In the hush of the old wooden hall, Luenor sat before maps and crude scrolls spread wide, a bent quill in hand. He wrote quickly, penning down every little detail the captured mercenaries disclosed—hidden routes, every twisting path of Baron Ronnye's estate.
Thalanar stood beside him, his strong presence steady and calming. Across from them, Hunter and Telmar loomed over the table with intensity. Nalia sat in the corner observing quietly, her intention intense.
"How many lost?" Luenor asked softly.
Telmar looked up from where he was binding the new scroll. "Ten," he said softly. "Ten of our kin are fell in that mine."
Luenor's jaw clenched, his pen still hovering mid-word. "They will pay," he said quietly.
He turned to Hunter, his gaze penetrating. "Any word about a Grand Knight in the area?"
Hunter shook his head. "No. I would have known if one was based here. The baron's too small to want that kind of attention."
Luenor shifted his gaze to Nalia. "The baron's…other dealings," he said softly. "The underworld—the black market, the quiet deals. What do you know?"
Nalia frowned. "It's just rumors," she confessed. "He keeps it quiet. Smuggling, some illegal mana trade, but.. nothing tangible."
Luenor nodded. "Then we drag him out of the shadows," he said calmly. "When the voice modulator and mask come in... Alfrenzo will be a name even the Baron can't ignore."
Thalanar looked closely at him, brows knitted. "Why this... Alfrenzo?" he asked quietly. "Why the concealment of your face, your voice?"
Luenor looked up, and his youthful expression turned serious. "Because people won't follow a boy," he said softly. "Not a boy with a broken house behind him. They will only see weakness. Alfrenzo is... bigger. Older. A name they cannot ignore."
Thalanar nodded slowly, his staff tapping on the hard floor. "Then let us finish what you started."
Two days later, Hunter quietly navigated the dark recesses of the Hallowridge tavern. The barkeep was waiting for him, a battered wooden box on the counter.
"Here," the man said in a low voice, "The voice modulator's not perfect. It's a low-star device—old, damaged. But, it will change your voice enough. And this—" this he pulled out a wrapped cloth, "is the face you asked for."
Hunter took the mask, carefully unwrapping it. The face looked like an old man—filled with lines and deep creases, a heavy brow and solemn mouth of a tired patriarch. Dark hollow eyes stared out, cold, wise, a little like the silent figure of a Corleone reborn in the woods' shadow.
Hunter nodded once and dropped one last coin on the counter. "You've done well," he said quietly.
__
Two Days Ago
In Baron Ronney's estate, Roderick was on his knees in the cold marble hall, his face still battered and bruised from the fight, stammering out his report while shame and desperation shook his voice.
Ronney's cold blue eyes glittered with fury, "You lost to a child !" he spat, "You brought me excuses!"
Roderick lowered his head, "Give me the strength to finish this," he pleaded. "Send everything—every Knight, every Mage. Let me crush this... Alfrenzo," said, Roderick shaking with fear.
At first, Ronney hesitated, lips thin in a straight line. But then Roderick leaned in closer in a low voice. "The elves," he said softly. "The woods are full of them, defending Alfrenzo. We can end them all if we move now."
Ronney's greed flared in his eyes. He nodded once. "Take them all," he said. "All my knights. All four of my mages. Leave nothing."
As Roderick rode out with the Baron wrath at his back, Ronney turned to his butler in a low tone. "The mercenaries, why didn't they check in? Find out everything there is to know about this Alfrenzo."
____
Present Day
The door to the hall creaked open. The water mage—eyes haunted but steady—walked inside. "Baron," she said in a low voice. "I came to warn you. Alfrenzo will retaliate. He is not by himself. There is... power behind him—power that you cannot comprehend."
Ronney's eyes went wide, a chill creeping down his spine. "Fetch Roderick!" he barked to his butler. "Tell him to turn around. This is a trap!"
But outside, as the butler ran for the stables, a caravan of dark carriages rolled to a stop at the gates. The guards called out, confused, but the night swallowed their voices.
A single arrow flew from the shadows, and the first guard dropped soundlessly. Another fell, then another, as cloaked figures stepped from the carriages—silent as death, their arrows already nocked.
The night air was still as the gatehouse fell quiet. The forest's shadow had come to the Baron's door.
The Baron's mansion was a swirl of chaos and blood as the cloaked elves moved like shadows, slipping through the moonlight and striking with deadly precision. Steel clashed with steel in the echoing halls, the quiet murmur of elven war chants like a song of death in the night.
Outside, a small group of elves broke away from the main force, slipping behind the mansion through narrow servants' paths and forgotten archways. Their boots made no sound on the frozen ground.