Round Five: Storm Approaches

“Hmph.” Forty-Seven stood on a stronghold abandoned by Agus’s army deep in the forest, like a vulture among bones.
“Why attack first instead of waiting for me?” He seemed to be talking to himself. His demonized elves were hiding in the woods—though they had changed fundamentally from before, the remnants in their bodies and blood still made these cursed forest dwellers move like shadows in the night.
An elf of the Night Elves stepped out from the bushes—it was Jolice, the acting war leader.
“They suddenly retreated at noon today. I thought it was an opportunity for a counterattack, so I set up an ambush with the warriors.”
“Hm? Retreat? They’re pulling back?” Forty-Seven looked around. He could sense pairs of white eyes watching him from the trees across. As the acting war leader, Jolice commanded almost all of the Sleeping Forest’s combat forces. Wherever she was, the main forces of the Night Elves were there as well.
“It seems so. The Agus people have given up all their camps and strongholds deep in the forest. The advance of their main mage forces has also stopped—they’re even retreating. The front lines have returned to what they were months ago…” This was the first time Jolice had seen Forty-Seven since separating from the Ildrith tribe. Facing someone whose allegiance she still couldn’t determine, Jolice felt mixed emotions. “I think they’ve already begun to fear you and your troops…”
“Fear? It’s just them clenching their fists again, ready to attack.” Forty-Seven shifted his stance, the sound of steel scraping echoing. “The real show is yet to come!”
“By the way, Phylgas…” Jolice hesitated, her voice becoming slightly hoarse. She had encountered Phylgas in the forest earlier, but the demonized elf didn’t even glance at her before disappearing into the shadows of the woods. “Are… are they all fine?”
“If you stay so sentimental, you’ll never take Zalidan’s place. That guy may be stubborn, but he’s not weak—remember?” Forty-Seven seemed impatient. “Also, rest assured—my troops are far superior to yours, or even yours, including you…”
Jolice remained silent, seemingly trying to control her emotions.
“It seems nothing can be done for now… Maybe I should go further back into Agus’s army and cause some trouble? By the way, when will Fress and the girl set off back to the north?”
“Hmm… probably tomorrow.”
“Then I should go back. Hmph! That old Uther insists on discussing some battle plan—what’s there to discuss?”
As the dust settled, the elf city in the heart of the Sleeping Forest remained lush as ever.
The tree spirits rooted by the lake continued to sway, making humming sounds as the young Night Elves chattered and played around them.
Perhaps every elf knew that some things in life would never be the same again—upon seeing Forty-Seven enter the city, they immediately told the young elves not to run around and strictly forbade them from going to the other side of the lake to play.

But Forty-Seven didn’t care about this. The moment a person becomes a soldier, they also become a different kind of being from “humans.” You can give candies to children or joke around with old men, but you can never truly be one of them. You’ll use all your skills, knowledge, and strength for killing and destruction. You’ll merge with your weapon, forever erasing that part of yourself that could be called “human”…
That’s why something like me came into existence. Forty-Seven walked along the wooden plank path along the city’s edge toward the dock.
“Ugh… This loss is huge… You! Be careful! Do you know how much this bag is worth? Cover it well! Be careful it doesn’t get wet!”
Fresse seemed to have gained more weight as he directed his long-absent subordinates to load bags of products from the Sleeping Forest onto the wooden ship. Suddenly, he felt the planks beneath his feet vibrate slightly—as if a mammoth were approaching.
“Oh, brave steel warrior, Mr. Forty-Seven!” Fresse spread his hands and smiled. “I’m truly grateful you came to see me! Without your intervention, I might still be stuck in that damp inn, suffering day after day…”
“Eat less, fatso. Your blood could already be used for cooking.” Forty-Seven grabbed a fold of flesh on Fresse’s neck, making him scream. “Hey! Do you know how hard you’re gripping?”
Milia stood at the dock, carrying Jason and Anton’s swords. The breeze blew through her golden hair, and the sunlight illuminated her slightly thinner cheeks, making her seem much more mature in just a few days.
Forty-Seven glanced at her, then turned back to Fresse—some people were happy while others were sad.
“Oh… Hello, Mr. Forty-Seven.” Milia also noticed him and nodded slightly in greeting, with a tone that was respectful yet not overly deferential. Perhaps this was the first time Forty-Seven received such kindness from her.
“Still acting as that fat guy’s free bodyguard?” Forty-Seven looked around casually, then stepped on the flat planks, causing them to tilt with a crack. A merchant’s worker carrying goods onto the ship stumbled and dropped the entire load into the water, prompting Fresse to curse loudly.
Milia frowned but held back from saying anything. “Mr. Fresse promised to take me across the Desert of Noise back to the north… And I think Jason also wants to go back… to be buried in the Knights’ cemetery.”
“There was a saying in my old army—uh, how was it again?” Forty-Seven turned his head as if thinking. “Oh, right. Home is where my heart is. It doesn’t matter where you die or where you’re buried!”
He didn’t realize that such comfort could only anger people. “You can stay and fight in this war—war is the fastest way to improve your strength. With strength, you can do whatever you want, instead of… ending up as miserable as that old man Anton!”

