Chapter 27: No Frame, No Fear
Micha’el pushed himself to his feet, every muscle trembling from the impact. His lungs burned as relief washed over him—he’d just cheated death at the White Fang’s claws. Gasping, he spun around, searching for whoever had conjured that last-second barrier. But before he could piece it together, a thunderous command sliced through the air:
"Micha’el! Move! Now!"
He blinked up to see Mathes, the Queen’s right hand, striding forward on the forest floor with his magical staff in his hand. Colorful stones along his silver runic armor glowed like molten moonlight. In that instant, Micha’el’s awe turned to terror: Mathes wasn’t some ordinary Goldhair scout—this was royal blood in battle, come at the Queen’s command.
Before Micha’el could second-guess, Mathes swept his arm. The gale dome collapsed inward, propelling Micha’el to the nearest low branch. Without pause, he vaulted toward the undergrowth for a quick cover and respite.
Behind him, a squad of ten Goldhair warriors poured into the clearing, blades ignited with arcane sheen. Dozens of Night Stalkers surged forward—more than a score—snarling in furious pursuit. The elite elves formed a shield wall, trading blow for blow. Arrows of compressed wind and bolts of crackling mana volleyed between both sides, turning the forest floor into a shattered mosaic of splintered wood and spurting sap. Unfortunately, the beasts were just too many for them to handle.
Micha’el’s lungs burned, but he didn’t look back. With escpae in his mind, he turned around, his boots pounded mud as he sprinted along a fallen log, eyes fixed on a ruined watchtower thirty meters ahead—his only hope for sanctuary. Goldhair shields slammed into charging beasts, scattering their ranks, but some Night Stalkers slipped through the gaps.
A hulking shadow lunged at Micha’el’s flank—razor claws cutting through his leather jerkin reminding him that he is not yet safe.
"Persistent cats!"
He reacted on instinct, slashing upward in a blur of motion. Vael’turein cleaved through the creature’s hardened breastplate, sending it crashing into the undergrowth with a strangled roar and a heavy thud.
But no sooner had that beast fallen than two more leapt into view, fangs bared and claws dripping. Micha’el didn’t pause to duel them—he pivoted on one foot and bolted deeper into the thicket and closer towards the gate.
"Not good!" he panted, vaulting over a moss-draped stump. A searing pain jolted through his ribs as a claw slashed across his side—blood welled instantly while his breathing getting more difficult. He ground out grit and crimson, spit staining the forest floor. His mana-ring charms flickered with faint blue light, but he forced himself onward; he couldn’t afford another shield.