Chapter 422 - 406: Utterly Vulnerable

Chapter 422: Chapter 406: Utterly Vulnerable

The sharp clang of metal on metal, suppressed roars, and the wails of the dying intertwined in a forest clearing at the edge of the Eternal Song Forest.

The pale gleam of Zor Elf blades and the silver glint of Surface Elf swords clashed and crisscrossed in the dim woodland, kicking up dazzling sprays of blood.

The steps of the Elf Warriors were swift and deadly as they weaved between giant, luminous fungi and twisted trees, fighting to the death.

The thick stench of blood quickly filled the air, mingling with the forest’s natural, fresh scent of grass and trees to create a strange and brutal atmosphere.

’Pathetic...’

Hiding in the shadows of the tunnel exit, Roland calmly observed the short, fierce battle, quickly making his assessment.

Individually, the Zor Elves and their surface-dwelling kin were almost identical in physical prowess and Combat Skills. In fact, the lighter-skinned Surface Elves, wielding exquisite longswords and longbows, were even superior in their mastery of Combat Skills and their seamless coordination.

However, the moment "Magic," the decisive variable, was thrown onto the scales of battle, the situation instantly reversed.

Just as the Surface Elves’ line stabilized and even faintly began to push back, several Elves at the rear of the Zor formation raised their hands.

Energy of the Shadow shot out, snaking like living vipers. It precisely coiled around several of the bravest Surface Elf officers, causing their movements to suddenly stiffen.

A greasy, dark web materialized from thin air, blanketing an area and making it difficult for the charging Surface Elf Warriors to advance.

Scorching rays of Darkness, like the Death God’s fingertips, lanced toward the Elf Archers who were drawing their bows, triggering waves of pained grunts and explosions.

This sudden barrage of Magic instantly disrupted the Surface Elves’ rhythm and formation.

Shock and disbelief were written all over their faces.

Their once-tight defensive line showed clear cracks, like glass struck by a heavy hammer. Then, under the fierce assault the Zor Elves launched to press their advantage, it quickly devolved into a rout.

Roland, who was moving with the Zor Elf vanguard, took it all in and breathed a small sigh of relief.

It seemed the information Galvis had provided earlier was accurate.

For some unknown reason, despite the resurgence of Magic Elements, these Surface Elves seemed bound by some invisible shackles, unable to reclaim the Casting Abilities of their ancient heritage.

Even though there was no shortage of powerful Extraordinary Professionals among them...

Roland’s sharp gaze caught an Arrow, fired by an Elf Ranger, piercing a Zor Warrior’s throat like a shooting star.

Another Warrior, wielding twin blades, moved like a phantom through the trees, every flicker of his form leaving a spray of blood in its wake.

Their individual prowess was impressive.

But without Magic support, individual bravery could do little to turn the tide against an enemy with organized ranks of Casters.

During the Zor Elf Mages’ second round of targeted magical suppression, the agile, dual-wielding Warrior was ensnared by tentacles of Darkness that shot up from the ground. He was then overwhelmed by several poison-tipped Crossbow Arrows.

The Elf Ranger’s position was bombarded by a series of searing, unholy flames, forcing him to dodge frantically and preventing him from providing any effective covering fire.

Having lost their unified command and any means to counter Magic, the Surface Elves’ resistance swiftly crumbled.

’How strange...’

Roland watched the Zor Elves swiftly pass him by, a deep sense of confusion welling up inside him.

According to Duraga, the Surface Elves and Zor Elves were complementary, a community whose fates were intertwined.

’Then why can the Zor Elves cast Magic, while these Surface Elves show no Casting Ability whatsoever?’

As Roland was pondering this, a loud, bloodthirsty cheer suddenly erupted from the Zor Elf lines in the distance.

Although the language was obscure and difficult to understand, the victory and ecstasy it conveyed transcended linguistic barriers.

Immediately after, the previously stalemated front line visibly surged forward.

The Surface Elves’ defensive line had been completely torn open.

Just as he expected, before the cheers had fully died down, the Zor Elf Casters who had been providing magical support not far ahead of Roland—their bodies wreathed in a faint Magic Radiance—finished their brief respite and began to move forward with the tide of the assault.

Seeing this, Roland no longer hesitated. Like a Ghost melting into the forest’s light and shadow, he used the trees and terrain for cover, silently trailing the Zor Elf vanguard, paying special attention to those precious Casters.

Their direction usually pointed to the heart of the fiercest fighting, which also meant it was the path to the hinterlands of the Elven settlement.

With their defensive line broken, the remaining Surface Elves were clearly unable to mount any further organized resistance.

They broke into smaller groups and, relying on their familiarity with the terrain, waged a brutal guerrilla war against the invaders within the dim, dense forest filled with luminous fungi and gnarled ancient trees.

From time to time, poison-tipped arrows would fly from unexpected angles, or agile figures would lunge down from the treetops in deadly ambushes.

