Orion stepped up a mound of roots, using several separate branches like steps of stairs until he crested the top. He looked out across the vastness of the Bloodwoods, then up, up, and up, at its towering branches far removed from the earth. He turned back and waved, shepherding people onwards.
With the signal given, Argrave’s party advanced fluidly up the mound of roots just after him. The van of the formation was Veidimen bearing large tower shields, though just as many without shields were wrapped around the core so that both front and back were protected. The core was, namely, Argrave and his closest council, with its new additions being Ganbaatar, Moriatran, and Artur. The Veidimen officers, too, were positioned to receive and deliver orders.
As they grew nearer, Orion kept his eyes on the branches high in the sky. Everyone else remained utterly silent in anticipation for his order. Just as their party began to near the first trunk of the redwoods on the edge of the forest, he called out, “Movement!”
Anneliese held her hand up. A rift opened in front of her hand, and from it spilled a silver aura that seemed like a cut in the sky. In truth, it was a mana ripple. The queen completed her A-rank spell. A staff started to crystallize in her hands, spreading out up and down—intricate and elaborate, it looked like it was made of amethyst glass. Eventually, the top of the staff blossomed outwards into a great covering, shielding their entire party. The spell was called [Amaranthine Sunshade]—an A-rank ward. She held the staff and ward up above like a torch, shielding them all as they marched into the Bloodwoods.
It was not one second too late, either. The arrows fired by the wood elves high in their tree came in a unified swell, each arrow released within half a second of the other. With both the power of their bows and the gravity pressing down behind them, the synchronized arrows slammed into her spell with intense power. The spell held firm, though it sounded as though a giant gong had been struck. Anneliese seemed to feel no impact in her arm as the arrows sagged off the [Amaranthine Sunshade] like raindrops. Far up in the branches, numerous deep horns echoed, loud enough it seemed to permeate the entire forest. As they did, Orion sprinted away deeper into the heart of things.
“They blew the horns,” Ganbaatar told Argrave as they bounded over a root. “Every elf in half a mile is obligated by threat of death to join into a Tumen to resist us. More than that, the noise—”
“Is meant to summon every living predator within half a mile should they fail,” finished Argrave. “Just walk.”
The next wave of arrows pounded upon Anneliese’s mobile ward. The magic only chipped slightly from the numerous impacts, shading all those under it very well. The needlelike leaves and sometimes branches of the giant redwood sprinkled down as hordes of wood elves travelled up above to make their formation. Still, their party was able to press onwards for a time.
But then, the obstacle that had stalled King Felipe III’s army revealed itself—though perhaps the term ‘revealed’ was deceptive. Between the trees, hair-thin wires stronger than steel and sharp enough to rend bone and flesh both barely glinted from the faint sunlight pouring through the trees. They were fainter even than spiderwebs, and far deadlier.
Rather than mechanical, the wires were magical. They had three points they were attached to something solid—two to hold them taut, and another between the two to create high tension. When touched, the tension-generating binding would be released, and the wire would spring into action. They could cut a dozen fully armored knights in half in the span of milliseconds.
But they had a fatal failing.
“There. The wire entries are densest there,” Ganbaatar said, pointing to a spot on the tree as he spoke to Moriatran.
“Clear away the right side,” Argrave relayed. His order was repeated by the officers, and the Veidimen morphed to accommodate the S-rank spellcaster.
Moriatran, still under the [Amaranthine Sunshade], lifted his hand up to where Ganbaatar had pointed. A B-rank matrix formed in his hand. When it completed, he crushed it. He turned his hand upside down and snapped. A faint purple light, no more discernable than a fire’s ember, danced from under the sunshade where he’d snapped. It travelled through the air whimsically… yet when it reached its target, it expanded outwards into the pre-completed matrix. A roaring explosion of fire rocked the redwood tree. That was Moriatran’s A-rank ascension: [Spell Storage], the ability to store spells, send them elsewhere, and control when they triggered.
