The group’s journey continued as they moved deeper into the Firane Kingdom. They had crossed the western border, and although Sylabell still lay three days ahead, they were already seeing the land change before their eyes.

  As the vast plains of Raveer faded behind them, they entered a new, vibrant region filled with rich farmland and lush green fields. The hum of insects and the occasional croak of frogs echoed from the distant wetlands as they traveled, the fertile soil a testament to the kingdom's wealth.

  Yuna, peeped her head out the carriage window, gratitude in her eyes. "I wanted to thank you again for stopping by Centa to visit my mother, Lady Argold," she said, her voice sincere. "It meant so much to me that you took the time to do that. I know it wasn’t exactly part of the plan."

  "You asked, and it was important to me as well," Arlan replied. "Lady Argold is a key figure, and I wanted to make sure she knew her daughter’s mission was being supported, and that her concerns were heard."

  Yuna’s smile widened, her heart lightened by Arlan’s words. The road ahead was long, but her thoughts on her family back in Centa kept her grounded. "Thank you," she whispered again, almost to herself.

  The air grew cooler as they rode, and the trees began to grow larger, their trunks towering above them like ancient sentinels. Yanie, who had been mostly quiet up to this point, spoke up, her voice filled with pride as she gestured toward the towering trees.

  "That’s the edge of the Majestic Forest," she explained, her eyes gleaming as she looked toward the horizon. "We, the Silvan elves, are a proud race of elves, and we consider these forests our home."

  Arlan nodded, taking in the sight of the enormous trees stretching far into the distance, their canopies so thick that little sunlight pierced through. The air was damp and earthy, and the scent of pine and moss filled the atmosphere. The ancient forest was not just a natural wonder; it was a testament to the power and heritage of the Silvan elves.

  "Only the nobility live in the heart of this forest," Yanie continued, her tone respectful but with an edge of pride. "The trees here are so massive and ancient that they can sustain entire cities built into their trunks and branches. Those of us who live in these cities are not just elves, but nobles who have held their place for centuries. These towering structures are homes to my people, and they are not places for outsiders to casually visit."

  Arlan studied the towering trees, noting the intricate bridges and platforms hanging between the branches. "I’ve never seen anything like it," he muttered, clearly taken aback by the sheer scale of it all.

  "It is," Yanie confirmed with a smile, her pride clear. "But only those who are of noble blood are given the right to live in these ancient homes. But we’ve always welcomed travelers who respect our ways. Just don’t think you’ll be welcomed into the heart of the forest without invitation."

  "Quite a bit of exclusivity in these parts," commented Frej.

  Yanie smirked at Frej’s remark. "It’s the way of the Silvan elves. Our connection to the forest runs deep—far deeper than most realize."

  Akasha, who had been silent until now, leaned forward slightly. "I can understand that," she said, her voice quiet but thoughtful. "It’s not unlike how some cultures hold sacred lands. The forest isn’t just a home, it’s a part of your people’s spirit."

  “This is really cool,” stated Yuna. “I haven’t had many chances to travel outside Midland. I’ve read that the Silvan elves’ bond to this place is something unique. It’s not just about the homes in the trees, it’s about living in harmony with nature."

  Yanie’s eyes softened with a quiet pride. "You’re well informed, Yuna. We don’t fight the land; we live in it. The trees are our ancestors. We honor them, and in return, they give us life."

  "That’s... fascinating.” admitted Emmeline, “I’ve read of such a deep connection between the Silvan Elves and nature."

  Yanie’s smile deepened. "It’s the core of everything for us. These trees are more than just wood and bark—they hold memories, power, and protection. Only those who understand this bond are allowed to settle within the great trees."

  Arlan, his mind still processing the enormity of the forest, looked ahead. "I can see why the Silvan elves hold this land so dear. But does that mean it’s only nobles who can truly understand its power?"

  Yanie’s eyes met his, her expression serious. "Not just nobles. The people who live in these trees—noble or not—have earned their place. They are bound to the forest as much as the trees themselves. But it is the nobles who carry the responsibility of guarding the deepest secrets of the forest."

  As the group continued their journey, the landscape began to subtly shift, the forest becoming denser and more foreboding as they neared the outskirts of the Majestic Forest.

  After a few hours of travel, they finally reached the small village. While on his dark stygian, JD approached a sign and read it since it was written in both Silvan and Commonspeak, “Raveer.”

  “First of many villages within the outskirts of Firane,” noted Yanie to JD outloud.

  “We’ll stop there for tonight,” ordered Arlan.

  Raveer was just a few miles from the Majestic Forest. The village was quiet, far removed from the bustling cities they had grown accustomed to. The fields surrounding the village were dotted with farmers—humans, Silvan elves, and a few other scattered races—working diligently under the fading sun. Their crops, mostly grains and root vegetables, stretched across the fertile land like a patchwork quilt.

  The homes here were modest, constructed of wood and stone, blending seamlessly with the natural environment. The buildings were simple, their thatched roofs covered in moss, and the occasional lantern hung outside the doors, casting a soft glow in the otherwise dimming light.

  The architecture reflected the harmony that these villagers seemed to share with the forest—nature’s resilience was present in the sturdy walls of the homes and in the faces of the people.

