A Tinyfolk [Guide] guided fifteen Elves through the Overthere Hills on horses. He was the fastest [Guide] around these parts, and he could speed up his companions with his Feats, faster than any normal horse for a time. It was only when they arrived at Dotterm that they hired a wagon to head towards their destination.

Maldent personally hired Tesath Tooker with forty gold coins, the Tinyfolk in question because he has experience dealing with Elves with Elf’s Madness, aside from being the highest-level [Guide] around these parts. He needed to be fast because he could not count how many times the geriatric Elven [Fighters] wandered off on their own while they traveled to the Yokelaines.

Unluckily, they missed their target in Joltstown, but tonight, they were within a forest next to the camp, after they dropped off in a hamlet near the Tucken army camp.

“Die. Die. Die. Can we die yet?” One Elf with gray long hair bit his zweihander manically, his eyes stared at the camp.

“Where…are we? Are we at Norxauk?” A wrinkled female Elf stared up at the stars, holding her gnarled staff with a single blue gem on it.

“Who do we kill again? Where? What…” Another old Elf with both of his eyes gouged out, now wrapped in a blindfold rested his large broad ax on his shoulder.

Teseath sighed with his mouth-mandibles. Half of them were also asleep or they forgot to close their mouths and produce a waterfall of drool. Yet they are still capable in battle despite their illness. “Capture Numisley Gildin and bring him back to Norxauk to Maldent. At least one of your number must come back with the target.”

As if unleashing a pack of rabid dogs, the [Guide] pointed at the camp with his [Waypoint] Feat, jolting those sleeping Elves awake. With manic glee at the prospect of dying, the fifteen elderly Elves charged straight towards the military camp with armed men and women many times their number manning it. The sentries on the earthworks stared at the distance as their [Dangersense] blared inside their heads. The guard dogs of the Gahkee Tribe were attacking someone, but they were cut down with the golden cuts of an Elf’s two scimitars. A [Fireball] bloomed in the calm night and it blasted itself into an invisible barrier in the borders of the camp erected by the [Shamans].

An Elf with an ax bearing a four-foot-wide enchanted blade ran towards the wall, and he pulverized the [Earth Wall] with a Feat-empowered strike, creating a crater that resembled more like a shallow crevice. The rest of the Elves had breached the camp. The Deathseekers had spread out and created havoc among the ranks of [Soldiers] and [Mercenaries], even slaying the few [Merchants] that were within the camp, searching for their target as they killed anyone in their way, without dodging the arrows and even Spells that were targeting them.

“The camp is under attack! All men and women, defend the camp!”

Cultrost and the caravan had heard the alarm, and their wagons were let inside by the [Soldiers] and [Mercenaries] so that they could help in the defense.

The Severed Swords headed towards the center of the camp, where Numisley was. They were led by Cultrost and Numisley since the officers of the camp didn’t give them orders. It seems like the camp was in chaos, and the other mercenary elements were defending themselves so far. Spells lit up the night and tents burned.

They saw the headquarters where Numisley is. General Karaiste stepped out from the hole in the wall, and for a second, she was half-naked before her armor and weapon appeared on her person.

“[Three Hundred Arrows of Stone]!” The elderly Elven [Sorceress] tapped her gnarled staff on the ground, and three hundred [Stone Arrows] rose from the ground and sped towards the [General] with thrice the speed of an arrow, but her azure helmet conjured a blue beam that conjured a wide barrier of flaming blue light that the [Stone Arrows] shattered on.

The old Elf with the zweihander blurred past the barrier and swung the long great blade with only his one remaining hand, but her cuirass flashed with a burst of white light, blinding him. Her serrated glaive blocked a strike that would cut in half six boulders, and one of the gems on the blade shone harshly, blasting that large Elf with the large ax away with sudden force.

Numisley peeked out of the hole in the wall of the headquarters, with only his undergarments on. Cultrost tried to run towards him, but someone appeared in front of them, bleeding profusely and close to death. The Elf with bark for skin had his arms torn off by a Feat-empowered mace and a [Fireball] Spell, and his body was riddled with arrows from a fight earlier against five dozen people. Yet his fading gaze still stared at them with glee.

“Will you…be my death?” He grinned at them as blood trickled between his teeth. The rest of the Severed Swords with enspelled wands and crossbows unleashed their bolts and Spells toward him. Somehow, despite his eyes filled with blood, he weaved away from [Stone Arrows] and crossbow bolts with his flowing footwork, and he flew towards Graten.

Graten parried his kick, which made his blade and wrists vibrate with a force that unleashed an explosion of air. He was sure that his sword would break under the sheer power of that strike, but for a moment it felt like his blade had weighed the same as multiple people.

