It had been some time since Lor'themar had seen any Trolls. The faint mist rising around him was making him increasingly restless. He rarely encountered this kind of damp, oppressive heat in Eversong Woods. If not for the treetops above, shimmering gold in the moonlight, he might have thought he had already left Ban'dinoriel.
Just as Lor'themar's thoughts began to drift, the mist before him suddenly vanished. For a moment, he stood dazed; then the Ranger Captain's gaze was drawn to the scene before him.
In the valley, crude huts built from branches and grass appeared here and there among the sparse trees. Orange flames glimmered like stars fallen into the ravine, faint but unmistakable.
Just as he'd suspected...
Lor'themar clenched his teeth. The Trolls had built a camp right under their noses, threatening the safety of the Quel'dorei. For the Ranger Captain responsible for this area, it was a grave dereliction of duty.
Anger surged in his chest. Lor'themar wanted nothing more than to draw his sword and charge down there to storm the camp, but he was only flesh and blood. Throwing his life away like that was just a foolish impulse.
For some reason, though, he'd forgotten one thing: he hadn't felt this kind of urge in many years.
Lor'themar slowly crouched and followed the shadows cast by the moonlit treetops, inching toward the Troll camp in the valley. As the operation's planner and temporary scout, he needed to assess the enemy's numbers and fighting ability, minimize the cost of the war, and maximize their chances of victory.
He'd already failed in his duty once. He couldn't let it happen again.
Following Lor'themar's markers, Halduron had passed the blockade without trouble. Yet now he'd been wandering around in circles for ages.
Lor'themar's markers had disappeared!
Halduron recalled Lanlos's concern, and his anxiety deepened. He knew Lor'themar. The Ranger Captain wouldn't make such a basic mistake. The only possibility was that he'd run into danger!
Halduron suddenly stopped. His gaze fell on a withered Peacebloom at his feet. At the slightest touch, its gray-black petals crumbled away and blended into the soil.
The flower was delicate, but it could be found all over Eversong Woods. It also had excellent medicinal properties, making it one of the most commonly used ingredients by alchemists and herbalists.
As its name suggested, Peacebloom had a remarkable effect when taken by mouth, refreshing the mind and sharpening one's focus. It was also exceptionally good at counteracting medicines and herbs that affected the mind.
The flower's unnatural withering was clearly connected to this.
Halduron furrowed his brow. Countless possibilities flashed through his mind, but the next moment, they all gave way to shock.
Whoosh!
A piercing whistle split the sky. Even several kilometers away, it rang out loud and clear.
A signal arrow? That was the retreat signal. Lor'themar!
Ignoring the consequences of disobeying orders, Halduron instantly became a streaking blur, racing through the forest toward the sound. He had no idea that, by sheer coincidence, he was heading in exactly the right direction.
The towering figure nodded in satisfaction and tossed the elven longbow, etched with golden patterns, to the ground. "Good. Now those elves will retreat for a while."
A wooden mask covered the upper half of his face, but the wrinkled skin left exposed was enough to show how old the Troll was. He wore a crude Amani Tribe robe that seemed to have been pieced together from a loincloth, feathers, and various leather trinkets.
Aside from the crude staff in his hand, which looked like a dead branch, he had two lightweight throwing axes hanging from his belt and another two at his hips.
He was an elderly Troll Witch Doctor. No, there was another one beside him, a tall figure dressed just like him. "Father, why don't we skin this elf and show the other scum what happens when they enter Tor'watha?"
"No. Elves aren't beasts. If you do that, you'll only enrage them." The old Witch Doctor glanced at Lor'themar, who was bound hand and foot and hanging upside down in the air, then slowly shook his head. "Zumalosh ordered us to buy time. As long as we can carry out that Darkpine Troll's plan, we'll be able to return to our homeland."
Seeing the hopeful gleam in his father's eyes, the young Witch Doctor curled his lip. "I don't like those Darkpine Trolls or their servants. Those evil creatures have defiled our land. Disgusting!"
The old Troll's murky eyes flickered with an inexplicable light. He patted his son's shoulder. "It's all for the sake of Zul'Aman. The spirits will forgive us."
"No, Father. That power comes from demons, the spirits' sworn enemies." The young Witch Doctor watched the old Troll's retreating back and silently shook his head.
At the edge of the Troll village, a small figure flickered in and out of view in the darkness. Of course, "small" was relative to these Amani Trolls.
