Chapter 429: Training (3)
The older elf frowned slightly. "The border patrols warn of wild mana storms near the southern roots. It may be too dangerous."
Lindarion’s tone didn’t waver. "Good."
Thalan hesitated, then nodded. "As you wish, my prince."
When the field finally emptied and dusk began to settle, Lindarion remained where he stood. The light through the branches dimmed to amber, and the wind whispered soft songs that almost sounded like voices. The world tree hummed faintly behind the forest, distant, eternal, yet ever aware.
He closed his eyes briefly.
The mana that flowed through him now was... different. Since his blessing within the World Tree, it felt deeper, like he stood between two pulses, mortal and divine. When he breathed, he could hear the heartbeat of the forest and his own as one.
And yet, beneath it all, there was dissonance.
The forest sang, but somewhere in that song was a wrong note, faint, buried, but there.
He opened his eyes again, gaze sharpening.
Tomorrow, he would test his soldiers’ unity.
But soon after that, he would have to test Lorienya’s truth.
The first day had taught them to survive.
The second would teach them to move like the wind.
And after that... the forest itself would learn fear.
—
The morning light broke through Lorienya’s canopy in slender streams of gold, painting the training glades in muted brilliance. Dew still clung to the moss, and the air smelled of cedar and fresh mana.
The soldiers of Lorienya were already assembled when Lindarion arrived, nearly a hundred elves, their armor made of living bark and silver-threaded cloth that shimmered faintly with enchantments.
They bowed as he approached, but not deeply. Elves did not kneel often; their gestures of respect were born from grace rather than submission. Still, Lindarion could sense the difference from the day before.
Their eyes no longer held only curiosity or pride, they held determination, sharp and disciplined, as though every one of them had sworn silently to prove that they were not beneath the prince who carried storms in his veins.
Thalan stood at the head of the formation again, staff resting across his shoulders. The fatigue from their spar was gone, replaced with a quiet fire. "We begin when you give the word, Prince Lindarion," he said, his tone formal but without the stiffness of yesterday.
Lindarion nodded once. "Begin."
The elves moved as the forest moved, soundless, coordinated, a ripple through leaves and light. Their training was unlike anything human or Eldorathi.
No shouted commands, no clashing of steel. Instead, the trees themselves responded: roots lifted slightly beneath their feet, branches swayed, leaves shimmered in rhythmic pulses. Mana hummed through the clearing, linking them all through the world tree’s lifeblood.
Each motion was deliberate. Every parry was matched with a shift of wind, each thrust mirrored by a flicker of green light. The Lorienyan elves didn’t just fight in nature, they fought with it.
Lindarion watched in silence, arms folded behind his back. His golden eyes traced their movements, every misstep, every inconsistency.
Though beautiful, the dance lacked one thing: readiness. It was harmony without edge, grace without survival’s bite.
Thalan noticed his gaze and called out softly, "Formation three, Veil of Vines."
The soldiers shifted. Their movements grew faster, more aggressive. Longbows of woven bark bent in unison, arrows glowing with faint green runes. They loosed at invisible targets, each shot splitting into two midair, curving around trees before striking bullseyes painted on bark.
Lindarion’s brow lifted faintly. Precision, speed, coordination, superb. But still too predictable. He could already sense the flow of mana they followed, the rhythm of their formation. Any foe who broke that rhythm would shatter the whole dance.
He stepped forward, voice calm but cutting through the hum. "Your connection to the forest is strong. But you rely on it too much."
The movements faltered slightly; even the roots seemed to pause in their rhythm.
Lindarion continued, walking slowly through their ranks as they froze in mid-form. "In the wild, not every tree will aid you. Not every wind will listen. A warrior must stand even when the forest turns its face away."
Thalan inclined his head respectfully. "We were taught that Lorienya’s strength lies in harmony with the land."
"It does," Lindarion replied, his tone softening slightly. "But harmony without will is complacency. The forest offers strength, not safety."
He raised his hand. Mana gathered at his fingertips, not green, but a silvery hue, sharp as starlight. The roots near his feet quivered, reacting instinctively to the foreign energy.
"Watch."
He touched his palm to the ground. Instantly, a surge of energy rippled through the training field. The roots shuddered, branches tensed, Lindarion’s power distorted their rhythm, cutting their connection to Lorienya’s mana flow. The soldiers blinked in confusion as the green glow in their weapons flickered out.
"Now," Lindarion said, his voice low but firm. "Move."
They hesitated for a heartbeat, then began again. Without the aid of the forest, their movements grew heavier, slower. The roots didn’t guide their footing; the air didn’t whisper their timing. Sweat began to form on brows, the perfect harmony unraveling into scattered effort.
Lindarion didn’t stop them. He only watched.
Ashwing, perched nearby in his small lizard form, tilted his head. "You’re being mean again."
Lindarion’s lips twitched faintly. "Discipline isn’t cruelty, Ashwing."
"Looks the same to me."
The prince ignored him, his gaze unwavering. After several minutes, one elf stumbled, another’s arrow snapped mid-flight. Thalan called for a halt, panting slightly as he turned toward Lindarion. "You severed their bond. Without the forest, they—"
"Without the forest, they must find themselves," Lindarion interrupted gently. "Only when you no longer lean on your strength do you learn to wield it freely."
Thalan was silent for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "Then we will learn again."
Lindarion inclined his head, satisfied. "Good."
He let his mana fade, and the world around them sighed in relief, the trees’ hum returned, the leaves regained their light.
Yet something had changed in the soldiers. The awe in their eyes was still there, but it was tempered now by understanding, by a quiet hunger to reach higher.
Lindarion gestured toward the archers. "Again. But this time, let the forest respond to you, not command you. Treat it as ally, not crutch."
The elves resumed their drills. This time, the energy that flowed through the field felt different, less one-sided, more balanced. Mana pulsed from each warrior individually before merging with the ambient flow.
Arrows sang once more. But now the sound was sharper, truer.
Lindarion moved through their ranks as they trained, every motion calculated, his gaze dissecting flaws and strengths alike.
When one soldier overextended a thrust, he corrected their stance with a soft word. When another hesitated, he simply looked, and they found their rhythm again.
By the time the sun climbed to its peak, the glade pulsed with quiet discipline. Even Ashwing, who had grown bored halfway through, was now watching intently from a nearby root.