Jungle Escape Life-and-Death Duel

"Clack... clack-clack... click!" After setting the last bear trap, Victor wedged several pieces of gravel into its teeth, sprinkled on a few potions, then covered it with leaves for concealment.

"C-Captain, don't worry about me. You go on ahead!" Slumped beneath an oak tree, Angoulême's face was deathly pale, sweat soaking her back. "Go to Floating Harbor and book a room for me. If the Squirrel Party doesn't catch up, I can rest once I get there. If they do catch me, I can at least buy you some time."

It was now evening. The Phantom Troupe's jungle cross-country obstacle run had begun at dawn. This ancient sport tested not only endurance, but skill as well. After six or seven hours, the witcher apprentice had displayed an overwhelming physical advantage over the girl. Once the activity stretched beyond twelve hours, however, the difference was between someone who still had energy to spare and someone on the verge of collapse.

And now that Victor no longer needed to conceal the functions of his herb pouch, he used the brief moments when Angoulême caught her breath along the way to set one bear trap after another.

Returning to the oak tree, Victor crouched and stared at the girl. His blue eyes fixed on her brown ones until she guiltily lowered her gaze and looked away.

"Angoulême Corleone, with your intelligence, it would be difficult for me to explain why you have virtually no chance of surviving if they catch you, while I have as much as an eighty percent chance," the boy said. "Anyway, do you remember the troupe rules?"

"I do. The captain has the final say in everything..." the girl murmured.

The captain said, "Good. Now I say it's not time to give up yet! Do you hear me?"

After looking into each other's eyes for a moment, the girl nodded. Then the captain of the Phantom Troupe pulled his briefly rested member to her feet, and they continued fleeing along the river.

At last, after running for who knew how long, they vaguely saw scattered points of firelight flickering in the distance. It was Floating Harbor's nighttime illumination. At the sight, both of them quickened their pace—then Angoulême abruptly lunged sideways, knocking Victor down with her. They rolled together in a heap, narrowly avoiding an arrow that would have pierced their hearts.

Amid the whistling rain of arrows, the two scrambled and rolled behind the trunk of a thicker beech tree for cover.

The rustling leaves were the sound of elves moving, the footsteps of Death drawing near. With the situation critical, Victor had no more time to hesitate. He shouted, "Ceádmil, Wedd Dol Blathanna!"

His cry rang out clearly through the forest. The whistling of arrows stopped, but the rustling leaves did not.

Angoulême happily grabbed Victor's arm. "Captain, they stopped shooting! What did you say that was so effective?"

Shaking off her grip, Victor was nowhere near as optimistic. "Just a simple greeting. 'Hello, child of Dol Blathanna—the Valley of Flowers.'

"Now shut up and let me concentrate on remembering. Otherwise, I'll add another rule requiring troupe members to learn Elven!"

Angoulême immediately fell silent. Reading and swimming were already enough; she had no desire to add another burden.

Moving his lips to make sure his tongue's motions matched the rhythm, Victor shouted again, "Caelm, evellienn! N'aenaes par ame. (Calm down, everyone! Please do not shoot.)"

The rustling sounds gradually ceased. Perhaps they had stopped advancing, though Victor was more inclined to think they had simply taken up their positions.

In any case, footsteps sounded amid the silence. "Glaeddyv van vort! (Drop your sword!)" The elves finally responded, the voice low and powerful.

Victor cautiously poked half his body out from behind the tree and observed whoever had answered.

Beneath a dark red headscarf was what had once been a beautiful elven face. But the hideous scar running diagonally across his forehead, eyebrow, nose, cheek, and all the way to his chin gave him a predatory, masculine charm.

He was tall, seemingly even taller than that ** of an Eskel. A longbow hung on his back, while two one-handed elven swords rested sheathed at his waist. His linked leather armor wrapped around the muscles of his ape-like arms and wasp-like waist, yet it could not contain the imposing aura that spilled from him.

By appearance alone, the speaker was the most ferocious-looking man Victor had seen since coming to this world.

Patting Angoulême's hand, Victor said, "Hide here. Don't come out unless I call you." With that, he gently tossed both his steel sword and silver sword out from behind the beech tree, moving slowly enough throughout to avoid causing any misunderstanding.

Then, with his palms facing outward, the boy stepped from behind the tree. Under the aim of more than a dozen elves who had ceased hiding and drawn their bows, he officially came face-to-face with Iophis, the butcher of infamous renown.

Iophis glanced at the two swords on the ground, noticing the silver blade Victor had deliberately revealed through his controlled throw. "Vatt'ghern? (Witcher?)" He then studied the boy's pupils and said, "Vatt'ghern wed. (Witcher apprentice.)"

Victor said nothing. He had not learned enough vocabulary on his own.

Perhaps noticing the boy's awkward inability to respond, Iophis burst into laughter. "Quel'en pavienn, ell'ea? (You're just a monkey, aren't you?)"

This taunt was clearly beloved by the Squirrel Party. Laughter rose and fell among the trees. It was the phrase elves most often used to mock humans, and Victor had learned plenty from similar exchanges of insults in Vergen's taverns.

So the boy answered without hesitation, "Nell'ea, t'en pavienn, Aen Seidhe. (No, you're the monkey, Aen Seidhe.)"

This standard reply delighted the elves, who already held every advantage. They laughed even more heartily. After all, insulting someone in a language they did not understand was far less amusing than having them understand perfectly but only be able to respond weakly in words.

Ignoring the jeers around him, Victor knew that the only elf truly qualified to decide the Phantom Troupe's fate was the one before him. Staring into his eyes, the boy said, "M'aes par que va'en, ell'ea? (Are you planning to shoot me, or what?)"

Iophis smiled and naturally switched to the Common Tongue. "Don't force yourself to speak Elven, human. If you still have anything to say, make the most of your time and say it all now—before you're disemboweled."

The moment he finished speaking, Victor knew something was wrong. Sure enough, clang! Angoulême's steel sword left its sheath. She leaped out from behind the tree and stood protectively in front of Victor. Thank the heavens, she had not been foolish enough to attack Iophis directly. Otherwise, Pang Tong, Zhang He, and Sun Jian would have been with her at this very moment.

The smile faded from Iophis's lips. "Glaeddyv vort, beanna." Realizing that the girl did not understand, he switched back to the Common Tongue. "Drop your sword, woman!"

Victor hurried forward, intending to take Angoulême's sword from her, but Iophis suddenly drew his left-hand sword and hurled it fiercely, pinning it into the ground before Victor's feet. "Stay there! If he takes one step forward, shoot him!" The latter half was an order directed at the surrounding elves.

Then Iophis rolled his neck, drew his right-hand sword, and beckoned Angoulême with his left hand. "Come! Defeat me, and I'll let you go!"

Victor had no idea what had suddenly changed Iophis's mind, but he did not think this was an opportunity. Leaving aside whether the girl could defeat the famous elf, this invitation to battle had clearly been issued in anger. Even victory could not guarantee that he would keep his promise.

Angoulême, however, did not think that much. She lowered her body into a stance and glared viciously at the elf, who held his sword in one hand and appeared full of openings at first glance.

But when Victor caught sight of the bloodstains not fully wiped from Angoulême's sword hilt, he understood everything in an instant.