Halduron looked toward the elf hanging upside down in the center of the village. Seeing Lor'themar's chest still rising faintly, he breathed a sigh of relief. But his joy at finding his old friend alive quickly faded. He studied the Troll patrols, stationed every ten paces around Lor'themar, and his brow furrowed again.
Dawn was coming.
Halduron glanced at the sky, already paling faintly, and grew more anxious. If they couldn't retreat under the cover of the last darkness before dawn, then Lor'themar—and Halduron himself—would be in grave danger.
More importantly, his companions must have received the signal just now. Unless they could confirm Lor'themar was safe, the Farstriders probably wouldn't launch their attack on time.
Missing the moment to strike was a cardinal sin.
Taking a deep breath, Halduron tightened his grip on his sword and was about to spring into action when a shadow appeared behind him.
Sensing a disturbance in the air, the elven Ranger immediately drew his blade and swung it behind him.
Clang!
The sharp clash of steel rang out through the night. Nearby Trolls stopped to look, but none abandoned their posts.
"What are you standing around for? Go see what's happening!" The young Witch Doctor emerged from a hut and shouted at the guards by the entrance.
Halduron was about to attack again when two points of crimson light suddenly flashed in the darkness, making him hesitate.
"Lanlos?! How did you..."
"Less talk. Move!" Grabbing Halduron by the wrist, the elven mage turned and ran, dragging him along before he could react. The two quickly vanished into the night.
The Trolls who came to investigate naturally found nothing.
The two raced to an open patch of ground. Lanlos suddenly flung Halduron forward with tremendous force. Halduron was so surprised that it took a great deal of effort to steady himself.
"Hey, what's gotten into you..." Halduron rubbed his reddened wrist as he eyed the elven mage, who was gasping for breath. His brows drew tight. "Are you all right?"
Lanlos waved a hand and closed his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing. But his heart was pounding like thunder, and nothing he did could calm it.
Berserking was originally a Troll racial ability in the game, one that gave a tremendous burst of power. But when that ability lasted for an extended period, you realized that the oxygen you took in couldn't keep up with what you burned through. Every moment, it felt as if your lungs were filled with roaring flames, ready to burst at any second!
No wonder the effect left you weakened afterward. No wonder the inability to focus drastically lowered your spellcasting success rate. The twenty percent speed boost couldn't make up for Lanlos's loss of combat ability.
"I have new intel..." Lanlos's voice was frighteningly low as he fought to suppress his violent urge.
"What did you say? This place is just a decoy?!" Halduron was so surprised by Lanlos's words that he nearly jumped. But soon his gaze returned to Lanlos, suspicion creeping into his eyes. "But how did you..."
"There's no time to explain. If we don't relocate as soon as possible, the Eastern Temple will be in serious trouble! We need to find Lor'themar and hurry to reinforce..." Seeing Halduron's evasive look, Lanlos paused, as if realizing he'd overlooked something. "Where's Lor'themar?"
Halduron pointed toward the Troll camp. He didn't need to say a word; Lanlos understood.
"Damn it, at a time like this..." Under the influence of Berserking, Lanlos's emotions were wildly unstable. He didn't realize how unreasonable his pointless complaint sounded.
"We can use magic to turn invisible and sneak in to rescue him."
"No. It's complicated, but in my current state, Invisibility would be too easy to detect." Lanlos shook his head. Then he seemed to think of something and gave a sinister grin. The crimson light in his eyes suddenly seemed to intensify. "I do have an idea."
The elven mage raised his right hand. An unseen force stirred the air, leaving a series of blurred ripples that drifted slowly into the distance on the breeze.
This was Wind Message, the spell with the greatest range among second-circle spells. It couldn't deal any damage; it simply carried a short message to a designated location on the breeze. Lanlos had learned it before setting out so he could send word to the academy. But the Ley Line at the Eastern Temple had been disrupted, making long-distance spells impossible, so the spell had stayed tucked away in his memory. Now was its time to shine.
"You're sure this will work?"
"Of course."
"But didn't you just say we had to relocate as soon as possible and change our target?"
"Don't you think cutting off Tor'watha and the Trolls' escape route first is just as important?" Lanlos's smile looked a little sinister. He didn't even notice that, under the influence of Berserking, his selfishness had overcome his reason.
He had no fondness for the Eastern Temple. Compared to helping Landral, he'd much rather rescue Lor'themar.
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