“That’s not true!” Milia’s tone lost control for a moment, but she quickly realized it and calmed down. “Thank you for your kindness… but please forgive me—I’m confused about this war right now… As a Holy Warrior, I can’t wield my sword in confusion. Force without a proper purpose only leads to corruption. Because of my hesitation and uncertainty, I can already feel the gods withdrawing the power they once granted me… I need to think. I… I think my trial has completely failed.”
Feeling the gods withdraw their power? Typical symptoms of abnormal neural transmission caused by mental disorders. Well, whatever. Forty-Seven tried to shrug, though the motion was still difficult for him.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, but Elder Uther has been waiting for a long time.”
Forty-Seven turned around to see Thelis’s cold face again—though the burns from the Battle of Hellgate Fortress hadn’t healed yet, covering most of her face with herbs.
“Hi—hello, Miss Thelis! I’ll have someone send you the best medicine from the North!” Frees was checking whether the cargo was tied tightly on the boat. With his weight, the canoe already seemed severely overloaded.
“Mr. Frees, as compensation, we allow you to take some local specialties back to the North to sell… But if you can’t curb your greed and reduce the boat’s load by half, I’d be happy to watch it capsize at the first turn.”
Thelis left coldly, not even checking if Forty-Seven was following her.
Forty-Seven went to the wooden cabin that used to belong to Zalidan—now Uther’s temporary residence.
“Stop pinching poor Oso’s nose. It’s quite depressed since losing Zalidan.”
A tired voice stopped Forty-Seven’s cruel prank. After several days apart, Elder Uther seemed much older—just like Milia, they had both changed a lot.
“I’m not usually this boring.” Due to the grizzly bear’s nonviolent resistance, the aggressor also found it somewhat pointless. “I heard you have a plan? Well, I’m listening now.”
“The disaster at Hellgate Fortress made the tree people of Starlight Peak very angry… But fortunately, they eventually forgave our foolishness.”
Uther staggered, leaning on a black wooden staff. “The tree people’s leader, Turlan, agreed to help us rebuild the forests damaged by war… Of course, this is thanks to everything you’ve done. Because of you and… their attacks, Agus has completely withdrawn from the forests. It’s a great turning point…”
“Oh, what great news…” Forty-Seven said sarcastically. “Those tree people who talk for a day and sleep for a year have finally taken action?”
“Well, we’ll take this opportunity to repair the severely damaged forest areas. Thicker trees will soon grow, forming a new barrier…”
“That’s your plan?” Forty-Seven raised his hand dramatically. “And then Agus will burn them down—I’ve no time for such a back-and-forth game!”

