Hatred and Fall

The eastern sky was illuminated by a dazzling golden light. As the Troll patrolling the border of Tor'watha prepared to tighten their defensive line, an arrow emerged from the depths of the woods, instantly piercing the chest of the Troll on the watchtower.

"Enemy attack!"

"It's the Elves!"

Watching countless petite figures emerge from the dense forest in the distance, the Troll whose heart had been pierced by the arrow used his final strength to blow his horn.

The low, lingering sound of the horn cut through the jungle, echoing repeatedly across the mountain range. The main force of the Farstriders, like a tide of gold and red, instantly broke through the border defense line.

The absolute numerical advantage left these Troll headhunters powerless to resist. The agile rangers were like sharp swords, advancing rapidly toward Tor'watha deep in the mountains.

"This is madness, absolute madness!" Verien and several other mages were hidden within the main force. Seeing these rangers ignore the fleeing Troll headhunters and charge headlong forward, he couldn't help but widen his eyes.

"This isn't the plan! Where is your captain?" Annihilation and siege warfare are completely different concepts. Although this was Verien's first time accompanying an army into battle, that did not mean he was ignorant of the dangers of war.

Focusing fire on spellcasters and commanders is the shortcut to winning a war. With every Troll allowed to escape, the unease in Verien's heart grew more intense.

"The commander is already waiting for us at the target location. We must break through Tor'watha before the Trolls can organize their defenses. Mage, pick up your pace!"

"No, this is deception! That's not what was said yesterday! This isn't our mission!"

"Mage, you must adapt to the changes of war. If you wish to defy military orders, I would be more than happy to execute you first and report it later."

"Weren't you sent to negotiate?!" The old witch doctor looked at his blood-soaked Troll kin before him and roared in disbelief, "Why did it end up like this?"

"Elves... they came..." As the Troll spoke, blood flowed uncontrollably down his chin. With his final breath, his body shuddered, and he collapsed straight into a pool of blood.

"Damn it, they don't care about this useless captive at all, those heartless bastards!" The young witch doctor spat in the direction of Lor'themar, then grabbed the hand axe at his waist and prepared to charge forward.

Blocking his impulsive son, the old witch doctor asked, "What do you think you're doing?"

"I'm going to kill him, skin this piece of trash, and let those Elves see the price of recklessness!"

"No, this Elf is still useful. We must use him to buy time."

"Father, don't you understand yet? Zumalosh has already abandoned us! We are just bait! We are cannon fodder meant to lure those Elven rangers!"

The old witch doctor froze. Looking at his child glaring at him with hatred, the sliver of hope in his heart began to waver.

Whoosh!

A speeding arrow tore through the air. With the sound of fabric being shredded, a blood-stained arrow burst out from the center of the witch doctor's brow.

Before the old Troll could react, the carvings extending from the arrowhead to the fletching erupted with a dazzling orange light.

"No!" Watching the arrow that had pierced his child suddenly burst into flames, the old witch doctor let out a heart-wrenching roar. The next moment, the wooden mask on the young witch doctor's face was instantly ignited by the flames. Under the scorching heat, the witch doctor struck by the fire arrow collapsed to the ground, wailing.

In just a moment, the Troll's life force turned to ash.

His long, clumsy arms reached forward with the fastest speed of his life. The old witch doctor grabbed the young Troll's corpse, but due to the violent movement, his own mask fell to the ground, revealing an old face nearly split in two by a scar.

Two agile figures became clear in his dark brown eyes.

Lanlos threw the six Arcane Missiles in his hand forward rapidly. With a series of crisp sounds, a Troll who had just turned around had his entire skeleton crushed instantly.

As a flash of light passed, the Windrunner Blade easily severed his head. Bathed in blood, Lanlos's breathing grew heavy again, and the scarlet light in his eyes seemed to deepen.

On the other side, Halduron forced the Troll guards back with a continuous volley of arrows, then drew his scimitar and slashed through the bindings on Lor'themar.

"Hah!" With a low roar, Lor'themar used all his strength to break free and landed steadily after a roll. He picked up his longbow and nocked an arrow in one fluid motion.

