Standing on the balcony, Lanlos gazed into the distance, his deep blue eyes grave.
It was a simple room inside a tall tower. There was a desk and a bed, and not a single other decoration or piece of furniture.
Most conspicuous was the tightly shut door. It radiated a dense magical aura. Clearly, he was under house arrest.
Vereesa's words had worked. Although Landral and her companions were deeply displeased with him, they had at least refrained from throwing him into the cage where the Trolls were held.
But he felt no happiness at all. The values Landral and her group had revealed had shaken him deeply. They had also made him realize that this world differed from his previous one not only in strength, but in many other ways as well.
But he couldn't bring himself to say that they were wrong.
Ever since its founding, Quel'Thalas had struggled for survival. The High Elves yearned for great power and a luxurious, comfortable life. In their eyes, the greater one's authority, the more one deserved to stand above others and enjoy privileges denied to ordinary people.
This outlook had successfully spurred generation after generation of High Elves to pursue knowledge and power. Expanding the military and ensuring prosperity and development—all of it depended on people's desire for a higher station and better treatment.
This world was far from peaceful, so it was only natural for people to yearn for power and influence. But that yearning inevitably created a social hierarchy of contempt and deep class divisions. It was only because external threats, such as the Trolls, overshadowed these conflicts that the utilitarianism of Quel'Thalas's ruling class had not greatly affected the prosperous kingdom.
As for the isolation, post-disaster reconstruction, and divisions that would come later, none of that was something they could have foreseen. All they saw was that in pursuing power and influence, the Quel'dorei were gradually leading their nation toward prosperity.
Was that wrong?
Lanlos didn't know how to judge.
It was already the second day. Aside from people bringing him necessities and food, Lanlos hadn't seen anyone else. Landral and her followers were clearly still busy dealing with the Fel Crystal.
With a long sigh, Lanlos sat down on the balcony and felt the sunlight slowly warm his cheeks. Gradually, his mind settled.
Since he was here, he might as well make the best of it. This world seemed complicated, but it followed one iron law unlike anything in his previous life.
Might made right.
Individuals in this world had far greater potential than those in his previous one. Magic in particular could even grant mortals the power to oppose the gods.
Only if he grew strong enough would he have any chance of making a life for himself—or accomplishing anything—in this world.
For now, he had to find a way to get out.
He knew he was innocent. Once he cleared his name, a Magister from the Silvermoon Council would naturally handle these troubles.
As long as Landral didn't put a spoke in his wheel...
His brow furrowed. Lanlos turned toward the tightly shut door, where a faint magical glow had suddenly begun to shimmer.
"You're here." Seeing the figure enter the room, Lanlos offered a brief greeting, then turned his attention back to the distance.
"You don't seem surprised." Landral gave a casual wave, and the door immediately swung shut by itself.
"It's not mealtime, and no one else in the entire Eastern Temple would open this door." The young mage shrugged and spoke casually.
The Magister didn't reply. She walked slowly over to Lanlos and gazed out beyond the tower with him. "I didn't expect you to have so much pull with Fastherin."
Lanlos was taken aback. He turned his head and saw the letter in her hand.
"I assume the news was brought back by your students, but I didn't expect Alona to care so much about a new teaching assistant like you." Landral weighed the letter in her hand, a smile returning to her face—just as haughty as before.
"Looks like you didn't come to bring me good news." After a brief silence, Lanlos found that not a trace of happiness had stirred in him.
"Unfortunately, her message came too late." A tongue of flame shot up, and scarlet fire devoured the Academy's letter of appeal in an instant. The Magister dusted off her hands and let the ashes scatter in the wind, as if it had never occurred to her that her actions might offend another Magister—even the entire Academy.
No. In truth, she didn't think that a mere weak teaching assistant could cause any such trouble.
Watching this, Lanlos knitted his brows. "What do you mean?"
"The Farstrider Enclave was attacked by Trolls and sent me a request for help this morning. I put your name on the list of reinforcements. Unluckily for you, it came just before this letter arrived."
"I'm not under your jurisdiction." Lanlos looked her straight in the eye, his voice edged with anger. He was under house arrest—how could he possibly be assigned to a relief force? The only explanation was that after receiving Alona's letter, this woman couldn't bear to let him go so easily.
Her deeply ingrained belief in the nobility's superiority wouldn't allow Lanlos, who had offended her, to get off scot-free.
"The Sanctum is under attack, and the other spellcasters and I have more important matters to deal with. Besides, this is a military order. As a teaching assistant at Fastherin, are you only capable of talking back?"
Landral smiled with delight. The more unwilling and angry he was, the more helpless he seemed in the face of the situation, and the more it proved her beliefs correct.
The weak are powerless.
"This is your chance to make amends. You don't need to thank me too much..."
