...
{Ember Pov}
I finished off the Goblin lying directly beneath my feet by driving my sword through its head.
The creature let out a small, pitiful cry before finally succumbing to death.
I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly as I heaved the lifeless body away from my feet.
At that moment, I didn't know how many monsters I had slain today, nor did I bother to count them.
My focus was elsewhere—my surroundings, my next move, and the wounds that reminded me of the battle I had endured.
Gritting my teeth slightly, I glanced down at the wound on my hand.
Hours of continuous combat had taken a toll on my body.
I had been moving constantly, from one location to another, engaging with hordes of Goblins and Kobolds.
In the midst of this relentless skirmish, one of the monsters had managed to strike me with a weapon.
The injury was inflicted by a knife—a slightly rusty one—that had cleaved through my flesh.
Fortunately, the wound wasn't too deep.
I immediately applied an antidote to prevent infection, but I deliberately refrained from using a healing potion.
This decision was consistent with my approach in the previous round when I had faced similar monsters.
Even as the soldiers pleaded with me to take a healing potion, I stubbornly refused, choosing instead to rely solely on the antidote.
My intention was to further increase my pain tolerance.
Thanks to the intensity of my daily training regimen, I had already developed a considerable threshold for pain.
I could endure injuries without breaking into tears and still continue to inflict havoc on my enemies simultaneously.
I prided myself on this resilience, knowing it was a necessary skill for surviving future battles.
"Your Highness!!" a voice called out urgently.
This time, it was a female Elf approaching me, her bag filled with bottles of various potions.
She held a Health Potion in her hands, her posture anxious and pleading.
"Please, Your Highness, take this healing potion!" she implored, her eyes brimming with tears as she saw the wound on my hand.
I gave a tired, almost faint smile and replied, "I will… now would you han—"
Before I could finish speaking, she quickly splashed the potion directly onto my wound, not allowing me to intervene.
I let out a small moan as the liquid began to work its magic.
Within moments, the wound clotted, the flesh knitting back together seamlessly, leaving behind pristine, unblemished white skin as if the injury had never existed.
I stared at my hand in shock, utterly dumbfounded by the speed of the healing.
My gaze shifted to the Elf for an explanation, and she blushed faintly before responding, "That… that was an Elixir."
Finally, the truth sank in.
My mouth widened in disbelief.
"Wait a minute… isn't an Elixir worth, like, a hundred thousand Alfians?!" I exclaimed; my voice tinged with shock.
That was an incredibly expensive treatment, far beyond the cost of a standard High Potion.
My mind raced, realizing the sheer value of the substance she had just applied to my hand.
I had only intended to take a High Potion, yet now I had received something far more costly, completely without my consent.
"Your Highness!" Noel exclaimed, his tone carrying a mixture of frustration and genuine concern as he looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly in an expression I rarely saw on his face.
I was caught off guard by this very rare display of emotion from him.
"I know you are a genius, Your Highness, and your skills are unparalleled, but we don't want you to get hurt. Please, don't overexert yourself. You can rest, you know?" he continued, his voice firm yet tinged with worry.
Before I could reply, another female Elf stepped forward, her expression a mirror of extreme concern.
"Indeed, Your Highness," she began carefully, her gaze scanning me from head to toe, "while it is truly incredible that you managed to slay ninety-seven kobolds and fifty-two goblins in one engagement, please, I beg you, do not push yourself so hard. Your safety is far more important than any feat of combat."
I let out a heavy sigh, casting my eyes toward the female Elf who had just applied the Elixir to my hand.
The potion had healed my wound almost instantly, and I knew its value was astronomical.
My gaze softened slightly but carried a trace of exasperation.
"Your Highness," she began, her voice firm yet reverent, "that vile goblin dared to blemish your body with that reckless strike. Using an Elixir to ensure that the injury heals completely, leaving no scars behind, is but a small price to pay. I would even go so far as to say that if it were up to me, I would pay out of my own pocket to purchase Elixirs, solely to ensure that Your Highness remains unsullied by wounds inflicted by such lowly creatures."
