Alleria stepped into the hall and slapped the letter with its wax seal onto the table.
Ruviel, her adjutant, followed her inside holding a stack of files.
Catching sight of the emblem on the envelope, his footsteps faltered.
“A letter from the Silvermoon Council?” Alleria pushed the parchment across the table.
Ruviel scanned the handwriting, his face darkening.
“A joint repatriation order.
Border trespass categorization, human status, diplomatic balance…
A seven-day deadline.” Frost hung over Alleria’s eyes.
Ruviel set the letter down and looked at her.
“How did the Ranger-General respond?” “Father said,” her voice was steady and icy, “if the Silvermoon Council has an issue, they are welcome to come to Windrunner Spire and discuss it in person.” Li Fan learned of the news an hour later.
Ailong walked up to him and delivered the message with terse bluntness: “A letter from Silvermoon.
They want you gone.” Li Fan was sitting on the stone steps of the supply area.
Without looking up, he rested a half-modified scrap arrow on his knee, pulled out a half-empty pouch of dried jerky, tore off a piece, and chewed.
“Seven days.
That’s enough time.” Ailong stared at him.
“Enough time to do what?” “Enough time to make the Council realize that kicking me out right now would be very inconvenient.” Ailong looked at him for three seconds.
Asking no further questions, he cut straight to the point: “This afternoon, signs of Amani scouts were found deep in the northern foothills.
Hawksbill is sending the Shadowwing Squad to handle it.
Are you coming?” “I’m in.” “Bring your bow.” Ailong turned and walked off.
Laying out a top-secret mission right in front of a trainee spoke louder than any words of persuasion.
Just as Ailong left, Firas stepped out from behind a nearby wooden post.
“You don’t sound worried at all.” For once, the normally proud ranger initiated a conversation.
“Worried about what?” “About being kicked out by Silvermoon City.” Li Fan stuffed the pouch back into his pocket.
“‘Worry’ is a hunter’s third cardinal sin on the battlefield.” He picked up the discarded arrow and resumed filing it.
“Right behind an empty stomach and oversleeping.” Firas opened his mouth, but offered no rebuttal.
He stood behind the post for a long time before turning and walking away.
In the afternoon.
When Alleria found Li Fan, he was at the edge of the training ring testing his modified heavy arrows.
Twelve consecutive black-iron heavy arrows slammed into the wooden target from the exact same angle, tearing the hole wider and wider.
The final arrow lodged firmly deep within the grain.
Li Fan stepped forward, planted his boot against the target frame, grabbed the fletching with one hand, and pried it out, bringing along a chunk of wood chips.
He flicked off the debris and turned around.
Alleria stood three paces away.
She wasn’t wearing her leather armor today, having changed into a slate-blue high-collared tunic, stripping away her usual deadly aura.
“You know about the Council’s letter?” she asked.
“Yeah.” “I didn’t come to tell you to pack up and get out.” Li Fan quietly waited for her to continue.
“Father read the letter this morning,” Alleria said calmly.
“His exact words were to tell the Council to come to Windrunner Spire and talk to him themselves.
He said this forest requires elite tracking and killer instincts, not noble elven heritage.” Li Fan slid the heavy arrow back into his quiver.
“Pass along my thanks to the Ranger-General for his kind gesture.” Alleria’s brow furrowed.
“I’m not passing messages for him!
I…” She paused, forcing her emotions down and reinstating her icy facade.
“There are scouts active in the northern foothills this afternoon.
You’ll be with Ailong’s squad.
Keep your eyes on the prey, and don’t make any reckless moves.” With that, she turned to leave.
But after only five steps, she froze in place.
Keeping her back to Li Fan, her voice dropped to a quiet level: “How long have you been here?” Li Fan hesitated slightly.
“Two months.” A brief silence followed.
“What you’ve done in these two months…” she murmured.
“The skirmish in the eastern foothills—eight Amani trolls, and you took out four.
The patrol blind spot on the southwest side of the barrier—you pointed it out.
And that Ironhide Boar King—Hawksbill assigned you to it, and you brought back its tusks.” She inhaled the forest breeze.
“In the middle of the night, you repaired the heavy axe in the tool shed.
I only noticed when inspecting the gear this morning.” Li Fan spoke casually.
“The internal damage on that axe was too severe.
If left unpatched, the next person who used it would have lost their hands.” Alleria turned around, her eyes locked onto Li Fan.
Deep in her gaze, something long suppressed was beginning to loosen.
“And now, a single slip of paper from the Silvermoon Council is going to kick you out like a stray dog!” There was an edge of anger in her voice that even she hadn’t realized.
Li Fan shrugged.
“So I still have seven days left here to kill trolls.
Wasting time worrying about scrap paper is a hunter’s third—” “Enough, shut up!” Alleria cut him off and turned away decisively, her brisk steps almost like she was running from something.
After a few paces, her right hand instinctively pressed hard against the rim of her waist quiver—a telltale habit of a ranger trying desperately to restrain her emotions.
Li Fan took it all in, without uttering another word.
When they assembled in the afternoon, an unusual silence hung over the camp.
Word of Silvermoon’s letter had already spread.
Tanner expressionlessly unbuckled and re-buckled the strap on his bow case—a strap he had already checked three times that morning.
Aiming walked up to the rack, pulled an extra spare arrow, and slipped it into his side quiver.
Hawksbill emerged from the storage area.
His expression was impassive as his gaze swept over the lined-up squad, lingering on Li Fan for a single second.
Saying nothing, he turned and entered the barracks.
Ailong stood at the front of the formation.
As Li Fan approached, he spat out five words: “Today, you take the lead.” “Got it.” Li Fan gripped his black bow.
Firas stood on Ailong’s other side.
The normally sarcastic ranger was unusually quiet today, failing to utter a single snide remark all day.
The squad crept into the depths of the northern foothills.
Li Fan led the way in front.
The twilight canopy turned a deep bronze, and the wind flipped the leaves to reveal their pale undersides.
Li Fan’s combat boots trod almost silently over the slick moss.
Behind him, the rangers stepped precisely in his footprints, the group blending seamlessly into the dead quiet of the forest.
As dusk completely swallowed the woods, the squad began their journey back.
Seven Amani scouts had been completely wiped out.
No escapees, no casualties, with bloodstains and footprints wiped away cleanly.
The entire operation took an hour less than expected.
On the dark path back, Ailong, walking in the middle, suddenly crouched by a tree root.
He dug a metallic object out of the mud, wiped away the dirt, glanced at it, and handed it to Li Fan.
It was an old Silvermoon ranger insignia badge.
The style was ancient, the edges of the emblem heavily worn, and the metal surface tarnished from oxidation.
Once, an unnamed ranger had fallen here, their badge trodden into the mud and obscured by roots.
Li Fan took the piece of metal, gripping it in his palm.
It was light, yet carried a cold, solid weight.
He slipped the badge into his pocket and kept marching, bow in hand.
Under the cover of night, the forest grew ever more silent.
Treading on the moss, the rangers made dull, muted footfalls as they returned to Northridge Camp.