Extra: Yandere Milfs Obsessed with me!-Chapter 207: Beast: Ragnar, Disciple of the WitChapter

"Get up."

Standing in the doorway was a dark elf whose beauty honored Babylon. She scanned the room with her gaze, avoiding looking at him.

In her slender hands, she held a worn leather package, roughly closed with a braided leather strap. Without a word, without a glance, she let it drop at his feet.

"Mother?" he murmured, more to himself than to her.

Deep down he knew that word was meaningless, that it represented nothing to the woman standing before him. Yet, despite everything, in the deepest part of his heart, he kept a tiny spark of hope. The absurd hope that one day she would look at him.

A muscle twitched imperceptibly on the dark elf’s jaw. She abruptly turned her gaze away, staring intently at the window, anything as long as it wasn’t him.

"Don’t call me that," she rejected in a cold voice.

He lowered his head, his eyes settling again on the contents of the package. Then he picked it up.

"I can no longer keep you alive here," she finally declared, her voice flat, devoid of any emotion. "The others... the others must not know you exist, otherwise I would lose my position as first disciple of my master." 𝘧𝓇ℯ𝑒𝓌𝑒𝑏𝓃𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭.𝒸ℴ𝓂

Ragnar remained motionless for a moment, fingers clenched around the bag’s ties. Then he stood up slowly, the leather package in one hand.

"Get out," she ordered, her gaze still stubbornly turned toward the window. "And never come back."

It was not a rare event... In Babylon, there were no parental relationships, only between master and disciple, and Ragnar’s mother had no need for a burden that could slow her down in her future plans, so she wanted to get rid of it as quickly as possible.

He looked at her for another second, then turned on his heels and pushed open the door of the isolated cabin. The cold mountain wind whipped his face.

He walked aimlessly, guided only by the desire to put as much distance as possible between himself and this woman, his mother. The trees, immense and dark, closed around him, and the sun set quickly. When night was complete, he stopped at the foot of an imposing oak, whose roots formed a natural cavity.

He opened the leather package. Inside there was a hunk of hard bread, a piece of dry cheese, and a dagger. He ate slowly, chewing each bite to make it last, back pressed against the rough bark. Once the meal was finished, he took the dagger in his hand, then curled up, blade clutched against him. He was afraid.

Afraid of the noises, the creaking of the forest, the yellow eyes he guessed in the darkness. He didn’t dare cry. Tears were useless. He fell asleep, exhausted, lulled by his own fear.

The next day, he woke with a start, heart pounding. Daylight filtered through the leaves. He realized with anguish that he had slept deeply, vulnerable. His stomach growled. He drank from a stream, head constantly moving, on alert. He resumed his walk.

At the end of the day, he spotted smoke. He approached cautiously and discovered a camp. Human merchants, with their carts and horses.

The smell of cooking food made his head spin. Hunger was stronger than fear. He crawled in the shadow of the trees, observing their movements. Taking advantage of a moment of inattention, he leaped toward a bowl placed near a fire.

An iron hand grabbed him by the collar, lifting him off the ground. He struggled, kicking, but it was useless. The men threw him to the ground.

"Filthy little thief!" spat one of them. "We’re going to settle your account, vermin." He pulled out a knife.

As the man approached, a silhouette detached from the group near the carts. A man dressed in black, a simple cloth mask hiding the lower part of his face, revealing only piercing gray eyes. He approached without a sound.

"I’ll buy him from you." His voice was calm.

The merchants looked at each other. The leader, the one with the knife, sneered. "This brat? He’s worth nothing."

"I’m telling you I’ll buy him. Name your price."

The man with the knife shrugged and gave a ridiculous figure. The man in black didn’t argue. He took out a purse from his belt, counted the coins and handed them over. Then he bent down, grabbed Ragnar by the arm, and put him on his feet. The boy was bleeding, ribs on fire, but he looked him in the eyes.

"You have potential, little one. These idiots didn’t even sense your mana," said the man in a low voice, holding his gaze.

...

The man in black dragged him roughly toward one of the carts. Ragnar, still dazed from the blows, didn’t resist. His ribs hurt with every step, but he kept his eyes fixed on the ground, avoiding meeting his new master’s gaze.

"Follow me without asking questions," said the man in a calm and authoritative voice. They climbed into the cart, and the horse set off at a trot, leaving behind the mocking laughter of the merchants.

