The group finally came to a halt. Each person gasped for breath like fish thrown onto dry land, desperately drawing in air. Witcher Gonz drew his blade, White Wolf's Claw, and took a defensive stance at the front of the formation.
Aldric felt his wounds reopen, warm blood seeping through the bandages. His damp hair clung to his forehead as he silently readied himself for battle. Gripping his short sword tightly, he took his place beside the witcher. Those who could still stand did the same, clutching their weapons in trembling hands.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on the source of the approaching sound, waiting for what felt like their final judgment. The rhythmic beat of hooves grew louder—closer—until it was nearly upon them. Then, suddenly, moonlight pierced through the fog, starlight glittered above, and the thick mist dissolved as if it had never existed at all.
A troop of knights emerged from the clearing fog, slowing their pace. Under the moonlight, they appeared ethereal—each rider astride a white stallion, clad in gleaming silver armor. Golden hair cascaded from beneath eagle-crested helms, and sharp, pointed ears peeked through, marking them unmistakably as elves. Their movements were graceful, fluid as flowing water, and in mere moments they had encircled the weary, battered band of humans.
Aldric heard Ted behind him exhale like a collapsing bellows. At the same time, Sir Gonz lowered his blade, tip pointed toward the ground, and bowed slightly.
"I am Witcher Gonz," he declared calmly. "To which elven clan do I owe the honor of this meeting?"
The lead rider detached from the formation and approached. He removed his helmet, and golden hairlike threads of sunlight spilled down his shoulders. His face was flawless—so perfect that it seemed otherworldly. Only the hardened gleam in his eyes revealed the truth: this was a warrior who had seen war and fire.
For once, the Witcher allowed himself a smile. The elf's voice followed, smooth yet powerful.
"It's good to see you again, Witcher Gonz."
"Legolas," Gonz replied with a rare warmth. "It's been far too long."
He sheathed his sword and stepped forward, while the elf dismounted. They clasped forearms in greeting.
"You arrived just in time," Gonz said with a low chuckle. "Another moment later, and the Wild Hunt would've caught us."
"Every time I meet you, Gonz," Legolas said with a faint smirk, "trouble follows close behind." His gaze drifted toward the ragged survivors. "Are these humans trustworthy?"
"No problem there," Gonz replied. "Ever since the Chaos Gate opened, I've been with them. Most are sailors from the mainland—their ship sank, and they were captured by orcs as food. A few are rangers from the Rogue Encampment." He gestured to Aldric. "And this is my new apprentice. Quite talented."
The elf's sharp blue eyes studied Aldric carefully, searching for what made him so special. "I thought you people had finally abandoned that old tradition after what happened at Kaer Morhen," he said dryly.
Gonz nodded. "You're right—but this one's a special case. Believe it or not, he was an ordinary man just yesterday."
The elf's eyebrows rose slightly in surprise. "Then he truly is gifted," he murmured. "Very well. We can discuss the rest on the road. Time is short."
The other elven knights, clearly uninterested in mingling with humans, offered only brief assistance before spreading out, forming a protective ring around the group as they began to move.
As if afraid of the elven riders, the mist that had plagued them all this time now fled beneath the moonlight, dissipating completely. The eerie horn calls that had echoed in the fog faded as well, leaving only the gentle rustle of leaves under silver light.
At the center of the elven formation, Aldric noticed something peculiar—the ground beneath their feet was unnaturally even, almost as though they were walking across a plain rather than through a dense forest. The trees on either side seemed to shift and widen to make way for the group's passage. The strange sight made Aldric think of the enchanted Knight Bus from the Harry Potter books of his previous life.
Neither elf nor human spoke much. Even though the humans slowed the pace considerably, the elves showed no hint of impatience. At the head of the column, Witcher Gonz and Legolas walked side by side, speaking in low tones.
Because of the injured, their prtrollss was slow. They marched through the night without rest, every step driven by willpower alone. To ease the burden, the elves eventually lent a horse to the human survivors. At last, the eastern sky began to pale with the first light of dawn—
they had reached the elven encampment.
It stood atop a gentle hill, a vast meadow encircled by towering trees. The camp was dotted with structures woven from living vines, shaped like natural dwellings that had grown from the earth itself. Several large houses rose among them—tree-homes adorned with green leaves and blooming flowers.
The mounted elves quickened their pace, riding ahead to announce their return, leaving only Legolas waiting outside the entrance. The human survivors looked uncertainly at the witcher, unsure whether they were welcome to follow.
Gonz crossed his arms, frowning slightly as he looked at Legolas. "An explanation, perhaps?"