Her words caught me off guard, and for a brief moment, I could only stare, speechless.
"I… I see," I murmured, more to myself than to her, still processing the depth of devotion I had just witnessed.
I had always known they were loyal, perhaps even extremely devoted, but seeing it manifested so tangibly felt surreal.
'Damn, they are going to guilt-trip me like this,' I thought to myself, a mixture of awe and exasperation washing over me.
I almost wanted to cry at their sheer dedication.
Just then, Noel intervened again, his tone more practical than emotional this time.
"Your Highness, your armor is completely covered in the blood of those filth. Please, allow us to remove it so you can rest properly and avoid further discomfort."
I nodded silently, deciding it was best to let them act as they saw fit.
A group of soldiers, led by Noel, carefully removed my armor while I lowered myself onto a nearby rock, exhausted but alert.
Once that task was completed, the female Elf Archers stepped forward, their faces alight with anticipation and concern.
"Your Highness, please allow us to clean the filth from your body. It pains us greatly to see you in this state," one of the female Elves said, her eyes wide with worry and compassion.
I simply gave a nod, acknowledging her request.
The moment I responded, joy and relief spread across their faces.
They quickly retrieved clean cloths and dipped them into buckets of water, which seemed to appear from nowhere.
(A/N: Bro stop breaking 4th wall 😭😭)
With gentle, careful movements, they began wiping away the sweat, dirt, and blood stains from my body.
Every motion was meticulous, performed with the utmost care and consideration, and I felt a sense of warmth and gratitude as I observed several seasoned and beautiful female Elves tending to me with such devotion.
For half an hour, they continued the process, ensuring that every speck of filth was removed and that I was thoroughly clean.
By the time they finished, I felt rejuvenated, the effects of the Elixir reinforcing my physical recovery.
Despite this, a small part of me still felt it was a waste, considering that my wound had not been particularly deep.
Had it been more severe, I would not have been able to continue fighting in the first place.
Nevertheless, I reminded myself that what had been done was done.
There was no point in lamenting over spilled milk.
The Elixir had been used, the cleaning completed, and my body was in a state of readiness for the challenges that still awaited.
I took a deep breath, feeling the lingering effects of both exhaustion and relief, and prepared myself mentally for the next round of training and combat.
...
{3rd Pov}
Five full months had passed since Ember's first hunt, during which he relied entirely on his swordsmanship, refusing to use magic or ranged attacks.
His actions during that hunt had caused quite a stir upon his return to Alf's Royal Forest.
Many people considered his behavior to be extremely reckless, bordering on outright foolhardiness.
Yet, among those who witnessed his actions and heard of the feat he accomplished, his father appeared quietly pleased.
And why wouldn't he be?
Ember, his prodigious son, had once again proven that his talents were far from limited to academic or intellectual pursuits.
His extraordinary skills, bravery, and determination were evident in everything he had done during that hunt, and upon hearing the full details, his father's pride was unmistakable.
(A/N: He thinks bro is going to become the next King)
Of course, not everyone shared his father's sentiments.
Ember's mother, his sister Riveria, and even his loyal maid had been petrified when they first learned of what he had done in the forest.
His mother was almost on the verge of tears at the thought of her son pushing himself through such dangerous circumstances, ignoring the comfort and leisure that could have been afforded to him.
Riveria, too, had confronted him sternly, demanding an explanation for his reckless behavior.
His calm and reasoned answer had left them all momentarily speechless, struggling to comprehend how he could be so composed and rational in the face of such extreme danger.
''Sister," he had said, his tone firm yet steady, ''this world is a dangerous place. Monsters roam the land, destroying lives as we speak. As an Elf Royalty, responsible for the protection of all Elves, how can I remain weak? It is my duty to grow strong, not only for their sake but also for my own survival."
