Round Twelve: The Elf’s Assault

Forty-seven’s red eyes scanned the surroundings—to him, Jason and Milia’s bodies were enveloped in a red glow due to the heat emitted by their living forms. Milia’s color was brighter as her body instinctively fought against the cold, while Jason’s heart contracted and expanded forcefully due to his heightened alertness, his body resembling a torch that rhythmically swelled and shrank. Aside from that, nothing seemed abnormal. Then, Forty-seven’s vision changed—buildings and the ground became blurred, even merging Jason and Milia’s silhouettes together. Yet every one of their movements stood out sharply against the chaotic backdrop, as if drawn in bold lines. A trail moved along the corner of the wall, as conspicuous as a black line on white paper. Forty-seven immediately focused on it, zooming in to see that it was a rat with long, stiff fur. It crouched in the corner, poking its head around, before suddenly darting into its hole in fright—this gave Forty-seven a clue. He leaped down from the top of the main fortress, gliding downward with his steel wings spread, raising his dual swords, determined to strike whatever—or nothing—was there first.
“Milia, be careful!”
Jason also rushed into the field. His long sword emitted a dazzling light like the rising sun, dispelling the darkness around them. Several figures emerged like rocks revealed after the tide receded, leaving no hiding place.
There really was someone there! Though they vanished as quickly as the light appeared, Forty-seven wasn’t blinded this time; instead, it helped him. Now that he had found the enemy, the situation was under his control—if only that damned female paladin hadn’t interfered.
Milia closed her eyes and poured a bucket of cold water over herself. Suddenly, she felt as though a sharp sword was aiming at her. When she opened her eyes, Forty-seven was diving at her like a true demon, his wings spread out under the silver moonlight. Milia instinctively grabbed the sword nearby, but Forty-seven was already in front of her. His massive black wings flapped, seemingly blocking out all light—he was going to attack her! Fear and anger overwhelmed Milia, making her ignore the fact that Forty-seven wasn’t aiming at her but intended to fly over her head. She reflexively jumped back, raising her sword to strike, once again piercing Forty-seven’s waist, at the wound that still hadn’t healed.
Flames erupted from Forty-seven’s mouth as he roared, changing direction and stumbling to the ground. He couldn’t stay upright, tumbling several times like aout of control fighter jet, raising clouds of dust.
“I’ll kill you!” Forty-seven howled in pain, like a tiger with its tail chopped off, fangs bared and claws outstretched.

“Milia!” Two arrows shot like meteors at Jason, targeting the most vulnerable spot in his posture at that moment. Even with Jason’s experience and skill, he could only perform an awkward roll to avoid them. But before he could get up, two curved swords slashed down from nowhere, forcing him to roll again—unable to stand for a moment!

At the same time, before Milia, who had just landed from her backflip, could assess the situation and react, a slender hand reached out from the darkness behind her, wrapping around her neck and seizing her life.

“That stupid idiot woman!” No. 47 calmed down, surrounded by the traces of sword strikes.

Milia stared in panic, the cold hand around her neck and the blade on her chest reminding her that her life could end at any moment.

“Please wait! Lords of the Sleeping Forest!” Jason pleaded desperately, but the enemy’s attacks did not slow down.

The figure gradually emerged, as if melting out of the night air. She stood behind Milia, her pale purple robe swaying gently in the night breeze. Her arrival was silent, like that of a ghost.

But it wasn’t a ghost—it was an elf.

“Stop.”

The elf holding Milia spoke, her voice as clear as a mountain spring in the forest.

Jason had rolled to the base of the wall, with nowhere left to retreat. The two elves stepped back, but the starlit tips of their curved swords still pointed at him.

Several elves also appeared around No. 47—they stood cautiously outside his reach, their long bows drawn, arrows aimed at this seemingly extremely dangerous man.

The back door of the main castle opened, and Freys along with a few mercenaries came out, alerted by the roaring and chaos of battle. They thought it was another Half-Pyrian fighting two knights, only to be stunned when an arrow flew in and nailed itself to the doorframe.

They appeared on the city walls and watchtowers, bathed in starlight. Though just a few, they covered all angles, giving the impression of being surrounded by an army. Their purple cloaks seemed like extensions of the night, their white eyes expressionless, with slightly raised lips hinting at mockery.

The elf holding Milia lifted her hood, revealing a beautiful but emotionless face. Her dark skin appeared smooth: “Sutek Dinayalis, Olenamudakadali, Taunara, Taluzhiakusali…”

Everyone was confused.

