Three years had slipped by since that fateful night in Baron Ronney's mansion—three long years during which the name Alfrenzo had transformed from a mere whisper into a dark shadow that cast its gloom over all of northern Ruthenia. In the grand hall of Duskwatch Keep, Marquis Duskwatch sat in a heavy silence, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the armrest of his imposing chair.
Before him knelt Sir Ren, his most loyal knight, with his head bowed in deference.
"Alfrenzo…" Duskwatch's voice was low, simmering with rage.
"His power grows with each passing moon—Ronney, Como, Hamza… even my own vassals tremble before his threats like frightened children in the dark. Viscount Como's letters are a relentless stream of grievances—his coffers drained by Alfrenzo's so-called 'protection.'"
He gritted his teeth. "This cannot continue."
Sir Ren lifted his head, his gaze steady and unyielding. "What are your commands, my lord?"
Duskwatch's eyes blazed with intensity. "You will gather a hundred knights and twenty of our mages. Head to Como's lands. Seek out Alfrenzo—put an end to him, and bring his head back to me."
Sir Ren bowed deeply. "It shall be done."
Two days later, the small army marched through the ancient forest of Frostwood. Heavy snow weighed down most of the pines, dulling the sound of their careful steps. At the head of the group was Moore, a three-star Basic Knight, with a cold and focused look on his face.
He flipped through the worn parchment in his hands, scanning over the collected information on Alfrenzo:
"Hunter, his right hand, a mountain of a man whose aura crushes lesser knights.
A mage - some call a forest elf, others say a witch of the ancient woods.
A knight clad in silver, with an earth-mage sculpting stone.
A female warrior, ruthless and belligerent - a berserker in steel.
A white tiger - claimed to be a demon of the forest whose claws cut through steel.
Archers and mercenaries - shadows in the snow."
Moore snorted "Legends," he scoffed, "Nothing but myths. When we meet with Como's men, Alfrenzo will learn what real power is."
But before the sun could reach its zenith, the silence of the forest was broken.
An explosion erupted from the back of the column, a fireball of mana-flame blasting through the snow-burdened trees. Shrieks erupted as knights and mages scrambled to flee, their formations shattering into pieces.
Moore turned his head. "Mana mines?" he choked, disbelief tight in his voice. "Impossible - those are worth a fortune! How did Alfrenzo get so many?"
Before he could begin to collect his thoughts, another explosion ripped through the ranks - then another, another, and the forest itself seemed to explode in flame.
And from the darkness of the trees, the forest came unhinged.
The white tiger sprang into the fight, its great paws wreathed in mana-light, its roar ringing like thunder in the stillness. Knights turned to face it, swords held high, but it moved like a ghost, slashing and rupturing steel and bone in a bliss of savagery.
From the treeline, elven archers appeared, sending arrows down like rain—good, swift, and silent death. Knights fell screaming, their armor pierced by shafts of blackwood and shafts of silver.
"Form up!" Moore bellowed, his voice cutting through the din. "Shields! Mages—counter!"
The mages gathered and their staves flared with power, pumping bottled fire and ice into the trees and briefly pushing back the tide. Then, ten figures drifted smoldering from the forest, silent and cloaked.
They raised their hands, and the air appeared to shiver.
Lyssari stepped forward, young face calm and resolute, green eyes glowing with the forest's quiet rage. She returned the gaze of the Duskwatch mage, their fire almost like a river of flame through sheets of water.
Nalia stood beside her, her hand outstretched, ancient runes on her skin angling like blades of ice. "Together," she spoke quietly, and Lyssari nodded.
Energy flowed from them in a swath of intertwined roots and stone and silent green light—a cohesive wall against the storm. Fire met earth, water met wood—and mana clashed and cracked, but the forest's strength held strong.
Moore turned, gusting like a strenuous night race. "Who... who are these children of the forest?"
Then, the earth ripped open.
A young boy no older than thirteen fell towards the center of the battlefield. He stood tall with a crater blooming beneath his feet. Snow and dust spiraled into the air around him, black hair rising in a maelstrom of mana-thick air.
He was taller than one would expect, and he was serene and closed off. His eyes were blue and they pierced through the battle to lock with Moore's eyes, wielding quiet, ancient power.
Moore's mouth opened. "Who... who are you, boy?!"
The young boy lifted his chin. He opened his mouth and gave forth a sound that radiated in clarity and conviction--a brightness so rare it cut through all that existed in sight and sound, even the clattering steel.
"My name is Luenor Arhenius Sureva," he said, his words ringing like a bell. "And I am here… on behalf of Sir Alfrenzo."