The wires still needed tension to be effective. By dislodging only one of three stakes, a wire trap could be rendered impotent.
Rather than an advantage, that was one small nullification in the face of an overwhelming battery of disadvantage. They pressed on as quickly as they could, but traversing the roots instead of flat ground made the advance difficult. The master enchanter had the least trouble of them all, suspending his body with his mantle as he hovered along with them, uneasy yet alert. Ganbaatar used his knowledge to spot the wires, and Moriatran cast spells to dislodge them, clearing a path. It was a grueling advance, the whole of which arrows rained down upon them, threatening to punish the slightest misstep.
Soon enough, magic rained down upon the ward, too, as spellcasters joined the archers in defense from the treetops. That proved considerably more effective in damaging the amethyst shield… but in reality, it was a bigger boon to them than the elves could know. Anneliese’s diminished magic power surged with every spell that impacted the [Amaranthine Sunshade] on account of her innate magic absorption.
In the far distance, however… even Argrave could see the wood elves, now. They descended down the trees like rappelers in vast quantities, forming their Tumen—their unit of ten thousand. Their tactics and organization reminded Argrave of the Veidimen’s efficiency, and his next steps fell heavier than the last in light of that revelation. Even as their army took shape, the rain of arrows and spells did not cease.
Anneliese raised her left hand up and cast the same spell as in her right hand, [Amaranthine Sunshade]. As it finished, she dispelled the ward, flawlessly transitioning between the two to let not even a single arrow fall upon them. They marched, marched, and marched, bounding over uneven roots in their ceaseless advance towards the army that swelled in size with every second.
Arrows struck the van’s tower shields for the first time, a loud clang of metal audible even above the din of power pounding over their head. It was a few arrows that struck home at first… then hundreds, thousands. They soon faced an assault as fierce in front as below. That stalled their advance greatly.
“Diversion! Make way!” Argrave shouted.
Anneliese angled the sunshade to better block the van, and the rear advanced to seek its cover. The Veidimen discarded their tower shields, many of them battered beyond belief, as they made way for Moriatran. The S-rank spellcaster held out both hands to the side. His body came alive with light, and a red mana ripple spread out from his right hand. As it ended, he closed his hand. When he opened it again, he held a ball of pure purple light. The other hand repeated this procedure, ending with the same. In tandem, he pushed them away, eyes closed in concentration.
The [Amaranthine Sunshade] was barely translucent enough to see Moriatran’s stored spells travel to their destination—namely, two trees closest to the bulk of the Tumen, from which many wood elves rappelled down even now. The mana ripples reappeared… and two pillars of howling flame erupted upwards like a lunging snake, catching many rappelers and the whole of the tree aflame.
And then… as if from nowhere, Orion lunged between the flaming pillars, right into the heart of the Tumen. He still had his brutish, animalistic speed and unsurpassed power. He collided with the elves, interrupting the rain of arrows for a moment as their formation of archers adapted to the lone juggernaut in their midst. In that moment, Anneliese tilted back the sunshade, revealing the front. As if closing the door behind the prince, Vasilisa finished with a final high-ranking fire spell, filling in the space between the two pillars with flames of her own.
“Move, move, move!” Argrave shouted loudly.
With that, their force advanced towards the tree wreathed in flames. Argrave could feel its intense heat with every step he took and was reminded of unpleasant memories in the distant past. The intense smoke from the flame would hide them from sight… for a time. The redwoods here were not as flammable as mundane trees, so the fire would not spread too far. Still, they took ample advantage of this moment and moved at their fastest pace yet, changing directions to their true destination under the cover of the smoke.
The arrows and spells falling upon them had been as constant as rainfall… yet finally, finally, it ceased. They managed to advance a great distance without receiving any projectiles at all. When their location was finally rediscovered, the assault that came was nothing compared to what it had been. The forces at the edge of the Bloodwoods were like a net—now that they had broken past that net, little would impede their progress.
