“Boss, just like you guessed.” The man in the wolf-head mask spoke low, his voice like gravel under a boot. “They’ve had real training. Their recon and counter-recon beat that National Corps, easy. Their captain’s likely the same female Sprite who loosed that sky-splitting arrow last time.”

“Mm?” On the dais, a man in a lion mask rose, broad as a cliff face. His limbs were corded like rooted oaks, and his two arms looked strong enough to crack stone bare-handed.

“They say the Elf Clan’s women are pale as moonlight and bright as sunrise—rose lips, pearl teeth, robes like spring bloom. Angel’s face, demon’s curves, immortal’s grace.” He rolled the memory on his tongue like smoke. “We snatched one last time. She lived up to the tales. Pity—temper like dry tinder. I hadn’t even begun before she cut her own throat.” His right hand trembled, a leaf between storm and fire, unsure if it shook from excitement or rage.

“Boss, that was just ordinary stock,” said a man in a leopard mask, every gesture smooth as a brushstroke. “I hear Wind Sprite City runs seven women to three men. Every woman’s a peerless treasure. After we’re done, toss them to the noble lords—they’ll sell for sky-high coin. Among them, there’s a royal guard unit that’s the cream of heaven and earth. One of our brothers glimpsed one bathing—just her back, like jade under falling rain—and got so excited he hurt his little brother. He still hasn’t left his bed. Even half-conscious, he kept whispering, ‘fairy… fairy…’”

He painted with his voice, like ink spreading on silk. “She wore three thousand strands of green silk, hanging like willow over a full, ripe waist. A pair of snow peaks stood proud above all rivals. Legs long enough to steal breath. A slim waist that curved like a spirit snake. A flawless face that would make Aphrodite hide in shame. Open those star-bright green eyes, and the sky would dim; flowers would lower their heads; even fish would dive rather than meet her gaze. Her jade-white hands were like lotus root; her pink-soft feet like red jade. A marvel born of the world itself.”

His skin was paler than the others’, like milk under frost. A jade ring gleamed on his hand, cold as moonlight. He looked too refined for a den of jackals, like a crane among crows.

“Always the strategist.” The man in a saber-toothed tiger mask chuckled, the sound like a drum on dry earth. “From your mouth, she turns into a true earthly goddess. That ‘Tooth Tiger’ you spoke of has my palms itching.”

“If a single bodyguard looks like that,” someone snorted, wind slicing through reeds, “what does the Queen look like?”

“Can’t be worse. But the Queen’s probably Boss’s dish, haha.”

The lion-mask leader stood taller, a mountain shrugging off clouds. “Different times now. Last time, we couldn’t even walk out of that damned forest. Not anymore. We’ve got gear. What’s one little forest to a wildfire?” His voice rolled like thunder over plains. “Get ready. We’ll burn their forest, smash their wards, cut down their men, then pin the royal guard and the Elven Queen to the ground and grind them under our boots.”

“Oh—!”

“Boss! Boss!”

“But…” The wolf-mask man’s worry bled through first, like fog before rain. “If we do this, won’t their allies come for us? I heard the Queen of Xurenxus City is tight with Eunomia.”

“Relax, Fire Wolf,” the leopard-mask strategist said, calm as still water. “We frame the National Corps. They’ve been sighted nearby. Even if they track us, we’ll be gone with the Elven Queen by then. Once we gift the Queen and her royal guard to Alis in the south, you think we’ll still fear Eunomia in the east?”

“Hahaha! Good! That’s why you’re the grand strategist of our Xiao Nine Corps.” The saber-toothed tiger mask rang with laughter, like iron striking iron. “With you here, we’ve got nothing to fear. Brothers, grab your gear—it’s time to ‘work’!”

“Awooo—awooo—”

“Roar—roar—”

Animal cries rolled inside the hill like waves in a stone gorge, and a stranger would’ve sworn a hundred beasts had gathered.

…

Talos Continent, Year 995, August 12. Medith trained everyone as always. The regimen surged like a rising tide; mana and muscle were pushed to the cliff’s edge, then over it, again and again. Pain burned like winter wind, but gains grew like spring grass.

The method tempered will like steel in a quench. Keep this pace, and in half a month they’d be a devil’s regiment. Medith wasn’t rigid, though. She knew when to loosen the bowstring; during rests, she slipped them little games to sharpen minds and ease nerves, like rain after drought.

Another day passed like a leaf riding a stream.

August 13. Rita knocked at Medith’s temporary quarters. Medith had been dozing on the doorframe, like a cat in a patch of sun; the door swung open at the first tap. Rita saw the heavy black moons under her eyes and green strands scattered across the floor like fallen willow.

Drafts and battle sketches lay everywhere like windblown maps—intelligence notes, names, lines of march. She gripped a map and kept marking it, ink scratching like crickets. Rita’s heart tightened like a fist.

She’d thought the Sprites had it rough. She hadn’t known Medith had it rougher—one person carrying tactics, training, intel, and assignments. In a few days, she looked withered, like a flower after hail.

“Any side path?” The question left Medith with a sigh of sand. She rubbed her eyes first, then tried to stand. Rita caught her and guided her to a leaf bed she’d woven, soft as moss.

“No. Mountains on all four sides,” Rita said, voice steady as bedrock. “The only cave mouth is sealed. I tried. No way to break it by hand. Rest.”

At those words, Medith’s face eased, like clouds parting. She meant to rise, but the leaf bed yielded like water. That softness woke her buried exhaustion like a bell. She toppled forward and, in one breath, sank into even breathing.

Melia came looking for Rita. She shoved the door, wind in her shoulders—and froze at the sight of sleeping Medith. A hand flew to her mouth like a bird to nest. Rita tiptoed out and pulled the door gently closed, a leaf drifting down. “Let the captain rest. We’ve all seen how strong she stands, and forgot she’s years younger than us.”

…

August 14. Medith’s eyes opened to clear light. She stretched wide, like a bow unbent. Fatigue had blown away like morning mist; her body felt light as a leaf. She kip-upped in a clean sweep and saw Rita drilling the line.

“Hold it!” Rita’s voice cracked like a whip in dry air. “You’ve pushed past the limit by a hair. If you quit here, you’ll fold in harder fights.” Her boots paced a steady beat, like a metronome on stone.

Medith smiled, bright as a break in clouds. Today’s weather felt as clear as their spirits.

…

August 30, 21:39.

After half a month of sealed, hell-forged training, Medith’s squad moved like a storm front. Their aura rolled out; flowers bowed, and grasses stilled. Leaves stopped rustling, blossoms froze mid-sway, and animals locked in place, as if winter hit in one breath.

Medith nodded, satisfied, like a craftsman laying down a chisel. Her goal was met. A rare rest finally felt within reach.

The thought barely formed when a flaming arrow tore the night, a comet scratching a red seam across the sky. Fire trailed smoke like a black river rising.

“On guard—!” Medith’s shout cracked the air like lightning. The Sprites sprang to the branches, green shadows taking the high road, and sealed the mountain path.

Far off, an explosion answered, a world-splitting BOOM—! Then echoes hammered—ka-thunk, ka-thunk—like hollow drums in a canyon.

The blast shook the whole peak like a giant’s hand. Birds erupted in a sudden storm, wings beating as if fleeing hell’s gate. Squirrels raced along trunks like arrows. Snakes, deer, and boars burst from cover, stamping the earth to flee the Glimmering Green Forest.

“All-city alarm! Human army incoming—” Medith’s roar rolled through trees like thunder over the sea.