"My disheveled captain, need a hand?" Killing a Troll before him with a single strike, Halduron came to Lor'themar's side, and the two leaned against each other with practiced synergy.

"Cough, cough. I got tripped up by these Trolls' voodoo. That mist affected my mind and judgment..."

"Forget it, don't mention it. You'd better go help that mage." Picking up a spear dropped by a Troll, Lor'themar lunged forward.

Halduron turned his gaze toward Lanlos, only to see the latter retreating under the attacks of the Troll warriors. Despite the attack speed bonus, his low strength and agility stats left Lanlos at a great disadvantage when facing these enemies with superior physical size.

Berserking not only affected Lanlos's body but, more importantly, his emotions.

Damn bastard!

The passive effect caused Lanlos's rage to surge. Pushing off with his right foot, the Elven mage created distance, and a green light suddenly flickered in his scarlet eyes.

Fel Combustion!

ROAR—

The hoarse roar was filled with primal power. Halduron, who had intended to step in and help, couldn't help but stop in his tracks.

Accompanied by a flash, a long arm went flying high into the air, along with a large portion of the Troll's shoulder blade.

Before the Troll could even wail, the Windrunner Blade traced a terrifying arc through the air, and another headless corpse collapsed to the ground.

"Whoa, brother, your blade angle and force are quite impressive. Why be a mage? You should join the Farstriders." Halduron slung his blade over his shoulder quite casually, his curious gaze darting back and forth over Lanlos.

"Not interested." Flicking the blood off the Windrunner Blade, Lanlos ignored Halduron and charged toward the enemy with his blade in hand.

"Hey, didn't you say we'd pull back after saving him?"

"The plan has changed." Stomping on a Troll's toe, Lanlos vaulted high into the air. Taking advantage of the enemy tilting his head back in agony, the Windrunner Blade easily left a scarlet bloodline across his throat. "Our mission now is..."

"Kill every last one of these Trolls!" As the gushing blood poured down like a rainstorm beside him, Lanlos was filled with the scent of carnage. This fierce, murderous aura made Halduron's heart skip a beat.

"Beasts..." Clutching the young witch doctor's body tightly, the old Troll did not take his eyes off the other's twisted, charred face for a single moment. It was only when a drop of Troll blood splattered onto the back of his hand that he finally looked toward the three Elves, who remained at ease despite being surrounded by Trolls.

"I will have you pay with your lives..."

"All of you, must die!"

The blood that had splattered onto his hand suddenly hissed, as if it were boiling. A rising current of air began to surge around the old Troll, and the next moment, this current turned dim as black energy rapidly converged before him.

"Hehehe, a wise choice." Two withered hands composed of chaotic energy slowly pulled in opposite directions; the space tore like fabric, and a pitch-black portal gradually appeared in the air.

"Aside from my son, you may use any of the other souls." The old Troll's murky eyes were devoid of emotion, showing a flicker of movement only when his gaze fell upon those Elves.

Hatred, endless hatred!

"I only want their lives!"

Leather loincloth, a thin bandeau, and an incredibly provocative outfit exposed vast stretches of snowy, delicate skin to the air. Small black wings fluttered gently, accompanied by curved horns and hoof-like legs; her exotic appearance radiated a charm that made it impossible to look away.

Succubus...

For the sake of revenge, the old witch doctor chose to bow his head to a power once spurned by both himself and the gods.

"As you wish." Drawing a pitch-black whip from her waist, a sharp crack echoed through the sky. Pale energy from the corpses on the battlefield continuously gathered around the Succubus, and two brownish-green vortices quickly manifested at her sides.

ROAR--!

The beastly roar was deafening as two ugly, four-legged monsters instantly charged out from the portal.

It was a Felhound!

Although under the influence of Berserking, Lanlos rarely thought of anything beyond slaughtering his enemies, the pungent, thick scent of Fel energy inexplicably calmed the young Elf.

"Tear them apart!"

At the Succubus's command, the two Felhounds growled and launched their charge at the three Elves.