“No… not exactly.” Uther paused. “I just want the Treefolk to experience firsthand the current state of the forest. The long-standing war with Agus has always been a matter solely concerning the Night Elves… We used to think the same, but now the power of the elves alone is not enough. We must rely on everyone we can—this is why Illdris made that choice… Over the past few years, I’ve been trying to persuade the Treefolk to help us, but to little effect, until the disaster at Hellgate Keep… It’s ridiculous—though Turlan is furious about it, it’s precisely this incident that makes him truly believe we Night Elves are at our wit’s end… As long as he and his people come here and see everything, they will definitely help us… I’m completely sure of it.”
So he’s trying to drag others down with him—this cunning old fellow.
“What does that have to do with me? Do you want me to ride on those wooden necks and give orders?”
“No… And I’m sorry, but since the Treefolk don’t know about the corrupted elves, I intentionally hid that fact, saying only that the ritual failed… So… I hope you and the corrupted elf forces stay out in the open for now. The Treefolk won’t forgive them for such—”
“Enough!” Forty-Seven roared, cutting Uther off. “I don’t want to sit in the forest watching you plant trees! I’ll leave, but not by hiding! Let’s do our own thing! Maybe you’re good at protecting nature and balancing diplomacy, but when it comes to war—I’m the expert!”
The corrupted elves waited for Forty-Seven in the dense forests outside the city.
Forty-Seven looked at them—less than twenty, but these survivors, selected by the Flame Monarch, were extraordinarily fierce, no less than true demons.
Fear, death, destruction—this is the true essence of war.
“Since the Agus are retreating, we’ll bypass them and wage an endless war…” Forty-Seven spread his massive black wings and took to the air. “We’ll penetrate deep into Agus’s territory, attacking farmlands, pastures, workshops, villages—anything above ground! Let’s go!”
The vast Tanori Plains—the closer to Vatan City, the weaker the smell of smoke and blood from war. The leisurely herds of cattle and sheep, the nearly ripe wheat fields, and the villages with rising smoke all brought a sense of peace, especially for Sayers and Hunter, who had just experienced death.
“Those who survive great disasters are blessed, you know, kid!” Sayers rode in the middle of the group, looking very excited. A plaster was stuck on one side of his cheek, which prevented air from leaking when he spoke, though it made him look rather funny. “Thank goodness! I can finally leave the front lines… Old Sayer is about to have good luck!”
“Although it’s nice to be able to return to Vatan City, I don’t think our situation has changed much. After the hearing, we’ll surely be sent back to the battlefield…” Clearly, Hunter wasn’t as optimistic as Sayers. “Whatever fate awaits us, it will still be the same… Ouch! What are you doing?”

Sayers tapped Hunter’s head with the whip handle, his face full of disdain. “Kids will be kids. As long as they can live another day, it’s a win. And…” He glanced at the three large carriages at the front of the convoy. “Full speed! Full speed! Camp in Vilke Town tonight! Full speed!” Messengers running back and forth interrupted Sayers’ words. Everyone tightened their reins, and the pounding hooves raised clouds of dust, forming a wall of smoke across the vast plain.

As night fell, the convoy arrived in Vilke Town. It wasn’t a large town, but its location along the Tanori River and its tributaries made it strategically important. Vilke Town was more of a military camp than a village. Although the residents ran inns, taverns, and other shops, most of the people who came and went were mages and soldiers. Since the war began, it had become rare to see other merchants or tourists there.

“Come with me to take a walk in the street. Saw that waitress at the tavern corner earlier? She kept throwing you glances…”
“Stop talking nonsense!”
“No way, your face is red! Haha, are you still a virgin? What’s there to be afraid of? Come on…”

The tavern at the corner was called Big Bobo, but Sayers and Hunter didn’t see the waitress whose name seemed fitting for the place. Just as they were about to enter, a burly man suddenly rushed out through the wooden door, followed by a loud roar from inside the tavern: “How dare you come here to drink without money? You’re seeking death!”

“Sayers, did you bring enough money?” Hunter grew worried as he watched the burly man lying on the ground, unable to get up either from falling or drunkenness.
“What? Weren’t you the one who wanted to buy me a drink?”
“I’m leaving!” Hunter turned to walk away, but Sayers grabbed him by the back of his neck with a bear-like hand and pulled him into the tavern.