  However, despite the outward calm, Arlan could sense a quiet tension in the air. The villagers went about their work, but there was a noticeable stiffness to their movements, a cautious glance toward the travelers that suggested this village had seen more than its fair share of trouble.

  It was a place that seemed caught between worlds: the calm of rural life and the unease of being on the frontier of the kingdom, where political conflicts and deeper dangers often found their way.

  "Let’s find the Inn," Arlan decided, his voice low but decisive as he turned to face the group. "And we’ll keep a low profile."

  The group made their way toward the village's largest inn, a timber building with an inviting, yet somewhat worn, facade. The thatched roof had seen better days, but the structure was sturdy, standing strong against the harsh winds that sometimes blew in from the forest.

  The inn looked like a place that had hosted its fair share of travelers, but there was something about the place that felt... off. It wasn’t just the simple village; it was the quiet atmosphere that hung in the air, something unspoken.

  As they entered, the warmth of the fire in the hearth greeted them, and the low murmur of conversations filled the air. The innkeeper, a lowborn Silvan elf, was waiting behind the bar, wiping down the counter.

  He straightened as the group entered, his eyes flicking over them with a mixture of respect and unease. His greeting was polite but short, his voice carrying a nervous tremor that did not escape Arlan’s notice.

  "You’ll find four rooms ready for you," the innkeeper said quickly, his gaze darting to the group’s numbers before he added, "I… I wasn’t expecting such a large group, but I’ll make sure you’re comfortable."

  Arlan gave a nod, his gaze lingering on the innkeeper’s face. The man’s nervousness wasn’t lost on him. It wasn’t unusual for the innkeeper to feel cautious in these parts, where travelers weren’t always welcomed with open arms. But there was something else in the elf’s eyes—something more than just nervous hospitality. A fear, perhaps, or a warning.

  "Thank you," Arlan replied, keeping his voice neutral. "We’ll take the rooms for the night."

  The group was shown upstairs, their footsteps echoing through the inn’s wooden floors. As they passed through the common room, they noticed the strange mix of patrons. There were humans, a few Silvan elves, and even a couple of beastmen sitting at a corner table.

  The diversity of races was striking, especially for such a small, rural village, and there was an unspoken tension in the air. The beastmen in particular caught Arlan’s eye. They sat too close together, their eyes constantly shifting to the group. Their gaze lingered on the women—Akasha, Fiala, Emmeline, Yuna, Chrysta, and Marie—eyes cold and calculating, like predators sizing up their prey.

  Arlan’s sharp eyes met JD’s, and the unspoken understanding between them was immediate. JD’s hand drifted closer to the hilt of his sword, the tension in his posture betraying the unease he felt. Arlan, ever observant, could sense that this wasn’t just idle curiosity.

  "The beastmen in the corner," JD muttered, his voice low and dangerous.

  Arlan didn’t respond immediately. He was scanning the room, assessing the situation. He could feel the weight of the gazes on him and his group. It was clear these beastmen were no ordinary travelers.

  "Don’t worry about it," Arlan replied quietly, his tone grim. "Let’s keep our distance, for now."

  The group nodded, moving upstairs to their rooms with their senses heightened, their footsteps echoing in the hall. As they retreated to the safety of their rooms, a quiet unease settled over them.

  Once inside, Arlan was joined by Emmeline and Marie. The Immortal General shut the door behind him with a quiet click. He immediately went to the window, peering out into the village below.

  The night was still, the only sounds the crackling of the inn’s hearth and the occasional murmur from the common room. He snapped his fingers once, the sharp sound echoing in the room, and a shadow crept in through the window.

  Nightingale manifested herself from the shadow but was already kneeling before the Immortal General. "Master Arlan," she said, her voice soft. "How can I serve?"

  "There’s a group of beastmen in the inn," Arlan said quietly. "They were staring at the girls. I didn’t like that."

  "I understand," Nightingale replied. "The Violet Jernas. A local hunter gang, known for slave trades. They’ve been active in this area for some time."

  Marie was puzzled and said, "I thought slavery was outlawed in Firane."

  "It is," Nightingale replied, her tone dark. "But there are always those who operate in the shadows. Gangs like the Violet Jernas don’t care about laws."

  "Make them disappear." Arlan’s expression hardened.

  Nightingale smiled coldly, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "By your command, Master Arlan."

  With a fluid movement, she dissolved into the shadows, leaving the room as silently as she had entered.

  Emmeline, who had been watching quietly, looked at Arlan with concern. "Are you sure it’s safe for us to just... leave it to her?"

  Arlan answered nonchalantly as he laid down on the bed. "Nightingale and her Panthers can handle it. All the beastmen were mere second-tier yellow cores."

  Marie joined Arlan on one side and added. "If anyone can deal with those thugs, it’s her. But for now..." She leaned in, placing a hand on Arlan’s arm. "Maybe we can make our own plans for the evening."

  Emmeline smiled softly and joined them on the bed. With that, the tension in the room seemed to ease, but the sense of unease lingering in the inn still hung heavy in the air. Whatever happened next, they knew that danger was never far behind.

  That night, as the village of Raveer slept beneath the darkened sky, the Violet Jernas gang prepared to execute their plan. Their target—Arlan and his group—had unwittingly walked straight into their trap. The travelers had made no attempt to hide their presence, and the gang, confident in their numbers, thought they had found easy prey.

