Dawn, carrying the scent of blood and damp earth, quietly descended upon Windbreath Town. The small town was still asleep, yet the returning party, like a wound torn in the night, shattered the morning's tranquility with their exhaustion and shocking injuries. Knight Owen and Corbin Thorne were hurried to the priest's care; their pale faces and weak breaths silently declared the brutality endured on the ridge the previous night. The young reserve members followed behind, their eyes dim, for the cruelty of war had, in a single night, etched an indelible mark upon their hearts.
Knight Boone had no time to wipe away the smoke and fatigue from his face, nor concern himself with the cracks in his armor. Clutching the heavy metal token, he led a few accompanying knights and a small amount of evidence directly towards the Viscount's Castle. He knew that the news had to be delivered swiftly, even if Viscount Reginald might not fully comprehend its gravity and would, more likely than not, attempt to shirk responsibility.
The heavy oak gates of the castle creaked open, revealing Viscount Reginald, who emerged wearing a look of annoyance at having his rest disturbed, accompanied by Archibald, the butler, whose neck was stiff and eyes held a sinister glint. The butler stepped slightly ahead of the Viscount and spoke first, his voice sharp and sarcastic like ice shards in the morning breeze:
"Knight Boone, you are certainly capable indeed, causing such a commotion in the dead of night! The Viscount's and my peaceful sleep were utterly ruined! I heard you even took the reserve members to a dangerous place? Simply outrageous, completely disregarding the Viscount's repeated prohibitions!"
Viscount Reginald impatiently waved a hand, cutting off the butler. His fleshy face was creased with displeasure, and his tone was cold, devoid of any warmth:
"Enough, Archibald. Boone, I require an explanation. Have the troubles in the mountains been resolved? Why such a large disturbance, and so many injured? Do not tell me it was merely some bandits."
He attempted to regain his usual imposing demeanor, yet a flicker of subtle vigilance showed in his eyes.
Knight Boone straightened his back, suppressing both his dissatisfaction with the butler's personal grudge and his frustration with the Viscount's arrogant attitude. He met Viscount Reginald's scrutinizing gaze directly, his voice heavy and rapid, each word carrying the undeniable weight of the bloody truth:
"Your Lordship, the matter is urgent. We encountered well-trained enemies when we arrived... they are not ordinary bandits. There were Goblins, smugglers, and powerful mages."
He paused, his tone slightly heavy, his gaze sweeping towards the direction behind him where the injured were being carried into town:
"Knight Owen and Vera were both severely wounded. If not for timely rescue, we might not have known anything at all."
Boone replied cautiously, deliberately avoiding any language that might draw potential blame regarding actions taken.
Following that, he took a deep breath, knowing his next words would irrevocably shatter the Viscount's calm and undoubtedly exceed his limited understanding, but this was Elder Lysander's judgment, and it had to be reported without omission:
"According to Scholar Lysander's assessment... they are... Night Elves."
"Night Elves?!" Viscount Reginald's look of impatience instantly froze, replaced by extreme disbelief. His voice rose abruptly, sharp and shrill:
"Boone, what utter nonsense are you speaking?! Haven't those Dark kin been absent from the continent for nearly two hundred years?! Do not jest! This is impossible!"
He even took a step back, as if the very mention of the words carried inherent danger.
Boone did not argue. He simply and silently took out the ancient, exquisite metal token from within his armor and presented it before the Viscount. In the morning light, the simple, weathered patterns on the token seemed to pulse with the weight of history. He placed it in front of the Viscount, his voice remaining steady, but carrying an undeniable gravity:
"Your Lordship, Scholar Lysander entrusted this to me for you. He... he said you would understand."
The moment Viscount Reginald's eyes fell upon the token, he felt as if he had been struck by an invisible lightning bolt. The disbelief and denial on his face instantly solidified, replaced by a chill that seemed to seep from the very core of his being. He trembled as he took the token; it felt like a red-hot iron in his hand, almost too hot to hold.
His mind flashed through fragmented memories: snippets from history lessons regarding the "Moonfall Conflict" that had always been spoken of with a certain awe; recollections from family elders or relatives occasionally mentioning how their paternal ancestors had miraculously survived that battle and subsequently rose to nobility; glimpses from forbidden, ancient texts in the library describing the horrifying extent of that two-hundred-year-old catastrophe, a disaster mortals simply could not withstand, the unbridled wrath of deities, and the terrible power wielded by Night Elf priests. And this token before him, here and now, was the undeniable evidence of that sealed history!