Just as he saw that, Artur shouted, “Move the ward aside, Your Highness!”
Panicked, Argrave looked up. There, a wood elf clung to a tree, a teal mana ripple spread out from his hand. Anneliese moved the sunshade aside, exposing them to the open sky for the first time in a while. Artur surged past, floating upwards with his mantle. He held his hand out. A silver streak spread out from his hands as the wood elf’s spell completed.
A twisting tornado burst free from the elf’s hand, and Argrave could’ve sworn he felt it manifest. Artur’s golden S-rank ward barely appeared in time to protect him, though it spread out slowly enough some wind seeped past and hammered into Anneliese’s [Amaranthine Sunshade]. Her spell chipped and shattered against even a weakened impact from an S-rank spell. In time, the stalwart golden dome blocked against the whole of the tornado.
Even with the Magister’s defense, the spell was devastating. The rebounded wind cut deep into the earth and the redwood trees around, changing the terrain greatly. [Maelstrom] was the spell’s name—a simple, destructive writhing wind that seemed to come without an end. Seeing his attack was blocked, at the last minute the opponent redirected the spell towards a tree. The wind bore into the trunk, and as it cut deeper the tree began to fold… fold directly towards their party, that is.
A tree weighing millions of pounds collapsed toward them. The Veidimen didn’t need to be commanded, but nevertheless Argrave gave the order, shouting desperately, “Run!”
With the terrain partially cleared of obstructive roots after the [Maelstrom], their flight was rapid, fueled by desperate panic at the prospect of contesting that falling tree. From where they’d come, a pursuing force of wood elves on the ground stopped in their tracks as they saw the tree falling, then started to run the other way. Even the S-rank spellcaster got away, bouncing about like a grasshopper with calculated bursts of wind magic. Argrave recognized the elf—the Myriarch of a Tumen, his name was Batbayar.
But Artur stayed suspended in the air, staring up at the tree. Argrave was in no position to tell him to run, so he simply did so himself, feeling very genuinely that this might be the end. When the several thousand-ton tree struck the diminished golden ward, it shattered it like a hammer against glass. Artur surged to its side as it passed, then cast another high-ranking spell. A hammer of wind struck the side of the falling tree, changing its direction.
The impact as it met the earth was devastating enough Argrave could feelit through the ground. He looked back, heavy of breath, and utterly relieved that he’d lived.
“Move, Argrave!” Nikoletta reminded him, grabbing his wrist and running towards where Mina and the rest were.
And so they moved. He realized belatedly when Artur rejoined them that the ground troops pursuit would be greatly mitigated by that tree. They ran, ran, and ran through the winding roots, still pursued by archers in the trees.
And yet finally, within the rotted stump of a great tree… he saw a descent into the earth that marked their destination. All of them ran towards it with unabated enthusiasm even in their tight formation, as though it offered some hope of freedom. He heard the howl of wolves far, far behind, signaling the coming monsters.
Once within the cave, all of them collapsed to the floor, breathing heavily. Argrave leaned up against a cave wall as the last of the Veidimen entered. Anneliese stood at the entrance, then cast a spell to light the way. Orion was the last to enter. He looked like Argrave felt—battered, with bent armor.
Mina, who sat beside him, said as she breathed, “Very diplomatic… talk with those elves. I feel the… understanding. Your friend was very… useful,” she finished, then paused to drink water.
Argrave said nothing as he caught his breath. “They met us with arrows instead of warnings.” He turned his head to Ganbaatar. “We need to get them to the table, first. I never expected an immediate talk, elsewise I would’ve used my Blessing. We can do it. That’ll take a little initiative.”
Ganbaatar, also exhausted, gave a few nods at Argrave.
He rose to his feet, conjuring water to drink. He wiped his mouth after. “You alright, Orion?” the prince nodded. “Good work, everyone. Stellar work, Artur.” He looked to the Magister. “We assess, treat injuries if any, and then we move. This is centaur territory now. More manageable… but not safe at all.”
