Mystic Mystic Moon blinked, her expression one of genuine confusion. "What? I just asked what a 'pleasure slave' is. Why are you reacting so strongly?"
Mystic Moon Scar's face flushed crimson with embarrassment. "Miss Mystic Mystic Moon, perhaps it's better not to pursue that line of questioning. Let's prepare to enter the forest. Check the carriage quickly; see if you've forgotten anything important."
"Nothing!" Mystic Mystic Moon chirped dismissively. "If you won't tell me, I'll ask Dunce. Dunce, what is a 'pleasure slave'?"
Dunce blinked owlishly, his slow mind processing the unfamiliar term. "I... I don't know either. But since they're slaves, their fate must be terrible. It's awful, what's happening to the captured Elves."
"A human showing compassion? Remarkable. That's a first for me." A cold, sharp voice sliced through the air from the depths of the trees. Instantly alert, the group watched as a dozen green-clad figures glided from the shadows. They were humanoid but slightly slimmer than humans, clad in intricate wraps of living leaves and vines, their gossamer wings shimmering faintly. Most carried compact green bows of polished wood, their pointed ears twitching, their large, luminous eyes narrowed in suspicion and hostility. A palpable aura of lethality radiated from them, a silent warning that those bows could punch through flesh with terrifying precision.
"Elves!" Rock cut through the tension, stepping forward decisively. "Hold your fire, friends. We mean no harm." He strode forward a few paces, bowing respectfully towards the lead male Elf. "Greetings, esteemed Elf. I am Rock of the Duncecliff Tribe, come to pay respects to Queen Silos. What misfortune has befallen your people to make you so wary?"
The lead Elf, a male with sharp features, tensed. "Rock of Duncecliff? What is your relation to Rocknon?"
"Rocknon is my honored father," Rock replied calmly. "You knew him?"
"Proof," the Elf demanded, his hand tightening on his bow. "How do I know you are who you claim?"
A faint smile touched Rock's lips. He reached into his tunic and tossed a smooth, glowing river stone towards the Elf. Dunce noticed faint runes etched into its surface, pulsing with subdued energy. "My birth talisman," Rock explained. "Bestowed by our tribe's Great Seer, Proph Dunce. Verify it if you wish."
The Elf scrutinized the stone, turning it over in his long fingers. "It carries an aura... unusual. But if you claim Duncecliff lineage, you may enter the forest—under escort." He paused, eyeing the group sharply. "Your purpose?"
"Our journey takes us beyond, through the territory of the Sky Origin Tribe, towards the Mountains of Ending," Rock stated evenly. "We pass through these woods, and it is only right we seek audience with your Queen."
A female Elf with cascading violet hair darted to the leader's side, whispering rapidly in the lilting, incomprehensible Elven tongue. The leader, Girln (as Dunce later learned his name was), listened intently, nodding occasionally. After the female Elf (Roma) finished, Girln's expression remained conflicted but his resolve hardened.
"Very well," he said tersely. "Given your claimed lineage, we shall lead you to our enclave. However, for security, you will be bound by our Forest Weaving. Only upon Queen Silos's affirmation of your identity will your freedom be restored."
Rock's brow furrowed, a flicker of indignation in his eyes. "Since when do the Elves treat guests thus? This seems… unwelcoming. Is this truly Queen Silos's command?"
"It *is*!" Girln insisted, his jaw set stubbornly. "Her Majesty decrees that *all* outsiders are suspect. Whether you agree or not, we must secure you. Now!" His bow lifted instantly, mirrored by the others. At the rear of the Elven contingent, Roma lifted a slender wand, its tip shimmering with verdant energy.
Mystic Mystic Moon huffed, turning to Rock. "This is the 'peaceful, gentle' Elf-kind you described? Seems more dictatorial than the Duncecliff folk!"
"Something dire must have occurred," Rock murmured, his gaze grave. "Elven friends, hold! Allow us a moment to confer." He turned to his companions. "Brothers, we cannot clash with the Elves. I believe we should submit."
