When the group arrived back in the cave, Skorr immediately rushed to organize his clan. The duskgnomes had huddled together in the back of the cave, still undecided, and now they marched into the tunnel in single file.

Trulda put her arm on his shoulders: "Well, how does it feel to be right?"

"Good." He seemed distracted.

"Why the long face?"

"There is always a way to pass a quest. That doesn't mean it's easy. Or that everyone involved will survive. We’re not safe yet."

Trulda nodded slowly as she thought. Then she said, "In the stories, only a small portion of the revenants survived most battles. The rest came back the next day. Just in time for the victory celebration."

"Except we're not coming back."

The barmaid hesitated for a moment, then seemed to make a decision: "Weylan... if anything happens to me..."

He straightened up and pushed out his narrow chest: "I'll save you. Don't worry."

She rolled her eyes: "No! That's exactly what you'll not be doing! You will run."

"What? I'm not leaving you behind!"

She hesitated once more, struggling for words: "I... My class is Steppe Barbarian. If I get into a fight and go into rage, I won't be able to flee."

"Barbarian? How? Why?"

"How is a long story. Why is quickly explained. No other class has such good bonuses to traveling speed and survival in the wilderness. I can run all day at a steppe trot if I have to. I also get a strength bonus when I get angry. Let's just say it's not impractical for carrying barrels."

"There's always been a rumor going around the village that you really hate getting barrels out of the cellar. Dorm once claimed he saw you stomping up the stairs swearing wildly with a big barrel in your arms. Nobody believed it, though, because none of us could carry that kind of weight on our own."

"I remember. I thought his eyes were going to fall out of his head."

"Beer must really piss you off if you enter rage at the sight of barrels."

"It's an advantage. Triggered Wrath. I can go into rage on command. The only problem is that I can't just calm down again."

"But I can't just leave you behind!"

"You can't take me with you. While raging, I would bludgeon you if you tried to remove me from the fight. I can't control that. But I can manage. I have a warrior class, you don't. With the bonuses I get from raging, I'm superior to most revenants. As long as they don't use magic or ranged weapons. Besides..." She hesitated again. "... Just promise me. Okay?"

"All right."

The noise of battle interrupted the conversation. The two hurried to one side of the cave and climbed over a slope of rocks to an elevated position where two archers had already settled down. They stayed far enough behind the two to stay out of the way and peered over the shoulders of the kneeling archers. One of them, an elf, looked back at them and nodded when he recognized them. Weylan pointed to the entrance of the cave: "How is it?"

"Five of us rolled some rocks inside and dug in. Our magic casters have cast every protection and buff spell they know on them. That should hold off the undead for quite a while."

They looked down at the cave entrance. A dozen adventurers had formed a semicircle in front of the entrance. Another half dozen, like the two with them, were in elevated positions.

Battle cries and the clanging of weapons sounded muffled from the entrance. Weylan looked into the back of the cave. There, the duskgnomes formed up neatly in a line and disappeared into the narrow tunnel. You could tell they had done this many times before. Everyone knew their place.

He leaned against the stalactites and prepared himself for a long wait. As he lolled himself into a comfortable position, he noticed that Trulda was standing there tensely: "Trulda? Sit down, this is going to take a while."

She shook her head without taking her eyes off the cave entrance: "It won't. It's not just undead, there are liches and, above all, revenants."

"So?"

"The... In all legends, they always think of something to remove obstacles. Every bottleneck, every boss, every dungeon. Everything falls at some point. Always faster than expected."

"I thought they were only level 5 or something. What can they do?"

"I don't know. That's what scares me."

The noise of battle from the entrance died down and they both looked down tensely. Another moment of silence. A shockwave swept out with a loud thunderclap. Smoke and dust were blown out of the tunnel by a magical wind, blocking the view. The defenders, who had been looking over their cover, were hit without warning and knocked over. Coughing became loud. The rocks with which the passage had been blocked floated into the cave on flat bowls of energy, passing between the surprised, dodging defenders.

Weylan stared down with his mouth open. He only half-listened to Trulda's words: "Transport spell. Usually used to transport equipment or loot over short distances. Level 2, I think."