However, in the face of an absolute disparity in power and the Zor Elves’ equally superb hunting skills, this sporadic resistance seemed both tragic and futile.

The Zor Elves advanced steadily in practiced squad formations. The Warriors were responsible for pressing forward and standing guard, while the Casters became a true nightmare for the defenders.

They precisely detected ambushes, using area-of-effect Shadow corrosions or Spiritual Shocks to force hidden enemies out, or directly picking off the Elven skirmishers who attempted to launch surprise attacks with deadly rays.

The guerrilla tactics failed to truly slow the Zor Elves’ advance, merely leaving more pale, bloodstained corpses of Surface Elves along the path.

Looking at the Elves who had fallen among the ferns along the path, their life force already gone, Roland’s expression remained impassive. He simply shook his head slightly.

He had seen far too much of war’s cruelty.

Composing himself, he stopped paying attention to the sporadic killings and focused completely on following the group through the dangerous woodland.

After traveling for some time through the forest, which was filled with the stench of blood and the faint glow of fungi, the light ahead seemed to change slightly, and the trees began to thin.

Finally, after passing through a particularly dense thicket of bushes entwined with glowing vines, his view suddenly opened up.

In the distance, the true settlement of the Surface Elves came into view.

It was not the primitive village completely integrated with nature that he had expected, but a cluster of buildings cleverly constructed along the contours of the forest terrain.

Tall Elf Towers rose from the ground, their forms elegant and unique, their lines fluid and full of artistic sensibility.

The outer walls of many buildings were covered in moss or ivy that emitted a soft, faint glow.

Elegant archways and spiraling wooden walkways connected some of the buildings, tracing a dynamic skyline.

Even under the dim subterranean sky, the entire settlement flowed with a tranquil, harmonious, and ancient beauty, a stark contrast to the crude and dilapidated camp of the Zor Elves.

But now, this tranquility had been shattered.

The sounds of battle and the wisps of black smoke rising from some buildings showed that the flames of war had already spread here.

But the scene before him, a blend of cruelty and elegance, did not distract Roland in the slightest.

His goal was clear and firm.

Find Galvis and Avril.

Just as he was about to scout out the location where the Surface Elves kept their prisoners, an extremely faint but undeniable throb came from his heart without any warning.

It wasn’t a feeling of pain. It was more like a long-dormant, almost forgotten heartstring had been gently plucked by a distant, faint force, causing a brief, tightening sensation.

Roland subconsciously raised his hand, his fingertips pressing gently against his chest.

Almost instantly, he understood the source of the sensation.

[Destiny Red String].

For some unknown reason, this connection had previously fallen completely silent, as if it had been severed.

But now, it had suddenly revived on its own, though the signal it transmitted was incredibly faint and unstable.

’But the strange thing is...’

Roland frowned, sensing it carefully.

’More than one person is connected to me through the [Destiny Red String] right now.’

The clearest thread connected to the friend he was worried about.

However, at almost the same time, another connection bulldozed its way into his Perception.

It was completely unfamiliar, yet boundlessly vast, carrying a pressure so palpable it made one instinctively want to look up in awe.

Like a mighty river suddenly appearing next to a tiny stream.

This abrupt, unfamiliar connection made Roland’s brow furrow slightly, but he had no time to investigate it now. He focused all his attention on the connection that represented Galvis.

With this re-established guidance, the search for Galvis was no longer a blind probe.

However, this thought brought not joy, but a sudden chill that gripped his heart.

Because he could clearly "feel" that the life force represented at the other end of the connection was flickering, exceptionally faint, like the last bit of candlelight in a gale, ready to be extinguished at any moment.

"Galvis..."

Roland whispered his friend’s name, suppressing the worry rising in his heart, and hesitated no longer.

With a single movement, he became like a cheetah melting into the shadows. Following that faint yet distinct pull from the unseen world, he stealthily advanced into the depths of the Eternal Song Forest at astonishing speed.

He sped past collapsed clusters of glowing fungi, broken weapons, and the scattered corpses of Elves.

Traces of battle were everywhere, but the large-scale engagement seemed to have moved on, leaving only these silent, blood-soaked embers behind.

As he was running at full speed, the wind carried a voice to his ears—one that was familiar, yet held some indescribable change. It was methodically issuing combat orders and organizing a defense.

The moment he heard the voice, Roland’s charging figure came to a sudden halt, and he immediately changed direction without hesitation.

His feet tapped lightly on moss-covered rocks as his body, silent as an owl, leaped onto a tall, abandoned wooden watchtower to the side.

He crouched low and looked toward the battlefield, following the sound.

There, he saw a small squad of Surface Elf Warriors using a few residential-looking houses for cover, locked in a fierce confrontation with a numerically superior force of Zor Elves.

Their formation was tight, clearly fighting desperately to protect something—or someone—behind them.

And there, at the core of the Elf Warriors’ command position, stood a slender yet agile figure.