The crackling fire echoed through the ruins of Asryndor as dawn broke. Even more captivating than the crackling flames and curling smoke was the haunting melody of a lute, breaking the forest's whispered silence.
Harold plucked a string, the sound reverberating through the ruins. He knew they were watching. The forest's silence wasn't empty—it was a predator's pause.
Harold, steady-handed and undeterred by his surroundings, had once again, after many years, filled the ruins of Asryndor with vibrant music.
It was well-known that elves, despite their detachment from other races, revered art and beauty above all else. Ancient texts often remarked that most wandering minstrels were of elven descent.
In fact, every elf, regardless of their occupation, carried an instrument with them, a testament to how deeply they valued music.
Tales of the enchanting melodies of elven instruments abounded. Crafted from the immaculate wood of sacred trees, these instruments emanated a magical aura that enthralled the souls of their listeners.
In magic studies, this effect was referred to as enchantment, but elves believed it to be the embodiment of the god of music.
Of course, the reason Harold carried an instrument wasn't simply to mimic the elves. That instrument had a long story of its own and symbolized his bond with one of the few trustworthy individuals in his life.
The lute's worn strings held memories—some sweet, some bitter. Every note was a whisper from a past he both cherished and tried to forget.
Harold glanced sideways at the trees and smirked. 'So, I've been surrounded, huh...' The scene stirred a memory from years ago...
It reminded him of the first time he stepped into an unholy place, Verdantian's infamous brothel, to prepare for a mission.
The moment Harold stepped into the brothel, a pot was hurtled toward him, and almost immediately, he was met with a barrage of bent forks, twisted spoons, wooden plates, and a few rotten apples.
After evading the initial attacks, Harold activated his magical shield.
[What in the world is happening here?]
He quickly noticed an array of objects levitating in the air.
As his restless eyes scanned the old hall, a stunningly beautiful woman descended the staircase. She was the kind of beauty one could only dream of. Though clad in a tattered cloth, the radiance of her golden, silky hair cascading over her delicate, ivory shoulders rendered her attire insignificant.
On the other side, beneath a table in front of Harold lay a young man, around twenty-five, with long, straight hair. He was clearly so beaten that anyone else in his place would've succumbed to death by now. Yet, this man didn't flinch.
As Harold looked at his face, he noticed the man was quite attractive, with a perfect jawline and light stubble, though his features were obscured by the numerous blows he'd endured for reasons still unknown.
The man rose to his feet, spat out the blood pooling in his mouth, and sneered, "Hark, old elf! I sought a fair maiden, yet I find myself amidst crones! Is this the famed beauty of Vornath?"
The woman, who was evidently an elf, her thin lips curled upward, but the glint in her eyes carried the promise of wrath. She raised her hand, and the floating objects were hurled with force at the man standing opposite Harold.
The man dodged, and the objects crashed into Harold's magical shield, falling to the ground, rendered unusable.
Harold, bewildered, asked himself,
[Of all the places to find an informant, why here? Is this lunacy truly worth the trouble?]
The elf, now hovering in the air with rage, shouted, "Farhad! I've warned you—this house has no need for wretched scoundrels!"
The man, Farhad, ran his hand through his sleek hair and smirked. "Ha! But of course! What use has a withered hag of three centuries for the vigor of youth?"
"Ah, but I see that time has dulled not only thy wits but even those pointed ears of thine! Tell me, is there an elf in Midragon who fails to swoon at the melody of my lute."
"Bah! What art thou about, woman? This den is already a crumbling ruin bereft of patrons. Thy 'services' draw none, not even for a simple draught! Could it be thy touch, so worn by the centuries, that drives patrons to despair?"
Boom!!!
The elf, now utterly furious, levitated a four-person table and smashed it over Farhad's head.
It was then that she noticed Harold's presence. When their eyes met, she froze for a few moments.
[What manner of madman doth stand before us?]
Harold was clad in a full set of iron armor, an unusual and impractical choice for the warm southern climate of Vornath. Knights avoided such attire unless absolutely necessary. Most of tgem relied solely on their swords and insignia, making the sight of someone resembling an iron statue before them both strange and laughable.
"What manner of madman doth stand before us?" Farhad, clutching his head, looked at Harold with bewilderment.
Moments later, the woman floated back into the air and yelled angrily, "What dost thou seek in mine abode, stranger?!"
She hurled a chair at Harold with such force that it exploded on impact with his magical shield, filling the area with dust.
-------------
The faint click of spindly legs echoed through the ruins, each step reverberating like a drumbeat of impending doom.
Harold's memory became dusky as he opened his eyes, looked up, set the lute aside, and saw several giant spiders standing before him on the ruins' stone floor.
[Are the elves hiding in the trees just here to watch me? Looks like they're not keen on chatting with someone like me...]
He smirked and said, "It was the same at first with her too..."
He drew the silver sword, the runes engraved on its cold blade beginning to glow. Harold downed a small potion, granting him brief resistance to spider venom while rendering his blood faintly toxic—a fleeting effect that would dissipate within hours.
He unleashed his aura, an invisible force rippling like a heatwave. Though invisible, those who focused could sense the atmospheric shift around him.
"She didn't mention three spider queens and the elven guards. Maybe next time I accept a mission from an elf, I'll demand more details!"
"Or perhaps I'll just leave them alone once I'm done?"
He laughed and dropped a smoke bomb. The explosion engulfed Harold in smoke, concealing him entirely.