His words, though straightforward, carried a weight and conviction that immediately earned the respect and admiration of every Elf present.
Once the news of both his extraordinary achievement and his reasoned explanation spread beyond the palace walls, it reverberated throughout Alf's Royal Forest, shaking the entire community with awe.
The White Elves, loyal and devoted to their prince, felt a profound respect for Ember.
Many gathered at the perimeters of the Royal Palace, offering gestures of reverence, devotion, and gratitude to their prince for his courage and sense of responsibility.
Ember, however, was entirely embarrassed by the display of admiration.
While his words had been truthful, his intentions had been far less noble than those around him assumed.
He had acted not out of selflessness or a desire to inspire devotion, but purely to test his own limits and improve his abilities.
With a quiet sigh, he resolved to return his focus entirely to his training and self-improvement.
Over the past five months, Ember had committed himself to daily combat training, continuously slaying monsters in close combat.
He refined his swordsmanship through repeated engagements with a variety of creatures, while for larger and stronger opponents—such as Killer Ants, War Shadows, and even Orcs—he supplemented his close combat with precise bow attacks.
The Killer Ants and War Shadows, in particular, were infamous as "newbie killers," much like the duo of Kobolds and Goblins that Ember had faced initially.
The former two were primarily found within dungeons, posing extreme danger to inexperienced adventurers, while the latter two were encountered more often in the wilds outside Orario, where large accidental hordes could overwhelm unprepared travelers.
Ember also relied on his congenital magic to deal with more dangerous targets, such as Orcs, demonstrating his growing mastery over these innate spells.
Over time, he realized the necessity of learning and mastering concurrent chanting spells.
Though these spells required long incantations, their power could be a true game-changer in the wild, giving him the ability to slay Level 2 monsters efficiently.
While these long chants were impractical against sentient opponents due to their time requirements, they provided a decisive advantage when confronting aggressive monsters, enhancing both his survival and combat efficacy.
By combining his swordsmanship, bow mastery, and growing magical capabilities, Ember steadily pushed himself beyond his prior limits.
He had begun to establish a unique blend of skills that would allow him to face increasingly dangerous monsters and survive encounters that would have been fatal for most untrained adventurers.
Over these months, he had not only proven his own talent and perseverance but had also laid the foundation for future feats that could rival even the most seasoned warriors of Alf's Royal Forest.
...
{Riveria Pov}
I finished chanting my spell, letting the magical energy surge from the tip of my wand, and obliterated the foe standing against us—a Lizardman.
It had already been severely wounded, weakened to the brink of death by the poisonous arrows my companions had shot, leaving it essentially a practice target for me.
Now, after experiencing the full force of my magical prowess, it disintegrated into dust, even its Magic Stone completely decimated.
The Elves accompanying me began praising my performance.
The older Elf mages regarded me with pride, their expressions acknowledging my skill and potential, while the younger Elves looked at me with adoration, their admiration almost palpable.
Yet, to me, it all felt hollow.
I gripped my staff tighter, a sense of dissatisfaction gnawing at me.
'It's useless,' I thought bitterly.
'For decades, all I've been doing is killing monsters—even Level 2 or 3 threats—while gravely injured by Elf Archers and soldiers. Even hunts that once brought me some thrill now feel dull, lifeless, and repetitive.'
I had been born a High Elf, an Elf of Royal lineage, the noblest among our kind.
The power and authority that came with my position were staggering.
A single command from me would have the Elves obeying without hesitation or question.
I had always loved reading—books filled with knowledge of the world beyond Alf's Royal Forest and the mysteries of magic.
I had read extensively, endlessly, consuming enough knowledge to fill half of the Royal Library, yet the spark I sought had remained dormant for far too long.
I craved change.
I longed for a challenge that would truly test my limits.
And that spark, that hidden ember of ambition and drive, was reignited by the reckless audacity of my younger brother, Ember Ljos Alf.
Like me, he had been born with a destiny steeped in privilege and expectation: sheltered, revered, and respected.
