"Strange, why is there still no word?" the leader muttered, frowning deeply. His patience wearing thin, he stepped out of the shadows, ready to investigate the silence himself.
Meanwhile, Oliver finally clawed his way out of the pit, his arms trembling with exertion. He quickly brushed the dirt from his clothes, trying to steady his breath. The pit had been deeper than expected, and the spikes at the bottom would have made for a grisly end. Taking a moment to compose himself, he pressed on, sprinting toward the light ahead.
This time, there were no traps.
As the bright light hit his eyes, he squinted, still adjusting to the sudden change from the dark forest. But his instincts remained sharp. He twisted his body just in time to dodge an arrow, his movements fluid and precise. As his vision cleared, he quickly assessed the situation. The number of enemies was roughly what he had expected, though there were likely still more hiding in the forest.
Most of them were armed with crossbows and daggers, and he spotted two or three elves channeling magic. But then, in the center of the group, he saw something unexpected; a figure wielding a massive double-edged axe.
'An axe?' Oliver blinked in confusion. Elves weren't known for using such brutish weapons, especially not one this large. It was as out of place as the heavy armor the elf was wearing. The armor, thick and meticulously crafted, covered every inch of the elf, even the joints protected by iron plating. It wasn't elven craftsmanship, that much was obvious. This armor was the work of a master, likely human, and expensive beyond measure.
'Who is this guy?' Oliver wondered. Was this elf a radical? A traitor? Or perhaps someone playing both sides?
Before Oliver could speculate further, the elf spotted him, raising the giant axe with a menacing grin. With a mighty swing, he hurled the weapon toward Oliver.
It wasn't magic; the elf had thrown the axe with sheer brute strength. The massive weapon spun through the air, the sound of it cutting through the wind like a scream.
Instinct told Oliver to shoot it down with an arrow, but he knew better. He darted to the left, narrowly avoiding the axe as it crashed into the ground with a deafening thud. The earth trembled from the impact, dirt and debris flying everywhere. The blade was buried deep in the ground, its sharpness undeniable, and the crater it left testified to both its weight and the overwhelming strength of the elf who wielded it.
As Oliver dodged, he quickly nocked an arrow and fired, aiming at the elf's exposed head. But the arrow clanged uselessly off the elf's impenetrable armor, deflected without even a scratch.
Laughter echoed through the clearing, a mocking chorus from the other elves.
They were laughing at him, at his apparent arrogance in thinking he could penetrate such thick armor.
'Is it really that strong?' Oliver thought, his eyes narrowing as he continued to move, weaving through the trees. The laughter soon died as the elves picked up their weapons and began attacking in earnest, but their arrows and bolts missed their mark. Oliver's erratic movements; sometimes fast, sometimes slow, made it nearly impossible for them to land a hit. His body swayed and darted unpredictably, making him a difficult target even without his aerial vision.
But he was tiring.
The elves weren't aiming to take him down immediately. Their real goal was to stall him, to buy time for reinforcements from the forest. Oliver knew it, and so did they. The longer this dragged on, the more likely their comrades would return, leaving only a few behind to guard the area.
'I need to take out the leader,' he realized. That armored elf with the axe was the key. As long as he stood, the others would continue to fight with confidence.
Only an iron arrow could penetrate that armor.
There was no time for hesitation. If the reinforcements arrived before Oliver acted, the chaos would spiral out of control.
He steeled himself, his muscles tensing as he readied the iron arrow.
'All or nothing,' he thought, drawing the bowstring back to its full length.
Oliver quickly fished two smoke bombs from his bag and hurled them to the ground. In an instant, a thick cloud of smoke erupted, filling the air with a swirling gray haze. The elves didn't hesitate; their attacks continued, spells darting through the smoke and dispersing it momentarily, only for it to quickly reassemble and engulf the area once more.
Amidst the confusion, Oliver tipped his quiver upside down, spilling out all his wooden arrows. He deftly peeled away a layer of leather to reveal a series of black squares in various shapes and sizes, alongside a bowstring.
That's right; the iron arrow he had launched earlier wasn't fired from a wooden bow but from an ingenious iron bow crafted by his master, a true artisan.
With practiced precision, he assembled the components, recalling each step from memory. He straightened the bowstring, retrieved an iron arrow from its interlayer, and tucked it back into the quiver. He was ready.
As he gripped the longbow, a wave of familiarity washed over him, calming his racing heart. It was magical, he thought, chuckling to himself. No matter the odds, the moment he held this bow, he felt an unshakeable connection to something greater, something both distant yet achingly close.
With a determined shake of his head, he stood tall, not bothering with a mask this time. He was prepared for the next assault.
His opponents, too, were ready. As the smoke began to clear, both sides stood exposed in the open field, tension thick in the air.
Before the elves could react, Oliver was already drawing his bowstring back. The longbow, forged from pure black mineral, seemed to absorb all light, rendering the iron arrow at its ready position a mere shadow. As he released his fingers, the arrow sprang forth, bursting into brilliance like a meteor slicing through the night sky.
If only he had a bit of magic left, he mused; he could pierce right through that heavy armor. But even without any magical enhancement, the iron arrow flew with incredible force, slicing through the armor as if it were parchment. It tore through muscle and exited out the back, the shaft embedding itself deep into the ground, leaving behind a small, bloody hole.
Gasps filled the air. The armored leader and the surrounding elves froze, stunned by what had just happened. They knew the strength of that armor, it was designed to withstand both physical and magical attacks. Few could breach it, and none could do so in a single shot.
'What kind of arrow was that?' the elves wondered, still processing the shocking turn of events. But Oliver wasn't caught off guard. He raised his longbow once more, his breath slightly ragged from exertion. The first shot had been a fluke; this next one was aimed with precision.
'No armor can protect if it can't move,' he thought, determination hardening in his chest. Another arrow shot forth, another meteor in the night, finding the weak joint in the armor. This time, the leader collapsed, unable to maintain his footing, the weight of the armor dragging him down.
Oliver let out a breath, relieved but aware of the consequences. Each iron arrow was a costly investment, taking a full day to craft. He couldn't afford to waste them.
Now, with the enemy leader incapacitated, the remaining elves appeared less menacing. Though they still brandished their weapons, their sporadic retreats revealed a flicker of fear.
'Time to set up a trap,' Oliver thought, scanning the area for materials. He had to act fast before reinforcements from the forest arrived. The tables were turning, and he needed to capitalize on this moment of weakness.