Chapter 133 Chapter 134 Dark Elves
The attack by the dark elves was deadly and unexpected. No one imagined that near the Holy Hall in the Kingdom of Knight Bartó, there would be a dark elf squad lying in ambush.
After finishing their crossbow bolts, armored swordsmen wielding bloodthirsty poisoned blades rushed out from the thickets. In an instant, over half of the high elves were dead or wounded, with only a few fortunate ones fleeing on horseback in a panic.
A male dark elf, his head adorned with a towering braid, his face covered with black cloth, wearing purple-black eyeshadow, stood on a small hill behind the bushes, holding a heavy black rune crossbow. He watched with delight as the high elves fell into chaos and slaughtered.
A soldier from the Holy Hall drew a signal stick from his waist and pointed it at the sky. When a red glowing orb, symbolizing danger and a call for help, just erupted from the top of the stick.
The dark elf with the towering braid aimed his rune crossbow at him and fired. The crossbow made a sound like a cannon, and the bolt struck the Holy Hall soldier in the blink of an eye, resulting in a horrific explosion.
The soldier’s upper body exploded with a wound the size of a basketball, revealing the scenery behind him, with shattered chainmail flying everywhere. He emitted a wail and fell to the ground, the signal stick he tightly held firing a red orb that fell into the nearby thicket, shining red smoke that stained the entire bush.
The dark elf with the towering braid happily reloaded his rune crossbow, his gaze continuing to scan the battlefield until he spotted the still-resisting Eve Frostleaf.
She was wielding two silver long swords, fiercely hacking at the incoming dark elves, desperately trying to break through.
The dark elf cruelly smiled and raised his hand, pointing at Eve Frostleaf and said, “Capture Frostleaf! Alive, just alive, breaking her legs will suffice!”
With his command, nearly a hundred dark elves surged towards Frostleaf. They were all clad in black armor, resembling a tide of darkness rushing towards Eve Frostleaf.
The dark elf with the towering braid felt exhilarated; from the very beginning, the outcome of this ambush had been decided. As long as they captured Eve Frostleaf—whether she lost her legs or arms, it would be a major achievement.
He had been stuck in this position for nearly thirty years, desperately needing an opportunity to prove himself.
This opportunity was hard-won amid the competition for this battle. Always sidelined, he exploded in anger, leveraging his superior’s weaknesses to secretly blackmail him, which earned him this almost free ambush.
It was free, the kind without risk, like a pie falling from the sky that only needed to be caught.
Everyone knew that Eve Frostleaf had been cursed by the Demon King and would surely shoot inaccurately; according to intelligence, this squad had no other strong members besides her. He only needed to cooperate with elite soldiers to easily take down Eve Frostleaf.
Thinking this, he flared his cloak and vanished into the sunlight, hiding in the shadows, armed with his rune crossbow, intending to pin a bolt into Eve Frostleaf’s long silver legs.
If her legs were broken, it would only mean that she wasn’t strong enough; as a transcendent being, she should be able to withstand a rune crossbow with her body.
Eve Frostleaf fought back to back with a few surviving high elf soldiers and a paladin clad in full armor, wearing a bucket helm.
The dark elf with the towering braid didn’t pay much attention to that paladin. No matter how strong he was, he would never compare to Eve Frostleaf; otherwise, the intelligence would have noted it.
The paladin was merely an armored tin can. Although his armor looked impressively thick, it was the result of the rough and primitive craftsmanship of humans, who had to use thicker steel for defense, resulting in clumsy and crude armor.
They had already been surrounded completely, and the first to charge were a group of killer sisters. They wielded daggers and nine-headed whips, wearing only lingerie, their only semblance of armor being the golden masks on their heads.
If one thought they were unarmored and thus posed no threat, that would be a gross misunderstanding.
The killer sisters, blessed by the god of murder, often managed to evade blades with their astonishing agility, dancing a murderous dance amid the light of swords and arrows despite their seemingly unprotected bodies. Their thirst for bloodshed was extreme; unless they decapitated their target, they would never halt their killing even in the face of pain.
Screaming like madwomen, they charged directly at Eve Frostleaf and the soldiers.
The remaining high elf soldiers looked ashen, their weapons trembling in their hands; they knew that the best way to deal with the killer sisters was to shoot them down with arrows along their paths.
Otherwise, even a neatly arranged wall of spears would be thrown into disarray by a dozen screaming killer sisters.
In that moment, the paladin in the bucket helm unexpectedly charged alone towards the killer sisters.
The dark elf with the towering braid chuckled softly, “That monkey must think he’s a hero saving a damsel in distress.”
He was overly confident in his armor; human armor was too rough, and the killer sisters would be able to injure him lightly with poisoned knives at his armpits, armor gaps, and groin (as there was little protection there for riding).
Three killer sisters came at him from the left, right, and center simultaneously, unafraid of his great sword. The first three long whips lunged out, wrapping around his arms and pulling with great force, yet he didn’t budge an inch.
Instead, the paladin yanked his arms back, crashing the two flanking killer sisters into the one in the middle, causing all three to pile up. The paladin drew his sword with blinding speed, slicing off two heads, while the third fell to the ground, connected at the shoulder and head.