  The gang had gathered in a nearby warehouse, the cold, musty air thick with anticipation. Over forty beastmen, a mixture of various animalistic features and savage expressions, milled about.

  Their leader, a massive creature with the head of a wolf and the body of a muscular brute, paced in front of his men. His lips curled into a cruel grin as he surveyed his followers.

  "We’ve waited long enough," the leader snarled, his voice gravelly. His yellow eyes gleamed with dark delight as he looked over his gang. "Those merchants don’t have any guards, no protection. They’re easy pickings—especially the girls. We’ll have them in no time."

  The others, grinning like hungry wolves, muttered their agreement. They could already taste their victory, savoring the thought of the women they’d capture. The gang had been operating in the shadows for years, and the idea of adding such valuable slaves to their collection filled them with lustful greed.

  "We’ll make a fortune on those girls," the leader continued, his voice rising with excitement. "Take what we can carry, then we’ll head to the coast. There are always buyers for fresh merchandise."

  He turned to his men, raising his hand to quiet them. "Get ready. We move in five minutes. Do not hesitate. And remember—take the girls alive. We sell them in pristine condition."

  The gang let out a low, hungry cheer, their hands tightening around the hilts of their weapons as they began to assemble. They were armed with crude but effective weapons—machetes, jagged knives, and sharpened claws.

  They moved with the predator’s grace, slowly and deliberately, as they made their way toward the back door of the warehouse. There was no fear, only the anticipation of violence.

  But as they neared the exit, the air around them seemed to shift. Without warning, the torches and lanterns in the room flickered violently and then went out altogether, plunging the warehouse into pitch darkness. A hushed moment of confusion swept through the group.

  "What the hell?" one of the beastmen grunted, his voice laced with surprise and irritation. He fumbled for his torch but found nothing but cold air where the flame had been.

  "Who snuffed them out?" he growled, trying to reign in his rising panic. His hands shook as he searched the dark for the familiar warmth of the light.

  "Who’s there?" another beastman barked into the dark, his voice quivering with the first inkling of fear. His eyes darted around the warehouse, straining to see anything in the pitch black. They were surrounded by darkness, and they could hear only the distant rustling of the night.

  "Show yourself!" one of the more nervous members of the gang shouted, his hand gripping his weapon so tightly that his knuckles whitened. The tension in the air was palpable as the group struggled to regain their composure.

  Fear began to creep in. They were trained to take control of a situation, but this was different. The atmosphere was heavy with something more sinister.

  A cold, chilling voice emerged from the shadows, cutting through the tension like a blade. "There is no need to introduce myself to the dead."

  Before they could react, the warehouse came alive with the sound of movement—quick, precise, and deadly. The shadows around them seemed to shift and surge forward, and in an instant, the beastmen were upon them.

  The Panthers, Nightingale’s personal handpicked Umbras, descended from the darkness like wraiths. Their movements were so fast, so fluid, that they were barely visible to the human eye. They moved with deadly precision, their strikes seamless and swift.

  In the span of a few heartbeats, one of the beastmen was torn apart by a flash of steel. His body was hacked to pieces before he even had a chance to draw his weapon. The Panthers, moving like whispers in the dark, struck without mercy, their swift blades finding their marks with lethal accuracy. The night was alive with the quiet hiss of a blade cutting through flesh, followed by a soft thud as the victim collapsed to the floor.

  The gang’s leader, roaring in fury, drew his massive sword and swung it wildly in the direction of the sound, but his actions were too slow. One of the Panthers, known for her speed and agility, darted forward and slashed at his leg with a razor-sharp blade, bringing him to his knees.

  The leader howled in pain, but before he could recover, Nightingale herself was upon him. In one swift motion, she slit his throat, and his body crumpled to the floor, lifeless before he even hit the ground.

  The rest of the gang fell in quick succession, each member picked off by the deadly Panthers with chilling efficiency. The screams of the beastmen echoed through the warehouse, but they were quickly silenced by the sound of blades cutting through flesh and bone. There was no struggle, no chance for escape. It was a massacre, a swift and brutal execution that left no room for mercy.

  As the last of the Violet Jernas gang members fell, the warehouse was eerily quiet. The sounds of battle—shouting, the clash of metal, the wet tearing of flesh—were soon replaced by the sickening silence of defeat.

  The floor was littered with bodies, limbs severed, blood pooling in the dark corners of the warehouse. The cold, oppressive darkness seemed to swallow the remains, leaving only a grim and gruesome scene behind.

  Nightingale stood in the center of the carnage, her eyes gleaming with cold satisfaction. She surveyed the bodies, the blood that stained the floor, the destruction she had wrought, and a faint smile crossed her lips. Her Panthers stood behind her, unmoving, their faces hidden in the shadows, their presence a quiet testament to their lethal skills.

  The warehouse was silent now—too silent. Only the soft rustling of the Umbras' cloaks and the faint dripping of blood filled the air. Nightingale turned her gaze toward the door, already slipping back into the shadows. With a final glance over her shoulder, she whispered, "This was the Master’s orders."

  And just as quickly as they had arrived, Nightingale and her Panthers vanished into the darkness, leaving behind only the grisly aftermath of their work. The night air outside Raveer was still, untroubled by the bloodshed that had taken place just a short distance away.