Yet, he also shared my love of knowledge.
From a very young age, his genius had been evident.
He had mastered the basics of Elvish language within six months of speaking his first words at seven months old.
His early development had been extraordinary.
He began walking at nine months, astonishing our family with his physical and mental abilities.
From there, he continued to display remarkable aptitude: mastering Koine, demonstrating exceptional talent in arithmetic, possessing nearly perfect memory that allowed him to memorize almost everything taught to him.
He began Archery training early, started learning magic at an equally young age, and now, at sixteen, had even mastered swordsmanship to a degree far beyond what most could achieve in decades of practice.
At first glance, these accomplishments might not seem entirely exceptional if one ignored the degree of mastery he had over each respective field.
The level of skill he displayed was comparable only to those who had spent decades honing their craft, or to those few extraordinary individuals bestowed with divine grace.
Discussions of Falna—the blessings of the Gods—and of the Gods themselves had always intrigued me, though my father had a deep-seated disdain for them and forbade such inquiries.
Despite his stance, I had attempted to verify the existence and actions of the Gods through interactions with Elf adventurers who frequently visited Alf's Royal Forest.
According to them, the Gods treated our world almost as if it were a game, but they were not devoid of emotion or moral complexity.
I had even heard a story of a God mourning the loss of a child, weeping for hours before eventually calming, leaving an Elf witness to describe the God as deeply sorrowful, depressed for weeks following the child's death.
From this, I had come to my own conclusion: much like mankind, the Gods varied greatly in disposition.
Some were purely evil, some selfish, and some remarkably kind.
Their personalities were as diverse as those of mortals, capable of both cruelty and compassion.
My father, however, refused to believe such things.
Bound by the strict traditions of our lineage, tasked with guarding Alf's Royal Forest and leading our people, he denied my every request to explore the world beyond our borders.
His rigid adherence to tradition and suspicion of the outside world had confined me, leaving my curiosity and desire for true challenge to simmer quietly beneath the surface.
There were a few things in my life that truly gave me joy, and my little brother Ember was undeniably one of them.
Watching him engrossed in books, his eyes sharply focused on the pages, brought a calming sense of peace to me.
Seeing him embarrassed or struggling to express his feelings was incredibly endearing; it made me smile in ways I rarely allowed myself to show.
Though he often appeared cold and aloof to others, I knew that his demeanor was a result of him going with the flow of life, perhaps mixed with subtle frustration over the overly doting and indulgent treatment he often received.
What I could never fully understand, however, was why he was so determined to grow stronger.
It wasn't that I didn't comprehend ambition, but he had relatively little experience in the world outside our sheltered existence.
Yet, despite not truly needing power for survival or protection, he craved it with such intensity—it was baffling, fascinating, and somewhat inspiring all at once.
There were countless moments when my little brother made me feel pride swell within me, and I could not help but marvel at him.
His reckless actions—charging alone into combat against monsters such as kobolds and goblins, which were among the weakest creatures of the bunch, using nothing but a sword—had almost given me a heart attack when I first heard of it.
Yet, oddly enough, it sparked something within me.
I found myself yearning to experience even a fraction of the thrill he must have felt while battling those monsters.
I was already an accomplished archer, with extensive experience to back me up, and my congenital magic was formidable enough that, if I focused all of my mind, I could kill a single Level 3 monster.
But therein lay the problem. I was a poor swordswoman, having struggled with it since my early training and eventually giving up entirely because I was neither skilled nor suited for it.
The only close-combat weapons at which I excelled were the spear or the polearm.
While effective under certain conditions, they were far from ideal for a falnaless Elf like me to charge alone into a horde of monsters without substantial backup.
"Is something the matter, Princess?" my instructor, Arina, asked, concern lacing her voice, pulling me from my thoughts.
I shook my head slowly, responding, "Nothing much. I was just thinking about how to improve my abilities."
She nodded in acknowledgment, though I could tell she still worried about the intensity of my contemplation.
