Blood runs down his sword. Trudviar waves his weapon smearing the blood to the grass and dirt. Just below him is a giant serpent of the Dark Forest having a length of about eleven meters, and a width about a man's torso.
It is truly a monster with a caliber unique to the Dark Forest yet it cannot match a Sword Saint's might. Trudviar's perception of things is starting to ascend to a higher realm to a point where he cannot even begin to describe the things he sees to his fellow elves.
For example, the indistinct energy enveloping and streaming on his sword. It is powerful and its nature is mysterious. Only he can see it like a mirage, an illusion, yet it is real. The more vibrant it becomes, the easier it is to cut the monsters of the Dark Forest.
The Giant Serpent is not the first and the last to fall victim to his sword.
"There is a giant slime! Hundreds of meters ahead! There is a herd of smaller slimes following behind! What do we do, General?" An Einherjar perching on a tree shouts at Trudviar about the urgent and sudden news of the slimes.
The Einherjar Army is versatile and has a wide array of soldiers specializing in all sorts of combat. Unlike Ratatoskr which specializes in 'sneaking', and Valkyries which specializes in 'special ops', the Einherjar specializes in big battles. That is the idea of an army after all.
For the current Einherjar, their war is against the Dark Forest. In the future, it might change, but today, they must focus on this for now.
"Prepare the Molotovs, we burn them… Get some axes. We must control the fire as delicately as possible! We cannot ruin the trees." Trudviar announces to the soldiers nearby. While giant mutated beasts are 'killable' in his opinion, fighting creatures of a more magical nature is a bit troublesome. Just the existence of a giant slime is more trouble than worth it.
"Estimated time of arrival, 20 to 30 minutes, General!" The same Einherjar perching on the tree adds.
Trudviar grabs a shovel for his own and commands the soldiers who are in the midst of organizing themselves. "Grab a shovel, and dig pits. No need to make complicated traps." After making quick work of the estimated path riddling with holes and pits, Trudviar prepares a suitable battlefield for their favor.
The moment the slimes appear in their sight, Trudviar immediately hollers another order. "Gather into formation! The throwers on a line, the lumberjacks on the perch!"
When the slimes enter the throwers' range, one elf among the throwers gives the command. "THROW!" And with his word, every Einherjar under his command throws their Molotovs at once. The slime burns so brightly possibly wasting plenty of liters of slime materials.
"THROW!" The same elf commander of the Einherjar throwers gives another command to release their Molotovs to the hateful creatures that only know how to devour and destroy. "SHIELD!" At the shout of a new command, the Einherjar throwers raise their crude bronze shield.
The seemingly weak elves who once resemble twigs has now muscles that speak for themselves. Trudviar's efforts in training the Einherjar have not been in vain.
"DESCEEEND!" Trudviar screams his order to the elves as he himself sweeps down with a single leap. The elves similarly descend with an axe in hand. In an organized manner, they control the fire either by cutting the trees or shoveling dirt to the fire using the flat side of their axe. If a slime suddenly finds itself among the axe-wielding elves, the Einherjars simply and calmly deal with it by burying the slime or shoving it back into the fire.
After the debacle, the Einherjars find themselves a rare opportunity for rest. Trudviar dutifully attends to his duties as he observes whether they have a casualty or not. "Anyways, send the giant serpent back to the capital to be butchered. Its meat is a lot and will feed plenty of us. Moreover, there might be 'use' in its scales. For the slimes, don't bother searching for loot. They might as well be fertilizer to compensate for all of the trees we lost today."
An ugly black patch of land is before Trudviar. He wishes to achieve perfection just as his majesty wishes for his people, and while it might be too much, Trudviar prefers it that way all the same. In a sense, they have a perfect victory today as not a single elf meets their demise in confronting the sudden slimes.
"Which areas need still clearing?"
"In the north, General…"
There are still so many jobs to do. Trudviar knows that there is no time to rest. The sudden arrival of slimes indicates that the elves' effect on the ecology of the Dark Forest is starting to interact with its stronger denizens. The longer the war with the Dark Forest continues, the harsher their enemies will be.