  The stars twinkled brightly above, indifferent to the brutal end of the Violet Jernas gang, who had underestimated the true power of those they sought to capture. The village slept on, unaware of the danger that had been silenced in the darkness.

  The morning sun had barely risen when Arlan was awakened by a firm knock at his door. His body shifted instinctively, but it was the sound of the knock that pulled him fully awake. He rose from the bed, careful not to disturb Emmeline and Marie, both still wrapped in the blankets beside him.

  As he approached the door, the sound of muffled voices outside reached his ears. He opened it, only to find an Elven guard standing nervously on the threshold.

  The guard, a young man with his armor slightly askew, looked down for a moment, his eyes betraying an unease he could not entirely mask. "There’s been an attack on the village," he said, his voice rushed, almost pleading. "We’re advising everyone to stay indoors for another hour while the garrison investigates."

  “Attack?" Arlan murmured, his voice steady. "How severe?"

  The guard shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flicking to the ground. “That information is still to be determined. We just… we just need everyone to stay inside for now."

  "Sure thing," he said, giving the guard a reassuring look before shutting the door gently. The guard didn’t linger, his footsteps echoing softly down the hall as he hurried off to fulfill his duties.

  Arlan stretched, his muscles aching from the journey, but the news of the attack had his mind racing. He returned to the bed, his gaze lingering on the two women still sleeping soundly.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Emmeline stirred slightly at his presence, but didn’t wake, her face serene in the light of the early morning. Marie, on the other hand, shifted a little, her eyes fluttering open.

  "We’ll stay inside for now," Arlan murmured as he climbed back into bed, settling between the two. The warmth of the blankets surrounded him.

  "It seems Nighty must’ve made a mess," she mumbled, snuggling closer to Arlan. "You know how she gets."

  Arlan smiled but didn’t reply. He lay back against the pillows, his thoughts drifting as the hours passed.

  Later that afternoon, the group gathered in the inn’s dining area, a noticeable shift in their mood. There was an underlying tension now, a weight that had settled over them ever since the night’s events. The innkeeper, who usually greeted guests with a calm demeanor, entered carrying their lunch, his hands trembling slightly as he set the plates down in front of them.

  "Something strange happened last night," he said in a hushed voice, his eyes darting to each of them nervously, as though unsure whether he should be speaking at all. "All the beastmen who were secretly terrorizing and threatening the village… they were all massacred." He paused, letting the words hang in the air before continuing. "The garrison’s investigating, but it’s… unsettling. Be careful when you leave."

  Arlan’s sharp gaze met the innkeeper’s, his mind already piecing things together. The innkeeper’s words only confirmed what he had suspected—the beastmen, the Violet Jernas gang, had been dealt with swiftly. His thoughts flicked briefly to Nightingale and her panthers, knowing that they were the ones who had carried out the gruesome task at his command.

  "Massacred?" Arlan repeated calmly, his voice measured but with a hint of curiosity. "By whom?"

  The innkeeper swallowed hard, his discomfort increasing as his eyes flicked nervously around the room. "We don’t know," he murmured, leaning closer, lowering his voice even further. "Some folks say they heard strange noises last night, like… like someone was hunting them. They found the bodies this morning, scattered in the warehouse. The garrison’s securing the area now, but no one really knows who did it."

  Arlan’s lips twitched into a faint, almost imperceptible smile, but his expression remained neutral. It was no surprise that the garrison had no clue. The Panthers worked swiftly and silently, leaving nothing behind but chaos and blood.

  The innkeeper, still standing awkwardly in the middle of the room, seemed to sense the weight of what he had just said, and his posture stiffened as though he had just let slip something he shouldn’t have.

  JD, who had been listening intently, leaned forward, his brow furrowed in suspicion. "Who exactly was terrorizing the village?" he asked. "The beastmen you mentioned?"

  "Yes, yes. The Violet Jernas gang," the innkeeper answered, his voice lowered, almost like he was afraid someone else might overhear. "They’ve been around for some time, making life difficult for the villagers. They’ve been… well, you know, taking whatever they could, especially from the women. We’ve all been trying to stay out of their way. They’ve been a constant headache for us."

  He paused and looked around the room nervously, seemingly considering whether to continue. "Anyway, where are you folks from?" he asked, trying to steer the conversation elsewhere.

  Jovann lied with ease. "We’re just a band of merchants, traveling through,"

  The innkeeper appeared to relax slightly at this, but his eyes lingered on them for a moment longer than necessary, still filled with wariness. "You don’t look like typical merchants," he muttered. He then glanced at each of them again, his gaze lingering on Arlan, before adding in a lower voice, "I hope you folks stay safe."

  "We’ll be vigilant," Arlan responded quietly.

  Once the innkeeper had left, the group exchanged looks. They all knew the truth, though none of them spoke it aloud. It had been Nightingale—and her Panthers—who had wiped out the Violet Jernas gang. Arlan’s silent command had been carried out perfectly, and now they had to act as though they had no part in it.

  Arlan looked to his companions with a quiet resolve. "It was handled quietly," he said, his voice firm but composed. He didn’t need to elaborate. They all understood the unspoken message. Though their involvement had been subtle, the consequences were still playing out in the village.