The tavern was filled with thick smoke, and the pungent smell of tobacco almost suffocated Hunter. People sat around small round tables, drinking and playing cards, or stood at the bar, drinking heavily while complaining about the war, their bosses, or their wives. Three or four waitress들 wore clothes that barely covered their nipples, carrying large glasses or plates as they moved among the men. From time to time, they were picked up and kissed fiercely, sometimes reluctantly, sometimes amidst vulgar insults or lewd laughter, until they managed to break free from the men’s grasp.

“Don’t worry, I’ve got a plan! Life is short—enjoy it while you can, kid. You still have a lot to learn…” Sayers sat down at a table and pinched the buttocks of a waitress passing by. “Get me some drinks. My throat’s dry as fire!”
“Are you really okay, Sayers…” Hunter looked at the smiling waitress turning toward him, her two enormous breasts making him feel dizzy. “Um, do you have any juice?”

The bartender smiled, suddenly leaned in, lifted Hunter’s face, and left a bright red lipstick mark on his cheek. The men around them laughed and applauded, while Hunter was on the verge of losing consciousness.
“Do you know why we were recalled to Vatan?” After a few drinks, Sayers’ face turned red, and he seemed more energetic. “Hey, I’m asking you!”
“Because… uh… because… we’re… uh… survivors… to report… uh… the situation…” Hunter was completely drunk, his eyes barely open as he burped. Clearly, the Bobo Tavern didn’t have any juice to offer him.
“You got half right…” Sayers drained the murky liquid in his cup and immediately raised his hand for more drink. “Do you know who else is coming back to the city with us? The commander of the Northern War Zone! Do you know what that means…? It’s strange though—why would such a high-ranking mage bother accompanying this slow bunch of misfits… Hey, don’t hide under the table! If you can’t drink, then don’t drink, you idiot!”
Suddenly, cheers came from a corner of the tavern. Sayers turned to look—a crowd had gathered there, with continuous cheers and shouts.
“Hey, the one who’s paying for our drinks has arrived!” With that, Sayers stood up and pushed his way toward the crowded area, leaving the completely drunk Henry behind.
Thanks to his bear-like physique, Sayers quickly claimed a prime spot—considering that it took just one mage to push a group of warriors aside, Sayers was practically setting a record. At the small table surrounded by people sat two people: a warrior who looked like a mercenary and a robed mage with a delicate appearance. The table was already piled with empty bottles, which were starting to spill onto the floor.
People shouted loudly and placed bets. Sayers took out his only silver coin and watched the situation.
The mercenary wasn’t tall, but his stomach seemed bottomless. Glasses of rum kept pouring into his mouth as if into a large bathtub, while the robed mage moved at a leisurely pace. It seemed less like a drinking contest and more like she was having afternoon tea. Yet her speed wasn’t far behind the warrior’s—quite astonishing.
“I bet on the mage!” With a surprisingly loud shout from Sayers, everyone’s attention was briefly drawn away. By the time they noticed what was happening, the mercenary was already foaming at the mouth and hiding under the table.
“I won!” Sayers shouted again, but this time all he got were objections.
“Betting this late doesn’t count!” one guy said, mocking Sayers as he collected money. Then he suddenly realized his head was hitting the tavern’s not-so-high ceiling—he had been lifted by Sayers by the collar.
“Say that again if you’ve got the guts! There wasn’t a winner yet when I placed my bet…”
“What are you doing? Let go!”
“Hey, you’re stepping on me, you idiot!”
“Pay up! I won!”

As a fistfight seemed inevitable, a clear yet somewhat cold voice suddenly rang out, causing everyone to stop instinctively: “If you’re not convinced, let’s have a match.”
It was the red-robed mage who had won the competition. She pulled back her hood, revealing long silver-white hair—she was actually a female red-robed mage!
She poured all the silver coins she had won into an empty wine glass, the clinking sound being crisp and pleasant. Then she raised her gray-brown eyes and stared at Sayers again. Sayers shuddered, as if drenched in cold water.
“Hehe, don’t be too confident. You just fought someone else—winning against you won’t be anything to be proud of…” Sayers shook his head, taking the chance to avoid her gaze.
The red-robed mage shook the glass filled with silver coins, and Sayers immediately sat down. “Don’t regret it!”