In the forest, where the day's light had long faded, an unsettling stillness had settled in. The only sounds piercing the quiet were the random, eerie chirps of strange birds, their calls lacking any rhythm; just disjointed noise that filled the dark. Yet, this noise wasn't unwelcome. It served a purpose: to mask footsteps.
Oliver, concealed high in the thick branches of a tree, watched the figure moving ahead, his eyes never leaving his target. He had been tailing the figure for nearly ten minutes when the man suddenly halted. His movements were careful as he scanned his surroundings, then walked to the side of the road, tapping on the trunks of trees as though signaling someone hidden in the shadows.
From the darkness, another figure emerged. Cloaked in a gray robe, his face hidden behind a mask, the man's identity remained concealed. As he stepped forward, his hand slid beneath his robe as if reaching for something. The elf who had been waiting, his eyes gleaming with greed, couldn't hide his eagerness. But tonight, fortune would not favor him.
The masked figure paused, halting his hand mid-motion. The elf's face twisted in confusion and frustration. "Hurry up and give it to me! What are you waiting for? You think you can pull one over on me?"
A sigh escaped the masked man, heavy with disdain. "First of all," he said slowly, as if speaking to a child, "remember who holds the purse. You should show some respect." His voice dropped, growing colder. "And how many times have I warned you?"
The elf, already embarrassed, began to stammer an apology, but the next words from the masked man cut him short.
"Be careful. You're being followed."
The elf's face blanched. Panic flickered in his eyes as he spun around, frantically scanning the trees. But this was his final mistake. He never saw the blade coming.
The masked man nudged the lifeless body aside with a dismissive kick, speaking to the shadows. "Well? Are you going to stay hiding up there, or do you think I'm beneath you?"
From the branches, Oliver leapt gracefully to the ground, his gaze fixed on the masked figure. "So, you're the traitor among the elves?"
The masked man chuckled, the sound chilling in the night air. "What a surprise. Only two days here, and you've already found me."
"Is that so?" Oliver's tone remained calm, though his fingers subtly edged toward his bow and arrow, readying himself.
"Of course," the masked man continued, as if they were discussing trivial matters. "You're quite the topic of conversation, you know. Your teachers, for example. They complain about you endlessly but, truth be told, they're rather proud."
Oliver's movements faltered for a brief second. His eyes narrowed. "You… you know my teachers?"
The masked man shrugged casually, his body language relaxed despite the tension. "Of course. I was once her apprentice too, long ago. Though, like so many others, I never mastered her archery."
Oliver's hand resumed its slow, deliberate reach for his weapon. This wasn't just a betrayal by some stranger, it was personal.
The masked man seemed to revel in the moment. "Oh, and I should mention, there's another way to use your junior's resurrection technique." His voice was gleeful, filled with sickening excitement. "If you destroy the gem and absorb the elements within, you gain all the skills of the person who died. A clever twist, don't you think?"
Oliver felt a wave of revulsion but held his focus. His fingers tightened on the arrow as the masked figure continued, his voice now mocking.
"You see, your teacher's soul is also trapped in a stone, and your junior brother holds it. That's why I chose to betray the elves. After the war, I joined the Black Crows, and in return, they promised me the gem's ownership." The masked man paused, as though savoring the reveal. "I'm telling you all this because, frankly, I don't think you'll be leaving here alive."
The masked man's laugh was dark, filled with twisted pleasure. "And even if you manage to survive, no one will believe you. Your reputation, your relationships with others… they're all a joke."
Disgust churned within Oliver. This man was not just a traitor, he was a monster, intoxicated by his own madness. And as the tension between them grew, the air in the forest seemed to thicken, heavy with the weight of what was to come.
Oliver's fists clenched tightly, his nails digging into his palms, but the masked man's words stung with the sharpness of truth. There was no one left who would believe him. His reputation was too far gone.
"But if you die here," the masked man taunted, "you'll save yourself a lot of trouble."