The elves are rebuilding, and it might look like they are taking their time easily. However, that is not the case. Even to this second, Trudviar can feel that they are war fighting on multiple fronts. The elves while rebuilding are also quite daringly invading at the same time.
There is Varen trying to swallow up the Dark Lands. There are the Pilgrims trying to conquer the commoners. There is Lafira trying to unify the Elves under the banner of his majesty, the King. Not to mention, him, Trudviar, who is in the process of claiming the Dark Forest.
The elves just continue consuming and consuming resources. Trudviar fears that there might be none left for the future. It is not his responsibility to concern himself with resources, but as 'General', only second to the princess in terms of authority and responsibility, he cannot help but be wary.
"General, there is a letter from the capital!"
A young Einherjar swinging from the trees like a monkey swiftly rolls down to the dirt to counteract inertia. As he falls down on one knee, he presents a roll of parchment to Trudviar.
"General, there is a letter from the capital!" The Einherjar repeats.
Trudviar has no comments on the flashy landing. In times of peace like this that Trudviar realizes how 'funny' the elves are most often. Trudviar snickers at the recollection of a particular elf begging the old alchemist to transform wood into food. In the end, the old alchemist ends up boiling a bark of a tree and feeding it to the elf idiot.
Receiving the parchment from the kneeling young Einherjar, Trudivar proceeds to read the letter.
"To my General,
Please rest, I fear for your health. Since his majesty's decree, not a day did you have rest. You are abusing your body, and it might result in more harm than it should be. As you are aware of your importance to this nation, I expect you to please take care of your body.
Take it as my royal decree. Every now, and then, rest. Every 23rd day, take a day off and visit me at the capital."
Trudviar casually crumples the parchment and throws it at the little cinders of what remains the fiery destruction the Molotoves left.
"I will return to the capital. Make sure you defend this newly established border, do you understand?"
"Yes, General!"
With the complete trust of his subordinates, Trudviar returns to the capital. While the elves refer to it as the capital, it doesn't really have a name. It is not even a city. Rather than a city, it is more of a symbol of where 'power' gathers. The 'center' of where the rebuilding begins, stands a 'high' structure that hangs in the midst of trees.
The Hanging Palace is a new architectural work of wonder. Connecting with various strong vines, ropes, and all sorts of alchemical products is a palace of amber, leaves, and barks. This is the height of the elves' Tree House technology.
Casually strolling on the hanging bridges, Trudviar sees from below that the grass is thick and the dirt is aplenty. Various elves of different ranges in ages, genders, and purpose mix in a crowd. There are recent recruits for Einherjars doing their marching training, running around the capital. There are curious young elves going everywhere and even going as far as following and annoying the training Einherjar. There are various foragers selling their wares from different herbs, random spices, and the like. It is so lively.
The closer an elf is to the 'capital', the safer it is, explaining the too lively atmosphere despite being in the dark Forest.
It is unlike when Trudviar lives in the village where an elf all only knows are hunting food, sleeping any time of the day they want, and entertaining themselves with the most random stuff. Trudviar can still bitterly recall how all of that suddenly changes when he suddenly finds himself with a daughter.
While the despair of losing his wife is just a shock, he also finds surprising happiness from being a dad. So when in a similar way, he suddenly loses his daughter, Trudviar finds himself being broken.
"If… If my daughter is alive, she will definitely love this place."
"She will…" Whispering to him suddenly is Naya.
Trudviar gazes at the clairvoyant, the mother of Zeraya, a respected elf who now possesses an important role in their growing race.
"Did you see it in an alternate possibility?" Trudviar asks her, hoping that wherever Naya ends up in the afterlife, she will have a better life.
Naya smiles bitterly at his question. "I don't know. But it isn't so wrong to wish that our loved ones have departed to a better place, right?"
The two of them walk with slow steps as they reach the Hanging Palace.
"I agree…" Trudviar echoes Naya's sentiments. "Paradise must be real…"
"And if not, then we should just make one…" Trudviar smiles with cheeky confidence, almost bordering being playful. Naya just laughs at his remark finding the notion of creating a paradise to be amusing.