"We are preparing to abandon this corrupted forest," Legolas said evenly. "There are… secrets the elves would rather not have humans witness. If not for your sake, Witcher, we would not have brought them this far. Once we leave the fog's boundary, our paths will part."
Gonz's expression remained firm. "I thought the elves would at least offer aid to their allies—food for the hungry, weapons for the defenseless, and above all, healing for the wounded."
"Elves would never let guests down."
The new voice was deep and resonant—shockingly so for an elf.
Aldric turned, startled. From the camp emerged an older elf, his voice rich as thunder. Fine wrinkles traced his face, yet they only deepened the aura of wisdom and dignity that surrounded him. He wore a simple robe of pale blue, devoid of ornamentation save for delicate embroidery on the cuffs. Behind him, several elves followed, carrying trays laden with food, water, and medicine.
Legolas bowed respectfully. "This is Aeglin—Aeglin Maltharion, priest of Angrathis, the Goddess of Life."
He then turned toward the priest. "This is Witcher Gonz Alagon—and his apprentice."
Clearly, the elf saw no reason to introduce the rest of the humans.
"Please, eat and rest well," said Priest Aeglin kindly, inclining his head toward Gonz. "In the past few centuries, I have heard much about you, Witcher. If ever you visit the Golden Forest of Lothlórien, you must taste our moonwine."
"It would be my honor, my lord," Gonz replied respectfully, bowing in return.
Aeglin's gaze turned to the weary humans. "Forgive us, but due to certain… traditions, we cannot allow outsiders into our camp. Moving homes always leaves a bit of disorder, and we would not wish to offend. But rest assured—the surrounding area will be kept completely safe. You may recover here without fear."
Under elven guidance, the survivors set up their own small camp near the edge of the glade. After eating their fill and tending their wounds, Aldric carefully cleaned his injuries. Using the first-aid knowledge he had learned back at school, he even helped Terry and the remaining guards change their bandages. He was surprised to find that his own wounds had already begun to close.
Soon after, the witcher called him over. Together, they went to meet privately with Priest Aeglin.
…
"So," Aeglin began as he sat in an intricately carved vinewood chair, "this time, the witchers failed to prevent the opening of the Chaos Gate?"
"Yes," Gonz admitted, his voice heavy. "I was working with the Church of Dawn, tracking traces of Chaos all the way to the Far South. The Dawn Knights and I spent over a month investigating, but in the end, their church deemed this colony the land of heretics. They withdrew entirely, leaving me alone. That's when the orcs ambushed me—those beasts have already pledged themselves to Chaos."
His tone carried a mix of frustration and disdain.
Legolas nodded in agreement. "Lord Aeglin, I've dealt with those human knights before. They're arrogant, self-righteous zealots—utterly unreasonable."
The priest sighed, a trace of regret in his voice. "A pity we failed to detect the cultists' plot in time. Perhaps things could have been prevented. But our forces here are too few. We have no choice but to withdraw. There is something else you should know, Witcher—the human settlement in the forest has been destroyed."
"So, the Rogue Encampment has indeed fallen," Gonz said quietly. "We saw its flames from afar."
"There is a new demonic presence in this land," Aeglin said grimly. "Two months ago, our scouts sighted trolls in the forest. Yesterday, we found several troll corpses among the ruins of the Rogue Encampment."
"Fully armed ones," Legolas added. "Not wild beasts—soldiers."
Gonz's brows knit in thought. "A tribe of armed trolls… Someone must have forged weapons and armor for them. This will be troublesome indeed."
He knew too well what that meant. Even in the Far South, few possessed the power to challenge an armed troll horde. These creatures had terrifying regenerative abilities—ordinary wounds closed within minutes, and if they devoured enough flesh, they could even regrow lost limbs. Those who survived long enough, feeding and evolving, would grow stronger and harder, eventually becoming Troll Warlords—massive, armored monsters that crushed armies beneath their feet and feasted on the fallen.
Such creatures were every soldier's nightmare.
"Evil gathers once more," Priest Aeglin said gravely. "The light of civilization in the Far South burns low. The elves hope that before the darkness consumes this land, we can still stand with mankind as allies. Carry this message to your human governor, Witcher. War is coming."
Gonz rose to his feet, placing a hand over his chest in salute. Aldric followed his example. "You have my word. Once I reach Port Anthony, I'll report directly to the governor."
At that moment, Aldric's system interface chimed with a new message:
[New Quest: "The Far South in Storm and Shadow"]
In your conversation with the witcher and the elves, you have learned that the Far South colony stands on the brink of peril. Carry the goodwill of the elves to humanity's leaders. But will the decaying nobles of the mainland make the right choice?
Difficulty: Moderate ~ Dangerous
Reward: Unknown
(End of Chapter)