Suddenly, a soft rustling broke the stillness of the dense forest behind me, the sound of leaves brushing against one another. I froze. I had just left that spot, and the wind that had been blowing through the trees moments earlier had completely died down. Something wasn't right.
Oliver immediately sensed the danger. Without a second thought, he veered sharply to the side, his body moving almost instinctively. The decision was made in the nick of time; just as he vacated his previous position, a dagger came whizzing past, slicing through the air where he had stood. The blade flew low, at chest height. If he hadn't moved, it would have buried itself deep into his lungs, crippling him, perhaps fatally.
"Is someone really there?" he muttered to himself, turning his head toward the forest. He channeled his excess magic power to enhance his vision, his eyes glowing faintly as he strained to see through the shadows. Above, birds circled lower, swooping through the branches, their sharp eyes scanning for any signs of the lurking enemy.
But still, there was nothing. The forest remained unnervingly quiet, save for the distant rustling. Yet the evidence was undeniable. The explosion that had rocked the air moments before and now this dagger; there was no doubt someone was after him. The problem was, they were hidden, invisible to his naked eyes.
"A blessing I've never heard of before? Or maybe a famous figure from ancient history?" Oliver's mind raced. His hand drifted toward his bow, but he knew that blindly firing wouldn't do any good just yet.
He resumed his run, carefully retracing his steps while setting up a series of "gifts" behind him; makeshift traps hastily arranged but effective enough to create noise. They weren't powerful in terms of destruction, but the sound they made would serve him well. The fact that the enemy had stepped into one of his traps earlier told him something important: they could be reckless. If they stumbled into it once, there was a good chance they'd do it again.
Every ten meters, he placed another trap, each one designed to give him more clues. Based on the sound and timing of the triggered traps, Oliver could estimate the enemy's movement speed and direction. He might not be able to see them, but he didn't need to; not if he could map their position with precision.
His hand hovered over the quiver as he pulled out three arrows. This time, he infused them with more than just the usual magic. Carefully, he let the power seep into every inch of the arrows, fortifying them beyond their typical strength. He wasn't merely aiming to pierce; he was preparing for an explosion of force.
"Boom!" The first of his small bombs went off, a modest explosion by size but effective nonetheless. A thick plume of smoke rose rapidly into the air, giving him a clear marker of the disturbance. Moments later, a second and third bomb went off in quick succession. From these signals, Oliver now had a rough idea of his pursuer's location.
"Got you," he whispered, narrowing his eyes. "Let's see how well you handle this."
He notched an arrow and took aim; not directly at the forest ahead, but into the sky. The canopy was thick with branches, which would hinder a straightforward shot. However, his magic-infused arrows were designed to find their mark even in challenging terrain. With a deep breath, he let the arrow fly, followed quickly by the second and third.
From the corner of his eye, he caught a glint of silver. It was a dagger, flashing through the air with deadly precision. In one swift motion, his hidden foe sliced through all three arrows in mid-flight, severing the shafts at the tips. A single stroke; clean, efficient.
"Unbelievable," Oliver marveled, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. Cutting down one arrow was simple enough, but three fully charged, reinforced arrows at once? And to slice them at their most powerful point, the tips, that was something else.
"So, you're that strong, huh?" His mind raced through his options. He had stronger arrows: iron-tipped ones with significantly more power, but he'd only brought twenty along. When he left his base, he'd opted for mobility, not expecting to need his heaviest ammunition. Besides, assembling the longbow necessary to fire those iron arrows would take time. And right now, time wasn't something he had in abundance.
But Oliver was never one to give up easily.
"Front defense is impressive," he thought, "but what about your back?"
He quickly attached magic to the tail of a few arrows, rigging them to fire after a delay. The arrows would stay quiet at first, waiting until their magic triggered. They wouldn't pack much punch, but they could be enough to catch an opponent off guard.
Satisfied with his setup, Oliver picked up his pace again, darting through the forest, leaving behind a trail of surprises. The real battle was only just beginning.
The opponent trailing Oliver hadn't noticed anything unusual. Or perhaps, more accurately, he had become desensitized to the chaos that always seemed to surround his quarry. Oliver's movements, the sporadic traps, the subtle disturbances in the air; none of it set off any alarms. He remained focused, intent on his prey.
