The night was long for the people on Edrisyl as the battles had already ravaged some portions of the once beautiful, lush green island.

Zale moved towards Yggdrasil after he was done with Jabran.

Further ahead, Ermid had also reached a stalemate in his battle against the Dark Mage.

The forest around them no longer resembled the peaceful woodland it had once been. Towering trees lay split apart, the earth had been carved open by repeated clashes and the thick black mist lingering between the trunks obscured both sight and sound. Every now and then, only the sharp clang of steel striking steel echoed through the darkness before silence reclaimed the battlefield once more.

Ermid stood with both curved daggers drawn, his breathing measured despite the beads of sweat trickling down his temple. A shallow cut stretched across his cheek while another stained the sleeve of his robe crimson, but none of the wounds had slowed him.

A few paces away, Zevran rested his black katana loosely over one shoulder.

Unlike the relaxed posture he displayed while fighting Captain Rhylen, there was no trace of amusement on his face now. His robe bore several clean slashes where Ermid’s blades had narrowly missed vital points, and blood dripped steadily from a wound just below his ribs.

The two assassins stared at one another without speaking as the black mist drifted lazily between them and then, without warning, both disappeared.

Steel rang through the forest as their blades collided somewhere within the darkness before the two figures separated almost immediately.

Neither remained in one place for longer than a heartbeat.

Zevran vanished behind a curtain of mist only for Ermid to appear from another direction, his daggers already sweeping toward the assassin’s neck.

The katana met them just in time and sparks burst into the darkness before either could follow through, they disengaged once more.

The battle had become strangely quiet. There were no explosive spells or overwhelming displays of power, only fleeting silhouettes, the sound of hurried footsteps across broken branches and the occasional flash of steel hidden within the mist.

Each searched for the smallest mistake, understanding exactly how the other fought.

An illusion suddenly appeared to Ermid’s left and without even turning his head, he flicked one dagger behind him.

The blade sailed through the illusion and buried itself in the trunk of a tree. At almost the same instant, the real Zevran emerged from the opposite side, his katana already descending.

Ermid caught the strike with his remaining dagger while wrenching the first free from the tree in one smooth motion.

The second blade came sweeping upward and Zevran leaned back just enough for the edge to graze across his cloak before he disappeared into the mist once again.

A faint chuckle echoed through the forest.

"So..." Zevran’s voice drifted through the darkness. "You understand illusion magic."

Ermid calmly rolled his wrist, letting the blood slide from one of his blades.

"I’ve spent longer hunting assassins than you’ve spent learning to kill."

For the first time that night, the corner of Zevran’s mouth curled into a genuine smile.

Neither elf moved as the silence stretched and a cold breeze stirred the mist between them.

Then dozens of Zevrans stepped out from the darkness, some stood upon branches while others emerged from behind shattered trees, every one of them carried the same black katana and wore the same indifferent smile.

Ermid merely glanced around once before letting out a quiet scoff.

"You’re wasting mana."

One of the Zevrans laughed.

"Am I?"

The entire forest suddenly erupted into motion.

Illusions charged from every direction while the real assassin disappeared amongst them.

Unlike Rhylen, however, Ermid never once chased the copies as his eyes remained fixed upon the movement of the mist itself.

A disturbed patch of leaves, a branch bending beneath unexpected weight and the faintest fluctuation of dead mana.

That was all he needed, before their blades met once again, then again, and then a third time.

Each exchange lasted only an instant before both disappeared back into the darkness.

Minutes passed and neither assassin could claim the advantage. Each successful feint was answered by another and every ambush was anticipated.

The duel had become less a contest of strength and more a battle of patience.

Steel flashed through the mist in rapid succession, every clash lasting only a heartbeat before the two separated once more. Ermid had already seen through Zevran’s illusions, forcing the Dark Mage to abandon the same tricks that had troubled Captain Rhylen. For a while, neither could find an opening.