[My Blade Carried My Loss]. Graten's Feat flashed within his head, and for a second, his dead comrades throughout the years; not just the ones who died at the Overthere Hills, held his blade with him. But he knew that they were only memories.

It enabled him to block the powerful kicks of the old Elf that threatened to shatter his sword. Though was evident that he was an amateur when it comes to only fighting with only his remaining legs whilst being at the edge of death, but the power that comes from his Level and Feats will still kill. The dozens of decades of experience had made him adapt quickly to his situation, and he was getting the hang of fighting with only his legs. He evaded Graten and kicked the other [Mercenaries] of the Severed Swords. They staggered even if they raised their shields, yet they still slowly surrounded him.

Someone charged into the Elf’s range before he could kick him. Cultrost swung his mace low, but the Elf had sensed it coming and he kicked Cultrost, knocking him back a good five feet away. It would’ve definitely killed him if he didn’t activate his [Long Backstep] Feat at the last second.

“[Moontear Blade: Crescent Cut].” Graten tore a chunk of the Elf’s belly with an aqueous shimmering silver crescent arc, and Cultrost followed up by a [Power Strike] that shattered the Elf's left femur. The Elf screamed grotesquely, but someone from the Severed Swords had silenced him with a stab of a spear through the back of his head. The tip of the spear popped out from his mouth; the Elf gurgling blood before he perished.

“Nice work Kortson-”

Graten saw Cultrost frantically running towards the headquarters. The one-armed Elf that was armed with a zweihander was now carrying Numisley away in the chaos of battle as the Elf with a giant ax and the [Sorceress] were holding the [General] in place with their attacks, but the rest of the army was advancing towards them. Suddenly, they heard a couple of loud popping cracks that pierced the battlefield, along with a symphony of warcries. Cultrost stopped at his tracks not because of the familiar sounds, but because his brother was now too far away to be chased down, hopping over the earthen ramparts of the camp.

Lizardfolk were hiding within the trees, holding their hand cannons, with the blackpowder imported from their home continent of El-Mira, one of the rare places where volcanoes existed to mine one of the main ingredients of blackpowder.

“[Unit: Rapid Reload]. Reload faster! [Volley of Terror]!” One of their officers had used a Feat to make the Lizardfolk under her command reload quickly, and make their shots more terrifying for the enemy. They fired another volley that pierced through the Steelwool armor of the Fauntyr [Warriors] before they transform into their war forms, as well as the [Riders] on their horses. The many animals of the Gahkee Tribe fled with the loud pops of the attacker’s hand cannons.

The other heavily armored [Mercenaries] charged from the southern forest and entered the already breached defenses, marching with greater speed, faster than they were normally. There were a few defenders left since many of their [Soldiers] and [Mercenaries] were slaughtered by the Deathseekers before they were inevitably killed. The remnants of the Gahkee Tribe were attacked by the bulk of their force, and the Bound Spell that each of them has rained [Lightning Bolts] on their Steelwool Bison, which were highly effective compared to the bullets of the Lizardfolk’s hand cannons that only crumpled their fur.

General Karaiste had beheaded the Deathseeker with the ax as he sliced through the [Sorceress] and her magical barrier. She quailed as she saw her camp being taken over by a strike force. The Gahkee Tribe was wise to retreat as many more of their number were slain. In the heat of battle, she didn’t see Numisley being taken away. The enemy is already inside the camp.

“Retreat! Retreat in good order! [Orderly Retreat]. I will dock your pay if you all abandon the army!” The [General] of Tucken ordered a retreat to preserve what's left of her forces.

The [Mercenaries] and [Soldiers] who routed had begun to organize themselves into groups, as they ran towards the forests. The [General] of one of Tucken’s armies disappeared with them.

Numisley had told his brother beforehand that the Thunderous March would send a strike force when they let them know the location of one of Tucken’s main camps. Beforehand, in the afternoon, Cultrost was told to send a signal stone connected to the [Commander] of the strike force to let them know where they are.

But, Cultrost and Numisley didn’t expect that a team of Deathseekers would come to the camp. Ironically, it made the attack on the camp much easier, but his brother was kidnapped.

One of the commanders of the strike force approached them. The Human with a thick mustache appraised him.

"So, you are Numisley?" He asked.

"I'm his brother. He… got kidnapped during the fighting." Cultrost replied weakly.

"I see. Job well done. You can go now." The [Commander] of the strike force was dismissed.

"Didn't you hear what I-"

"No. Our job here is done. If you want us to come and rescue your brother, pay up. A hundred gold coins or more."

Cultrost thought intensely about how he could convince this man and his strike force to search for his brother, yet part of him wanted leave his brother to die so that more people wouldn’t have to suffer in the future.

