Chapter 120 - 119: Campfire Games
The strike team moved.
A dozen elves glided across the terrain like wraiths, their steps silent even as boots brushed leaves and gravel. Lumberling marched among them, clad in black steel.
Skitz flitted along the edges, half-melted into the shadows, dagger dangling loosely in his grip. Aren strode with quiet precision, his spear strapped across his back. Four others followed, former Duskpire mercenaries whose familiarity with the Earl’s lands.
Thessalia led the elven formation, every step exuding regal authority. Aurelya lingered near the rear, occasionally exchanging subtle glances with Skitz or whispering soft questions.
Several kilometers behind, his captains rode in formation, each masked, each followed by elite troops strong enough to be considered Knight Page level. They tracked the flight of golden eagles soaring above, it guided them towards Lumberling and the elves’ group.
...
That night, they camped at the outskirts of a quiet woodland ridge. A faint fire crackled low, casting soft glows across sharpened faces.
Lumberling approached the elves, eyes scanning their silent, watchful group. "You’re a hard bunch to follow," he said, folding his arms. "No wonder our golden eagles couldn’t spot you when you slipped into our village."
One of the elves gave a wry smile. "We’ve had practice. When you’re hunted by Knights and nobles for years, you learn to vanish."
"Because you’re mages?" Lumberling asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or is there more to it than arcane envy?"
"Magic makes us a prize," another answered coldly. "But it’s not just that. We burned some cities to the ground while searching for Sylra."
Lumberling blinked. "Some?"