Before the confusion could subside, enemies stormed out of the corridor. At the head of the attackers, a warrior in chain armor stomped in with a tower shield raised high. However, the archers had chosen their positions well. Arrows whizzed in from various directions and heights. Two stuck in the shield, three more hit his legs. One stuck in his hip, the other two hit his shins, which were only protected by leather splints. Both left bloody wounds, but fell out again as he walked. The warrior didn't react to the hits, but went for the nearest defender unimpressed. The ranger struck with his spear. The warrior pushed the spear aside with his shield, took a quick step and struck with his mace. The ranger skillfully dodged the blow and struck again with his spear. While the warrior held his shield to the side to ward off more arrows, the thrust hit his chest. The spearhead scraped across the metal, but did not find enough purchase to break the rings of the chain mail. An arrow from the side, which was not protected by the shield, pierced the chain mail at the shoulder and lodged there. Still unimpressed, the warrior stomped forward and swung again with his mace. The ranger dodged at the last moment and parried the next blow with his two-handed spear.

More enemies stormed into the cave and the defenders laboriously rebuilt their semi-circle in order to make the most of their numerical superiority. However, too many attackers had already come through the narrow passage.

Weylan wheeled around as quick footsteps approached from behind. He already had his hand on his dagger when he recognized the duskgnome. Skorr nodded to him casually and walked over to the archer, who had just loaded another arrow. The duskgnome reached to his belt and pulled three arrows from a pouch that must have been larger on the inside than the outside: "Take these. These are the last ones left. Only one per undead. Aim for an unarmored spot. The tip is soft and won't penetrate metal armor. Shoot at warriors. The temptation to wait for liches is great, but they almost always use magic to protect themselves from being hit at all."

The archer looked at the arrows in surprise. They looked completely normal, except for the tip, which was made of a golden metal that glowed from within. He took his arrow from the string and dropped it carelessly on the ground. He picked up one of the new arrows in awe: "This is Solenium, isn't it?"

"Of course."

Weylan drew in a sharp breath. Trulda looked at the others uncomprehendingly: "Sol... what?"

"Don't tell me there's something you don't know? Did you mess up your Bardic Knowledge roll?"

"You know I’m not a... There's no time for this now! What's that?"

The archer ignored the two and was already putting the arrow to the string. He took aim in a heartbeat. Breathed in, breathed out. Let go.

The arrow trailed a glowing trail behind it. The arrow struck the unprotected forearm of the undead warrior and stuck there. Everyone in the cave felt a vibration in their bodies. As if a huge drum had been beaten right next to them. The warrior stopped and froze. His gaze turned to the spot from which a sensation completely unfamiliar to his decaying flesh emanated. Pain. His opponent drew back his spear and prepared to strike, but then waited in irritation. The arm began to smoke around the shaft of the arrow. Then the whole arm burst into golden flames, which quickly spread over the whole body. The magical fire burst outwards from the inside of the helmet visor and every crack in the armor. The upper body toppled backwards and broke off. Trousers and chainmail pants fell over to the side. Gray ash trickled out of the openings.

Weylan whistled through his teeth, "By all the gods..."

The archer also looked frozen at the commotion, which had come to a standstill for a moment. Trulda nudged him from behind: "Don't fall asleep. Keep shooting! We have to push them back into the entrance."

The archer nodded and placed the next arrow. Weylan looked guilty: "Shouldn't we go down too? Maybe we can help."

"They are revenants. If they die, they'll be back tomorrow. If you die..."

"We can't just watch!"

"We intervene when they are almost defeated. You cover my back. And you run before they catch me." She forestalled his objection: "I'll follow you."

Two more arrows lit up the cave with golden light and two more undead fell. The defenders closed ranks and pushed the undead back. After firing some normal arrows, the archer gave up, annoyed, and lowered his bow: "I could as well shoot at trees. Undead are almost invulnerable to arrows."

Weylan looked at the fight that was now crowding around the entrance. More of a shoving match than a fight. Rangers in a semicircle had rammed their spears into the undead and were holding them in the entrance with brute force. A dark shadow arched outwards like a tentacle. Esche the druid stood a little way behind the others and had been waiting for just such a thing. He raised his hand and a greenish light shone from it, countering the shadow.

One of the archers ran down and began firing arrows from the side into the dense mass of undead. Weylan only gave a questioning grunt, but Trulda understood what he was asking: "He's using armor piercing arrows to nail the undead together. It may barely hurt them, but it reduces their mobility."

As the last of the duskgnomes left the cave, two of the largest undead rolled up a waist-high boulder by leveling it with groaning and cracking spear shafts.

