Lich for Hire

Chapter 92: The Elven Relocation Campaign

Pure-blood elves with golden hair and blue eyes were exceedingly rare across the Nine Kingdoms.

Elves lived long lives, possessed naturally agile bodies and formidable talent for spellcasting, and were blessed with strikingly beautiful features. They were, without exaggeration, a race favored by the gods.

Yet they generally lived in near-isolation within the Court of the Silver Moon, seldom interacting with the outside world.

In daily life, people were far more likely to encounter half-elves, or drow from the Umbral Depths.

Cicero was a pure-blooded high elf. He had long, smooth golden hair and a slender, well-proportioned frame. Compared to other elves, however, his eyes were excessively sharp. That gaze stripped away some of the default elven elegance and replaced it with an unmistakable air of aggression.

At that moment, he was seated directly across from the Porcupine Knight, staring at the lord with his keen, cutting eyes.

Even the Porcupine Knight, who had single-handedly slain a griffin, felt deeply uncomfortable under Cicero's gaze, as though he were prey locked in a hawk's sights.

The scrutiny left him increasingly irritated. If not for the fact that these elves were dressed in the regalia of the Court of the Silver Moon, he would already have shown them out.

Now that Alkhemia had been destroyed, small lords like him had lost their patron. Offending a kingdom as powerful as the Court of the Silver Moon was out of the question. The Porcupine Knight could only seat them politely and ask, "Lord Cicero, may I ask why you have paid me a visit so late at night?"

Cicero spoke, his voice rich and magnetic. "You must understand that Alkhemia has been destroyed. This land has become ownerless. I wonder how you intend to respond to the chaos that is about to come."

The Porcupine Knight retorted, "Ownerless? I am the lawful lord of this land."

Cicero chuckled softly. "Your authority was recognized by Alkhemia. And now Alkhemia no longer exists. This region will soon descend into brutal warfare. You will be like insects trapped in a jar, forced to tear each other apart. Perhaps someone will be lucky enough to survive to the end, but do you truly believe that someone will be you?"

"That's my concern. Are you elves from the Court of the Silver Moon here just to mock me?" the Porcupine Knight asked, suppressing his anger.

Cicero shook his head. "Of course not. We are here to give you an opportunity: an opportunity to live. Before this land collapses into total war, the elven race hopes to prevent bloodshed. Perhaps we can find a peaceful way to resolve these disputes."

"So the Court of the Silver Moon intends to take control of this collapsing kingdom?" the Porcupine Knight asked cautiously. "And you've come today to ask me to serve under your banner?"

He felt a mix of confusion and excitement. Was that these elves' true purpose here?

Joining the Court of the Silver Moon did not sound like a bad option.

He knew little about elves, but they didn't seem particularly notorious. Besides, he had always been a minor lord. What difference was there between submitting to alchemists and submitting to elves?

If the elves truly intended to recruit him, joining early might even bring benefits.

Cicero smiled. "You are clever, but not quite clever enough. Elves rarely cooperate with outsiders. I am here today to discuss something else. If you are willing to withdraw peacefully, the Court of the Silver Moon will guarantee your personal safety."

The Porcupine Knight thought he had misheard. "Withdraw? You mean... abandon my territory?!"

"Not entirely," Cicero replied calmly. "After we stabilize the situation, we may reassign you a new tract of land."

"Reassign..." The Porcupine Knight's hand closed around the hilt of his sword. "Elf, mind your words. I welcomed you here as guests. While you enjoy a guest's privileges, you should also conduct yourselves accordingly—or else!"

Courtesy was not unconditional. The Porcupine Knight had been chosen as the leader of a local alliance of lords. He had to maintain his authority at all times. Any hint of weakness would cause this fragile alliance to collapse.

"Oh? Such resolve does surprise me," Cicero said lightly. "The other lords I've met didn't even dare look me in the eye. Still, courage and recklessness are often two sides of the same coin."

He rose to his feet, looking down at the Porcupine Knight.

"To assert the rights of a host, one must first possess corresponding strength. Before negotiations can truly begin, both sides must confirm their respective standing."

The Porcupine Knight waved his hand. The sound of crossbows being drawn echoed through the hall as more than a dozen weapons were raised and aimed at the arrogant elves.

He stood as well, drawing his sword. "Elf, I'll give you one chance to rephrase that. The Court of the Silver Moon may be powerful, but this is not your land. I understand that arrogance may be part of your culture. Thus, I am willing to forget this unpleasantness and speak with you again as equals."

His words were conciliatory, but he gripped his sword tightly.

Even when the crossbows were raised, he saw not the slightest hint of fear on the elves' faces. He knew then that conflict was inevitable. Even so, he truly didn't want to clash with them right then and there.

Cicero ignored the bolts aimed at him and said evenly, "Proceed. Do not kill them the first time around."

The Porcupine Knight had no choice. "Loose!"

Bolts flew toward the elves. Each elf was targeted by several shots; at such close range, missing was impossible. Yet magical shields flared to life around them, and the bolts were deflected harmlessly upon impact.

