The two armies faced each other on the hilly plains, tensions rising as they stood across from one another. The elves were organized, forming eight rows deep with archers ready at the back. Their enemies, the Bovaryn, had no real formation—just a scattered line of figures snarling and huffing, their chaotic presence clear as the sky. Behind the elves, the forest stretched a mile away, while the Bovaryn tepee huts stood scattered behind their lines.

The elven cavalry, five hundred strong, peeled off to the right, positioning themselves for a flanking maneuver. As the two forces waited, a single Bovaryn warrior stomped into the center of the field. The massive figure, adorned in full plate armor, brandished a double-sided battle axe. His long, twisted horns gleamed in the sunlight, and his body bore the scars of countless battles. As he roared, only a few dozen yards from the elven vanguard, some of the elves trembled.

A human on horseback approached Prince Adan. “My prince, they’ve sent a champion forward. Who will you send to face him?”

Adan grinned, his eyes never leaving the snarling Bovaryn. “Send no one.”

“My lord?” The human hesitated. “Send no one?”

The prince’s grin widened. “Ready the archers.”

A command rang out behind Elron, followed by the raising of a specific flag.

“Archers! Nock!” cried the officers down the line.

“Draw! Loose!”

Over a thousand arrows darkened the sky, a deadly wave arching over the battlefield. Elron, despite being in the thick of the army, couldn’t help but marvel at the sight. The arrows sailed through the air, and as they reached their peak, the Bovaryn champion dropped his axe, staring up at the impending death with disbelief. Whether he was a regular Bovaryn or something akin to a high elf among his kind, it didn’t matter. He stood no chance. The arrows rained down, turning him into a pincushion.

The Bovaryn army, enraged, surged forward in a chaotic charge.

Elron, standing in the frontmost line, watched as they approached. A strange mix of disappointment and excitement coursed through him. He felt the familiar thrill of battle rising in his chest.

“Hold! Steady!” the officers behind him shouted as the ground trembled beneath the Bovaryn onslaught.

Elron dropped the spear and shield he had been assigned and unsheathed his bastard sword. Glancing left and right, he saw terror etched on the faces of his fellow elves. Then, just as he turned his gaze forward, the enemy was upon them.

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Massive, bull-like creatures slammed into the elven line, sending soldiers flying. Some Bovaryn broke through, but with a flurry of spear thrusts, they were brought down.

Elron, no longer sure where his front line had gone, hacked and slashed at anything that came near. Clubs, axes, spears—none of it mattered. His sword cut through their crude weapons and armor with ease. To maintain his disguise, he imbued his blade with the wind element instead of fire, cloaking it in a near-invisible aura of sharp wind. The effect was devastating. His sword sliced through leather and flesh like butter.

After cutting through several enemies, Elron had to leap over the bodies piling up before him. He glanced behind, spotting the remnants of his original rank and file. “Come on!” he shouted, waving them forward.

A small part of the elven line surged ahead with Elron, taking advantage of the chaos. At the same time, the sound of hooves and bugles filled the air—the elven cavalry had smashed into the rear of the Bovaryn, their impact shaking the ground.

Elron sidestepped a wild swing and prepared to strike down yet another foe, but a lance from the cavalry pierced the Bovaryn’s skull before he could. Elron found himself pushing forward, his blade cutting through fewer and fewer enemies as the Bovaryn began to flee. The battle was over.

Elron sat atop a fallen Bovaryn, wiping the blood from his blade. It had been weeks since he’d felt anything beyond winded. Now, with the thrill of combat still lingering, he felt almost euphoric.

A skinny elf, covered in blood, approached him cautiously. “Hello…”

Elron looked up, then back at his sword, struggling to clean the thick, red goo from it.

“I wanted to thank you,” the elf muttered. “You saved my life back there.”

Elron cocked his head and replied, “Uh, yeah… sure. You’re welcome.”

The elf stood a little taller. “Would you… would you teach me? I don’t want to die like this, not out here.”

Elron stood slowly, eyeing the elf’s frail body. “I’m sorry, but I’m nobody. I’m in no position to teach anyone.”

The elf rubbed his face and muttered, “Oh… okay,” before moving along.

Out of the haze, Slyra approached Elron, her expression lighthearted. “You could’ve trained that guy, you know?”

Elron chuckled. “Nice to see you too. But no. I need to stay as inconspicuous as possible.”

Slyra swung her legs playfully as she sat next to him. “Inconspicuous? How many did you kill just now?”

He looked at her, confused. “I don’t know, maybe a dozen or so?”

Slyra rolled her eyes. “Yeah, tone it down a bit. If you keep that up, someone’s going to notice.”

Elron sighed, frustration creeping in as he spotted an injured Bovaryn nearby. He stood, walked over, and drove his sword into the creature. “That’s going to be difficult.”

Around them, the elven soldiers moved through the battlefield, finishing off the wounded. A quick spear to the heart ended the suffering of the Bovaryn stragglers. Few resisted in their final moments.

As the field was cleared, the army pushed forward into the makeshift village beyond. It was nothing more than a collection of tepees and wooden chests. The few valuables were quickly claimed by the chain of command, but the most surprising find was the hundred or so newborn orphans. All those capable of wielding a weapon had been sent to fight, regardless of age or sex.

The orphans were sent back to the kingdom with an envoy. The battle was over, but the carnage remained.