Legolas spent two more days recovering in the Life Tree Palace, and his body healed far faster than he'd expected. Nourished by spirit fruit porridge and the inherent resilience of an elf's constitution, he'd gone from weakness to moving freely—he could even feel a faint energy stirring within him. Ella called it "magic essence."
"Your Highness, it's time for your magic lesson." Ella wheeled in a floating wooden cart, stacked with a few books and a silver staff half his height. The staff's head held a blue crystal the size of a pigeon's egg, which caught the sunlight and scattered tiny sparks.
Legolas had been staring out the window, lost in thought. He glanced at the staff, unease creeping in. Over the past two days, he'd tried summoning magic using fragments of memory, but beyond conjuring a few droplets of water, he'd failed at even simple tricks—like making a vine twitch. His fingers ached from the effort.
"Do I have to use this?" He pointed at the staff, which felt like a ceremonial prop in his grip, awkward and foreign.
"Of course! Staves help channel magic essence. Beginners can barely cast spells without them." Ella handed him the staff. "It's made from moonwood branches and a water essence crystal—perfect for newbies practicing water magic. The king had it specially made for you."
Legolas took the staff. It was cool to the touch, its surface as smooth as jade. He waved it tentatively, feeling nothing special—just like holding a fancy clothesline pole.
"Start by sensing the essence." Ella opened an ancient book bound in animal hide, its pages marked with complex runes in silver ink. "Close your eyes, breathe deeply, and imagine countless blue sparks around you. Those are water elements. Try to touch them with your mind, draw them near."
Legolas obeyed, closing his eyes and inhaling. The air did feel damp, but blue sparks? He might as well have been staring into darkness (even with his lids shut). Concentrating hard, he heard nothing but birdsong and wind rustling leaves. No sparks.
"It's not working," he admitted, opening his eyes, crestfallen. "I can't feel any sparks."
Ella remained patient. "Don't rush, Your Highness. Elves are born with a sense for essence—you've just forgotten how to speak to it after your coma. Think of the Lake of Life, the feel of rain…"
The Lake of Life? Legolas pictured the memory: a crystal-clear lake, its waters glowing faintly blue, with bioluminescent weeds swaying on the bottom. He focused on that "wet," "flowing" sensation, and suddenly, a chill prickled his fingertips.
He snapped his eyes open. Around his staff-wielding hand floated a dozen blue sparks, each the size of a sesame seed, flickering like fireflies.
"Hey! There they are!" Legolas's eyes lit up. He nearly dropped the staff in his excitement.
"Steady, Your Highness. Try to pull them into the staff's crystal." Ella hurried to remind him.
Legolas held his breath, guiding the sparks with his mind. They darted playfully, dodging his attempts, but a few finally hit the crystal, vanishing into it with a faint glow. Gritting his teeth, he persisted until most of the sparks were absorbed—the crystal's blue light brightened noticeably.
"Excellent! That's the basics of sensing and channeling." Ella clapped, smiling. "Now try a embryonic form of 'Water Arrow.' No need for power—just a tiny water needle will do."
She pointed to a rune in the book. "Visualize this rune in your mind while gathering the water elements…"
Legolas studied the rune, a twisting, abstract wavelike shape. He mentally traced it while summoning the elements; the crystal glowed brighter, and the air grew humid. Suddenly, pfft—a spurt of mist shot from the staff, drenching his hair.
"Cough… cough…" Legolas spluttered, eyeing his soggy bangs, embarrassed.
Ella pressed a handkerchief into his hand, struggling not to laugh. "It's all right, Your Highness. Everyone messes up the first time. You rushed—you forced the elements before the rune was stable, so it turned to mist."
Legolas dried his hair, depressediled. For an elf prince, the original owner sure had slacked on basics. Clearly, he'd wasted his days lazing around.
For the next two hours, Legolas cycled through "summon water needle—fail into mist/drops—try again." By lunch, he'd barely managed a wobbly needle, finger-length and chopstick-thin, which dissolved before he could launch it.