"How about something worth more than gold?" Cultrost provoked his interest. He silently hoped that if they managed to rescue Numisley, he would have something to offer them.

“What do you mean?” The [Commander] raised his eyebrows.

“Do you know why your [General] sent you here? It is because my brother had offered him knowledge in exchange for us giving you the location of Tucken’s main camp. My brother has the information that you might need, so you can learn something valuable from him.” Cultrost told the truth, but he avoided mentioning the actual two tomes of knowledge that they had back in one of their wagons. Or anything that he couldn't guarantee.

The [Commander] stroked his mustache. “Clearly you are-”

“I can attest to that.” A tall violet Satyr was dropped to the ground with his hands tied. A sword pressed on his throat.

“Who is this?” The [Commander] asked.

“I’m Atasaney. Atasaney’s Prowlers. You might have heard of us-we are one of the best in the region after all. Feel free to put me under a truth spell.”

“No need. I saw you back in the war between the cities of Parhyst and Onoroix when I was a raw boy-[Fighter] with a sling and a club while you charged towards Onoroix's boys and girls." The [Sergeant] recognized him back when he was a teenager in a different [Mercenary] band. “How did you know that?”

"A big company told me that Cultrost's brother has a lot of information. We were hired to attack his caravan before because of that, and Numisley would have hired my company to keep us in check before he got kidnapped by that Deathseeker." Atasaney explained.

"So…If we rescue this…Numisley, will he sell the information to me? The [Commander] clarified.

"Of course!" Cultrost was trickling with sweat because of his incomplete offer. "We need to find him within the night." Cultrost urged. "We might lose him if we wait until tomorrow. Do you have any [Trackers]? Or any Feat that may help?"

The [Commander] called one of the Lizardfolk holding those rare hand cannons. They were other [Mercenaries] from the southern continent of El-Mira, hired by the Thunderous March to supplement their numbers.

"Torozz, [Tracker] of Tzomon's Cannons. I can do it." A short orange-green Lizardfolk volunteered, as he tossed his hand cannon in favor of a bow and a quiver of arrows as they were lighter. He had a tail twice as long as his body and long and lean legs that could run at great speeds. "That will be another three gold."

The [Commander] handed him three gold coins.

"I'll let you rescue your brother, but I will only let you go with a small group. Five people. If you escape, my army will chase you down to the ends of the land." The [Commander] threatened.

"I understand." Cultrost nodded.

"Also, release us. Please." Atasaney asked. With the [Commander]’s orders, they let him and his [Mercenaries] free. None of them had died since they were out of the sight of the Deathseekers, as well as having surrendered the second that the strike force besieged the temporary camp as they saw that defeat was inevitable.

"I'll send Ridi. He has a Feat: [Riding Expertise] that he can apply to a unit to cross rough terrain. I'll let you borrow our horses because of the limitation of the Feat."

"I'll send one of my own. Cyneth! You were a [Hunter] right?"

A Dullahan woman armored in plain steel armor walked up to them. Her face was covered by a closed helm, but one can see her pearl-like eyes within the shadows of her helm, as well as her slimy red skin.

"Still got the Role. Mainly an [Archer] though." She voiced.

"Keep them in check." The [Sergeant] commanded. “Make sure that they will uphold the end of their bargain.”

"Graten, come with me," Cultrost commanded.

"Josaif, take charge. Protect the wagons." The [Sword Captain] tapped the shoulder of a darker-skinned Human man.

"If this is a bluff, I will burn your wagons down. I'll expect him by… tomorrow afternoon." The [Sergeant] warned before he attended to his men and women as he counted casualties.

Atasaney moved closer to his fellow Settled Satyr.

"You owe me one. If your brother hadn’t refused to hand the books to us, this wouldn't have happened." He whispered to Cultrost's ear. What was worse is that he agreed with him. If his brother didn't take the books and used them for his benefit, then he wouldn't have been kidnapped, they wouldn't get hunted, and people wouldn't have to die for nothing.

"Tell him that once we rescue him." Cultrost hissed.

Later, the group of five headed towards the forest in the middle of the night. They rode on horses from Atasaney's company. Ridi's Feat had made the trip much faster.

"Ese! Stop! A trail!” The Lizardman [Tracker] halted the group. He pointed towards the broken branches and leaves on a tree, and the trees next to it. The Lizardman dismounted and poked the footprints among the fallen leaves on the ground.

“Footprints are heavy. The other one is lighter. Two people. The other one must’ve carried your brother.” Torozz analyzed.

“Small feet and two large toes. The other one must be a Tinyfolk. Dwarves have wider feet.” The Dullahan [Hunter] helpfully added.