Oliver glared at him, his jaw tight. "You're nothing but a nuisance. I didn't even want to bother with you when you were learning archery, but you're wrong. Even if I fall here, there are plenty more traitors hidden within the ranks. You won't root them out so easily."
The frustration gnawed at him. Something about the masked man's arrogance unsettled him, and a wave of exhaustion washed over Oliver.
"Why do I get the feeling this isn't going to end well for the elves?" he muttered under his breath.
The masked man sneered, clearly relishing Oliver's uncertainty. "Come on, boy. Show me what you've learned!"
Without a moment's hesitation, Oliver kicked back and in one fluid motion, raised his longbow. His fingers nimbly notched the arrow, aiming it squarely at the masked figure who stood unnervingly still. His heart raced as he loosed the arrow, watching it streak through the air at lightning speed. At the same time, he retreated, putting distance between them.
But something wasn't right.
As the arrow left his bow, he felt a strange weakness in his fingers, a lack of strength that hadn't been there before. His brow furrowed in confusion. What had just happened? And then it struck him.
The villages… the ones that had fallen so quickly; they had been attacked with some kind of powder. While he had been distracted by the masked man's taunts, he hadn't considered the possibility that his opponent might be a skilled pharmacist.
His mind raced. If that powder was already in his system, he wouldn't stand a chance. Even if he managed to strike a fatal blow, the masked man might have enough time to knock him out. The realization hit him hard: he was in danger of losing consciousness before he could finish the fight.
With no time to lose, Oliver pulled a smoke bomb from his pack and hurled it to the ground. The thick cloud of smoke spread quickly, engulfing him and obscuring his figure as he made his escape, sprinting away into the forest.
Meanwhile, the masked man scratched his head, watching the smoke with mild amusement. "As expected, his magic power is ridiculously low," he muttered. "The potion I used should knock out anyone with substantial magic within seconds. Even a bird would fall asleep in ten seconds."
He looked toward the spot where Oliver had disappeared. "Yet he's still standing. Feeling a little weak but nothing more? Does that mean his magic power is weaker than a bird's? How could someone like him have learned archery from our teacher?"
Unaware of the masked man's thoughts, Oliver continued running, his breath ragged and heart pounding. When the dizziness finally subsided, he slowed to a stop, leaning against a tree, gasping for air.
"No, I can't just leave it like this," he muttered, pushing his hair back in frustration. "If I don't deal with the body, it could lead to even more trouble." But then the reality of his situation dawned on him. "If I go back now, I might run into him again. This is such a mess…"
He scratched his head, piecing together what he had learned. He already had a general understanding of the traitors among the elves, though his suspicions about his fellow apprentices still needed confirming. The next step was clear; he needed to infiltrate the human cities and gather more information, maybe even a list of traitors.
"But will they let their guard down so soon?" Oliver sighed, his hand running through his hair. He would need a solid reason to enter their territory unnoticed. The clock was ticking, and every move had to be calculated carefully.
---
In a distant, dimly lit room, Tom lounged comfortably in his chair, his eyes flicking toward the elf who had just returned. "So, how did it go?"
"It's true," the elf reported, his voice flat. "His magic power is pitifully low. His archery is good, I'll admit, but it won't make much of a difference."
Tom smirked. "Because of his nonexistent relationships with others, I take it?"
"Exactly. Even if he uncovers a mountain of secrets, it won't matter. No one would believe him."
Tom raised an eyebrow, casting a sideways glance at the elf. "How much did you tell him?"
The elf hesitated, blinking in confusion. "I… I might've said a bit more than I should've. There's more than one traitor, after all. I wanted to make sure he knew."
Tom sighed deeply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You idiot. Why would you give away so much? You've practically handed him the keys to walk right in."
The elf frowned. "Wait, you mean… I shouldn't have said that?"
Tom shook his head in frustration. "Forget it. He's bound to find his way here sooner or later. We'll just have to tighten our defenses. Starting tomorrow, no more slip-ups. We prepare for his arrival."