When Harold entered the Asryndor, Talion did not return to the Great Tree with the other elves. Instead, he passed through the dense forest and made his way to the cabin where Harold had spent the past six months.
The cabin was completely destroyed. Talion glanced at the mark left by Harold's fist. Suddenly, a voice behind him said:
"He really is a strange man, don't you think?"
Talion turned around. Lady Lúthien was standing behind him. He bowed respectfully.
"My lady."
Lady Lúthien raised her hand, her face filled with serenity.
"There is no need for such formalities, Talion. Why have you come here?"
Talion hesitated for a moment and then said, "I must take a short journey."
Lady Lúthien asked, "And where will this journey take you?"
He answered, "Somewhere I have never been."
Lady Lúthien nodded and wished him success.
"That makes sense. Unlike the other elves, you have never left the Whispering woods. For centuries, you have remained here, unaware of the outside world. I suppose it's time you experienced it for yourself."
Talion knelt on one knee and removed his crown.
"But I am not leaving to experience the outside world. After meeting that human, I realized how vulnerable we are beyond our borders. I always believed that protecting Siralda meant staying here, but now I see that remaining within these woods solves nothing."
"I must leave Siralda for a while. Though my heart will always remain in this forest, I have no choice. For the future of our people, for Siralda—I must depart!"
Lady Lúthien, surprised by Talion's change of heart, said, "Yes, that is the perspective you must have. Perhaps bringing that human here was not a mistake after all."
Talion smiled and held out his crown to Lady Lúthien.
"Please, keep this for me, my lady."
Lady Lúthien refused.
"No! Take it with you. Whenever you lose your way, it will remind you why you fight."
Then she added, "Where are you headed, Talion?"
Talion stood and looked eastward. Lady Lúthien noticed.
"Be careful—Harold Golden shrine is no ordinary human. Still, if you ask for his help, he will surely aid you."
Talion placed the crown back on his head, bowed, and set off southward.
He took the same path that Gerard and his companions had traveled to reach Siralda. Heading south, he walked near the mountain's foothills. As night fell, he finally crossed the forest's border.
Now, a vast world stretched before him, seemingly endless.
Talion hesitated to take the first step. Perhaps, many times before, he had considered never leaving the forest at all. This moment reminded him of the first time he had secretly reached the edge of Siralda. He could not quite recall how many centuries had passed since then, but at first glance, the world beyond the border seemed unchanged.
For elves, the passage of time had a different meaning. They could never understand humanity's haste to unravel the mysteries of the world. Elves had time—endless time—and that was the greatest cause of their differences with humans.
From the moment Talion first dreamed of traveling to the moment he remembered that dream once more, centuries had passed.
Taking this small step beyond Siralda's borders was as significant as the passing of multiple human generations. And Talion knew that well.
The next morning, he found himself in the mountains of the Broken Peak. A cold rock lay beneath his feet, and the clear sky stretched endlessly above him.
"This...?!"
Since Talion had never seen the world outside the forest, every step he took felt new and unfamiliar. Even when he found himself surrounded by desert wolves, his eyes were filled more with wonder than fear.
Talion lost his way multiple times. Sometimes, he relied on the stars, and other times, he used the maps that the merchants of Aeloria had sold them. Yet even with these aids, it was a struggle to navigate the rough mountain terrain and find his way toward Drak'thul.
He spent several more nights traveling through the mountains and desert.
On the fourth day, he finally managed to cross the mountains. As he descended the steep slopes, he had no idea he was about to stumble into something strange. But the moment he reached the foothills, he found himself amidst a field of bodies scattered across the ground.
It was clear from their appearance that they had been killed recently. Talion searched them but found nothing of importance. He then decided to scout the surrounding area.
Not far away, he discovered the remains of a caravan that had been mercilessly raided. The pack animals had been slaughtered, their throats cut, and the camels set ablaze. Disgust filled Talion as he took in the scene. Rage gripped him.
