After wandering aimlessly for some time, unsure of his next steps, Oliver found himself walking along a quiet road. His mind was clouded with uncertainty when suddenly, a strange noise echoed behind him. Instinctively, he scaled a nearby tree, his movements quick and fluid. Perched on a sturdy branch, he peered down just in time to see two humans riding horses, followed closely by a cart being pulled toward the city at a rapid pace.
At first glance, it seemed like an ordinary caravan, and Oliver was about to climb down when another series of carts thundered down the road, one after the other, their urgency palpable. He frowned, something felt off. The sheer number of vehicles was far too large for a simple supply run. It was more like they were preparing for something big; like stockpiling for winter or worse.
His eyes caught a small detail that made his heart race, a Black Crow emblem tied to the rider's arm. The Black Crow was a symbol he had rarely seen in the open. Only in cases of extreme urgency did anyone carrying that emblem appear outside.
"What's going on?" Oliver murmured to himself, unease creeping into his thoughts. Something had definitely changed. He climbed down from the tree, eyes following the convoy as it disappeared toward the city. His brow furrowed in concern. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good.
Without wasting any more time, he decided to follow them. He had no need to use magic yet, but he kept his wits about him as he tailed the convoy, sticking to the shadows.
---
At the city gates, the soldiers on duty spotted the cloud of dust rising in the distance. Instantly on alert, they grabbed their torches, preparing to light the warning fires.
"Express cargo!" the lead rider yelled out as they neared the gates. "Let us through!"
Realizing the convoy belonged to their own, the soldiers relaxed, nodding to each other as they opened the massive gates, allowing the caravan to roll into the city before shutting the doors tight behind them. Oliver, watching from the safety of the shadows, took it all in, his unease deepening.
Even the city guards were more on edge than usual. Something was happening, and it was bigger than he had anticipated.
---
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit room, an older man paced restlessly, his voice laced with impatience. "We're ready! Just a few more days and we can strike. The moment we get the signal, we move!"
"There's no need to rush," Aegnor replied calmly, rejecting the proposal yet again. He leaned back lazily in his chair, fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest. "It's not time yet."
The old man scowled, frustration evident in the lines of his face. "I don't see the point in waiting any longer."
Aegnor smirked, eyes half-lidded with boredom. "If you understood everything, you wouldn't need me, would you?"
He closed his eyes, counting down the hours in his mind. Two more days. Only two more days.
"Finally," Aegnor whispered to himself, his voice drowned out by the chaotic murmur of the room. His patience was running thin, but soon it would all be over. His carefully crafted plan was nearing its conclusion, the final act in a stage play he had orchestrated from the beginning.
---
Oliver's sense of dread only grew stronger as he walked, realizing something serious was brewing. He needed to inform An and Nisha immediately. Although their influence among the elves had waned in recent years, they still held more sway than he did. If the elves were in danger, and if something were to happen to them, it could mean disaster for all.
Just as Oliver turned to head toward the city, something whizzed past him; a dagger, narrowly missing his chest as he shifted at the last second. His instincts kicked in, and he realized that had he not moved, the blade would've struck true.
He blinked in recognition. The dagger was familiar, the very same weapon used by the elf who had hunted him for so long. It seemed the assassin was back.
Oddly, it didn't feel like the attacker had put much force behind the throw, almost as if the intent wasn't to kill but to send a warning.
Oliver's mind raced. 'No time to overthink it.' He quickly began calculating the attacker's position based on the direction the blade had come from. But just as he zeroed in on the location, a powerful gust of wind howled above him.
His reflexes kicked in, and he rolled to the left just as the force of the wind struck. Dust and debris swirled violently, filling the air and creating a suffocating cloud. The sheer power behind the attack left him momentarily stunned; this wasn't a single attacker. He was being targeted by multiple enemies, and they were not pulling their punches.
Oliver gritted his teeth, scanning the area for cover as he braced for the next assault. This wasn't just an ambush, it was a calculated strike.
Oliver steadied himself, taking a deep breath as he raised his gaze. Emerging from the dust was the towering figure of Plamon Bess, a monstrous elf he had once repelled with holy water. The name stirred memories from old stories and history lessons, though seeing him in the flesh was a far more chilling experience.