  The group nodded in silent agreement. It wasn’t the first time they had been involved in an unseen hand’s work, and it wouldn’t be the last. But their connection to the incident couldn’t be revealed, not yet. Arlan’s mind was already racing, weighing their next steps. They couldn’t afford to be too obvious. It was time to play the part of unassuming travelers.

  "There isn’t much that proves a threat to us on the road," Arlan said, his voice low and purposeful. "But we still need to remain vigilant, especially as we get closer to Sylabell."

  Savage leaned back in his chair, a broad grin spreading across his face as he looked at Arlan. "You know," he said with a chuckle, his voice dripping with admiration, "you’ve got a real talent for handling problems. That was a clean job. Quick. Efficient. I almost wish I’d been there to see it."

  "I’m sure it wasn’t difficult," Arlan replied. "It needed to be done."

  Savage let out a low laugh, clearly pleased by the compliment. "I like the way you think," he said. "No hesitation, no mess. Just get it done. And all that because they looked at the girls wrong."

  Akasha gave a soft sigh of longing. "I almost wish I could’ve joined Nightingale in the blood bath," she admitted. "It’s been too long since I’ve killed anything."

  The others exchanged glances, none of them particularly fazed by the casual nature of the conversation. It wasn’t the first time they’d dealt with violence like this, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. For them, it was just another day.

  "That gang was nothing," Lucius remarked, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. "All second-tier yellow cores at best."

  "And they thought they had a chance," Savage added, his grin widening. "Trash better know their damn place."

  Shortly after lunch, the group packed up their gear and left the quiet village of Raveer behind. The sun was high and the day was crisp, the warmth of the early hours pushing away the last remnants of morning mist. As they traveled along the winding forest paths, the landscape began to shift once more. The fertile plains and peaceful farms of Raveer quickly faded into the distance, and the dense, towering, titanic trees of the Majestic Forest began to surround them.

  The air grew thicker with the earthy smell of ancient wood and damp moss. The towering trunks of the great trees stretched far into the sky, their boughs reaching up like the arms of forgotten giants. The forest floor was dappled with patches of sunlight that filtered through the thick canopy above, casting shifting shadows that seemed to move with the breeze. Despite this, the forest had a natural light that was still very bright, almost as if the trees themselves bounced the light into the area.

  As they journeyed deeper into the wilderness, it became increasingly clear that they were entering a realm untouched by the passage of time. The wildlife here was different—more cautious, more aware of their surroundings. Birds that flitted about in the open plains now scattered at the slightest sound. Even the rustle of leaves and the soft hum of the forest felt muffled as if the very air had grown still in response to the group's presence.

  "Do you feel that?" Yuna asked, her voice soft, almost a whisper, as she looked around, her eyes darting between the towering trees. The forest had a strange stillness to it now, as if the natural world itself had paused in quiet observation.

  "It’s Arlan," JD muttered, the edges of his voice full of the casual ease that came from years of working alongside the Immortal General. "He’s making sure nothing gets too curious."

  The group's attention shifted towards Arlan, who rode ahead on Kage, his crimson cloak standing out against the vibrant green of the forest. Arlan’s presence was otherworldly, though his posture was relaxed.

  What JD inferred was that Arlan was subtly releasing a quiet, deadly aura—his killing intent slipping into the air like an invisible weight, pushing the creatures and monsters of the forest to flee. The trees swayed gently with the wind, but otherwise, there was an eerie silence that had descended, as if nature itself feared the power Arlan held within.

  Arlan didn’t respond to the remark. He knew well enough what was happening around them, the way the wildlife instinctively retreated at the subtle, almost imperceptible aura of danger that surrounded him.

  His presence alone was enough to deter even the boldest of beasts from approaching. While the group moved along the forest paths, their journey felt untouched by the usual dangers that the wilderness often posed.

  The day passed without incident, the group covering a steady distance as the towering trees of the forest gradually closed in around them. Eventually, as the sun began to dip lower in the sky, they set up camp in a small clearing surrounded by thick trees. The shadows grew long, stretching across the ground like dark fingers reaching out from the heart of the forest.

  They made quick work of their preparations, setting up the tents and gathering firewood, though the setting sun seemed to cast an oddly peaceful glow on the camp. The quiet was almost too perfect, but there was no cause for concern—Arlan’s presence continued to keep any hostile creatures at bay. Even the flicker of movement in the trees was nothing more than the rustling of leaves and branches, disturbed only by the wind.

  "Alright, we’ll take turns on watch tonight," Arlan ordered as he settled by the fire. His voice was quiet but authoritative. He looked up into the tree canopy, studying the shadows that flickered above. "But there’s nothing in these woods that can threaten us. So rest easy."

  The group nodded, trusting in his words. They rotated the watch, but the night passed without incident. The fire crackled softly as they sat around it, the warmth and flickering light contrasting the darkened silence of the forest surrounding them.

  As the hours passed and the fire dwindled, Arlan leaned back against a large log, his eyes still watchful, though his features were relaxed. He trusted his companions to stay alert, but with his [Heraldic Vision] and Sophia able to keep a constant watch, there was nothing that could threaten their safety. The occasional rustle of leaves was the only sound besides the crackling of the fire, and despite the palpable tension in the air, the night was uneventful.

