The strike team moved.
A dozen elves glided across the terrain like wraiths, their steps silent even as boots brushed leaves and gravel. Lumberling marched among them, clad in black steel.
Skitz flitted along the edges, half-melted into the shadows, dagger dangling loosely in his grip. Aren strode with quiet precision, his spear strapped across his back. Four others followed, former Duskpire mercenaries whose familiarity with the Earl's lands.
Thessalia led the elven formation, every step exuding regal authority. Aurelya lingered near the rear, occasionally exchanging subtle glances with Skitz or whispering soft questions.
Several kilometers behind, his captains rode in formation, each masked, each followed by elite troops strong enough to be considered Knight Page level. They tracked the flight of golden eagles soaring above, it guided them towards Lumberling and the elves' group.
...