One of the killer sisters seized the opportunity to sneak attack from behind, clamping her legs around his waist, choking his neck with one hand, and thrusting a dagger violently toward his armpit. The paladin squeezed his arm, crushing the hand that held the poisoned dagger like a vice.
With his other hand stretching back, he seized the nape of her neck and squeezed, hearing multiple crushing sounds as her head fell sideways, her legs falling limp to the ground.
The dark elf with the towering braid was startled; although he was clad in heavy armor, the paladin’s strength was immense, exhibiting no clumsiness.
However, it was merely a momentary shock.
It was just a small surprise. The dark elf, hidden in the shadows, lifted his crossbow, aiming for the knee pit of the paladin who was rampaging among the crowd, knowing that his bolt could find weak points on its own.
The paladin cast aside dark elves while shouting, “This place is under the jurisdiction of the Holy Hall; secrecy cannot exist here! Sinners must die here!”
The dark elf suddenly felt as though he were being illuminated by sunlight, warm but chilling to his heart. The paladin turned his head and locked eyes with him, saying, “I spotted you immediately!”
The dark elf pressed the trigger, but the paladin swiftly pierced through the chest of a dark elf with a single sword, using him as a shield; the bolt exploded without harming him in the slightest. He dashed forward like a flash, appearing right in front of the dark elf.
The dark elf dropped the rune crossbow and drew two curved knives; as soon as he unsheathed them, the paladin’s sword moved faster, slicing cleanly through his golden shoulder armor and deftly severing his arm, sending the curved knives clattering to the ground.
The dark elf was momentarily dazed, unable to accept his own defeat. He had just embarked on the path of ambition, asking, “Who are you?”
“George.”
“A hero?”
“A former hero.”
The dark elf immediately understood, laughing mockingly, “This is a trap.”
As he spoke, he looked up to the sky and laughed out loud.
At that moment, several red blossoms exploded above the distant white city. That was a signal for assistance; someone was attacking the white city.
George’s blue eyes narrowed slightly.
Although regulations required that two cardinals in red robes guard the white city at all times, this was the weakest period of the Holy Hall’s defenses. Gregory had been executing a dangerous secret mission—so secret that even he could not be informed.
And he just happened to be out of the city.
“I must return for reinforcements immediately!”
He thought of the teleportation scroll he carried, with the destination being the Holy Hall.
But the dark elves wouldn’t give him time to cast spells, rushing in to attempt to slay George and Eve Frostleaf.
George raised the dark elf with the towering braid and shouted, “The enemy commander has been defeated! Defeated!”
The dark elves hesitated briefly, suddenly emanating a purplish-red light, their eyes glowing blood red as they charged at George and Frostleaf, not only unafraid but displaying even greater skill in their killing techniques, as if guided personally by the god of murder.
“Mastery of killing!” the dark elf laughed heartily, “A trap! We’ve all fallen into a trap! Hahaha.”
George threw him to the ground, stepping on his neck, and began his own slaughter.
He continued until only seven dark elves remained, when they shouted, “God of slaughter, forgive me!” and turned to flee.
George’s armor was smeared with blood from the proverbs, and he hurriedly looked toward the white city, just in time to see a yellow light orb explode in the sky, his expression turning grim.
This indicated that the attackers had fled and did not require urgent reinforcements.
Eve Frostleaf walked over; there were several holes in the silver threads of her long legs, and blood had dyed half of the strands red.
“What happened?” George asked, “Why were those dark elves so eager to die?”
“Mastery of killing,” Eve Frostleaf replied, “The grace of the god of murder; strangely enough, this time very few died, so they won’t receive the god’s grace.”
This group of dark elves had been sent as pawns to delay them.
“A conspiracy,” George summoned his celestial warhorse, Old White. “I need to return to the Holy Hall immediately.”
“Let’s go together,” Eve Frostleaf said, crossing her arms, “But my horse is injured, so I’ll have to inconvenience you by riding with you.”
George mounted his horse and patted it, saying, “Old White, thank you for your hard work.”
Old White sighed, “The foolishness of the rider ultimately burdens the innocent steed.”
Just as Eve Frostleaf was about to mount and sit behind George.
“Lady Frostleaf, I’m so glad you’re okay.” An elven maid, with a bolt lodged in her shoulder, rushed over holding the reins of a fine horse and said, “Two horses, they run fast.”
Eve Frostleaf had no choice but to remove her feet from the stirrups, saying, “You’re not dead yet?”
Saying this, she took the reins from the elven maid’s hand and rushed back to the white city with George.
Half an hour later, the two returned to the white city.
On the street in front of the inner city lay a dozen dark elf corpses, and there was a large hole broken in the inner city wall. The street was empty, and soldiers were searching house by house for any remaining stragglers.
As soon as George entered the inner city, he was pulled aside to verify his identity. He asked a battle priest, “What happened?”
“A group of despicable dark elves attacked the treasury, and losses are currently being tallied,” the battle priest said. “The Demon King’s extraordinary materials were stolen, and we hope the pursuit force can retrieve them.”
By evening, a pursuit force returned to report that they had lost all traces of the enemy.