He looked sharply at Boone, his eyes wide as if he'd encountered a ghost, his voice trembling uncontrollably, his body shaking slightly with the force of his fear:
"You... are you certain they were Night Elves?! With... powerful magic?!"
Upon receiving Boone's firm and heavy affirmative reply, he seemed to lose all strength, staggering backward and barely managing to catch the doorframe to prevent himself from falling. His mind plunged into chaos. The words "Night Elves," "two hundred years," "war," "destruction," "deities"—these words surged like a tumultuous tide, utterly crushing his usual arrogance and self-importance. He mumbled, his voice weak and reedy, filled with incredible despair:
"How can it be... how can it be... two hundred years... how could they... suddenly appear... this token... Lysander... why does he possess such a thing... why..."
Viscount Reginald's heart was utterly overwhelmed by immense fear – it was not merely fear of the unknown, but the crushing despair of his own utter powerlessness. He gripped the token tightly, his knuckles white, his joints making faint cracking sounds from the strain. He knew what this token represented; it signified that a dangerous period of history, one deliberately sealed away by the mortal world, was repeating itself. Its appearance now meant that the entire border region, even Falling Leaf City and the Duchy itself, would know no peace. The shadow of a terrifying war, directed by deities, seemed to be descending upon the mortal realm once more, and he, a mere Viscount, was utterly powerless to stop it.
"Quick! Go! Immediately! Prepare! I must see Scholar Lysander!"
Viscount Reginald snapped back to awareness, though his face remained pale with lingering shock, cold sweat dripping down his cheeks and soaking his collar. He frantically ordered the servants beside him, who were frozen into silence by the Viscount's reaction, their faces rigid with tension. They merely nodded hastily, daring not to speak further. His mind was solely focused on getting help and quickly passing this "hot potato" to higher authorities. Windbreath Town couldn't handle it, Falling Leaf City couldn't handle it; he had to get this terrifying news to the Grand Duke of Blackwood as soon as possible and let the important figures bear the burden of worry.
Viscount Reginald, a noble usually accustomed to ease and concerned only with taxes and pleasure, appeared at this moment unusually rushed and uneasy. He hastily, almost shamefully, dismissed Knight Boone and the reporting guards. Not even bothering to change out of the coat he'd thrown on over his nightgown, he hurried with one or two trusted retainers to Elder Lysander's residence, a house on the edge of town that seemed both tranquil and ancient.
The residence was surrounded by a faint magical aura, an aura that seemed even more mysterious and intimidating to the Viscount's shaken senses. The courtyard was planted with strange plants unknown to ordinary mortals. In the morning light, the air inside was filled with the unique scent of old books and dust, an aroma that to the Viscount now seemed to carry some ancient, heavy wisdom. The Viscount, filled with trepidation, knocked on the door. Elder Lysander was seated at his desk, piled high with scrolls; the scrolls before him seemed pale from the events of the previous night, and the quill in his hand never stopped, as if he had already anticipated the Viscount's sudden visit.
Viscount Reginald disregarded noble etiquette, practically rushing to stand before Elder Lysander. He slammed the "Moonfall Conflict Witness Token" onto the desk with a sharp sound, his voice trembling from heavy breathing and inner panic:
"Scholar, Scholar! Look! This is... this is the token you gave Knight Boone! Last night... Night Elves appeared on the ridge! Wielding powerful magic! What in the world happened last night?! You... you must know what this means?! The Night Elves reappearing... does it signify war? Or... or the decree of deities?! Please, tell me! I beg you, tell me the truth!"
He poured out all his fear and questions, his stout body trembling with agitation.
Elder Lysander slowly raised his head, his wise and deep eyes seeming to see through all the Viscount's pretense and fear. He sighed softly, his voice low and calm, yet this calmness itself carried a power that could soothe a troubled heart:
"Your Lordship, please sit. You arrived sooner than I expected."
He did not immediately answer the Viscount's questions but gently gestured for him to take a seat.
Viscount Reginald sat down obediently, leaning forward, his eyes filled with urgency and lingering fear. Scholar Lysander picked up a cup of hot herbal tea; the steaming mist blurred his face slightly. He took a small sip, then slowly began to speak, his voice soft but carrying a weight that seemed to span centuries, each word landing on the Viscount's fear-taut heartstrings:
"That token... is indeed a witness to the 'Moonfall Conflict'. And I, while intending to return home to live out my twilight years, am also a secret operative for Falling Leaf City, primarily monitoring any potential movements of the Night Elves. I gave it to Boone because I hoped you would treat last night's events with sufficient seriousness, rather than merely seeing it as ordinary banditry. Last night's battle was indeed brutal, and those who appeared on the ridge... were indeed Night Elves."