Before Dunce could respond, Miao cut in sharply. "Submit? And be rendered helpless? Are you mad?"
Dunce looked from Rock's earnest face to Miao's fearful one, then addressed Girln. "Esteemed Elf, is there no other way? We swear we bear no malice."
"Malice often hides behind pleasant words," Girln retorted coldly. "You could be thieves wearing the Duncecliff name like a cloak. No. Forest Weaving is non-negotiable."
Mystic Moon Scar stepped forward, placing a restraining hand on Miao's shoulder. "Understood," he said, his voice firm but calm. "We place our trust in the reputation of the Elves."
Miao protested, "Mystic Moon Scar, no! We can't risk—"
Mystic Moon Scar silenced him with a look. "We proceed. Elf Girln."
Girln hesitated, a flicker of something akin to regret in his eyes. "If you *are* proven friends before Her Majesty," he stated formally, "I, Girln of the Forest Guard, will offer my deepest apologies. Roma, begin!"
Roma flew forward, raising her wand. Words of power flowed from her lips, ancient and resonant. Green light swirled around her, intensifying with each passing second until she herself was a core of emerald brilliance. Finally, she swept her wand towards a massive, ancient oak. The tree shuddered, and thick, serpentine vines surged from the earth, snaking purposefully towards the humans.
Mystic Mystic Moon gasped, momentarily distracted by the display. "Is that… Elf nature magic? Incredible!"
The vines reached the group, coiling around their torsos with surprising speed and strength. Dunce tested his bonds; they were remarkably resilient, woven not just with plant matter but with living forest magic. Even his potent Vitalis Energy might struggle to break them. Once all were bound, Roma ceased her chant, breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on her forehead as she nodded to Girln.
"Proceed," Girln ordered curtly. "Follow. Do not stray." He and the others turned, leading the way deeper into the verdant maze at a cautious pace.
Being trussed up was intensely uncomfortable. Dunce Rockforce grumbled loudly, "First visit to the Elves in years, and we get served up like a feast bundle!"
"Enough complaining," Rock snapped. "Queen Silos will set things right." He took the lead, struggling forward with purpose.
Mystic Mystic Moon, unused to rough terrain and physically the weakest, found the hike torturous. Bound arms made balance precarious on the uneven ground covered in roots and fallen branches. She stumbled, fell hard, and cried out in genuine pain and frustration.
Dunce scrambled to her side, his own bound hands useless. "Mystic Mystic Moon! Are you hurt?"
Tears welled up in Mystic Mystic Moon's eyes. "This is unbearable! I can't walk like this! I won't!" she sobbed.
Girln flew back, reaching down to help her. "Unhand me! Jerk!" Mystic Mystic Moon snapped, recoiling. Girln paused, finally taking in her tear-streaked, porcelain-doll beauty. Even among the Elves, renowned for their grace, she stood out.
"Human mage?" Girln deduced, his tone softening fractionally. "Very well. Seeing your plight… and that your group intervened previously," he added, recalling the brief interaction, "I judge little overt malice resides with you." He gestured to Roma. "Release her bindings."
Mystic Mystic Moon sniffled, wiping her eyes. "That's better. Hurry up!"
Roma approached, removing the vines with a touch of her wand. Mystic Mystic Moon sat up, rubbing her sore wrists and examining a nasty scrape on her palm. Singing softly, white light coalesced around her hand, healing the abrasion instantly.
Roma landed beside her. "Little sister, relying solely on healing magics for minor hurts weakens the body's natural resilience. Let the small wounds breathe."
"Easy for you to say!" Mystic Mystic Moon pouted. "And stop calling me 'little'! I'm not a child!"
Roma laughed, a sound like wind chimes. "'Young?' You mistake me. Elves live centuries. I near my first hundred winters, though I am yet considered young among my people."
"Almost a *hundred*?" Mystic Mystic Moon shrieked, pointing incredulously.
"Indeed," Roma confirmed proudly. "Two winters hence, I shall be a full Blossom Keeper."
