Seeing the two men looking toward her, the female Zoel sitting on the magic carpet spoke at length again. This time in a commanding tone, yet unfortunately, Lancelot couldn't understand a single word.
The language had clear Elvish characteristics, but it was definitely not standard Elvish. His portable translator, although attached to his waist, was still out of commission.
"What did she say?" Lancelot asked Acheron in a low voice, his body tensing, ready for battle at any moment.
"How should I know?" the Elven Ranger squeezed out a few words through clenched teeth, barely moving his lips, "I'm just disguised as a Zoel, not a real Dark Elf!"
"Great," Lancelot reached for his sword hilt, "why don't you moan twice, pretend your tongue has been cut off?"