"You're doing great, Your Highness!" Ella packed up, voice sincere. "Many elves take a week to conjure a stable needle."
Legolas scoffed inwardly at the pep talk, but a small pride flickered. At least he wasn't totally magic-illiterate. Progress, however tiny.
Lunch was golden-roasted Warcraft meat (beast meat) with tangy jam, plus a bowl of nuts and honey dessert. Legolas ate greedily—he'd grown addicted to this world's food, pure and flavorful, miles better than takeout.
Mid-meal, a silver-armored elf guard strode in, bowing. "Your Highness, the king requests your presence in the council chamber. Human envoys have arrived."
Human envoys? Legolas perked up—his chance to learn more about humans. He set down his utensils, wiped his mouth. "I'll go at once."
Following the guard through vine-and-wood corridors, he entered a spacious hall. A massive animal hide (animal hide) map hung on the wall, marked with colored gems for each race's territory. Thranduil stood before it, speaking with a middle-aged man in chainmail, a longsword slung across his back.
The man had short brown hair, blue eyes, and a weathered wheat complexion, crisscrossed with faint scars—tough and sharp. He turned at Legolas's entrance, his gaze lingering briefly before offering a lukewarm smile.
"So this is Prince Legolas? Impressive indeed." His Common Tongue had an accent, but was clear.
Thranduil nodded. "Legolas, meet Knight Kane, envoy from the Human Holy Light Kingdom." To Kane: "My son, Legolas."
"Knight Kane." Legolas mimicked the elf greeting, a slight nod. He noticed Kane eyeing his hair—original was silver, but his brown roots peeked through Ella's magic dye. No doubt that raised eyebrows.
Kane smiled, then refocused on Thranduil. "Your Majesty, we've heard of the orc movements. Our king sends five thousand cavalry, arriving in three days. But even combined, we can't face fifty thousand orcs—our scouts say the Blackspine clans are marching en masse."
Fifty thousand? Legolas's heart skipped a beat. The five thousand Ella mentioned was just the vanguard?
Thranduil's face hardened. "The Elf Kingdom is grateful for Holy Light's five thousand. We'll deploy three thousand archers and two thousand mages to defend the Eternal Forest border. But fifty thousand orcs… we need more human kingdoms."
"Easier said than done." Kane sighed. "The southern Anvil Kingdom fights dwarves over mines; eastern steppe tribes stay neutral. No one will send troops."
A heavy silence fell. Legolas stayed quiet, but his mind raced—fifty thousand orcs against their meager forces? From his Earth strategy games, he knew: outnumbered, you either pull a wildcard or find allies.
"Maybe… contact the forest druids?" Legolas blurted, recalling a memory—guardians of nature, beast-tamers, fierce fighters.
Thranduil and Kane glanced at him. Thranduil's eyes held surprise. "Druids? They retreated deep into the woods a century ago, avoid all conflicts. Unlikely."
"Worth a try." Legolas pressed, emboldened. "Orcs burn forests, poison waters—they're attacking the druids' home too. Explain the stakes. They might help."
Kane raised an eyebrow, interest piqued. "A solid idea. Druids would ease the burden."
Thranduil hesitated, then nodded. "Send messengers to try. Now, Knight Kane—about joint command…"
The talk turned to logistics: defense lines, supplies, scout ranges. Legolas zoned out, lost in unfamiliar jargon. Finally, Kane departed, and he exhaled.
"Your suggestion was wise." Thranduil spoke, approval in his tone. "Falling into the lake seems to have matured you."
Legolas chuckled awkwardly, avoiding reply.
"Afternoon archery practice." Thranduil added. "For an elf prince, archery matters more than magic."
"Oh. Right." Legolas agreed, inwardly panicking. If magic was hard, archery would be torture.
He was right. The elf longbow was heavier than expected, its pull far beyond his "couch potato soul's" strength. The coach—an old elf with a bushy beard and a temper—yelled in Elvish as eight of Legolas's ten arrows missed the target entirely.