Mystic Mystic Moon immediately forgot her scraped palm, grabbing Roma's arm eagerly. "Sister! Sister! Tell me your secret! How do you stay so lovely at a hundred?"
Roma seemed amused by the earnest quest for beauty. "It is our birthright, little flower. There is no special trick."
Mystic Mystic Moon sighed dramatically. "Being an Elf must be wonderful! To stay beautiful for centuries… I wish I'd been born one!"
Roma smiled gently. "If you were one, you would surely be among the fairest blooms."
"Let us move," Girln interjected from above. "Delay invites trouble we cannot predict."
As if summoned by his words, sharp whistles and rustling leaves shattered the moment. Dark shapes surged from the surrounding foliage—figures clad head-to-toe in black, faces obscured by masks revealing only cold, predatory eyes. Some carried ropes with expert knots, others clutched short blades and sturdy bucklers. A weighted snakeline whistled through the air, expertly looping around Roma. A large, burly bandit yanked brutally, pulling the startled Elf towards him. A swift chop to her neck rendered her unconscious. He laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "Elf witch secured! Advance, brothers!"
Chaos erupted. Arrows hissed from the remaining Elves, expertly aimed under Girln's sharp commands. But the attackers were ready, raising their heavy bucklers. The agile Elven arrows, though deadly, failed to penetrate the well-prepared defenses. The Elves took flight, but the dense canopy choked their aerial maneuverability, keeping them dangerously low. More rope snares snaked out. Without Roma's protective magics, three more Elves were quickly snared and hauled down, dispatched quickly.
Mystic Mystic Moon shrieked and scrambled behind Dunce. Rock bellowed over the din, "Elves! Release our bonds! We fight with you!"
Girln, dodging a rope and firing arrows rapidly, gritted his teeth. "How do we know this isn't a trap you set?!"
Rock countered desperately, "Fire! Use fire on the vines! Quickly, Mystic Mystic Moon!"
Mystic Mystic Moon hesitated, then nodded. "I can do it! But it might burn… bear the pain!" She pulled out her Phoenix Eye gemstone. "Feathered Flame of creation, lend thy power. Forge thy blade, burn this bind away!" The gem pulsed crimson, and a miniature phoenix made of pure fire streaked forth. It struck the vines constricting Dunce's chest, burning through instantly. The cold aura of the Hades Sword lurking beneath Dunce's skin nullified the heat's sting. Dunce twisted, drawing his Dawnbreaker Blade. White light flashed twice, severing Rock and Dunce Rockforce's bonds. Roaring with pent-up fury, the two mountain warriors charged the bandits.
That fiery manifestation drained Mystic Mystic Moon; she slumped down, unable to aid others. She had underestimated the minor flame needed. Dunce quickly cut Mystic Moon Scar, Miao, Mystic Moon Princess Petal, and Miles free. Only Miles stayed back with the exhausted Mystic Mystic Moon; the others surged forward, grim determination on their faces.
Rock and Dunce Rockforce were already tearing into the ranks. Their raw, savage strength made a mockery of the bucklers. Rock, channeling grief and rage into every swing of his longblade, cleaved shields and limbs with brutal efficiency. Dunce Rockforce, equally enraged since their betrayal at Duncecliff, fought like a whirlwind of axes, seeking the bandits dragging his new allies. Within minutes, the tide shifted; a dozen bandits lay dead or dying under the sudden assault.
Dunce moved with surprising speed and power, his Dawnbreaker Blade shattering shields like glass. Unlike the lethal strikes of Rock and Dunce Rockforce, or Miao's vicious thrusts seeking vitals (aided by Mystic Moon Scar's distracting flourishes), Dunce disarmed and disabled with precise blows to limbs and joints. But he failed to notice the Elven arrows that inevitably found his helpless victims moments later. Mystic Moon Princess Petal, positioned near the rear, became a terrifyingly accurate sniper. Her silver arrows found gaps in the chaos, dropping bandits where they stood.
"Who the Abyss are you?" a bandit roared. "Interfering in a clean snatch?"