Ugh, how much easier it would be if I had even a hint of falna, I thought bitterly, but no—I had a father who despised Gods outright, and a mother who, while not as opposed, would never intervene on my behalf, ever fearful that something might happen to me.
Despite the limitations of my life and the burdens of my lineage, having Ember in my life was a constant source of refreshment and joy.
His cuteness was soothing to my soul, and even though he was no longer a child, he retained an unassuming charm and radiance that made him extraordinarily captivating.
When he smiled, it was as if the entire world seemed to glow around him, a melody ringing faintly in my ears that no one else could hear.
'That's it!' I thought suddenly, a spark of determination igniting in my chest.
'Tomorrow, I will accompany Ember and observe him closely. I will see what I can learn from him, and perhaps improve my own abilities in the process!'
My eyes shone at the thought, and I hummed quietly to myself, comfortably seated in the carriage, feeling a rare mixture of excitement and anticipation for what the next day would bring.
...
A few hours ago,
{Ember's Pov}
My close-combat abilities had grown by leaps and bounds over the past several months, reaching a level of proficiency that was nothing short of remarkable.
I had slain over three thousand monsters using nothing but my swordsmanship, a feat that, if recorded in any statistical measure, would have undoubtedly earned me three or four hundred points in combat skill, had I possessed falna.
But that was a limitation I had learned to work around, and I refused to dwell on it.
Today, however, my focus was on a new goal, one that had driven me to venture deep into the southern region of the Alf's Royal Kingdom, well within the dense expanse of the forest, in order to accomplish it.
"Your Highness, the scout has returned with a report indicating the presence of a small group of Killer Ants," an Elf commander approached me, bowing slightly before speaking.
Noel, as always, was behind me, standing vigilant and alert, performing his role as my ever-dutiful bodyguard with the precision and seriousness befitting his station.
One might wonder, with so many monsters appearing in the Alf's Royal Forest, why the forest seemed so dangerous despite our rigorous security measures.
The truth was, in this era, the underwater dungeon entrances had not yet been sealed, and none of the three great quests had been officially announced.
This meant that Behemoth, Leviathan, and other dangerous monsters were still alive, breeding unchecked, and their populations continued to grow.
Fighting against such unpredictable monster hordes cost countless lives and could devastate even the most disciplined forces.
To mitigate this, my grandfather had devised an incredibly clever strategy.
He allowed certain monster nests to remain intact along the perimeter of the Alf's Royal Forest, areas where adventuring Elves often gathered—either as retirees enjoying a break after decades of service or as active adventurers seeking to hone their skills.
These adventurers would not only manage and control the monster populations selectively but also use them as practical experience for training.
Only certain species were permitted to thrive in these designated areas, primarily Level 1 creatures that posed minimal risk.
Simultaneously, a constant stream of monsters attempted to breach the Alf's Royal Forest, most of which were eliminated at the outer perimeter, but some did manage to slip inside.
These stray monsters were either intercepted by fortress soldiers or deliberately guided into designated areas to serve as practice targets for Elf Mages and Archers.
The plan, while ingenious, carried inherent risks, yet it proved highly effective.
Even Falnaless Elves became a force to be reckoned with under this system.
Amazons, the Rakia Kingdom, and other neighboring powers were deterred from even contemplating an invasion.
Should any attempt to breach the forest occur, they would face not only the resident Elves but also a contingent of adventuring Elves who could be mobilized instantly from across the world at the first sign of danger to their homeland.
Now, according to the reports, a small group of Killer Ants had escaped into the inner regions of the Alf's Royal Forest.
They had been located, and I quickly made my decision.
Turning to my commanders and guards, I stated firmly, "I would like to engage in close combat with them—and before anyone panics, I want you to hear my full plan in its entirety."
My words caused a moment of visible shock among those present.
Noel exhaled a long, resigned sigh, while the others waited patiently, bracing themselves to hear the complete details of the plan I intended to execute.