Trulda looked down at the whole thing, somewhat uncomprehendingly: "By the Cathurian Chimera, what are they doing down there?"

Weylan sounded unsure: "Did they chase so many undead into the corridor that they're stuck now? I mean, it would have made sense to rush a first wave through and then attack with the real warriors when we're all busy in here. We held them off too quickly and... are we winning?"

One of the spears cracked and an undead fell forward out of the formation. Two more trampled over his back towards the defenders. Weylan could clearly see that all the defenders were already busy. Some drew melee weapons while still bracing themselves against the spears holding back the rest of the undead. The defense began to waver. Trulda pulled the two-handed mace from her cleavage, "Damn! This is far too soon. Come on!"

Weylan followed her down the stony slope. He came to a skidding halt at the bottom and looked straight into the open palm of Trulda, who stopped him: "You're not a melee fighter. Help with the spears, but if they break through..."

"I'll run. All right." They sprinted off. Trulda grumbled over her shoulder: "Why don't I believe you..."

"Because I'm a terribly bad liar?"

The two arrived at the entrance. An undead warrior was pushing his way through the rows of revenants behind his tower shield. Weylan rammed against the shield at full speed to push it back. The warrior staggered for a step as he walked, then simply pushed Weylan back. The young shepherd stumbled in surprise and fell. His reflexes took control and without really knowing how, he steered his momentum into a backward roll and immediately got back on his feet.

Skill learned: Dodge (Layman I)

If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

While he was still getting his bearings, the skill immediately activated again and swung his legs apart and to the side, while at the same time bending down to avoid something that swung past where his head had just been.

Skill increased: Dodge (Layman II)

You don't waste time using new skills, do you?

He bounced back up into a fighting stance as Trulda ran past him, her mace thundering into the undead man's face with full force. The nose guard of the partially open helmet was bent smoothly and the face plowed in. The undead fell backwards. Weylan assessed the situation in a flash. The undead was still in the middle of the defensive line. And if he got up, he would mess up the defense line. Weylan didn't know if it was because of his class or just the excitement of the fight, but he had never felt so clear before. There was a pattern to the arrangement of the fighters that he instinctively understood. The ranger directly in front of him was off balance. The druid was vulnerable, as he was currently concentrating on a spell. However, he was currently standing far enough away from any threats.

He made his decision. He moved forward, grabbed the still twitching foot of the undead and pulled it backwards, out of the fighting area. Whatever dark magic enabled him to move, it didn't make him strong enough to stand up despite the heavy armor.

As soon as he was behind the fighters, they closed ranks again. Trulda swung out with both hands and crushed the skull of the undead. With a final wince, he lay still.

Weylan felt pain in muscles he hadn't even realized he had. The unaccustomed acrobatic movement caused by the new skill was now taking its toll. It would take some more practice before he could perform such maneuvers several times.

He looked around as quick footsteps approached. Skorr came running with surprising speed on his short legs, slowing down just before him. He put his momentum into a throw, hurling a stone twice the size of a fist at head height at an undead in the back row. A loud cracking of bones could be heard even over the din of battle.

Satisfied, Skorr rubbed his hands and then pulled out a war hammer that was sticking out of the top of his leather backpack: "Can you pull one out for me too? I'm just in the way in that turmoil up ahead."

"If someone breaks through again, I'd be happy to."

Trulda patted him on the shoulder as he passed, causing him to bend his knees slightly and look up in surprise: "Good shot." She looked around: "Where's the dryad? She ran off as soon as we got back."

Weylan looked around. The dryad was slightly taller than most of the humans and elves. And she had a unique skin color. He still didn't see her anywhere. He raised his eyes in irritation. She hadn't given the impression that she wanted to hide behind a rock. He formed a funnel with his hands and shouted over the noise of the battle, which had just died down: "Hey, Princess Ulmenglanz, where are you, Your Highness?"

"Ulmenglanz will do." The voice cut through the din, though it wasn't loud. Velvet in a forge. The princess emerged into the crowd of defenders, where she was bent low, bracing herself with all her might against a spear. She disappeared from view again for a moment as she braced herself once more and then retreated. She hurried over to the small group and then past them as she signaled them to follow her. She clearly didn't even consider that the others wouldn't follow her. Weylan caught up with her, "Why are we retreating?"

