Chapter 191: Secret Helper

It was the morning of the next day and Luca trudged along the village pathway, the morning sun warm on his shoulders.

He had barely made it ten steps before he encountered the first elf of the day—a young elf carrying a basket of herbs, humming softly to herself.

When she saw him, her face lit up with her usual cheerful greeting.

“Good morning, He—!”

Then she saw his face.

Her mouth froze mid-smile. Her eyes shimmered in disbelief. Her basket tilted dangerously as her hands flew to cover her mouth, stifling what was obviously a desperate urge to burst out laughing.

“G-Good morning…”

She squeaked, before scurrying past him, her shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles.

Luca sighed.

He continued walking, and the scene repeated itself. Again. And again. And again.

Elves who had just woken up and were stretching outside their homes would spot him, their faces cycling through confusion, shock, and barely concealed amusement in the span of seconds.

They would mumble quick greetings before turning away, their bodies trembling with laughter they were too polite to release in front of him.

“Did you see the Hero’s face?!”

“Who did that to him?!”

“Look at the little dragon on his cheek—it’s actually kind of cute!”

“Whoever did that must have been very, very brave. Or very, very foolish.”

Hearing all the whispers, Luca touched his face with a weary sigh.

His fingers met paint—dried, cracked, very definitely not skin.

This morning had been…an experience.

He had woken with a naked Lulu curled against his chest, her face buried in his neck, her legs tangled with his.

Last night had been passionate—incredibly so.

After confirming that his penis was indeed still attached to her utter relief, Lulu had claimed him with the same enthusiastic energy she brought to everything else.

But when he had finally dragged himself out of bed to wash his face, he discovered he wasn’t alone.

His entire living room was filled with little girls.

They were everywhere—perched on his chairs, sitting cross-legged on his floor, clustered around his small table.

All of them grinning with identical mischievous smiles that should have warned him of the danger he was in.

“Good morning, Big Brother!”

They had chorused in unison, their voices bright and innocent.

The kind of innocence that hides a dozen terrible secrets.

And in their tiny, paint-stained hands, they held brushes. Lots and lots of brushes. And little pots of color.

Red and blue and yellow and green—all freshly made from flowers, judging by the floral scent that now clung to his face.

“We made new dyes!” Little Lisa had announced proudly, holding up a pot of brilliant purple. “Aren’t they pretty?”

“They’re very pretty.” Luca had agreed cautiously, already suspecting where this was going.

“We wanted to practice face painting!” Fefe piped up. “But everyone said no. They said we would mess up their faces.”

“I wonder why.” Luca had muttered.

“So we thought.” Lisa continued, her eyes sparkling with barely contained glee. “Since you’re so nice and you love us so much, you would let us practice on you!”

And then all of them had looked at him with those enormous, hopeful eyes. Those weapons-grade, absolutely irresistible eyes.

Luca had held out for approximately three seconds before he had found himself pinned to his own floor by six enthusiastic children who treated his face like a canvas.

“Let’s give him another eye! Right here in the middle!”

“A dragon! I want to draw a dragon on his cheek!”

“Hearts! Lots of hearts!”

“Stars! Stars everywhere!”

And when they were finally done, they had all stood back to admire their work with expressions of pure, innocent pride.

“He’s beautiful!” Lisa had declared.

And then they had scampered off to find their next victim.

Luca had dragged himself to the mirror, looked at his reflection, and stared.

There was an extra eye in the middle of his forehead.

A surprisingly detailed dragon curled around his left cheek.

A snake—or possibly a worm, it was hard to tell—wrapped around his right.

Hearts dotted his chin, stars covered his temples, and somewhere near his nose was what might have been a flower, or possibly a very abstract interpretation of a chicken.

His entire face had become a canvas of childhood imagination.

A work of art that no museum would ever display.

But to be fair, he didn’t actually mind.

The village was happier than he had ever seen it. Laughter was everywhere. People were smiling.

If his painted face contributed to that even a little, it was worth it.

But there was one problem.

He had heard that if the dyes stayed on too long, they might never come off. Something about the flower pigments binding with skin if left untreated.