  The next morning, the group continued their journey with renewed purpose. They made their way along the winding trail that led them toward the outskirts of the Majestic Forest. The dense woods gradually thinned, and the towering trees gave way to a more open expanse, though the towering canopy still loomed over them in the distance. The air was thick with the smell of earth and damp moss, and the ground beneath their feet was soft, springy with the moisture of the previous night's dew.

  It was just past midday when they encountered a group of Silvan Elves on patrol. The soldiers were easy to spot—more than fifty of them, dressed in light infantry gear, with cloaks that blended seamlessly with the forest backdrop. Their eyes were sharp, their movements calculated but weary, as though they had been out for some time.

  Despite their exhaustion, there was a quiet alertness to them, a readiness that spoke of the ever-present dangers in the Majestic Forest. Their weapons were at the ready, though not yet drawn, and their sharp gaze was focused on the travelers before them.

  The leader of the patrol, a tall and imposing elf, stood apart from the rest. His hair was dark, pulled back in a tight braid that flowed to the nape of his neck. His face was stern, his features sharp, and he held himself with an air of authority that demanded attention. As his eyes moved over the group, his expression remained neutral, but there was a subtle tension in his posture. He had clearly noticed the unmistakable presence of power radiating from Arlan and his companions.

  After a moment of careful assessment, the patrol leader approached. He seemed to hesitate for a moment before speaking, his voice measured and cautious. "Who are you, and what brings you to the Firane Kingdom?" His tone was weighted with suspicion, his eyes still sizing up Arlan, the clear leader of the group.

  "We’re merchants from Midland," declared Yanie. "We’ve come for business with Marquis Thalion Odian."

  "Merchants?" the patrol leader repeated, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. His gaze swept over their weapons again, then took in their posture—the way they moved with a quiet but undeniable confidence. "You don’t look like merchants."

  His eyes narrowed as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword. "You’re not simple traders. Who are you really?"

  The tension thickened in the air, but Arlan remained calm. He stepped forward, his gaze fixed on the patrol leader. "I am Arlan, Crown Prince of Midland," he declared, his voice carrying the authority that only a ruler could command.

  Beside him, Emmeline moved to stand with him. "And I am Princess Emmeline, future Queen of Midland."

  The moment the royal sigils on their cloaks were revealed, the Patrol leader froze, his eyes widening in realization. The moment of shock was fleeting but noticeable—he had clearly not expected the travelers to be royalty. His posture shifted from suspicion to genuine awe as he glanced between Arlan and Emmeline, the implications of their identities slowly sinking in.

  Slowly, with an expression of genuine respect, the patrol leader lowered himself to one knee, his men following his lead with practiced precision. "My sincerest apologies, Your Highnesses," he said. "I am Lieutenant Halien of the Third Silvan Army. I didn’t recognize you. Please, allow us to escort you to Sylabell immediately."

  The change in tone was swift and evident. The patrol’s wariness dissolved, replaced by the deep respect reserved for royalty. Yet, even in the midst of his apology, Halien’s voice remained cautious, almost as if seeking to clarify their intentions. "May I ask, Your Highnesses, why you chose to conceal your identities?" he asked, his tone shifting to one of curiosity, though still respectful. "Such a choice raises questions."

  "For safety," Arlan replied. "It seemed best to avoid unnecessary attention. In such uncertain times, it’s not wise to reveal oneself until necessary."

  Halien nodded slowly, understanding the reasoning. He respected the precaution, especially considering the often turbulent nature of political affairs. After a brief pause, he stood tall once more, his posture shifting to that of a man who had regained his composure. "Of course, Your Highness. I apologize for the inconvenience, and I assure you, we’ll escort you to Sylabell without delay. It is our duty and our honor."

  Arlan gave a small nod in acknowledgement. "Thank you," he said. "Let us continue our journey. We have little time to waste."

  Halien quickly relayed the new orders to his soldiers, and the group began their journey once more, this time accompanied by the Silvan patrol. As the travelers moved forward, the elves maintained a respectful distance.

  The tension that had briefly hung in the air was now gone, replaced with a renewed sense of purpose. They were no longer just travelers; they were royalty, and with that title came the promise of safety and respect—at least for now.

  As they journeyed closer to Sylabell, the pace of their travel quickened, but the peaceful hum of the forest around them soon shattered. From the dense trees ahead, a young Silvan elf emerged, sprinting toward them with wild, panicked eyes. His feet barely touched the ground as he pushed himself through the underbrush, his breath coming in sharp gasps. He looked as though he had been running for miles.

  "Lieutenant Halien!" the young elf cried, his voice breathless and strained. "The village—it’s under attack!"

  Halien’s eyes snapped to the elf, his body stiffening with urgency. "Vorani! What happened?"

  "A band of forest trolls and kobolds have attacked! They’re slaughtering the villagers! The entire settlement is under siege—they need help immediately!" Vorani’s chest heaved with exhaustion.

  Halien’s face tightened, his features hardening in frustration. He turned toward Arlan and Emmeline, then back to the young elf, as the weight of the situation settled in.

  But Arlan, already alert, had activated his [Heraldic Vision]. His eyes flickered, glowing briefly as he scanned the distant village. The silence of the forest around them seemed to hold its breath as Arlan’s focus sharpened.

