Chapter 26: Mathes and the Storm
Back at the border near Aetherthorn, Mathes and his men were being pushed back—hard. The enemy was more numerous than expected. The Night Stalkers were relentless, their fangs and claws flashing in the chaos, and to make matters worse, the infamous White Fang had joined the assault. The alpha’s sneak attacks alone had already cost Mathes four of his best Goldhair warriors.
"My lord, we need more help!" one of the elves shouted, his body soaked in blood—some his own, most from the beasts he’d slain. Though they had fought bravely, the sheer tenacity of the Night Stalkers had dragged the battle far longer than expected.
"I know," Mathes growled through clenched teeth, barely evading two charging Stalkers before retaliating with a sweeping wind blade that carved into their flanks.
"This is my fault... I underestimated their numbers. But what matters now is survival. Sound the retreat. Get everyone back to Aetherthorn!"
It’s important to note that the total population of elves living in Runewood numbered fewer than a thousand. And of those, the majority were non-combatants—women, children, the elderly, artisans, and caretakers. Peaceful lives bound to the forest. If war came to their doorstep, there would be little to shield them.
In truth, across all three tribes—Goldhair, Silverleaf, and Verdantthorn—the number of those who could actually wield a weapon or hunt for survival barely reached two hundred. Rangers, battle-mages, elemental archers, and a few martial warriors trained in elven combat arts... and even among them, only a small percentage had seen real bloodshed. This wasn’t just a fight. It was a gamble with extinction.
Amid the chaos near Aetherthorn’s border, Mathes stood at the eye of the storm. Each swing of his staff, each chant from his lips, held purpose. While he incanted another spell, his irises glowed a radiant teal—his [Observation] skill active and sweeping through the battlefield like a second set of eyes.
His gaze locked on the enemy. And in that moment, Mathes’ expression grew grim.
Five.
Not one. Not two.
Five full packs of Night Stalkers.