"Because the undead do it too. The back rows are moving back."

"What does..." He slapped his hand over his face. "Of course. They're making room for the revenants."

Trulda stopped and made preparations to turn back: "We have to warn the warriors!"

The dryad quickly held her by the arm: "They noticed it before I did. Esche already tried to send me back. I just waited until you were there too."

Trulda looked past the dryad to the front: "They haven't gotten very far yet."

Weylan also saw the first duskgnomes standing just a few steps inside the exit tunnel: "I guess the mage's tunnel isn't ready yet. Then we'll hold the fort here?"

The others nodded.

Silence fell so unexpectedly that everyone looked around in confusion because nobody knew what was going on. The defenders stood idly by while the last of the undead turned around and marched back into the tunnel. Everyone lined up to withstand the inevitable attack. Now things would get serious. As soon as the last enemies were out of sight, a single figure came into view. A knight in shining plate armor, illuminated by a floating mage light that followed close behind and above him. His face was hidden behind a tubular helmet with viewing slits and holes arranged into a smile. He let his shield hang casually strapped to his arm, his sword was still in its sheath. When he arrived at the entrance, he stopped, raised his hand with a stick to which a white handkerchief was tied and waved it casually: "Parley."

Weylan quickly checked whether the negotiator could see the exit. But it was out of sight due to the shape of the cave.

The dryad was already running forward and rejoining the defenders, who were now widening their circle but not lowering their weapons. The tunnel behind the negotiator was long enough for any attackers to be seen in time. Weylan was therefore not worried that there would be any surprises.

Princess Ulmenglanz stepped forward: "I do not know you, Mr. Parley, but if you wish to surrender, I am happy to accept your surrender."

The knight's head turned only briefly in their direction, then he swiveled to Esche the druid: "I don't talk to soulless people. Or anyone who doesn't understand classic movie quotes. Come on, let's discuss this amongst fellow humans."

Esche was visibly torn, then gestured to the dryad in a placating manner and stepped forward: "Greetings, dear knight. I am Esche, a druid of the shield woods. Or what's left of it."

"Then you should change your coat of arms from 'Tree in front of a wall' to 'Burning tree in front of a ruin'. Just as a suggestion."

Esche narrowed his eyes, but didn't allow himself to be disturbed: "I'll think about it. What do you want to talk about?" He spared himself the formal speech now.

The knight spread his arms and his helmet turned as he studied the semicircle of rangers demonstratively: "We could spend another whole day here and kill each other at this narrow point. For my part, I found the chase pretty sucky. Even with the constitution attribute point most of us got. Without that, we'd probably have been turned around long ago. Attributes are so crazy hard to increase... But who am I telling. So, without wasting any more time: You guys take off and we'll take care of the gnomes. We kill all the female gnomes, so we've fulfilled our quest objective of destroying the duskgnome race. Since you've saved at least a few of them, you get at least a partial success. Everyone gets XP and then we can go out again, increase our talents and look for better quests."

Judging by the murmuring, the suggestion was not as out of the question as Weylan thought it was, but in the end everyone who looked at Esche shook their heads. The knight saw the reaction as well: "Well, it was worth a try. Do you have anything to offer to make us go and leave the fight to the undead? You might even stand a chance against them alone. The liches have degenerated quite a bit in their years of solitude and since there are no NPCs fighting here, they have no corpses to raise."

"We could pool some gold. We also have plenty of spare bows and a few quivers of arrows..." The two began to haggle and the crowd relaxed even more.

Skorr wiped something out of the corner of his eye: "It's like a wild-water ride through the tunnel river: We're lost... We're ok... God of the gnomes save us, we're going to die... Oh, maybe not!"

Weylan tapped Trulda: "Does the negotiator's voice sound familiar to you?"

"I'm glad I can even understand the guy through his helmet. It must be magic, otherwise I'd only be able to hear unintelligible mumbling."

"I don't like his voice. I don't know why yet, but it sounds familiar. And really unappealing."

"I think he sounds very reasonable. If he really can negotiate a withdrawal of the revenants, I'm sure we can hold off the undead long enough."

"That's too easy. Listen to how he negotiates. Completely calm. He doesn't seem to care what comes out."

"He's a revenant, they don't really have anything to lose."

