The Ranger General's Toy?

"When the Northern Temple's communications were cut off, Kaidenis immediately contacted Silvermoon City. What about you?" When the commotion around them gradually died down, Belovar finally spoke after a long silence.

At his reprimand, Landral's face, hidden beneath fiery red curls, filled with alarm. Her status, her power—just the thought of losing it all made her suffocating fear surge uncontrollably.

"And on top of that, you abandoned your post..." He beckoned toward Lanlos, and the blue crystal slipped from his hand, floating slowly into Belovar's. "How do you think you should be punished?"

"There were reasons for all of this..."

"Oh, how fascinating. As if no one else has reasons." Belovar raised an eyebrow, his voice full of scorn. "You can save those excuses for when we get to the Sunstrider Court."

After a pause, the Grand Magister turned his gaze to Lanlos. "I'm curious how you dealt with that thing, but we don't have much time right now. I hope we'll meet again someday at Sunfury Spire."

"Landral, come with me to the Western Temple. It's time for you to make up for your mistakes."

"Yes."

Belovar raised both hands. The calm sky suddenly churned with fierce winds, and the next moment, he and the Magister unit below vanished in a blinding flash of white light.

The enduring glow of magic flowed before his eyes. Though the crystal had been taken from him, Lanlos showed no sign of sadness.

He raised a finger, and a tiny orb of light soon appeared above it.

Dancing Lights.

No incantation, no gestures—a spell cast instantly. The cantrip didn't even count as a first-circle spell, so it might not sound like much. But it proved he could cast third-circle spells; it proved he had truly stepped through the gates of the Arcane.

The corners of his mouth kept rising. Excitement and elation made Lanlos want to sing at the top of his lungs, but in these circumstances, he decided against it...

"Did I miss something?"

At the sound of the voice, Lanlos turned to Lor'themar, who was covered in blood, and the ugly head he was carrying.

"You missed something we're all happy about. What are you doing with that thing?"

"Taking a trophy." Lor'themar tossed Zumalosh's enormous head onto the ground, then let out a long breath and slumped to the ground. Clearly, cutting off the Troll chieftain's head hadn't been as easy as it looked.

"Those cowards basically lost the will to fight once they found out their leader was dead."

"By the way, was that Grand Magister Belovar just now?"

"What, you want to get on his good side?"

"I'm not a mage. You're the one who should be trying to get on his good side, right?"

At the Western Temple, everything looked almost exactly as Belovar had expected. The place had barely changed at all, as if everything that had happened before had been nothing but an illusion.

"W-welcome, honored sirs." At the tower entrance, a female elven apprentice bowed in a panic. Whether she'd moved too abruptly or for some other reason, she looked awkward and disheveled.

"Where's Velania?"

Belovar's sharp question made the apprentice shrink back. She managed to steady herself, but then stammered and could barely get a word out.

"Never mind. I'll find her myself." He noticed the apprentice's gaze dart toward the floor in the center of the room, so Belovar immediately went over. With a surge of magic, he soon found and opened the secret passage.

But when they went down, the sight below left everyone stunned.

It wasn't the rotting mummies.

Velania lay face down on the altar, a dagger buried deep in her spine. The blood spilling from her wound had almost completely soaked her robes.

"I-I didn't want to do it... She killed so many people... I-I was scared..." The elven apprentice dropped to her knees with a thud, her voice breaking into sobs from fear.

After a long moment of thought, Belovar helped her to her feet himself. "No. You did well."

No one noticed the faint flash of green in the female apprentice's teary eyes.

A special guest arrived at the Farstrider Enclave that day.

Bathed in golden sunlight, its long, smooth feathers gleamed like gold. Its hard beak and talons flashed with a piercing sharpness, and its long tail feathers streamed through the air. It was beautiful and graceful.

Dragonhawks were large beasts and the Quel'dorei's favorite flying mounts. Their noble, radiant appearance, gentle nature, and love of sunlight were what made them companions to the High Elves.

(PS: For its appearance, don't use WoW's little lobster-looking creature. Use the Dragonhawk Rider from Warcraft III—in other words, something like a Hippogryph without horns or hooves.)