The journey lasted several days. They arrived in front of a fortress hidden in the mountains. The walls were high and dark, guarded by invisible sentinels. "Welcome to the Guild," declared the man in black as he descended. "Here, you will learn to survive."

*One month before Kaiser’s reincarnation*

Thus passed seven years. He became one of the guild’s best assassins. At fifteen, his hair was jet black, cut short, and his eyes a piercing violet gray. He had the build of a slim and slender young man.

One evening, the master summoned him to his office.

"I have a task for you," he announced in a grave voice. "We have received the order to eliminate a wealthy merchant, a certain Lord Kyle. I am therefore entrusting you with this mission."

He accepted without a word. He prepared his equipment and left at nightfall. After a few hours, he arrived on the outskirts of the city in the middle of the night, climbed the ramparts without alerting the guards, and slipped into the sleeping streets.

Lord Kyle’s manor shone with lights. Guests laughed and drank in the great hall; after all, he was a powerful figure in the underworld and had considerable influence.

Ragnar observed from a neighboring roof, noting the entries and exits. He descended via a gutter, avoided a servant. He reached the upper corridors, hiding behind hangings when footsteps approached.

As he was about to infiltrate, he accidentally crossed paths with a woman. A dark elf like him, with bangs covering part of her face. He tried to go around her, but

"Coming out of there?" she asked in a firm voice.

Ragnar drew his dagger, then leaped toward her, aiming for the throat with a quick strike. But the woman parried the assault with a fan she held between her fingers.

"An assassin?" she exclaimed with a laugh.

Ragnar struck again, feinting left, but vanished into the shadow,

"Hm? Interesting." He reappeared on her right flank. She blocked easily, her fan clanging against the dagger with a metallic sound.

"Shadow affinity, what is a dark elf doing with such genetic modification here?" she said, counterattacking with a backhand that forced him to retreat.

"..." Ragnar did not reply.

He attempted a roll to get behind her, but she anticipated and kicked him in the ribs.

"Surrender, you have no chance," she ordered, advancing.

He threw a poisoned dagger, but she dodged with a side step and countered with a pommel strike that hit him in the temple. His vision blurred. He tried one last assault, jumping to strike from above, but she grabbed his arm and twisted it violently. The dagger fell to the ground.

In a few seconds, she pinned him to the ground, her fan against his throat.

"It’s over," she declared calmly. Then she removed his mask, but what she saw shocked her. "It turns out I came here to... kill this underworld baron, but I found someone quite interesting..."

"..." He did not reply, clenching his teeth.

She still held him, but her fingers had stopped tightening. She observed him like one observes a wounded animal.

"You fight like a starving dog," she said.

It was not an insult. In her voice there was neither contempt nor mockery, only a sort of curiosity, as if she were trying to understand him.

She suddenly released him and stepped back, giving him space to get up if he wanted.

He stayed on the ground, panting.

"I have a proposition for you," she continued. "Become my disciple."

He lifted his head, incredulous. Then his fingers clawed at the ground searching for his dagger, which had fallen a few centimeters away.

"I already have a master," he spat.

"Hmmm..." She seemed surprised, then a smile formed on her lips. "I must have phrased it poorly. From now on, I am your master, Eleanor."

He remained frozen. His fingers touched the dagger’s handle, but he did not grasp it.

"Or rather, do you prefer to be a dead person?"

"No, I will... I will listen to you."

’What the hell is wrong with this crazy woman,’ he wondered. But since he was not in a position of strength, he abandoned any attempt to flee.

Eleanor observed him for a moment, then a smile appeared on her face.

"I knew a woman who had the same affinity as you..."

"You know my mother?!"

Eleanor smiled enigmatically.

Then she turned to leave. "Get up. Follow me, we have work to do. If you want to find your mother, you will need to be powerful enough because you will have to confront the entire tower of sorcerers..."

He watched her walk away, wondering why she insisted on taking him as a disciple.

He stood up and followed her as requested.

"Is she that important?" Eleanor narrowed her eyes.

"Your mother is part of Mystic Trinity, the three most powerful Witch of Babylon, and if one of them knew about your existence... Anyway, you’re too young to be interested in these things."

Ragnar was rather skeptical: "So that’s why she hid me all this time?"

"Enough questions, little one..."

"And who are you? What will become of me? And why do you want to help me?"

Eleanor stopped and from the tips of her fingers, threads of mana emerged from everywhere.

"After we clean up here... Our next target is the Paragon family... Kaiser... He has something I want..."