The negotiator made a joke, at which the rangers laughed heartily. Then he took off his helmet. A mane of orange hair was revealed above a broadly grinning face. Weylan spat on the ground in disgust: "OrcSlayer! Llurd's foul breath! I should have brought the crossbow." He searched for something to throw.

"Wouldn't do you any good. You can't just shoot a negotiator!" Trulda held him by the arm.

"He'll betray us. Just listen to him! He doesn't care what Esche proposes. He just wants to stall for time! That's obvious!"

"That's fine by us. We can use every minute. If he has some sinister plan that they still need to prepare for, then that will only help us. They don't know they don't have unlimited time." She grinned. "Imagine his stupid face."

Weylan hesitated. Could he just get lucky for once? He didn't have to do anything at all, and the disgusting murderer would bite his ass if the duskgnomes all escaped. He just had to rely on fate... No. He shook his head inwardly.

What could OrcSlayer be up to? He took another look at the situation. OrcSlayer had moved further and further forward during the discussion. The semi-circle of defenders had moved inwards, but everyone was ready to counter an attack immediately. The tunnel was long and clear. No revenant could approach fast enough to surprise the rangers. And OrcSlayer himself would be pierced by a dozen spears and arrows if he so much as coughed at the wrong moment.

What was the sinister plan... He didn't see one. He ignored the tunnel. Then the negotiator too. Was there anything unusual? The cave was bathed in a chaotic light and a dancing pattern of shadows by numerous glow spells, duskgnome light crystals and various torches.

Shadows... Weylan focused on the pattern of shadows. Something was wrong with them. There were movements... patterns... One moment there was nothing to see, but as soon as he noticed the humanoid outlines for the first time, he couldn't believe that not everyone saw them. Hidden in the shadows as by magic, five invisible enemies crept through the ranks of the defenders. One slipped sideways through a gap, the others crawled slowly between the defenders. In the tunnel itself, more enemies slowly crept forward unseen.

He pulled Skorr and Trulda towards him and spoke quietly: "There are invisible enemies. Trulda, there is one in front with his back to us, who will attack the defenders from behind at any moment. Up ahead, by the spearman with the dark green cloak. You have to take him out as soon as I expose them."

She glanced over out of the corner of her eye: "I can’t see him, but he’ll get visible as soon as he moves to strike. What's the signal?"

"Arrow shot. I'll run up to the archers." He turned and almost tripped over someone at waist height in front of him. Lowering his head, he looked up into the grim face of Skorr, "Oh... Ahm... Hello Skorr." He remembered, boiling hot, that he now belonged to a group of heroes. Was he even allowed to give orders? What was the custom? They hadn't talked about it yet. Was there supposed to be a vote? Did it make a difference? The invisibles were in position to strike. There was no time!

Skorr looked at him sternly: "Who's the team leader? Tell me what's going on."

"No time." Weylan realized immediately that he wouldn't get away with that. He got down on his knees and spoke quietly and quickly. It took him great effort not to look at the men in the shadows: "Invisible enemies are sneaking in through the shadows. They'll be in position soon. We must expose them and fight them back. I'll brief the archer..."

Skorr looked him firmly in the eye and deliberately did not look in the right direction. "Are they invisible, that is completely transparent or merged with the shadows?"

"Shadows... I think."

"Good, then I can make them visible. Try to position yourself for a sneak attack. Trulda: Get into the position Weylan sent you to. Princess: Can you make sure no one gets through to my clan at the back exit? If even a single enemy gets through in that narrow space..."

The dryad interrupted him by running off. Weylan and Trulda were about to run off as well when Skorr stopped them once more: "When I shout loudly, don't look in my direction. It's best to close your eyes for a moment and wait for the flash of light."

Weylan saw the first opponent crawl between two defenders and carefully stand up. They only had a few heartbeats left. He stopped himself from wondering how the duskgnome was going to create a flash of light and wandered off. While he was still thinking about how inconspicuous running worked, Trulda shifted into a trot and began to shout loudly, "Hey warrior, I have something else I could offer. As she walked, she unbuttoned the top button of her cleavage., Orcslayer turned towards her, fell silent and started grinning broadly. Then he raised his eyes and also looked at Trulda's face: "Hey, don't I know you?"

She just shrugged her shoulders with a smile. At that moment, Skorr shouted: "Betrayal!" and threw a small vial of golden liquid onto the floor. A blinding light glowed and rippled through the cave like a wave. The air itself started to glow, illuminating every last niche. Shadows disappeared. Blown out like birthday candles. Defenders and attackers writhed in pain or threw themselves to the side in surprise to avoid a suspected attack. Those who hadn't closed their eyes could now only see stars and vague streaks.