"Lift your arm! Aim for the center! Breathe!" The old elf's shouts nearly deafened him.
Legolas strained, muscles screaming, and loosed an arrow. It sailed past the target, embedding itself in the ground.
"Pathetic!" The old elf smacked his staff on the dirt. "Even century-old elflings shoot better! Is this our prince?"
Legolas flushed, unable to argue. He was terrible.
On his nth miss, a commotion erupted. Guards sprinted past, faces urgent.
The old elf whistled, halting one. "What's happening?"
"The eastern patrol was ambushed!" The guard panted. "Black-armored men—killed three of ours, then fled!"
Black armor? Not orcs?
Legolas's heart skipped a beat. He exchanged confused glances with the old elf.
Thranduil summoned his generals at once. Legolas tagged along, curious.
"The patrol captain reports: black armor, skull emblems, brutal tactics. They used human swordplay but moved faster than any human." A guard captain spoke, tone grave. "They found this."
He held out a tattered black cloth, stitched with a blood-red skull—its eye sockets seemed to seethe with dark mist.
Thranduil's face darkened. "The Shadow Cult! How dare they trespass into the Eternal Forest?"
"Shadow Cult?" Legolas whispered to Ella.
Her face paled, voice dropping. "Fanatics who worship dark power. A century ago, elves and humans crushed them, but they vanished. Now they're back… they commit atrocities—even sacrifice lives."
Legolas shuddered. Orcs weren't enough? This world was a death trap.
Thranduil slammed the cloth on the table. "Triple the guards! Send elites to track them! Warn Knight Kane—Shadow Cult and orcs may collude!"
"Yes, sire!" The generals chorused.
Walking back to his quarters, Legolas's mood soured. He'd thought training magic and archery, then fighting orcs, would be enough. But the Shadow Cult's return complicated everything—like a thorn in everyone's side.
He glanced at the sky: sunset gilded the leaves, and mist curled through the trees. Beauty masked growing darkness.
"Your Highness, don't worry. The king will handle it." Ella noticed his frown.
Legolas nodded, but knew better. Thranduil couldn't fight fifty thousand orcs and elusive cultists alone. This "fake prince" couldn't laze around anymore.
He gripped his staff, its coolness grounding him. Survival—and protecting this newfound home—meant getting stronger. Fast.
Next morning, Legolas reached the training field before Ella. The old elf coach, though still scowling, looked slightly less irritated.
"Horseback riding today." He pointed to a snow-white steed with a silver saddle. "Elves rely more on archers, but princes must ride."
Legolas eyed the horse, nervous. His only "riding" experience was carousel ponies.
"Her name's Moonlight. Gentle." The old elf patted her neck; Moonlight nickered, nuzzling his arm.
Legolas climbed on,clumsy with help. He'd barely hold on tightwhen Moonlight sneezed—he yelped, clinging to her mane.
"Relax. Lean forward, legs tight." The old elf led her slowly. "Feel her steps."
Legolas sweated, eyes locked on the path, terrified of falling. After half an hour, he loosened up, and the old elf let Moonlight walk freely.
Just as he relaxed, a shrill bird cry cut through the air. From the woods bordering the field, black-smoke-shrouded wolves burst forth—their eyes glowed unnatural red—as they lunged at a nearby young elf!
"Watch out!" Legolas grabbed a spare bow, firing on instinct.
The arrow missed the wolf, but grazed the elf's ear, lodging in a tree.
The elf yelped, drawing his sword. The old elf drew his scimitar ,charging.
Legolas scrambled off the horse, awkward as his movements were, but at least he didn't fall.He stared at the wolves—wrong. Not normal beasts. Corrupted.
By the Shadow Cult?
There were only five. The old elf and guards dispatched them quickly, but the smoking corpses left everyone grim.
"Shadow energy-tainted beasts." The old elf prodded a wolf's pelt with his blade, revealing grayish-black flesh. "The cult is still nearby!"