Elder Lysander's voice remained calm, but it held a deep worry, like the stillness before an approaching storm.
Viscount Reginald asked urgently, his voice trembling, his handkerchief soaked with sweat once more.
"Then... then war? That kind of terrifying war from two hundred years ago... is it truly returning?!"
Elder Lysander's gaze turned towards the window, as if penetrating the study walls to see distant history and the potential future overshadowed by that history. His eyes deepened, flashing with wisdom, yet also burdened by worry. He looked at the Viscount, his tone serious and solemn:
"Two full centuries have passed since the 'Moonfall Conflict'. During this time, the Night Elf race has almost vanished from the continent's sight, forcibly driven into the underground world, never again walking on this human land on a large scale. Now they have reappeared on the surface... I do not know if this is some major internal decision they have made, or... or if a new divine conflict is about to commence in this mortal realm."
"Divine Game…" Viscount Reginald mumbled repeatedly. This concept, a distant and vague theory from his noble education, now felt terrifyingly real. He remembered the cold words from history books, the cryptic entries in family records, and now felt the terrible weight and the abyss of despair behind them.
"Yes," Scholar Lysander confirmed, his voice low, "Two hundred years ago, it was precisely the Divine Envoys of the God of Night and the Goddess of Dark Moon who, guided by their divine oracles, instigated a brutal war on this land. Fortunately, the Goddess of Light finally issued an oracle as well, and Divine Envoy Pope Ryan personally intervened, uniting the Human Kingdom and the White Elf allies. Only by paying an unimaginably heavy price were they finally able to defeat the Divine Envoys of those dark deities. From that night on, the Night Elf race lost their Divine Favor; their dark priests lost most of their power. Without the support of these core powers, the Night Elves never recovered and were forcibly driven into the sunless underground world along with other races of the night. This medal is also a relic of my grandfather."
Viscount Reginald's eyes widened further. He had only known that the Night Elves were defeated and went underground, but he hadn't realized the direct and immense influence of a divine conflict behind it. A chill went through him. If that was divine favor and abandonment, how could mortals possibly resist, how could they break free from such power that directly controlled the surface world?
Elder Lysander's eyes deepened further, flashing with wisdom and worry. He looked at the Viscount, his tone serious and solemn:
"Your Lordship, regardless... war may indeed be imminent. Please cast aside any notion of underestimation. I had merely wished to return to my hometown to live out my twilight years. Now it seems... the Night Elves are determined to reclaim their homeland, no matter the cost. From this moment on, you must be prepared to face war."
Upon hearing these words, Viscount Reginald gasped, recoiling. His face was as pale as paper, and cold sweat seeped out again. He knew that Scholar Lysander's words carried immense weight, far from mere alarmist talk. A wave of immense panic and helplessness completely overwhelmed him.
Subsequently, a detailed border bandit suppression report, along with a letter of analysis written by Elder Lysander, was swiftly sent to Falling Leaf City like a bolt of thunder, carried by Knight Boone leading the guard detachment and the Viscount's trusted retainers.
While Knight Owen and Corbin Thorne were recovering from their injuries, the events of the previous night rapidly escalated in the border region. Upon receiving the report and Elder Lysander's letter, Falling Leaf City immediately recognized the severity of the situation and initiated an unprecedented border review. Teams of fully armed knights, covert Blackwood Shadow Guards, and even Inquisitors specially requested from the Sacred Papacy patrolled the entire border area adjacent to the Night Elves like a fine-toothed comb.
As the investigation deepened, the shocking truth surfaced, and the Grand Duke of Blackwood was enraged. The entire border region had been infiltrated by disguised Night Elves, riddled like a sieve. The minor lords and local forces who had colluded with the smuggling ring and acted as their pawns were severely punished.
Meanwhile, Viscount Reginald, due to his usual timidity and avoidance of external affairs, ironically appeared "innocent" in this incident. He had not directly interacted with the infiltrated smugglers and Night Elves and unexpectedly received commendation from Falling Leaf City. This was undoubtedly a satirical affirmation of his "self-preservation" style of rule. However, for Windbreath Town itself, the danger had not passed; in fact, the exposure of the Night Elves made the situation even more tense and complex.