Chapter 447: Effectiveness (3)
Halric hesitated, then nodded slowly. "You heard him," he barked to his officers. "Pair up. Do it!"
The next hours were awkward, even painful, but something began to shift.
Human soldiers learned to move with silence, following the near-soundless steps of elven scouts. Elves learned to bark commands under pressure, to fight in the chaos of human skirmish tactics. Bows and blades began to sync. Mana flares and steel clashes found rhythm.
By afternoon, what had started as a cacophony became the faint outline of order.
Thalan’s staff glowed softly as he watched from the side. "He’s doing it," he murmured. "He’s making them one."
Nysha folded her arms. "He’s making them dangerous."
Ashwing yawned on a branch. "He’s making them loud. But, yeah, dangerous too."
When the final horn blew at dusk, the field was littered with sweat and laughter, real, tired, genuine laughter. A human and elf leaned on each other for balance, bruised but smiling. Somewhere, someone was sharing a flask.
Lindarion watched quietly, his expression unreadable.
Halric approached again, slower this time, bowing not out of duty but respect. "You were right, Your Highness. They needed something to break first, pride, maybe. Whatever it was, it’s gone now."
Lindarion’s golden gaze softened slightly. "Pride is easy to wear. Harder to outgrow."
Halric chuckled hoarsely. "Can’t argue that." He glanced toward the stars rising through the canopy. "You ever get tired of being right?"
"Constantly," Lindarion said, almost smiling.
Later that night, around the central campfire, the two peoples mingled for the first time. Songs rose, different languages, colliding, awkward, then blending. The Lorienyan lyres wove through human drums, creating something neither side could’ve made alone.
Ashwing perched on a log beside Lindarion, stuffing his mouth with roasted nuts. "You know," he said between bites, "for a prince who doesn’t talk much, you make people do a lot of impossible things."
"Talking isn’t the same as leading," Lindarion said.
Ashwing blinked his bright reptilian eyes. "Then what’s leading?"
"Listening," Lindarion replied simply, eyes reflecting the firelight.
Ashwing snorted. "You sound like an old tree."
"Perhaps the tree has been teaching me," Lindarion said.
That earned him a huff, but the dragon didn’t argue.
Across the camp, Nysha leaned against a tree trunk, watching the soldiers interact, her gaze flicking to the prince’s silhouette. "You really are impossible, Lindarion," she muttered. "Even peace looks like war when you do it."
But there was pride in her voice, quiet, hidden, unwilling to show.
Above them, the branches of the World Tree rustled softly in the night breeze, glowing faintly gold. It seemed to listen, too.
And far beneath the roots, something vast stirred, not Dythrael, not yet, but something older, watching, waiting, patient as stone.
The next dawn came painted in silver mist, soft and thin as breath. From the canopy bridges to the roots that glimmered beneath, Lorienya seemed to hold its breath again, but this time, not from unease. It was the calm before movement, the silence before rhythm.
Below the World Tree, the new mixed companies assembled in formation. Elves and humans now stood shoulder to shoulder, their stances uneven but firm, their eyes sharper than before. Banners of green and silver fluttered beside those of crimson and gold. It was an uneasy marriage of styles, yet something living bound them together now: purpose.
From the high ledge overlooking the field, Lindarion watched. His white hair caught the pale light, his cloak faintly rippling in the morning wind. Ashwing perched beside him, tail flicking.
"You really plan to throw them into the woods?" the little dragon asked, incredulous.
"Yes," Lindarion said calmly.
"They just stopped yelling at each other yesterday."
"All the more reason to see what they’ve learned," the prince replied.
Ashwing groaned. "You’re going to make half of them cry."
Lindarion’s golden eyes glowed faintly. "Then they will cry as comrades."
—
When the horns sounded, the forest itself seemed to answer, a deep, thrumming resonance through root and bark. The soldiers followed Thalan and Halric to the clearing’s edge, where Lindarion awaited.
"Today," he said, his voice carrying like a low wind through leaves, "you will learn to move as one. The forest does not forgive disorder, nor will I."
He raised a hand, and shadows rippled behind him. In the air, threads of golden mana unfurled, weaving a pattern across the clearing, a glowing map of the forest to the south. Circles and runes marked paths, hidden trails, and the faint glow of mana-rich ground.
"This will be your proving ground," Lindarion continued. "Two groups. One hunts. One defends."
Murmurs spread through the ranks. The humans were used to drills, not this... mystical exercise.
Nysha stepped forward, her crimson eyes gleaming faintly. "Each group will be tested. The hunters must reach the ancient hollow before dusk. The defenders must stop them. You’ll use everything, skill, silence, strategy, magic."
Ashwing landed atop a stump, wings flaring. "And no killing each other! Or the trees! Or the wildlife. Especially the wildlife. They bite back."
That earned nervous laughter.
Lindarion’s gaze sharpened. "Begin."
The moment the command fell, the soldiers vanished into the trees.
The hunters moved like a storm, humans leading with speed, elves gliding between trunks, their movements ghostlike. The defenders scattered, weaving traps of light and root. Mana rippled through the underbrush, and soon the calm forest became a living labyrinth.
Lindarion and the captains watched from above, his vision extending far through mana threads, feeling each motion like a pulse in his veins.
"Your southern flank is collapsing," Nysha murmured. "The humans are too loud."
"Let them learn through failure," Lindarion replied. "Noise teaches humility."
And indeed, minutes later, a cluster of human scouts stumbled into a glade laced with silken vines. One wrong step, and the vines erupted into glowing snares, wrapping around their legs. The elves hidden above dropped lightly from the branches, disarming them with smiles.
Elsewhere, a pair of elven rangers fell prey to a human trick, false trail markers leading them straight into a shallow pit covered in leaves. They fell with undignified curses as human laughter echoed overhead.
Bit by bit, tension gave way to rhythm. Hunters began to anticipate traps. Defenders learned to adapt. The air filled with bursts of light, distant shouts, the clash of mock combat spells.
Halric leaned forward beside Lindarion, watching the chaos unfold. "They’re learning faster than I expected."
"Necessity breeds focus," the prince said softly. "And pride burns quickly when the forest watches."