  “There are over a hundred kobolds,” Arlan said. “Fifteen large forest trolls.”

  The air around them seemed to thicken with tension. Halien clenched his jaw, his mind clearly torn. His duty as an officer of the Silvan Army was to protect both the people and the honored royalty of another kingdom. But the attack on the village was an immediate crisis—lives were at risk, and the Silvan people depended on their defenders.

  Arlan, sensing Halien’s hesitation, stepped closer and placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll rush to the village’s defense at once,” Arlan said calmly. "I can’t allow lives to be unnecessarily lost."

  Halien hesitated, his brow furrowing in conflict. But this attack—this was an emergency, one that could not be ignored. He looked over at Vorani, then back at Arlan, clearly weighing his options.

  "Please stay back while we help our village," Halien said reluctantly, his voice tinged with doubt. "I promise that we’ll escort you properly afterwards."

  "I know your duty," Arlan reassured. "But fewer will die if we help. Trust me." His eyes locked with Halien’s.

  Halien finally gave a reluctant nod. His eyes flicked over the group, his gaze narrowing as he weighed his options. "You may be right," he admitted, his tone grim. "Either way, this will reflect poorly on me. The council will not be pleased if we abandon our post for a situation like this."

  "We’ll help," Arlan stated firmly.

  Still reluctant but with no better option, Halien nodded once more, signaling his men to prepare. "Very well, Your Highness. We will move out immediately."

  "Then let’s make sure it counts," Arlan replied. "We’ll save as many as we can."

  With that, Halien ordered his patrol to prepare for battle, signaling the soldiers to fall into formation. They readied their weapons, their faces grim but resolute, as they prepared to leave the road that led to Sylabell and rush to the aid of the village under siege.

  As they moved, Arlan’s gaze flicked across the forest, catching a few brief flashes of movement in the trees. A small signal, almost imperceptible, but enough to confirm his suspicions.

  Nightingale and the Panthers were following them, their dark silhouettes hidden among the trees like shadows. Arlan gave a barely perceptible nod in their direction—Nightingale and her team had heard the call for help and were already in position, ready to strike from the shadows.

  They arrived at the burning village, flames casting flickering shadows as kobolds and trolls ravaged everything in sight. Arlan’s voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Halien, protect the civilians!" he ordered from atop Kage. "We’ll handle the kobolds and trolls!" Before Halien could protest, Arlan and his strike team surged into action.

  Arlan and Kage charged through the throng of enemies with JD right behind him on his dark stygian, Eternus blazing with an ethereal light as he struck down trolls with devastating precision.

  Each swing of the blade cleaved through the monstrous creatures, their immense frames collapsing under the power of Arlan’s strikes. Kage reared and stomped, crushing kobolds beneath steel-shod hooves, his movements an extension of Arlan’s will. The two moved as one, an unstoppable force of destruction that left carnage in their wake.

  Beside him, JD activated his [Hurricane Regalia], the air around him whirling with cyclonic fury as his [Echos] manifested. The spectral warriors moved in perfect synchronization with JD, their mithril longswords slicing through kobolds with deadly efficiency.

  Each swing of JD’s blade was mirrored by the Echos, their combined strikes overwhelming the enemy with sheer speed and precision. As the storm of steel and wind raged around him, JD’s focus never wavered, his movements a flawless blend of strategy and ferocity.

  Adding to the violence, Akasha moved like a specter of death, her crimson eyes gleaming in the firelight. Her hands morphed into massive, razor-sharp claws, glistening with a predatory sheen. She lunged at the kobolds with supernatural speed, tearing through them with ease.

  Each swipe of her claws sent sprays of blood into the air, her strikes calculated yet feral. Her vampiric nature granted her an otherworldly grace, making her an unstoppable force on the battlefield, her presence both mesmerizing and terrifying.

  Nearby, Frej launched herself high into the air, her essence-infused jump carrying her above the fray. From her vantage, she assessed the chaos below, pinpointing her target with the precision of a seasoned warrior. As gravity pulled her downward, her spear gleamed with a deadly light as she activated [Falcon Dive].

  She struck a kobold commander with devastating force, her spear piercing through its chest and driving it into the earth. The impact sent a shockwave rippling outward, staggering nearby kobolds. Frej didn't hesitate; she twisted her spear free and pivoted into a fluid series of strikes, each one finding its mark.

  Right next to Gryphon Knight, Savage charged into the thick of the battle. He unleashed the Mar-Tech, [Shockwave]. It allowed each swing of his axe to be accompanied by a concussive blast, the force sending kobolds flying and shattering the resolve of nearby trolls.

  His Hek’Jefah battle cry echoed across the battlefield, a primal roar that fueled his allies and struck terror into his foes. And as he pressed on, he left a trail of corpses and limbs.

  Lucius stood at the periphery, his artificer’s wand morphing fluidly to suit the needs of the moment. A troll advanced on him, and with a flick of his wrist, his wand elongated into a glaive, slicing through the creature’s legs.

  Another wave of kobolds approached, and Lucius transformed the weapon into a crossbow, firing precise bolts that found their marks. His fighting style was unlike anything the Silvan elves had ever seen.