Then the rhythm changed.

A familiar fluctuation of dead mana came from Ermid’s right. It was the same angle Zevran had favored throughout the duel. Ermid reacted on instinct, his dagger already moving to intercept the strike.

There was nothing there and a chill ran down his spine as the real Zevran emerged from behind him.

Ermid twisted immediately, narrowly avoiding the blade aimed at his neck. Ermid had no room to evade so, in the nick of the moment he made a swift decision and put up his left arm and felt as the katana swept through his left arm. Blood sprayed across the mist as his severed arm fell heavily onto the forest floor.

Ermid staggered several steps back, his face paling as agony shot through his body. He immediately sealed the wound with dead mana, slowing the bleeding, but his breathing had already become ragged.

Zevran calmly flicked the blood from his katana.

"You noticed the pattern," he said with a faint smile. "So I gave you one."

Only then did Ermid understand.

The repeated attacks from the same direction, the predictable retreats, even the placement of the illusions- they had all been deliberate. Zevran had spent the entire duel conditioning him to expect a single response before breaking it at the perfect moment.

Without waiting for Ermid to recover, Zevran pressed forward.

The loss of an arm had ruined Ermid’s balance. His remaining dagger still intercepted most of the incoming strikes, but every exchange forced him farther back. A shallow cut opened across his ribs, another along his thigh, then one across his shoulder. None were fatal, yet together they steadily robbed him of strength.

Zevran stopped just beyond the reach of Ermid’s dagger, the corner of his lips curling upward.

"It seems," he said quietly, "your experience ends here."

Zevran stepped forward once more, his katana resting lazily at his side as he watched Ermid struggle to steady his breathing. Blood continued dripping from the Dark Elf’s sleeve, staining the ruined forest floor beneath him.

"You’ve done well," Zevran admitted. "Unfortunately, skill alone isn’t enough."

Ermid tightened his grip around the lone dagger without answering. His body ached with every breath, but his eyes never left the assassin.

The mist shifted and Zevran disappeared again. Ermid’s instincts screamed and steel met steel as the dagger barely caught the descending katana. The force of the impact drove Ermid to one knee. Before he could recover, Zevran twisted his wrist and knocked the dagger aside.

The opening was enough as the black blade descended toward Ermid’s neck ready to behead him.

But suddenly a silver streak burst through the forest, neither of them had sensed it as the woodland erupted as something tore through the trees with terrifying speed. Ancient trunks split apart as though they were nothing more than dry twigs, the earth itself opening in its wake.

Zevran’s expression changed instantly and every instinct he possessed screamed at him to move.

He abandoned Ermid without hesitation and threw himself sideways, but he was still too slow.

The silver blade tore through his shoulder, tearing a deep gash across his chest before continuing forward without slowing in the slightest.

Blood sprayed through the air and Zevran crashed violently against a shattered tree, his katana slipping from his grasp as the forest fell silent.

Ermid remained frozen where he was, his eyes slowly followed the silver weapon as it continued racing through the woodland, its segmented blade glimmering beneath the moonlight like a living serpent.

Only then did he recognize it.

"...Serathil," the word left his lips as the breath of relief.

The sacred weapon never stopped as it vanished beyond the forest as quickly as it had appeared, leaving behind a trail of cleaved trees and stunned silence.

Ermid slowly turned his gaze back toward Zevran.

The assassin had already retrieved his katana and staggered to his feet, one hand pressed tightly against the wound across his chest. Blood seeped steadily between his fingers, his breathing noticeably heavier than before.

For the first time since the battle had begun, there wasn’t the slightest hint of amusement on his face.

His eyes remained fixed on the direction Serathil had disappeared.

"Who is it now?" Zevran grunted.

Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Zevran took one last glance at Ermid before his figure dissolved into the mist.

Ermid made no attempt to pursue him.

He simply stood there, staring at the path Serathil had carved through the forest. Moments later Zale, emerged as soon as the black mist dispersed.