For a moment, he imagined Siralda in the same state—burned, ruined, its people slaughtered. That thought only fueled his fury.
[Something like this happened so close to Siralda's borders.]
[I must eliminate whoever is responsible for this massacre.]
[I will not allow any threat near our lands!]
Following the tracks of the horses, he set out to find the perpetrators. Along the way, he came across more bodies—travelers or merchants who had been abandoned after succumbing to exhaustion. With no time to bury them, Talion used fire magic to cremate them in the traditional elven way. It was the least he could do.
He spent the entire day tracking the trail. Though the tracks had mostly faded, he was able to restore them using wind magic—his specialty.
By nightfall, he arrived at an abandoned region. With his elven sight, he spotted a group of mercenaries gathered around a fire in the distance. They were forcing captives to dance and drink for their amusement.
Talion stared at the scene, his anger boiling.
Even though the captives were not of elven descent, he still felt the same rage. He had always believed he was indifferent to other races, but that night, his actions told a different story.
When he drew his sword from its sheath, he no longer cared what race the captives belonged to. Even as he spun his blade and severed the mercenaries' necks, or when he used wind magic to turn the flames against them, he never once stopped to think about who he was doing it for.
Siralda was no longer the reason. It was simply about doing what was right.
When he struck down the last mercenary, he finally noticed that they came from different backgrounds. One was a man from the northern lands, while the rest had come from the south.
The captives knelt before Talion. Had an elf saved them? And not just any elf—one with such incredible combat skills? Even for a moment, the thought of fleeing or resisting him never crossed their minds.
One of the captives—a middle-aged woman—straightened her clothes before offering Talion a small box. It was part of the goods their caravan had been transporting to the kingdom of Drak'thul.
Talion opened the box.
Inside, he found dried leaves and a long-stemmed pipe.
He smelled the leaves and immediately recognized their unique quality. Then, taking the box with him, he continued on his way toward Drak'thul.
Inside the Inn,
Harold stepped out of his room. He fastened the scythes —miniaturized through mana—onto his belt and slung the sacred sword across his back, preparing for his journey to the capital.
As he descended the stairs, shouting from the main hall caught his attention.
"Hey! Tell me who you're working with!"
Two guards stood beside a merchant, who had his fists clenched, threatening two dwarven children with knives.
The children had dark skin, and their moth-eaten clothes made it clear they hadn't worn anything new in a long time.
At first, Harold assumed they were orphaned pickpockets—common sights in the alleys and markets those days—but after asking around, he learned the real story.
Barely holding back a laugh, he turned to one of the onlookers and said,
"You're telling me these two robbed a caravan with dozens of people?"
The man, looking bewildered, replied,
"No! That merchant claims these kids are working with the mercenaries who've been attacking caravans lately. He's trying to find out where the mercenaries are hiding, but these kids have been shaking on the floor for two hours and haven't said a word."
Harold glanced at the terrified children and sighed under his breath.
He pushed through the crowd, making his way to the merchant and his guards.
The children, seeing the towering old man with a massive sword on his back, lost what little hope they had left. When they noticed the chains around Harold's wrists, they nearly fainted from fear.
The merchant, his voice full of rage, shouted,
"And who the hell are you?!"
But the moment Harold gave him a single glance, he immediately shut his mouth and sank into his chair.
Harold reached out, took the boy's chin, and opened his mouth.
With another sigh, he turned to the merchant and said,
"Look. It's not that he won't talk. He can't say anything."
He pointed to the boy's severed tongue.
The merchant and his guards were stunned. None of them had even considered that possibility.
Harold looked into the frightened eyes of the boy and his sister, then straightened up.
"You want your lost goods back? I'll find them for you. But leave these kids to me."
The merchant started to protest, but one of his guards reacted before he could.
The man had caught sight of Harold's sword and immediately froze, his face paling. Then, his voice trembling, he asked,
"Sir… are you Harold Golden shrine?"