Outside, the villager who had earlier challenged Artreus walked away, muttering under his breath, "The kid's strong… Like nothing I've ever seen. Almost… non-human."

As he passed into the shadows, a group of elves cloaked in hoods emerged from the darkness. Their leader, a tall figure with silver hair braided down his back, gestured silently to the others, and they entered the tavern.

Inside the Tavern

The lively energy in the tavern seemed to freeze in place the moment the elves stepped inside. Their elegant yet commanding presence demanded attention, their movements smooth and deliberate. Patrons whispered amongst themselves, some eyes wide with curiosity, while others shifted uncomfortably, their unease at the presence of the otherworldly visitors palpable.

The silver-haired elf leading the group surveyed the room with sharp, calculating eyes. When his gaze landed on Samson, who was mid-swig of his beer, his lips curved into a faint, unreadable smile. Without a word, he led the group toward Samson's table.

Samson noticed them approaching and sighed, setting his mug down heavily. His brow raised in amusement as the silver-haired elf gave a polite bow before sliding into the seat across from him without waiting for an invitation.

"You're in the wrong place, pal," Samson said gruffly, his voice carrying over the murmurs of the tavern. "I'm not a bounty hunter. If you're looking for one, they're over there." He nodded toward a corner where a group of rough-looking mercenaries sat, their weapons leaning against their chairs.

The elf leader's expression didn't waver. Calm, serious, and filled with purpose, he shook his head. "No, Master Samson… I'm in the right place. I know exactly who you are—Samson, the gods' chosen man."

Samson's eyes narrowed slightly as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "The gods' chosen man? That's a title I haven't heard in a while. So, what's this about? Your king needs something, I take it?"

The elf inclined his head, introducing himself. "My name is Eirian. I am here under the direct orders of our king. We need your help, Master Samson. Our princess has gone missing." His voice carried an undertone of urgency, drawing Samson's full attention. "She was ambushed in the forest by night bandits wielding mana magic. It was an attack we could not have anticipated."

"Mana magic?" Samson's voice was low, his demeanor shifting. "That kind of knowledge isn't exactly common among bandits. Who leaked it?"

Eirian's jaw tightened. "That is part of the concern. Mana magic is slipping into the wrong hands, spreading far beyond its intended boundaries. These bandits knew exactly what they were doing. They've taken her because of what she represents."

Samson frowned. "And what exactly does she represent?"

"Royal blood, Master Samson. She is more than just a princess. Her lineage holds a unique power—a symbol and strength for our people. In the wrong hands, it could be weaponized against us all." Eirian's tone became grave. "You understand why this cannot be allowed."

Samson sat silently for a moment, his expression unreadable as he processed the weight of the request. "And you came to me because…?"

Eirian met his gaze squarely. "Because King Arthur is no longer among us. Darkness is spreading, and it's a shadow we've seen before. You've faced this darkness, Master Samson. You trained Arthur, and you've battled forces that would break most men. Our king believes that if anyone can save her, it's you."

He sighed deeply and leaned forward.

"You elves sure know how to drag a man into trouble, don't you?" he muttered, though his voice carried a hint of reluctant amusement.

Eirian allowed a faint, appreciative smile, though the gravity of the moment never left his face. "This isn't just trouble, Master Samson. It's survival—for all of us. The princess must not fall into the wrong hands."

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Samson reached for his mug, draining the last of its contents before slamming it onto the table with a loud thud. He met Eirian's determined gaze with a steely resolve of his own.

"All right, what's in it for me?" Samson asked, his tone businesslike.

"Our king is prepared to grant you a great reward for your service, whatever you deem fair," Eirian replied earnestly. "But more than that, our people need her. We cannot protect our kingdom without her."

Samson leaned back, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. After a moment, he let out a heavy breath and nodded. "Fine. Tell your king I'm in.

Eirian stood, bowing deeply. "We are grateful, Master Samson. You have our trust.

In the background, the arm-wrestling match between Artreus and Mikael was nearing its climax. Both boys strained against each other, the crowd around them roaring with excitement.

"I'm not losing to you, Mikael!" Artreus shouted, his face red with effort.