Brushing the dirt from his clothes, Oliver propped himself up, wary but surprised that Plamon wasn't immediately advancing to strike. It was as if the elf was giving him time to collect himself, to recover his bearings.
"We're not here to kill you," Plamon's voice cut through the smoky air. His tone was steady, almost diplomatic. "If you stay out of the elves' territory for the next two days, we'll cease the pursuit."
Oliver blinked in confusion. "You don't want me entering the elves' lands?" he echoed, surprised. He had been certain this was another attempt on his life. After all, he had narrowly escaped their clutches before, more than once.
"Exactly. As long as you don't set foot in elven territory, you won't be harmed," Plamon said, dusting himself off in a calm, matter-of-fact way.
Oliver considered this. Staying out of their territory for two days was an easy enough request, but it left too many questions unanswered. "Fine," he agreed, "but could you at least convey a message for me?" Now was not the time to engage in a direct conflict. His instincts told him to avoid a fight, especially since he didn't fully understand why Aegnor had suddenly shifted tactics.
Plamon shook his head. "We can't leave. Not that we don't want to, there's no choice in the matter. We're being forced."
"Forced?" Oliver frowned, incredulous. For someone as powerful as Plamon, the idea of being coerced seemed absurd. He raised an eyebrow, skeptical. "With your abilities? How could anyone possibly force you?"
Plamon gave a tired sigh, as if explaining something simple to a child. "It's an order. The only order that matters," he explained. "That person, Aegnor, I think that's his name; used a secret technique that's ancient, something passed down from an elf long ago. It's not particularly difficult magic, but it requires twelve people to cast it properly. Problem is, he's just one human, not an elf, so he can only control three others for a single command. We're two of the three."
Oliver processed this, his mind racing. So Aegnor had some kind of hold over these elves, but not complete control. They were bound to one order, which in this case, was to keep an eye on him. But why? If they were truly intent on neutralizing him, they could've attacked already. There was no need for two days of surveillance. The whole situation felt more convoluted than ever.
Glancing toward the city on the horizon, his unease deepened. Something was happening, and he had little time to figure out what. He could only hope nothing catastrophic would unfold in the next two days.
---
Meanwhile, An stood with a steely expression before the pharmacist Ross, her arms crossed. From the start, Ross had refused to leave her position, which seemed entirely out of character. She had introduced herself as just another elf returning to her homeland, but this sudden reluctance painted a different picture.
"What's going on?" An demanded, her voice edged with frustration.
Ross, looking uncomfortable, offered a tight smile. "I'm sorry, I can't tell you. It's an order." Her explanation was evasive, though An knew well enough that this wasn't just some simple directive. The orders were specific and tied closely to Aegnor's manipulations. But of course, Ross couldn't reveal who had issued them.
"Tsk," An clicked her tongue in annoyance, her patience wearing thin.
---
Aegnor sat alone in a dimly lit room, his chair creaking slightly as he leaned back, watching the shadows dance along the walls. "According to the plan, the three of them should have blocked the others by now," he muttered to himself, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his lips. There was no one else in the room, but that didn't matter. Aegnor stood up, pushing aside the cushion on his chair and pulling out a notebook hidden beneath it; a familiar one, though its contents were entirely different from the version Oliver had seen.
This notebook had been left to Aegnor by his teacher, but its purpose wasn't as innocent as the one Oliver had studied. The words within detailed a far more ruthless approach; a guide to dealing with those who refused to understand, those who could not be reasoned with. It called for the most direct method of silencing opposition.
His teacher had failed to carry out these plans in life, but Aegnor had every intention of seeing them through. If everything went as planned, this notebook would become irrelevant, discarded once the task was complete.
This was his first step, the opening move in a larger game. But it was also his penultimate step in this stage of his scheme.
"Why not Oliver?" Aegnor mused aloud, his voice barely a whisper. His teacher had said that Oliver wasn't the type to flatter or manipulate others, nor was he the kind to lead them astray. Aegnor still wasn't sure if his teacher had been mocking Oliver or recognizing something more subtle in him.
As for himself, Aegnor had dug deeper into the past, unearthing secrets his teacher hadn't even fully understood. 'The world tree sap and other ancient elven relics... they're too dangerous,' he thought. 'Time to remove the evidence.'
His eyes gleamed with dark determination. The final act of his plan was about to begin.