame rising deep within.

I looked down at Anelle. Her terrified expression snapped me back. The bloodlust vanished instantly. I pulled her into a hug and ran, dragging Brielle with us.

What was that feeling? Was it from the original body’s hatred of goblins?

Before I could think further, screams erupted all around. Elf warriors clashed with the goblins that had sneaked past the battlefield. Brielle pulled her hand free and knelt before me.

“Daemon. Hide. Take care of Anelle,” she said, patting my head before dashing off to fight.

Watching her back, I clenched my fists. Strange emotions surged within me.

Then—out of nowhere—a goblin staggered into my path. Its body was smeared with blood, some its own, some from victims. Anelle trembled behind me.

I scanned for a weapon. Nothing. Just rocks.

The goblin sneered and muttered something in its language. I couldn’t understand the words, but I understood the meaning in its eyes: disdain.

Even a goblin looks down on me… because of this cursed body.

I was pissed. How can even a green freak know about the curse? This is definitely some god’s trick to force me into being a hero. But too bad—I figured it out!

I burst into laughter at my own genius.

The goblin tilted its head, confused. Did I look insane? Probably.

And in that instant of its distraction—

—I rushed forward, crouching low.

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