Cicero's response was even more outrageous. He plucked the three bolts fired at him out of the air with one hand, as casually as if he were picking leaves from a tree.

Then a cloud of mist burst forth, enveloping the entire hall.

In the pitch-black fog, crossbows became useless.

The Porcupine Knight raised his sword and slashed toward where Cicero had been standing. His strike was fast, clearly the work of a seasoned warrior, but the blade cut only empty air. Cicero had already anticipated the attack and dodged aside.

Within the fog, the Porcupine Knight swung from memory. His movements flowed like a tide, smooth and swift. In just a few seconds, he delivered three strikes.

A vertical cleave. A sweeping slash. An upward cut. Each attack perfectly predicted an evasive move, yet his blade met only mist.

Just as the Porcupine Knight's strength began to wane, a short sword thrust forward and pressed against his waist.

The blade was razor-sharp, carving a deep groove into his armor, just shy of piercing through. Had he not dodged instinctively, he would already be bleeding freely from his waist.

Not only was his opponent fast, he even possessed an enchanted weapon.

The Porcupine Knight's armor was made of ordinary steel, but had been solidly forged. Yet it had nearly been pierced with a single light thrust. If his armor could not protect him, then this fight would mean certain death.

In a single exchange, the Porcupine Knight realized he was facing an enemy he could not defeat.

He was about to retreat and regroup when the fog dispersed rapidly. When visibility returned, only the Porcupine Knight and the elves remained standing. Every other guard lay unconscious on the floor.

Seeing this, the Porcupine Knight understood that he had lost.

These elves were likely all high-tier adventurers: powerful, coordinated, and utterly beyond his ability to overcome.

"Now," Cicero said, "can we sit down and talk?"

The Porcupine Knight still gripped his sword. Resistance might be futile, but surrendering so easily felt like handing his life over to them.

"Still unwilling to give up?" Cicero asked.

He traced a finger through the air. An orange-red glow flashed briefly as a spell was cast with terrifying speed. The Porcupine Knight caught only a few syllables before his sword began to heat up.

The metal grew searing hot, as though it had just been pulled from a forge. With a scream, he dropped it.

This was the second-tier magic Heat Metal. It was a spell that superheated metallic equipment and was devastating against heavily armored warriors.

Once his sword fell, the Porcupine Knight was completely helpless.

"You are a qualified warrior," Cicero said calmly. "But your opponent is the Court of the Silver Moon. Human, we came with goodwill. Today was merely a warning. If you refuse to relinquish your land peacefully, the next time we appear, we shall deliver death."

The Porcupine Knight stared at his scorched, blackened hands and finally understood the gulf between them.

"Is this how you express goodwill everywhere you go?" he asked bitterly.

Cicero nodded. "Indeed. Quite a few lords have already agreed to our peaceful relocation plan. Please consider carefully. The elven race has no love for unnecessary slaughter."

The Porcupine Knight's expression darkened.

His territory lay on the outskirts of Alkhemia, far from the border with the Court of the Silver Moon. And yet the elves' advance force had already reached this far...

Had the frontier already fallen entirely into elven hands? Why hadn't any news reached him?

Despair filled his heart. Was he truly going to abandon land he had paid for with blood?

Back then, to rise above the common masses, he had charged at the forefront of the war against a mass of magical beasts. He had personally slain a massive griffin to earn his knighthood. Now, with a single sentence, these elves were about to strip his titles. He would be nothing more than a commoner again.

But if he refused, how could a handful of minor lords possibly withstand an elven assault? Even if they gathered enough troops, elves of this caliber could simply infiltrate their territory and assassinate them. There would be no need for open battle at all.

Countless questions surged through his mind. In the end, the Porcupine Knight lowered his head. "If you can provide us with sufficient supplies and time, we will leave."

Wood could not block a blade. No matter how stubborn he was, strength ultimately decided everything. He had no choice but to accept the elves' demands.

"Very good," Cicero said approvingly. "Calmer and more willing to compromise than I expected." He produced a contract glowing with magical light and placed it before the Porcupine Knight. "Sign it. We swear in the name of the gods that your basic personal safety will be guaranteed."

The Porcupine Knight took the contract, skimmed it briefly, and signed.

The moment he set down the quill, it felt as though he had aged a dozen years. All the strength left his body as he sank back into his chair.

At that instant, the doors to the hall were thrown open once more. A terrifying pressure flooded the room, instantly causing everyone to blanch.

Cicero turned solemnly to see a young mage with black hair and black eyes standing in the doorway. That oppressive aura was his.

The newcomer was none other than Ambrose, currently in human form. He was unfamiliar with most of the local lords, so his first stop had been the Porcupine Knight, to revisit their unresolved ransom negotiations.

Who could have imagined that he would walk in on a group of elves bullying the Porcupine Knight?

Had the high elves already reached this far?

The Porcupine Knight was even more shocked. Couldn't this intruder have arrived a few minutes earlier?!