War erupted across the battlefield in an instant.

Lurie looked ahead. Monster corpses lay strewn haphazardly across the field—torn into fragmented remains, blood flowing in rivulets. Under the faint moonlight, the scene glowed with eerie, haunting allure.

The alliance of the three races fared no better. Even armed with powerful weapons, they struggled against the overwhelming horde. The human-Halfbeast formation shattered quickly; many Monsters bypassed the stubborn front line and charged straight for the rear archers.

On the front lines, each human or Halfbeast faced one or more Monsters. At comparable strength levels, Monsters clearly overpowered humans—while Halfbeasts held the advantage. A Monster’s massive frame could crush a human flat; its jaws might tear through rune-engraved leather armor. Skilled humans drove rune-short swords into a Monster’s temple. The weaker became mere prey.

Halfbeasts swung sharp axes—muscular limbs cleaving Monsters cleanly in half. Some humans were saved by Halfbeast aid; others had already fallen to snapping jaws.

Monsters breached the rear. Elves faltered. A golden-haired Elf shot an arrow skyward. Instantly, all Elves sheathed bows and drew daggers, rapiers—close-combat weapons.

Though Elves lacked Halfbeast raw power, they were agile fighters. Mana channeled into rapiers granted formidable force. Unlike Halfbeasts, whose skill relied on brute technique, Elves’ Mana-enhanced swordplay delivered sharper destruction—and even ranged capability. Still, in pure agility and finesse, Elves lagged. Mana merely bridged the strength gap. Competent? Yes. But no match for Halfbeasts.

Closer observation revealed some Elves hadn’t switched weapons. They raised Wands of varied hues, beat translucent wings to hover, and chanted Magic Spells in Elvish. Elements swirled around their Wands.

Once targets locked, Mana transformed into signature attacks—not at nearby Monsters, but straight toward the horde’s rear. Their aim: delay the advance.

Lurie stood among them. Unable to fly, she chanted at the very back. Suddenly—a Monster loomed dangerously close. It caught her Mana scent and lunged. Two choices flashed before her:

Finish channeling the spell, gambling release before death.

Or abort it—endure magical backlash to buy escape time.

Hesitation cost her the moment. Only one path remained: keep channeling.

Too late. The spell wasn’t complete. Claws bared, the Monster was upon her. One swipe would take her head.

From afar, Night Frost moved—a blur across the chaos. Eyes locked on the Monster. Seconds later, she stood beside Lurie.

Palm open. A Crimson Gold Spear pierced the Monster’s chest. Wounded but relentless, it pressed on. Night Frost yanked Lurie back, conjured more Spears, and pinned the beast deep into the earth.

Flames engulfed it instantly.

These Monsters were mere cannon fodder. The real issue? The three races were weakened too. Only a few leaders and select Halfbeasts stood strong. Humans, crippled by dragons, barely survived. Elves suffered heavy losses from the forest calamity. Halfbeasts must have faced their own disaster—why else ally with humans?

Lurie stared at the burning Monster. Night Frost had saved her again. No duty. No obligation.

"Thank you…" (in Elvish)

Whispered softly, not in Dragon Tongue—but Night Frost’s sharp ears caught it. She knew those syllables.

Having no Elvish reply, Night Frost simply patted Lurie’s shoulder. *Stand.* Sitting meant death—like the Elf beside them, already still. Night Frost retrieved the fallen Elf’s weapon and metal tag, slung them over her shoulder.

"Leave… or keep fighting?"

Tears welled in Lurie’s eyes—but didn’t fall. Stronger than Night Frost expected. Kin’s death hadn’t broken her. The bloody field hadn’t halted her. Her answer was clear: *Fight.*

How could an Elf abandon her people? The fortress behind them?

She raised her Wand. Mana gathered in her palm. Wind stirred—long absent. A gentle, invisible breeze drifted from Night Frost’s form, wrapping softly around Lurie.

A faint, familiar voice whispered at her ear. *Whose…?*

*"He bears the blood of a sinner! Execute him!"*

Lurie stood at the forest’s edge, confused. *Wasn’t I fighting Monsters?*

Her gaze settled on arguing Elves surrounding a young, blood-drenched Elf girl cradling a crying infant. The child sparked the dispute. Three fought. The victor took them both.

Later, the young Elf and child traveled the continent with an elder Elf. The infant grew—resembling his mother, yet hardened. Half-Elf, half-human. Under the elder’s guidance, he matured. At fourteen, capable and scarred from human fortress prejudice, he carried all burdens. Each return left him battered—but her innocent eyes reignited his will.

He learned to read faces, fight, wield Elven magic. Childhood faded.

Ten years… twenty… He remained youthful. His mother, once childlike, matured into a girl of fourteen or fifteen.

He left the painful city, followed the elder Elf’s path. With the lively girl and sparse supplies, they wandered fifty joyful years.

They returned to the Elven Forest. The Elves accepted her. Gave him freedom. He settled—*"atoning"*—while caring for her.

*"Good morning—"*

Daily, she came. Memories hazy, but she knew: his presence kept her alive. She cherished him. Bloodline meant nothing.

He answered each greeting. Day after day. Never weary. *She* was his reason.

Until he saw the twisted vines. The forest changed. He wrote a final note. The flood swallowed all.

He died wishing to see her once more.

Vegetation consumed him. Tides washed him down to a single bone—holding his last thought.

Night Frost burned it. Buried him. His lingering will and the Elves’ blessing passed to the girl.

Fortune brought the girl—worried, with companions—into this perilous forest. Night Frost found her.

Why did she feel familiar? The blessing: once hers, passed to her child at birth, then entrusted to Night Frost through burial.

When she chose her path, he would support her—returning the strength that was always hers.

And now… it returned.

Wind whispered again. Translucent wings spread. She soared.

Wand raised high. The scroll at her waist unfurled. Encouraging words brushed her ear. A divine presence embraced her back.

She opened her eyes—steady, resolute.

Immense wind pressure swirled around her Wand. Sand, fur, blood, debris spiraled inward.

"O wind… carry the thoughts dwelling within you. From dawn to dusk, cleanse all impurity before me!"

Thus chanted Lurie.