Scree!

A piercing cry split the sky. The golden Dragonhawk kicked up a cloud of dust before landing steadily in the open ground at the Farstrider Enclave.

Everyone, including Lanlos, stood at attention before it, waiting for that lithe, beautiful figure to leap down from its back.

The leather armor was exquisitely crafted, with a deep green base and golden-brown trim. Its cool, daring chest piece revealed a generous expanse of sun-kissed skin, and the outline of defined abs showed clearly across her flat stomach. The smooth material gleamed brilliantly beneath the sun. A pair of stunningly long legs were tightly wrapped in leather pants. With proportions like hers, all she'd need was a pair of towering heels to effortlessly captivate countless men—even if she stood there without saying a word.

Even after riding the Dragonhawk, her hood hadn't been blown down by the wind. A few exposed strands of bangs barely concealed her left eye, while her pale golden hair seemed to turn into incorporeal light beneath the sun.

Her beauty was like that of a masterfully crafted sword: breathtaking and sharp-edged, making people feel they could only admire her from afar—and dare not do otherwise. Let alone the disdain and boredom in her clear blue eyes. The palpable chill in her gaze could cut down anyone who fell for her before they even got close.

This extraordinary elven Ranger was more than just stunningly beautiful.

Her broad pauldrons were carved into the likeness of a Dragonhawk's face. Under the glow of magic, the pair of eyes on them shone faintly, giving her a formidable presence.

And with that gorgeous, intricately embroidered golden cloak, she clearly hadn't come to make friends...

"General, I didn't expect it to be you..."

"Don't try to get on my good side, Lor'themar." Sylvanas's slender brows drew together slightly, and everyone seemed to stop breathing. "You've disappointed me."

"I..."

"Although the Sunstrider Court sent you a promotion order, I rejected it." The Ranger General shook her head, her words leaving no room for argument.

She took a letter from her waist and tossed it straight at Lor'themar. "I can't be bothered to read it aloud. Take it and see for yourself. It has the full details of everyone's rewards and punishments."

As soon as she finished speaking, Sylvanas leaped lightly, like a drifting feather, back onto the saddle behind the Dragonhawk. She gave the reins a sharp tug, and as the broad wings began to beat, the Ranger General fixed her keen gaze on the person beside Lor'themar.

That was Lanlos.

"Lanlos, right?" Though she phrased it as a question, Sylvanas said it with certainty. She was confident she had the right person.

So she didn't give him a chance to answer. "Vereesa told me about you."

Lanlos's heart suddenly skipped a beat. For some reason, he felt a little guilty.

Like a rose in full bloom, Sylvanas's lips curled into a charming yet dangerous smile. "I'd love to chat with you longer, but I still have plenty to do. I hope we'll meet again soon."

Scree!

The ear-piercing cry shot into the sky, kicking up another raging cloud of dust. Through the crowd's blurred vision, the Dragonhawk soon became a tiny speck, disappearing rapidly to the south.

"Looks like you're in for a rough time." Halduron waved away the dust in front of them and whispered to Lanlos. His words were teasing, but there was more pity than mockery in his voice.

"Huh?"

"No one who catches the Ranger General's attention has an easy time. For example..." Halduron nodded toward Lor'themar, whose face was full of frustration, and shrugged helplessly. "Captain, tell us. What does the letter say?"

"You'll have to call me Second Lieutenant now." Lor'themar gave a wry smile, shook his head, and handed the letter to Halduron.

Halduron gave it a quick glance, and his expression shifted repeatedly. It was impossible to tell whether he was happy or upset.

The order was brief. It clearly hadn't come from the Elven Court, which was known for its red tape. Given Sylvanas's decisiveness, she had undoubtedly written it herself.

Lor'themar had been demoted to Second Lieutenant and reassigned to the southern border. For a Ranger captain who relished defeating his enemies, it didn't seem like a bad thing.

What left Halduron helpless was that his name was on it too.

"I'll leave this place to you, instructor." Lor'themar patted his former deputy on the shoulder, grinning broadly. He didn't seem at all upset about his demotion.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"What are you talking about? I'm congratulating you. I mean it."