The Farstrider Enclave was separated from the Eastern Temple by only the Erendal River. As he crossed the bridge, Lanlos glanced back at the tower, which glimmered brilliantly in the sunlight. He could almost picture Landral somewhere inside, laughing at him.
Yet he felt no anger just then. The more extreme Landral's attitude became, the more it drove him onward. The most important thing for him to do in this world wasn't to let his anger turn him into a fool. It was to survive and grow stronger, until he had the ability and confidence to say "no" to fate and to others alike.
Taking a deep breath, the elven mage turned his attention to the outpost not far ahead. His brows drew tightly together.
This was the heartland of Quel'Thalas. What kind of Trolls could have crossed the heavily guarded front lines and appeared in the rear camp of a Ranger unit—the Farstrider Enclave?
Lanlos's brows drew together even further, his mind nearly consumed by worry and unease.
He hadn't forgotten the alliance between the Darkpine Trolls and the Burning Legion. At a time like this, the Trolls who had gone to the trouble of crossing half of Quel'Thalas surely weren't just here for the minor raid described in the report. As if. How could they be?
Watching the bustling camp ahead, Lanlos drifted off, but the uniform cries of battle ringing in his ears did nothing to ease the furrow in his brow.
Landral herself probably hadn't realized what a devastating blow her decision to send Lanlos to the battlefield had dealt him.
The demons and Trolls had joined forces, and the Sargerite Keystone he carried had everything to do with it. He was completely unable to protect himself right now. Going onto the battlefield between the Elves and Trolls was practically the same as handing his life over to the demons.
So at that moment, he wasn't thinking about how to distinguish himself. Instead, he was even wondering whether he should use the chaos of battle to sneak away.
What? For the sake of the Quel'dorei?
Don't make me laugh. His six months in Golden Branch Village had made him fond of them, but his friend was dead, and he had never been treated decently at either the Academy or the Sanctum, where he was regarded as a disgrace to the Elves. And after what had happened at the Eastern Temple, he was already being generous by not hating them.
Besides, though the Farstrider Enclave was a rear base for the Ranger forces, it had been built many years ago, back when they were locked in a standoff with the Trolls. The front lines had since been pushed far to the south, and under the Ranger General's command, most soldiers were stationed around Windrunner Spire and Zul'Aman year-round.
Most of those left here were new Farstriders or elderly, infirm veterans nearing retirement.
They even needed help to fend off a small Troll raid. Their combat ability spoke for itself.
As spellcasters, their survival depended on whether the warriors ahead could hold off the enemy. But a force like this... No wonder Landral had sent only low-ranking apprentices.
Lanlos wasn't the only one thinking this. The other mages with him all seemed to share at least some of his misgivings.
At least for now.
"Welcome, welcome. I'm sorry to trouble you all." A handsome man with blond hair tied back approached them. When he saw Lanlos and the four young spellcasters accompanying him, a flicker of displeasure crossed his face, but it quickly gave way to a smile.
A perfunctory smile.
Lanlos didn't speak. As a "suspect," he obviously wasn't in charge of this relief mission.
"Captain, Lady Landral assigned us to support the battle, but where are the Trolls?" The condescending tone made Lanlos want to laugh.
He was only a third-rank mage. Given the captain's attributes and abilities, taking him down in two rounds would be no trouble. Honestly... where did he get the nerve to act so high and mighty?
The captain apparently had the same thought as Lanlos. "From the moment you walked in here, you became soldiers under my command. Unless your rank is higher than mine... Mage, are you trying to defy your superior?"
The captain's words were like poison that choked the life out of the lead mage. His expression changed dramatically, yet he couldn't come up with a single effective retort. Lanlos couldn't help covering his face.
That was just embarrassing...
But the captain noticed the small gesture. "You're a new face. Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"
All the young mages turned their eyes toward Lanlos, who had been deliberately ignored and kept at a distance. Come to think of it, they hadn't even bothered to learn his name.
With his right hand against his chest, Lanlos bowed slowly. "Lanlos, teaching assistant at Fastherin. It's an honor to work with you."
Unknown
High Elf
Strength 17, Agility 23, Intelligence 14, Constitution 13, Wisdom 15, Charisma 12
As mentioned before, a spellcaster's life depended closely on the soldiers at the front line. After using the Sargerite Keystone to see the captain's attributes, Lanlos could be fairly sure that he was one of the strongest fighters in the camp.
Getting on his good side would definitely help in the coming battle.
The captain didn't seem accustomed to the nobility's formalities, but Lanlos's respectful attitude clearly pleased him. He returned the bow rather awkwardly, then said with a bright smile, "Lor'themar, Ranger Captain. I'm temporarily serving as an instructor at the Farstrider Enclave."
!!!
This blond young man was actually the pilot of the Tree Hollow King—the Ashbringer?!
Before you continue