And while he didn’t mind looking ridiculous for a few hours, he preferred to have his original face back eventually.

So now he was headed to the small lake where the elves gathered their water—a quiet spot where he could wash off the paint and maybe take a quick bath while he was at it.

He was almost there when he heard it.

Splashing. Water being scooped and poured. The rhythmic sound of someone working hard.

He slowed, curious. At this hour, most elves were still having breakfast.

Who would be collecting water so early?

He stepped behind a boulder and peered around the trunk.

The sight that greeted him made him pause.

Leona.

She was at the water’s edge, but she wasn’t just filling one or two buckets like the other elves.

She had six large buckets lined up on the shore beside her.

Luca’s brow furrowed. That was…unusual.

Most elves carried two buckets at most. Any more than that and the weight became unmanageable, the water sloshing over the sides as they walked.

Six buckets was absurd.

’Was she expecting someone to help her carry them?’

He looked around, but there was no one else in sight.

But the path leading away from the lake was empty.

So he watched.

Leona finished filling the sixth bucket, then did something that made absolutely no sense.

Instead of calling for help or taking the buckets one by one, she picked up a long, sturdy stick from the ground.

She threaded it through the handles of six buckets—three on each side, balanced with surprising precision.

Then she crouched down. Placed the stick across her shoulders like a yoke. Took a deep breath. And lifted.

“Hmmm—!”

Luca could see the strain immediately. Her arms trembled. Her legs wobbled. Her face, visible in profile, tightened with effort.

The stick bowed slightly under the weight, and for a moment, he was certain she was going to drop the whole thing.

Water sloshed dangerously close to the rims.

He tensed, ready to rush forward and help.

But Leona bit her lip, gritted her teeth, and pushed through.

Slowly, painfully, she straightened her legs. The buckets rose. The stick settled onto her shoulders.

And then she was standing, all six buckets hanging from her curvy frame, water only slightly spilled from the tops.

Luca was shocked.

She didn’t look strong. She looked soft—all curves and gentle lines, the body of a woman who had spent decades as a matriarch giving orders, not hauling water.

But here she was, carrying what must have been over a hundred pounds of water like she had done this a hundred times before.

He was genuinely impressed.

But also concerned.

She was clearly struggling. Her hands were shaking. Her steps were unsteady.

And yet she started walking with purpose.

’But…where was she even going? ’

This path led away from her house, not toward it.

She was going in the completely wrong direction.

Luca’s curiosity overrode his desire to announce himself, so he quickly ducked down to the water’s edge, splashed his face clean, and wiped off as much paint as he could.

Then he followed, staying far enough back that she wouldn’t notice him, close enough to catch her if she fell.

Leona walked slowly, painfully, her entire body straining under the load.

Several times she stumbled, the buckets swinging wildly, and Luca’s heart leapt into his throat.

But each time, she would catch herself, take a deep breath, and press forward with a determination that was frankly astonishing.

’What was she carrying all this water for?’ He wondered. ’Where was she going?’

They walked for several minutes, deeper into the village, past houses and gardens, until finally Leona stopped in front of a massive tree.

Luca recognized it immediately—one of the elders lived here. An ancient elf named Melda, who rarely left her home anymore due to her age.

Leona set the buckets down carefully, then stood there for a moment, her chest heaving, her face flushed with exertion.

She wiped sweat from her brow, caught her breath, and then—curiously—looked around. Her eyes swept the area, scanning for anyone watching.

Luca ducked behind a tree.

When he peeked out again, Leona had taken two of the buckets and was carrying them toward the staircase that spiraled up the massive trunk.

And seeing this, Luca was once again surprised.

This was because despite the extra weight, despite the height of the climb, Leona’s footsteps made no sound. None.

Her feet moved like a dancer’s, each step placed with precision, each movement controlled and fluid.

She was quiet as a shadow, graceful as water, and in that moment—she didn’t look like the matriarch of a village.

She looked like an assassin.

She reached the top without once letting her footsteps betray her, set the buckets on the doorstep, and the moment she did—she fled.

Down the stairs as quickly and silently as she had gone up, back to the remaining four buckets, hoisting them onto her stick with renewed energy and hiding behind a tree.