  From the shadows, unnoticed, Nightingale employed her [Shadow Walk]. Her form vanished into the darkness. She reappeared behind an unsuspecting kobold, her blade flashing as she slit its throat with chilling precision before disappearing again.

  Her movements were a symphony of silence and lethality, each strike perfectly timed to sow chaos and fear among the enemy ranks. The kobolds never saw her coming, their lives ending before they even realized they were under attack.

  On the other side of the battlefield, Yuna unleashed a fourth-tier spell,[Chain Lightning] which erupts across the battlefield in a wave of destruction. Beside her, Chrysta channeled the [Ice Lance], her frost-spears impaling enemies and freezing others in place.

  Marie released [Arcflares], leaving smoldering craters in its wake. Together, the three mages formed an unyielding wall of elemental power that devastated the enemy forces.

  Amidst the chaos, Fiala and Niren moved with calm efficiency, their healing spells knitting wounds and restoring hope to the villagers and Silvan Elves caught in the crossfire.

  Fiala’s hands glowed with a soothing light, while Niren murmured incantations that mended bone and flesh. Their unwavering focus brought solace amidst the storm, their presence a beacon of hope in a sea of carnage.

  In minutes, the battlefield fell silent save for the crackling of flame. The village stood saved.

  Halien approached, his face pale with awe as he surveyed the aftermath. "Those trolls were third-tier red cores... and you cut through them like they were nothing."

  Arlan dismounted Kage and wiped the blood from Eternus. "Because they were nothing," Arlan replied, his tone calm but firm. His companions gathered around him, each a force of nature in their own right.

  “So the rumors were true,” Halien admitted, “You’re the Immortal General of Midland.”

  The group wasted no time stabilizing the shattered village. Survivors, disheveled and trembling, emerged from cellars and hidden nooks, their expressions a mixture of fear and fragile hope. Arlan took command with his characteristic decisiveness, issuing orders with a calm authority that steadied the panicked villagers.

  Fiala and Niren, their faces etched with focus, transformed the area near the village well into a triage station. With swift, practiced hands, they tended to the wounded, mending gashes and stabilizing those who had been battered during the attack. Fiala’s healing magic glowed faintly as she worked, its warmth a stark contrast to the cold dread that had gripped the survivors. Niren, meanwhile, organized the uninjured into small groups, assigning them tasks to aid the recovery effort.

  Nearby, Nightingale led her Panthers in a final sweep of the area. The stealthy fighters moved through the village with eerie silence, their weapons drawn and senses sharp. They checked every crumbled structure, overturned cart, and shadowy alley for lurking enemies.

  Within moments, Nightingale returned to Arlan with her report. “Nothing more remains in the area,” she said tersely.

  “Good work,” Arlan replied.

  Halien, observing the efficiency and coordination of Arlan’s group, stepped forward. His tone was measured but carried a note of respect. “I’ll leave forty of my men here to protect the village until reinforcements arrive. These people have been through enough, and if this attack is a sign of things to come, we can’t leave them defenseless.”

  “A wise choice,” answered Arlan

  Halien inclined his head. “Though if we had been sooner...”

  “Don’t linger on that.”

  With the village secure, the group prepared to move out. Villagers gathered to bid them farewell, their gratitude apparent in the soft murmurs and tearful thanks. A small child clutched Emmeline’s hand, her eyes wide with adoration. “You’re a real princess, aren’t you?” the child whispered.

  Emmeline knelt, her expression tender as she tucked a loose strand of hair behind the girl’s ear. “Yes, little one.”

  “Thank you for saving us!”

  As Halien assembled a handful of his light infantry to escort the group, JD exchanged a final handshake with one of the villagers, offering a reassuring smile. “Keep those barricades tight. You’ve got this.”

  And so, with the village saved, Arlan and his strike team were back onto the road with Halien leading them. The journey took four more hours, but as the sun began to dip toward the horizon, the majestic forest gave way to a sight that left even Arlan momentarily speechless.

  The towering tree city of Sylabell rose like living monuments, their colossal trunks supporting intricate structures that spiraled upward toward the heavens. Walkways wove seamlessly between the massive trees, illuminated by bioluminescent lanterns that cast a soft, otherworldly glow. Below, the forest floor teemed with life and movement, while elevated platforms housed bustling markets and residential quarters.

  Emmeline peaked out from the carriage, her eyes wide with wonder. “This… this is incredible. It’s as if the forest itself decided to become a city.”

  Halien looked back with pride. “Sylabell is more than a city—it’s a sanctuary. Everything you see here exists in harmony with nature.”

  Marie’s voice carried a note of curiosity as she glanced at the glowing wards that shimmered faintly in the air. “And the defenses? They seem subtle.”

  Halien smiled. “Subtle, yes, but incredibly powerful. The wards around Sylabell have kept it safe for centuries.”

  As they moved closer to Sylabell, the faint hum of its magical wards grew more pronounced, blending with the natural sounds of the forest. Arlan’s gaze lingered on the grand city before them.

  The group pressed on, their steps steady as the gates of the tree city loomed ahead, bathed in the gentle glow of its bioluminescent lights. For now, the beauty of Sylabell stood untouched, a beacon of peace that will soon be engulfed in a succession battle for the throne.