Zale spotted Ermid, who stood leaning against the broken tree trunk, his left arm gone and his injuries bleeding profusely.

Zale hurried over to Ermid and quickly ripped some fabric off of his robe.

"Did you encounter another Dark Mage?" Zale asked as he wrapped the fabric tightly around Ermid’s stump.

"Yes." Ermid spoke through his teeth.

Now that the fight was over, the relief and the pain had come flooding in.

"This might hurt," Zale warned before he tightened the knot over the stump and Ermid gritted his teeth tightly only letting a grunt escape.

"Where are the others?" Zale asked.

"Went ahead," Ermid spoke, slowly gathering himself.

"We should keep moving too." Zale said and Ermid nodded.

The duo took off running in the direction of Yggdrasil, Zale glanced at Ermid who looked remarkably fine despite having lost his arm and so much of his blood.

"You fought in the previous war against the Dark Forces, didn’t you?" Zale asked.

"I did." Ermid admitted.

"And this green brat managed to get you to this state?" Zale asked, Ermid scoffed.

"This new generation of Dark Forces is even more cunning and stronger than the ones I fought. Back then it was all about slaughtering the other side but this time the battle has started with deception."

Zale hummed, agreeing to Ermid’s words.

"But we also have someone on our side who could fight through shadows just fine." Zale smirked.

Ermid glanced at the Merfolk King from the corner of his eyes.

"Are you talking about the Dragon?"

Zale smiled, "Yes."

Ermid’s eyebrows twitched, "A Dragon fighting through shadows...who is it?"

Zale’s eyes drifted over to Ermid’s stump and he gestured at it, "Someone who could heal that arm once he shows up."

"When is he going to come?"

"Soon."

Ermid sighed, "Hopefully he arrives before we lose Yggdrasil."

Zale hummed, he had also been thinking of the same thing but he had already seen his Master in action before so he knew, that his Master could risk himself but he wouldn’t risk the timing of his plan.

"Don’t worry," Zale said, "he’ll be here at the right time."

At the foot of Yggdrasil, Aelfric, Xeveris and the Pure Mana Elf Elders stood guard around the ancient tree, their eyes fixed upon the forest ahead.

A gentle breeze drifted through the clearing, cool enough to barely stir their robes, yet the instant it passed over them, every Elf froze.

Aelfric felt his fingers tighten unconsciously around the hilt of his sword while a cold shiver ran down his spine. It wasn’t killing intent, nor was it the suffocating pressure powerful individuals often exuded. Instead, it felt as though something fundamental had vanished from the world around them.

The air still flowed, the wind still touched their skin, yet every instinct buried deep within their souls screamed that there was an emptiness behind them that should not exist. But they couldn’t shake the feeling that a yawning bottomless abyss whose depth could never be measured, an existence so unnatural that even their bodies refused to move for a brief moment.

None of them spoke. They didn’t have to. The answer had already crossed every one of their minds as they slowly turned toward the same direction.

Their eyes slowly shifted toward the forest, where the lush greenery that had surrounded Yggdrasil moments ago was steadily disappearing beneath a tide of black miasma. The grass blackened first, followed by the flowers and shrubs before even the towering trees began to wither as though centuries of life had been stolen away in mere seconds. At the heart of that advancing darkness walked a lone figure in black robes, his pace unhurried as the miasma followed him like an endless shadow, devouring everything between him and Yggdrasil.

And he was steadily making his way towards Yggdrasil.

He stepped into one of the protruding roots of Yggdrasil and the root instantly shriveled and turned black before it crushed under his foot into ashes.

"D-Don’t let him come any closer to Yggdrasil!" Vaelorion shouted.

The shout made Aelfric and others snap out of the momentary hesitation before they all grabbed their weapons.

"Attack!" Aelfric commanded and the group of protectors that had gathered around the Yggdrasil all descended towards their lone enemy.