“They didn’t cover their tracks well enough, and they didn’t try to muddle their path. They must’ve been in a hurry” The [Tracker] pointed at the low southern incline, which was too craggy for their horses. "If they were in a hurry, they must have climbed that."

"One of my Feats tells me that they must be hiding somewhere," Graten added.

"I see. Lead the way." Cultrost commanded.

"Dismount the horses. I do not want to waste any of my movement-Feats for this." Ridi cautioned.

They climbed the craggy path ahead, tying the reins of their horses on the trees. The unlikely group trudged on the incline as the first flakes of snow fell until they were up on the elevated ground.

Their eyes laid upon a dim orange light from a cave peeking from the ground within two trees.

-

Numisley was bound in a dark cave. He didn't scream or shout, at least before they went too far from the camp. He did try to leave a trail by kicking bushes and branches as he was kidnapped. He kept still and silent to preserve his energy. His mouth was especially gagged because the [Guide] had the sense to prevent him from convincing them with his Feats. Numisley sighed, because he had leveled up throughout the whole ordeal, and he gained a few Feats that he won't be able to use right now even if he wanted to. He wished that there was someone else that was captured with him.

The [Guide], who hid his face with a cloth mask and hood, and the Elf with the zweihander sat around a fire made with a bundle of twigs. The cold could still be felt from the outside of the cave, where it was starting to snow. Sprinkles of snow were falling gently on the canopy of the sparse forest.

"When? When do we go?" The Elf asked.

"At first light." The [Guide] answered. The Elf continued to gnash his teeth on his sword.

Numisley was helpless. One moment, he was being coerced by a [General] to her bed, and the next moment he was whisked away by an Elf to this cave. He didn't know who they were or who hired them, but it seems like the objective was him. It was silent throughout the whole night, with the elderly Elf muttering to himself while the [Guide] read a book. Numisley saw that they were not friends, but more like men who were indifferent to each other, working together on a single goal. He looked around, and he found no stray rock like in the stories of [Heroes] escaping from enchanted ropes that would help him cut his bindings. Yet his fingers reached for the knot, and he slowly but surely loosened the knot. He strained with the exertion of his fingers, hands, and arms squirming towards freedom. The burning pain of his arms and the cold that made his half-naked body shiver made his escape still a distant possibility.

The fire ceased burning at midnight as the Elf slept. The [Guide] was drowsy and complacent since Numisley was calm and didn't attempt to escape. Numisley hid the fire of his desire to be free well, as well as his efforts to escape, and now the knot was already loose. The rope fell on his waist silently and Numisley removed the gag on his mouth. He almost fell to the ground as he tried to walk. For a second he had forgotten that one of his legs was atrophied and paralyzed since birth. So he silently lowered his shivering body and tried to crawl out of the cave. There was no Cultrost to carry him away from trouble, nor people to order around or to make deals with, nor someone to guide him or even a cane to lean on; it was only him against the sleepy vigil of his captors. He wished that he could cast magic, but he learned early on that he had no magical talent.

He crawled on the cold ground, gritting his teeth. Inch by inch, he pressed on towards the wide and bright exit from the cave. The cold wind brushed aside his brown hair, but-

"Hey!" The [Guide] yelled. Someone grabbed him by his paralyzed foot and slammed him on the walls of the cave. The Elf pointed his zweihander at Numisley’s throat.

"Don't kill him. Maldent needs him, ya' geriatric knife-ear!" The [Guide] scolded him, but the Elf beheaded the Tinyfolk in an instant with a swing of his gigantic sword. The Elf looked at the corpse-like he realized that he tripped someone's vase by accident.

"Oops. My hand slipped." The Elf said that in a way that he didn't actually understand the situation, regarding the corpse as something inconvenient. "I need to bring you to Maldent, right?"

Numisley realized that they were hired by Maldent Trading, and he had overlooked the possibility that a big company didn't want any of their subsidiaries starting another venture without their permission. The Elf seems like he genuinely waited for an actual answer from him.

He had only heard tales of Elf's Madness, the only sickness old Elves have when they live too long until they are nothing but a shell of themselves.

"No. You are clearly mistaken, my friend. You need to release me from this cave, so you can be free too." Numisley attempted to fool him, taking advantage of his mental disability.

But in a blur, the Elf's remaining hand pinned his neck on the wall, choking him. He made the mistake of thinking that Elf's Madness makes him dumb.

"I'm not dumb. If I kill you, you will be easier to carry after I chop your limbs off." The Elf was breathing heavily. Numisley saw madness in his eyes, and he meant what he had said with his declining mental acuity. He threw Numisley to the ground and he picked up his zweihander.

He stared at his shoulder uncomprehendingly, and an arrow had freshly pierced him from an [Hunter] 's bow appeared.