Trulda had closed her eyes tightly thanks to Skorr's warning, but still found the light surprisingly painful. When she opened them again, she pulled the two-handed mace out of its extradimensional hiding place in one fluid movement. For the moment, there was not a single shadow in the cave illuminated by golden light. The attackers who had just been hidden were clearly visible and, like most of the defenders, blinded. Trulda accelerated. Her target was a fighter in black clothing who had his back turned to her and was still in the process of taking his short sword from a scabbard tied to his back to stab one of the spearmen in the back. While the back scabbard was very good for sneaking, it didn't seem to Trulda to be good for fast drawing. She lunged as she walked, swinging her mace around with both hands. The man hadn't even looked in her direction, but he snapped his legs apart in a flash to dive down in a kind of split. The mace grazed the back quiver of a ranger, who wheeled around in surprise and struck blindly with the spear. The thrust at stomach level hit the dodging attacker at the shoulder. Still in the splits, he swung his sword around. Visibly still blinded as well, but a wide swing had no chance of missing. The blade cut into the ranger's trousers just above his knees.

Weylan arrived a few steps beside her. Despite his eyes being closed, he blinked away the blinding light and therefore stumbled the last few steps rather than actually walking. He had seen his destination beforehand and had chosen the most direct route. So he still arrived exactly where he wanted to go. Of course, he would have liked to have pounced on his father's murderer, but OrcSlayer was too far inside the turmoil. He would never have got close to him. And certainly not unnoticed. An attacker was just getting up to pounce on Esche. An elf in black chain mail. At the last moment, he recognized a fabric-like structure. Was the thing crocheted from wool? He could have changed his aim and stabbed his dagger in the back instead of the unprotected neck, but he couldn't make up his mind in time. He swung his shadow dagger, putting all his weight into it. The blade scraped across the neckline of the chain mail, sparking and cutting into the flesh. He had expected a fountain of blood under which the elf sank to the ground. The result, however, was far less dramatic. The dagger scraped across the vertebra, leaving a pitiful cut. Weylan was too surprised to follow up. His opponent drew a slender scimitar in a single motion and slashed Esche's back from behind. He turned to face Weylan in the same swing, missing him only because he was still mostly blinded. Weylan dodged anyway, realizing too late that the saber would not have hit him. He actually had to dodge the next blow. As long as the elf was still blinded, he saw the chance to counterattack. He took a quick step forward and cut at the arm that had just swung past him. Only thin leather armor protected his forearm. His shadow dagger was magically sharp, if it could sever tendons or muscles, the elf would have to drop his weapon. He smiled triumphantly. The dagger hit exactly as he had planned. The blade scraped across the leather. Completely ineffective. Confused, he looked at his weapon. What was wrong with it?

Hit: Damage not sufficient to penetrate armor.

Still, nice try.

Skill increased: Knives and daggers (Apprentice IV)

He took a quick look at his dagger. The otherwise jet-black blade was just stained steel. What was wrong with it? He barely avoided hitting his forehead with his palm, which would probably have cost him an eye with the dagger still in his hand. Of course, the shadow dagger no longer worked. Skorr had banished all shadows. His opponent wore armor, was certainly a higher level than him, and had a weapon with a longer reach. He on the other hand, was armed with effectively a rusty knife.

The elf swung at him again. He blinked constantly and tears ran from his eyes, but Weylan knew that he would be able to see normally again in a few heartbeats. And then the elf would cut him into slices.

Weylan took a step back and looked around frantically. He was still on the edge of the battlefield. He could easily run back again. If he fled now, the elf would surely pounce on the more dangerous opponents first. He would keep the defenders busy so that his reinforcements could get into the cave. Then, with massive numerical superiority, he could casually take care of survivors like him. If he fled, he was as good as dead. He wasn't brave enough to run. He had to fight. And hope that someone with a decent weapon would intervene soon and defeat the elf. And the other attackers. And OrcSlayer, who was drawing a longsword that glowed a dull red light from within.

He lunged at his opponent with a roar and went into close combat, where the elf could not make use of his longer reach. The safest place in the medium term. At least until the guy could see properly again, and turned him into diced goulash.