But now, the timer was up.
With a faint click, the delayed arrows sprung from their positions. Though they lacked brute force, their speed was nothing to scoff at. Four arrows, launched in quick succession, flew toward their pre-set destinations, covering all possible escape routes.
Oliver, still running, barely spared a glance backward. His mind was on how the invisible enemy would respond to the trap. Each second stretched long, anticipation coiling tight in his chest. The arrows were almost upon their mark, silent and swift.
It was only when they closed in that the enemy seemed to realize something was wrong, but by then, it was too late.
A sharp swing of his blade cut down the first arrow. The second, caught mid-air in a bare hand, wavered before being tossed aside. But the remaining two; one flew wide, missing its target, while the final arrow grazed the opponent's skin, leaving a thin streak of blood as it disappeared into the underbrush.
"Sound... it's the sound," Oliver muttered under his breath, piecing together the clues. The earlier magic-enhanced arrows had made enough noise for his opponent to track them easily. But these new ones, quiet and deceptive, slipped through the defenses just enough to land a blow.
Blood dripped onto the ground, and with that, Oliver could finally see a faint outline. It wasn't much, just a blurred silhouette against the backdrop of the forest, but it was enough. He recognized the figure; an elf. His heart raced with a mix of excitement and triumph. This was it; he had found his mark.
Caught in the rush of adrenaline, Oliver felt victory close enough to taste. He spun around, deciding not to flee any longer. He would face the elf head-on. Grinning, he pulled out another arrow, his mind already working through how to silence it this time.
His excitement, however, blinded him to the terrain ahead.
In his eagerness, he missed the crucial detail. The ground beneath him wasn't solid. There was a cliff; a sharp drop hidden by the thick canopy above. If he had moved with more caution, if he'd only paused to assess the ground ahead...
But he didn't. His foot stretched too far forward.
"Ahh!" Oliver's scream echoed as he plunged downward, the ground vanishing beneath him.
At the cliff's edge, the blood-covered elf stepped forward, watching Oliver's silhouette shrink as he tumbled into the abyss. The elf's expression remained unreadable, indifferent to the sound of his opponent's fall. Satisfied that the immediate threat had been neutralized, the elf turned and left. He hadn't intended to kill Oliver, only to force him to retreat. Now, it seemed that task had been accomplished.
---
"Wait, you're saying he fell off a cliff?" Aegnor blinked in disbelief. He paced back and forth, his mind racing to make sense of the news. "Knowing him, that's... well, that does sound like something he'd do."
The conversation had drifted to a legendary figure, Inga Gallo; the once-revered elf queen. Though her name had faded into the annals of history, her legacy as a ruler had left an indelible mark. She had not died in a palace, nor surrounded by the pomp and circumstance of royalty. Instead, she had met her end on a desolate field, just before a victory that never came. One of those who had been resurrected, her revival owed much to her unique gift of natural invisibility.
"Alright, I get it," Aegnor sighed, rubbing his temples. "I'll keep my ears open and let others know to pay attention."
He couldn't help but think the whole situation was absurd, but in the world they lived in, perhaps absurd was par for the course.
---
Let's rewind the clock a little.
"Ahhh!" Oliver's scream tore through the air as he plummeted, the sheer drop pulling him toward the earth with terrifying speed. His mind raced, scrambling for any solution. He was human; he couldn't fly, and below him, the glimmer of a stream caught his eye. But even that was too shallow to provide any real cushioning.
"Of course," he muttered bitterly, "the moment I think I'm winning, something like this happens."
Desperation surged within him, and he fumbled with his quiver. Two iron arrows; a precious commodity he had been reluctant to use; were now his only hope. With no time to waste, he yanked them free and slammed them into the rock wall.
The arrows dug into the stone, the metal screeching as it held under the pressure. Oliver grasped the arrows with all his strength, his body jerking as the force of his fall slowed slightly. But it wasn't enough. His arms screamed in protest as gravity still pulled him downward.
Thinking quickly, he used the last bit of holy water he had to amplify his magic, wrapping his arms in protective energy. The magic spread over his skin, reinforcing his muscles and bones against the strain. If he survived this, it would be a miracle.
But for now, he had to focus. One mistake, and it would all be over.