“Dark elves despise speaking other races’ languages unless no one understands Elvish. They won’t speak other languages unless necessary,” Freys replied quickly, trying to ease the tension—or perhaps just to think while talking. But when everyone turned to him for an explanation, he shrugged. “I don’t know Elvish either. Why look at me?”

“My people won’t die in vain…” The elf spoke again, using a language they understood.

“Hand that girl over to me first—I’ll kill her!” Forty-Seven suppressed his metallic voice, seemingly trying to hide the fact that he was extremely angry, but in reality he was wondering why such a simple statement of revenge had to be expressed in a long speech in Elvish, a language that was rather inefficient.

“What are you talking about? Wait! Please don’t hurt that knight!” Jason stood up, ready to rush forward, but immediately stopped under the threat of two curved swords. He looked anxious, clearly overwhelmed by worry.

“Blood for blood, tooth for tooth—those who kill the children of the Dark Night will surely suffer a thousandfold punishment!”

The elf spoke again, her tone cold and even harsh, yet her silver-like voice was soothing.

“It’s a misunderstanding! It’s all a misunderstanding!” Freys finally understood the situation. The other side must have sent a search party because the elves who came for trade hadn’t returned on time. They found the bodies of elves outside the stronghold and surrounded the entire place without distinguishing right from wrong. Fortunately, they still had some sense to avoid assuming his group were the murderers, so he immediately called out, “We just arrived here too! People from our guild were attacked and died horribly—we’re not the murderers! We must figure this out!”

As he spoke, Freys pushed his way forward among the mercenaries. Suddenly, with a whoosh, a cluster of feathers from some unknown animal appeared at his feet. Upon closer inspection, he realized it was an arrow with its shaft completely buried in the ground. Freys broke into a cold sweat and stopped trying to get closer.

An elf archer standing on the wall drew another arrow from behind her back, nocked it, and drew back the bow with graceful movements, as if dancing.

“Untrustworthy humans—to trust you is to despise one’s own life.” Despite saying this, the female elf released Milia, perhaps because she thought the situation was under control or because Milia was a holy knight.

“It’s really a misunderstanding. How can you believe us?” Freys looked devastated. This journey had really worn him out. “You’ve seen the corpses, including many from our guild. And do the mercenaries from our guild possess the strength to defeat those mighty, sacred elf warriors?”

Frees was so anxious that he spoke incoherently, even using the tone he used when speaking to the brass dragon.

Milia returned to Jason’s side, not even glancing at Forty-Seven.

“I am Jolice, the leader of the Dark Elf hunters. We don’t want to harm any innocent lives either, but now you must follow me back to the Sleeping Forest to face the judgment of the great Dark Priest!” She paused for a moment before adding, “If you are indeed innocent, we won’t hurt you!”

“ Ridiculous! I won’t just hand myself over to some stranger for judgment. Who knows what standards they’ll use?” Forty-Seven turned to Freys. “I told you earlier, Mr. Merchant—you’ll be dragged down by those two. Now even I’m involved!”

“Even if they’re creatures of the Abyss, we won’t treat them differently,” said Jorais, whose speech never seemed to flow smoothly. “The Priests of Darkness are just, but they will never ignore any crime against nature!”
“Aren’t creatures of the Abyss evil enough?” Number Forty-Seven tilted his head, glancing at Jorsen and Milia standing aside.
Fres also looked at Jorsen with a pleading gaze. “Mr. Jorsen, considering that I led you out of the chaotic desert, please help me!”
“Respected Captain Jorais, please listen to me…” Jorsen placed his hands on his chest, bent slightly, and gave a standard Night Elf salute. “I am Jorsen of the Dawn Knight Order. By my faith and reverence for the Glorious Lord, I swear that we are not the murderers of your companions. Please believe me! But after all, they died inside the merchant’s stronghold. Since we have received generous help from this merchant before, I pledge on behalf of the Dawn Knight Order that we will catch the murderer and give you an explanation. So, please give us some time. Please accept my request!”
“Holy warriors… In ancient times that cannot be verified, we were allies, but now, with war between elves and humans looming, we cannot trust you.”
At dawn, a force of a hundred elves escorted Fres and his mercenaries away from the stronghold, heading toward the Sleeping Forest. Giant beasts pulled huge carts behind them—it seemed Fres would lose everything in this deal.