Just as Luca was wondering why she was running and hiding like she had done something wrong—the door above opened.

Melda stepped out and looked down at the buckets.

Her slightly weathered face, creased with age and wisdom, shifted through confusion, surprise, and finally…understanding.

A small, knowing smile touched her lips.

She didn’t call out. She didn’t look around.

Instead, she bowed her head, not toward the village, not toward the sky, but toward the forest itself—as if thanking some unseen entity for the gift.

Then she picked up the buckets and retreated inside.

From behind her bush, Leona watched with a smile so bright, so proud, so utterly unguarded, that Luca felt his breath catch.

Her eyes sparkled. Her cheeks were flushed. She looked like a child who had successfully hidden a present and was watching the recipient open it.

She looked…genuinely happy.

Not the cold, controlled, distant Matriarch who everyone knew. Just…happy.

Then Leona was off again, hefting the remaining four buckets onto her stick.

Luca who was still confused about her intentions but extremely curious to find out, followed right after her.

He followed her to three more houses and each time the same ritual would occur.

She would carry the buckets over to house, hide, watch the elder discover the water, and beam with pride before scurrying away to her next task.

Each delivery seemed to energize her, her steps getting lighter, her smile getting brighter.

And after the third delivery, Luca thought she was done. She had used all six buckets. Surely now she would go home, rest, tend to her own needs.

Instead, she ran back to the lake. Filled the buckets again. And set off in a completely new direction.

Luca stared after her, stunned.

She was doing this for everyone. Not just one or three elders—she was making deliveries to every elderly elf in the village who couldn’t carry water themselves.

House after house after house.

Two buckets here, two buckets there.

Sometimes she would deliver four to a particularly needy elder.

Once, she carried six buckets to a house where two elderly sisters lived together, and Luca watched her climb those stairs with the weight of a small army on her shoulders, and never once did she complain or rest.

By the sixteenth delivery, she had to rest between trips up the stairs, leaning against the railings and pressing her forehead to the cool wood.

But she never stopped.

She never complained. Never looked anything less than satisfied when her work was done.

Finally, after the twenty-secondth delivery, she returned to the lake and slumped against a tree, her chest heaving.

She splashed water on her face, drank deeply from her cupped hands, and sat for a long moment with her eyes closed.

Then she pulled out a small paper that had some sort of list on it from her pouch.

Luca saw her mouth move as she studied it,

“The water delivery is done.” She murmured to herself. “Now…the garden.”

She stood, refreshed, and hurried off in a new direction.

Luca followed, more intrigued than ever.

She led him to a garden—a beautiful, carefully tended plot surrounded by a low fence. Vegetables grew in neat rows: plump tomatoes, crisp lettuces, vibrant otherworldly peppers, all of them thriving in the morning light.

It was clearly someone’s pride and joy.

Leona paused at the fence, looking around with the same furtive caution as before. Then, with a nimbleness that surprised him, she slipped inside.

For a moment, Luca thought she was going to steal vegetables.

The image was so absurd—the former matriarch, sneaking into her neighbor’s garden like a common thief—that he almost laughed out loud.

But Leona didn’t take anything.

She found a basket by the garden gate and began collecting vegetables.

Not for herself—she placed them carefully on the doorstep of the nearby treehouse.

Then she knelt in the soil, pulled weeds, tilled the earth with her hands, watered the thirsty plants, and made sure everything was in perfect order.

When she was done, she slipped back out, hid behind a tree, and waited.

The door opened.

A middle-aged elf stepped out, blinking in the morning light.

She saw the basket of vegetables. The tended garden. The fresh water at her door.

And just like the elders before her, she looked toward the forest and smiled.

“Thank you.” She said softly. “Thank you so much.”

Behind her tree, Leona was beaming.

She then pulled out her list again, marked something off and by now—Luca understood exactly what he was witnessing.

The pieces were falling into place—things he had heard whispered among the elves, stories he had dismissed as quaint folklore, and now this.

A smile spread across his paint-covered face as the truth crystallized in his mind.

But Leona wasn’t done. Not even close.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep