Filthy spearpoints glinted wickedly. The cold autumn wind carried the metallic tang of death into Flo’s nostrils, searing his lungs. He tried to ignore the two rapidly expanding tips aimed at him. *Rabbit Lips. Look at that split grin*, he thought. Durant’s scarred face stretched wider with manic laughter. The spearpoints closed in faster. His chest met resistance. His body shuddered from the impact—half a heartbeat later. A strange force blocked him. His longsword swung toward Durant’s neck. *He’s laughing! He’s been laughing the whole time. He predicted my move!* Flo roared inwardly. Durant ducked, hunching his shoulders. Flo’s blade bit into the iron-studded leather pauldron, snagging in the chainmail beneath—just as a warhammer CRUNCHED into his side. Armor clattered.

*Clatter?*

Durant’s grin vanished. Staggering back under spear and hammer blows, Flo gasped and groped his chest. No punctures. No dents. Just hard breastplate beneath his fingers. Understanding dawned. From the corner of his eye, he caught a faint blue glow—*Aelina!* She’d always been reliable.

Flo turned. There stood Aelina, calm as ever. She’d slipped to the frontlines amid the chaos, using her Molecular Reconstructor to mend his armor. But this reckless move left her exposed. A vicious scimitar slashed toward her arm—a mercenary, eyes bloodshot, dreams long dead.

“Aelina!”

“Everything’s proceeding as calculated.” She watched the crude blade descend, utterly unbothered. *Merely primitive weaponry. Trajectory avoids critical zones.*

The notched scimitar carved a deep, bone-deep gash into her snow-white arm. Crimson bloomed, shockingly bright. Aelina’s expression didn’t flicker. Her left hand jammed a crossbow against the mercenary’s face. *THWIP.* He stumbled back, clutching his ruined face.

Flo’s gaze snapped back to Aelina. More mercenaries had noticed her—reaching for her. But he had to face Durant and the spears again. Furious, Durant swung his hammer. A spear jabbed Flo’s flank. *Enough!* Flo seized the spear shaft. The hammer slammed into his waist—*CLANG!* Armor shattered under the blow… then another wave of pale blue light washed over him. The elves trusted Aelina. She was his undefeated comrade. Flo yanked the spear. The mercenary stumbled forward, panic flashing under his helmet—straight into Flo’s furious eyes and the longsword piercing his chest.

*THUD.*

The armor-piercing hammer struck Flo’s shoulder. Weak plating shattered completely—but delivered no real damage. That was its flaw: piercing armor dissipated force.

Blue light flared again. The pauldron reformed, pristine. Durant’s smirk had twisted into panic. “Subdue that silver-haired bitch!” he shrieked.

“DURANT!”

Flo bellowed his name, hacking wildly—high cuts, low cuts, slashes, thrusts—ignoring all attacks. Durant parried desperately. Each blow shattered armor, only for miraculous blue light to mend it an instant later. Hopeless. Powerless.

*RIIIIP.*

Chainmail tore at Durant’s neck. He froze, left hand trembling as it touched the wound. Blood coated his palm. His face drained white. “Attack him!” he choked. Then he dropped his spear, screaming, “BLACK MAGIC!” and fled. Flo lunged, kicking Durant’s legs out from under him. A boot pinned the man’s chest. Flo raised his sword.

“No! Mercy! Please!” Durant begged, arm outstretched. The vivid red scar on his lips had turned ashen.

Flo’s crimson eyes saw nothing. The sword plunged deep into Durant’s throat. His eyes bulged. His raised arm thudded to the ground, twitched feebly twice, then lay still. His rigid neck slackened. His head lolled sideways. Dead.

Seeing their leader fall, the remaining mercenaries broke. Weapons clattered to the mud as they fled—practiced, swift. Before the Maiden Guard could catch their breath, the cowards were ten meters away.

“Halt! Don’t pursue!”

Aelina stopped the bloodthirsty girls with a raised hand. An arrow flew, pinning a scimitar-wielding mercenary. *Iron is still valuable.*

Exhausted, pale-faced Maidens stood among corpses, raising weapons in ragged cheers. Some wept as they cheered. Others spat curses, stabbing fallen foes with spears. A few shook their friends, begging them to wake.

Flo stepped over a corpse, its head dangling by a thread of flesh. He approached Aelina. Crimson streamed down her slender arm. “Aelina… are you alright?”

The wound was deep. He glimpsed silver bones gleaming with metallic sheen.

“I’m fine.”

“It looks severe! I can see bone! Treat it now or you’ll lose the arm!”

Aelina sighed, pausing her work. “See the silver shimmer in the wound? Nanobots are repairing it. Only twenty-two milliliters of blood lost. This is negligible. I’ve also disabled pain receptors.”

“Nanobots? Disabled?” Flo stared, utterly lost.

Aelina shook her head. “I’ve simplified the explanation to the point of inaccuracy. Your lack of understanding was calculated. I’m unharmed. That’s all you need to know.” She gently pushed him away. “Comfort your soldiers, Flo. Grant mercy to the gravely wounded. Kill injured enemies. Bury our comrades.”

Flo’s shoulders slumped. He moved among the Maidens. In the mud lay a red-haired girl, eyes wide and empty, fixed on the gray sky. Blood pooled beneath her neck. Her youthful, slightly plump face was bloodless. He knew her—Ronnie, the lively one who’d laughed until tears streamed when his cloak’s bumblebee emblem tickled her yesterday. He remembered her dancing first by the campfire, pulling his arm to teach her steps.

Now, she was gone.

The elf knelt. A cold wind stirred the fat bumblebee stitched on his cloak. The red-haired girl would never laugh again. Flo reached out and closed her eyes.

After looting the battlefield, Aelina tended the wounded. Soft words soothed them as her Molecular Reconstructor cleansed wounds. For the dying, she held their hands, offered final comfort, closed their eyes—then drove a blade through their hearts herself.

They buried their dead. Mercenary corpses, stripped bare, burned on pyres. Only at dusk did the battlefield fall silent. Under the setting sun, Flo gathered the Maidens one last time. Aelina studied them. Their silence held new weight. Young faces looked older. Blood-red sunlight bled behind them, swallowing the bumblebee emblem on their shields. Twelve fresh graves stood in the shallow glow. The price of freedom.

Aelina halted before the wounded warriors. “We are free.”

That night, they divided the spoils. Paths would part come dawn—Aelina headed for the Elven Kingdom to build a grand “palace” for the Elven Queen. She clasped a Maiden’s hand. “Learn independence.” She pressed thin books into their palms. “Learn to read. Learn to fight. Learn to lead. Study these slowly.”

Firelight danced on youthful faces. Grief had faded; dreams of brighter days filled the air. Flo stared into the flames, feeling dreamlike. Two weeks ago, he’d worn rusted chainmail, led his father’s old horse through these woods, chasing an impossible knight’s dream—when a silver-haired maiden fell from the sky.

Now, he wore full armor, carried heavy coin, and had survived brutal combat. Knighthood was no longer a distant star. He need only reach out and grasp it. Yet *she* drifted further away—or perhaps he finally saw the chasm between them. Flo stole a glance. The silver-haired maiden shaped a carriage under soft blue light, her focused face more beautiful than their first meeting. Like a star in the night sky—brilliant, distant. Beautiful. Brilliant. Possessing wondrous power. *Who will walk beside her in the future?* he wondered. *If only it could be me…*

*Hey. Flo. What are you thinking? Xina’s waiting for you!* The elf shook his head, mocking himself. His hand tightened around a ring in his pocket—a parting gift from his childhood sweetheart.

“Flo.”

Aelina’s voice cut through his thoughts. The six-wheeled carriage stood complete. Flo sprang up, hurrying over like an eager pup.

“Yes?”

“Load these onto the cart. Secure them with rope.”

Behind him, armored Maidens stifled giggles.

At dawn, they parted ways—west for the Maidens, east for Aelina and the elf. Perched on the wagon, the girls waved. “Farewell, Mentor! Farewell!”

Aelina merely smiled. When they vanished from sight, she turned toward the rising sun—the direction of the Elven Kingdom.

“Long-eared maidservants,” she murmured, smile widening. “Your mistress has arrived.”