"Dream on, brother!" Mikael shot back, sweat dripping from his brow.

"Boys!" Samson's voice cut through the noise, drawing their attention. "Come here. We've got a job."

The momentary distraction was all Artreus needed. With a burst of effort, he slammed Mikael's arm down onto the table and jumped up in triumph.

"YES! LOSER!" Artreus shouted, his grin stretching from ear to ear. "Did you see that, everyone? The strength of Reigns strikes again!"

"No way!" Mikael protested, his face a mixture of shock and annoyance. "That's cheating! I wasn't even focused!"

Artreus leaned in, his grin widening. "Poor little Mikael, can't admit his defeat. How sad. Hahaha!"

Mikael opened his mouth to retort, but Samson's commanding voice cut them off. "Enough, you two! We've got work to do."

Though their spirits were still high, the boys exchanged curious glances, wondering what awaited them next. Whatever it was, it seemed their peaceful night in Fernwood had come to an end.

As Samson and the boys trudged deeper into the mysterious woods, the towering trees formed a thick canopy above, shrouding the path in a dim, emerald glow. The air carried a sense of age, as though the forest itself was alive and watching.

Mikael broke the silence, his tone a mix of curiosity and disbelief. "So, this is a rescue mission? We're looking for a lost elf princess?"

Artreus, his thoughts distant, nodded slowly. "My brother used to tell me stories about Elenora... and King Arathorn II, right? His family was said to have the purest bloodline of mana wielders. The royal blood..."

Samson's voice cut through the air, steady and reverent. "That's right. The blood of King Arathorn's family runs pure with mana. His lineage is legendary across all realms. Their connection to magic was unparalleled, and their power shaped the history of this world. During the First Holy War, King Arathorn wielded enough mana to annihilate the dark orc hordes, turning the tide of the battle."

The weight of Samson's words settled over the group. Artreus felt his chest tighten as the childhood tales of heroes and battles gained new gravity. This mission wasn't just about saving someone—it was about preserving something ancient and essential.

Samson's tone grew heavier. "The princess of Elenora is one of them. And now she's missing."

Artreus murmured the name almost reverently, the significance of it not lost on him. "The princess of Elenora..."

Samson's expression darkened slightly as he continued. "Her name is Princess Guinevere Aragorn."

Mikael, walking just behind, couldn't help but voice his concern. "How are we supposed to find an elf princess? Elenora's a huge place, and the elves don't exactly send out invitations to their cities. They're hidden, protected by magic."

Artreus scanned the dense forest around them, sharing Mikael's unease. His hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his sword. "Yeah, Mikael's right. How are we even supposed to start? Their cities are practically invisible to outsiders."

Samson glanced back at the boys, his steps unwavering. "Don't worry about that. I know someone who can help us find her."

Mikael raised an eyebrow, his skepticism apparent. "Someone? Who?"

Samson's lips curved into a small, amused smile as he replied. "He's one of Arthur's closest friends. A human mage. His name is Merlin."

The name struck the group like a bolt of lightning. Artreus's eyes widened in recognition, the excitement clear in his voice. "Merlin... I've heard of him. A wizard, right?"

Samson nodded, a hint of fondness in his expression. "Not just any wizard. Merlin was the backbone of the Round Table. He helped us track down demon lairs, uncover ancient magic, and gather warriors from across the realms. There's no one alive who knows as much about magic—and the world—as he does."

Mikael's face lit up with a mix of awe and excitement. "The Merlin? The guy who basically made the Knights of the Round Table unstoppable? He's still alive?"

Samson chuckled at their reactions, clearly enjoying their astonishment. "Oh, he's alive, all right. Though he's not the same man he once was. He keeps to himself these days, but he owes me a favor. If anyone can help us find Princess Guinevere, it's him."

Aidan, who had been quiet for most of the journey, finally spoke up, his tone laced with skepticism. "And you think Merlin will drop everything to help us?"

Samson's gaze hardened slightly as he looked ahead. "He will. Because he knows what's at stake. If Princess Guinevere falls into the wrong hands, the balance of power will shift, and not in our favor."

Aidan shrugged but said nothing more, though the flicker of curiosity in his eyes betrayed his interest.