"I want the Elf Archers and Mages to eliminate all the Killer Ants, leaving only a single one unharmed," I commanded, my voice firm and resolute.
"Once that is done, I want you to drive the remaining ant to a predetermined location, where I and a small group of seasoned soldiers will be waiting. Elf Archers should maintain their positions as lookout to ensure the area is secure. I will engage in close combat with it, but this setup will also guarantee my safety while I do so."
The soldiers and Archers let out collective sighs upon hearing my plan, clearly acknowledging the risk involved, yet the moment they processed my authority and the strategy's logic, they responded with a unified, thunderous voice: "Yes, Your Highness!!"
Immediately, the plan was set into motion.
Noel and five other highly skilled soldiers positioned themselves alongside me, ready for the engagement.
On average, just three soldiers would suffice to handle a Killer Ant, but for my safety and to ensure the encounter remained under control, more personnel were deployed.
"Very well," I said, issuing precise orders, my tone calm but commanding.
"Noel, I want you and one other soldier to engage the Killer Ant alongside me initially. Should the fight become unfavorable, the rest of you will intervene without hesitation."
The soldiers nodded solemnly, quickly deciding among themselves who would take the role of the second combatant.
"It's coming!" shouted an Elf Archer perched on a sturdy tree branch.
Through the foliage, we saw the Killer Ant charging toward our position.
Its red exoskeleton gleamed menacingly, three pairs of powerful limbs propelling it forward at alarming speed.
Its massive mandibles snapped as if ready to crush bone and sinew with a single bite.
Without a moment's hesitation, I barked the command: "Attack!"
Drawing my sword from the sheath strapped securely to my left side, I charged forward with full speed.
The Killer Ant screeched in response, its mandibles clicking aggressively, a chilling sound of pure predatory intent.
I had observed Killer Ants from a distance before—riddled with arrows, immobilized by magic—but never had I faced one in direct, close-quarter combat.
The thrill surged through me as it lunged, aiming to crush me alive.
I grinned, relishing the rush, and feinted to the side, moving past its frontal assault.
Noel struck at its face simultaneously, forcing the creature to split its focus.
Confusion clouded its movements as it tried to defend against multiple attacks at once.
Seeing an opening, I leapt with precision and drove my sword toward its throat.
The clang of metal against the hard exoskeleton echoed sharply; I had miscalculated and barely grazed it.
I withdrew quickly, adjusting my stance, while the second Elf soldier drew its attention away from me.
Focusing intently on its neck, I channeled all my precision and strength into a single decisive strike.
I charged forward and delivered a powerful slash, cleaving through its exoskeleton and severing its head in one clean motion.
The head rolled to the forest floor, and a sense of accomplishment surged through me as I surveyed the lifeless body at my feet.
"That was amazing, Your Highness! Your swordsmanship is as remarkable as ever!" the soldier praised, admiration clear in his tone.
"No need," I interrupted calmly, shutting him down before he could continue.
"I made a mistake in my first attack; otherwise, it would have been dead with the first strike."
"Indeed, Your Highness," Noel said, though he smiled with obvious pride.
"However, your initial misstep was only due to lack of experience in close combat against them. You quickly composed yourself and executed a flawless follow-up strike. The beheading was swift and precise, and that is no small feat."
I nodded, acknowledging his words silently.
While the moment wasn't as glorious or exhilarating as my first day facing the hordes, it was nonetheless satisfying.
Each successful kill meant fewer obstacles and less effort in future hunts, and that thought alone brought a quiet sense of accomplishment.
"Let's call it a day, Noel," I said finally, signaling my intent to conclude the hunt.
"I am satisfied with today's progress."
My stomach growled faintly at the thought of the evening meal, prepared with care by Remia and the palace staff, and I was eager to enjoy the delicacies awaiting me.
With orders given, we gathered our equipment, and the group made its way back through the forest toward the Royal Palace, the fading light of the day casting long shadows over the path we traveled.
To be continued…