Dunce Rockforce roared back, "Clean snatch?! Bastards preying on innocents deserve worse than death!"
Within minutes, the remaining bandits were routed, retreating towards the forest edge where the unconscious Roma lay. Suddenly, seven new figures emerged. Sleeker, more dangerous than the grunts, they wore black close-fitting leathers and gripped razor-edged, hooked daggers. Their movements were silent and predatory.
The burly bandit who'd captured Roma stumbled towards them. "Boss! We had 'em, then these outsiders hit us hard! Lost half the crew!"
A lithe figure, barely taller than the others but radiating authority (the Bandit Leader), hissed, "Worthless dregs." His cold gaze swept over the newcomers. "You." His voice was icy steel. "You've cost me dearly. Breaking Guild protocols? Dangerous."
Rock stepped forward, longblade dripping. "We fight for the Elves you prey upon."
The Bandit Leader seemed to weigh the risk. Clans like Duncecliff could mean complications. His eyes narrowed. "Perhaps… we can avoid further bloodshed. Unseemly for professionals." He gestured. "Seven of you. Seven of us. A challenge. Best of seven individual combats. If we win, you stand aside. If you lose… you leave the forest. Immediately."
Mystic Moon Scar moved closer to Dunce. "Bandit Guild. They're bound by rules against unnecessary killing. They want this contained. This gamble plays to their advantage. If they win, we're gone. If not... we fight."
Dunce frowned. "Can we win?"
"Unknown," Mystic Moon Scar whispered. "Those blades mean speed… agility. Deadly in confined spaces."
Rock, seeing logic in limiting the fight, nodded curtly. "Terms accepted. Who's first?"
The Bandit Leader tilted his head. "Little Seven. Engage."
The figure on his far left blurred. One moment he was standing; the next, he was center-stage, his motion unnervingly silent. Rock felt a chill; his own strengths were power and resilience, ill-suited against such speed. Before he could step forward, Miao bounded out, flexing his whip-thin silver blade disdainfully. "Let's see what gutter tricks you teach your rats!"
Little Seven merely crouched lower, eyes slits of focused menace. "Ready yourself." His voice was a dry rasp. He vanished. Miao felt a surge of panic as his eyes failed to track the movement. Instinct took over; he whirled his blade defensively. *Clang! Clang!* Two impossibly hard impacts jolted his hands. Fiery, invasive energy ripped up his arms. His fingers numbed. His blade clattered to the moss. Cold steel kissed his jugular.
"You are ended." Little Seven stated flatly, reappearing where he started.
Miao stood frozen, face bloodless. Defeated in a single exchange.
Mystic Moon Scar rushed forward, pulling his shocked friend back. "You showed mercy. Thank you." His own confidence wavered. Little Seven had moved like shadow given form.
A gasp ran through the group. Little Seven's display was terrifying. Rock moved to step forward, but Dunce's large hand clamped on his shoulder. "Big Brother Rock," Dunce murmured, his eyes fixed on the dangerous shadow. "Let me."
Rock saw the determination mingled with fear in the younger man's eyes. Dunce possessed raw power and unexpected depths. "Guard yourself well," Rock said gravely.
Dunce nodded, drew the heavy Dawnbreaker Blade, and walked into the clearing. He planted his feet, raising the massive sword. Pure white Vitalis Energy bloomed around him, pushing against the forest gloom. "Face me," he stated, his voice low but resonant. He focused entirely, visualizing not the foe, but a vast, rolling sea. His presence expanded, waves of focused energy radiating towards Little Seven.
The bandit assassin froze, his unnerving speed momentarily countered. He felt pinned by the young man's sudden, ocean-deep aura. Moving felt dangerous, inviting a crushing blow. For the first time in many encounters, Little Seven was forced onto the defensive, coiled tight as a spring, his obsidian eyes locked with Dunce's, waiting for the inevitable, thunderous wave to break.
The clearing held its breath. The duel had begun, not with steel, but with will. Deep within the ancient woods, unseen, Queen Silos felt the tremor – a sudden concentration of primal force challenging the encroaching shadow.