"Damn it! A poison arrow from a Troll Berserker Hunter!"
The male elf quickly helped his companion pull out the arrow. Looking at the wound leaking black blood, his face was filled with despair.
If they had been fighting in the northern High Elf Kingdom, they could naturally have sought help from mages or alchemists, either using magic to neutralize the poison or drinking a specialized antidote.
But this was human territory that had only just emerged from the Tribal Era. There were neither mages nor alchemists, only some rudimentary knowledge of herbs.
Those so-called "physicians" were, in the eyes of the High Elves, little different from gambling on luck.
Whether the wounded and sick could be cured depended entirely on luck and their own constitution.
As for those herbs boiled into soup, they were more or less just psychological comfort.
The ingredients capable of healing or detoxifying were pitifully scarce.
"Kill me!"
The female elf made her decision almost without hesitation.
Because she understood that if she fell alive into the hands of those Trolls, she would absolutely not be granted a clean and swift death.
Given the hatred between Elves and Trolls, coupled with her identity as a female, becoming a prisoner meant torture, humiliation, and abuse until she was no longer recognizable before she was cruelly eaten.
As an elite of the Ranger Corps, she had seen too many horrific scenes in villages overrun by Trolls. She would rather die by a companion's hand than fall into the hands of Troll Headhunters.
"But..."
The male elf was clearly reluctant.
Although there was no romantic relationship between them, they had fought side by side through territory controlled by the Amani Trolls. At a moment of life and death like this, how could he possibly not hesitate?
"Stop talking