Before dawn broke, a damp, biting cold seeped like a living thing from the stone walls, creeping up Li Fan’s spine.
He lay quietly on the hard wooden cot, listening through the narrow window to the night wind of Eversong Woods rustling through the pines like the muffled whisper of an ancient beast.
With a heavy scraping sound, the thick ironwood door was pushed open.
Ranger Karan stood at the entrance with a cold expression, gesturing toward the corridor with a jerk of his chin.
Li Fan sat up, but didn’t leave immediately.
Unhurriedly, he folded the thin blanket, aligned the corners, and smoothed out every crease with his palm.
Karan watched this meticulous display in silence, his eyes flickering slightly, though he said nothing.
The air in the corridor was a bit warmer, carrying a sharp blend of bitter pine resin and the tang of rain-soaked leaves.
Alleria was already standing at the far end, her form-fitting leather armor outlining her sharp, cold posture.
Her expression was like frost, her military boots tapping out a precise, urgent cadence against the gray stone floor.
Li Fan walked between Falani and Karan, his hands loosely bound with leather cord.
As they pushed open the side door of the spire, the morning breeze blew gently across his face.
Falani walked beside him, a hint of sweet peacebloom scent rising from her collar in the wind.
Driven by a hunter’s keen instinct for his surroundings, Li Fan took a deep breath.
That subtle movement made Falani tense instantly like a drawn bowstring.
The tips of her long ears flushed a dangerous, faint red, and her hand snapped to her sword hilt.
“Keep your mouth shut, human.
Make another disgusting sound like that and I’ll cut out your tongue.” “I didn’t say a single word.” “You inhaled.
You’re intruding on a ranger’s personal space.” “Falani.” Alleria, walking in front, didn’t turn around, her voice clear and cold as a mountain spring.
“How many eyeballs did you pierce on that troll who crossed the border last week?” “Three, Commander.” “He heard you.
Stop wasting breath.” Li Fan subtly shifted his stride half an inch sideways, passing Falani to lock his eyes onto Alleria’s slender yet powerful back.
“Commander, your scent is quite different from this lady’s.
No soothing herbs—just pure violet.
Very aggressive, very offensive-oriented.” Alleria stopped dead in her tracks and spun around.
A deadly draft swept up with her movement.
She didn’t draw her blade; instead, her hand shot out, her thumb and forefinger clamping hard around Li Fan’s jaw.
The grip was heavy with intent to kill.
At such close range, the overwhelming pressure of an apex predator radiated from her polar-ice blue eyes without reservation.
The air between them seemed to freeze solid.
“Say one more word and you lose your tongue.” Forced to tilt his head back, Li Fan met her gaze directly, showing no sign of retreat.
The corner of his mouth curved into a defiant arc, forcing words through his teeth: “The hand you’re using right now is your left.
That isn’t your dominant hand.” Alleria’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Her fingers instinctively loosened a fraction—a defensive reflex so subtle she hadn’t even consciously realized it.
Immediately after, she released him cleanly, brushing off her leather armor as if flicking away non-existent dust, before turning to walk on.
Only this time, the rhythm of her heels striking the stone floor was half a beat faster than before.
The training grounds were situated on the eastern side of the northern camp.
As soon as they rounded the low wall, the dense hum of vibrating bowstrings and the sharp whistle of arrows cutting through the air rushed over them like a wave.
Yet the moment Alleria led him through the side gate, the entire ground fell dead silent.
More than a dozen pairs of proud High Elven eyes locked firmly onto the human prisoner.
A ranger near the front broke the silence first, his tone carrying the innate arrogance of a long-lived race.
“Captain Alleria, what kind of trophy is this?” This ranger was Firas.
He held a magnificent longbow, its string shimmering with a pale blue arcane glow.
Glancing sideways at Li Fan, he sneered toward his companion.
“Picked him up from the woods?
Look at that ragged bow on his back—was it carved from a stick of firewood?” Another ranger chimed in coldly, “Firewood is at least straight.” Scattered laughter rippled through the crowd—not loud, but dripping with innate superiority.
Li Fan stood in place, displaying none of the embarrassment expected of a prisoner.
His calm gaze passed over the crowd, locking onto the lower limb of Firas’s bow, staring at it for a full three seconds.
Beneath the dazzling arcane glow, a fatal flaw had appeared at the pressure point near the tip.
*To speak, or not to speak?* Li Fan sighed quietly in his heart, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather: “You there, ranger.
The alignment groove on your lower bow tip is off.
If your next shot is a full-power Arcane Shot, the string will snap, and the broken limb will slice right across the web of your thumb like a razor.” The laughter stopped abruptly.
The casual composure on Firas’s face vanished instantly, replaced by a gaze as sharp as a blade.
“A magicless human trying to teach a High Elf how to use a bow?
This is a masterpiece crafted by a master of Silvermoon City.
I’ve tempered it in Eversong Woods for three years.
What do you know?” Before the words fully landed, he raised his hand, arcane power surging along the bow limbs.
Li Fan stepped back half a pace to the side, completely clearing the line of fire.
He made a courteous ‘after you’ gesture and said no more.
Beside them, Ranger Aiming sensed the absolute confidence in Li Fan’s aura and murmured, “Captain…” Too late.
Firas’s pride would never allow him to back down now.
Arcane energy gathered violently, pulling the rune-carved bowstring back into a full moon.
*Snap—* A sharp, metallic crack echoed violently through the air.
Losing its balance, the lower bow tip whipped back like an enraged viper, slamming with brutal kinetic energy straight onto Firas’s bow hand.
Blood sprayed instantly, dripping down his fair skin.
The magnificent longbow slipped from his grip and crashed onto the stone floor, vibrating with a mournful hum before finally settling into silence.
The massive training ground fell into absolute quiet.
Alleria stood in place, her chest heaving almost imperceptibly.
Firas stood frozen, staring blankly at his bloody, mangled hand.
Warm blood dripped onto the stone flags—one drop, two drops.
He forgot to even cover the wound, as if centuries of ingrained logic and pride had been shattered in an instant.
Li Fan withdrew his gaze and turned to Alleria, his demeanor perfectly composed.
“Now, Commander, can we find a place with a chair to talk?” Not a single person dared to shout at his breach of protocol.
The rangers who had been laughing moments ago shifted their eyes away awkwardly.
Firas slowly raised his head.
His eyes held no rage, only a complex and profound horror.
Clenching his teeth, he picked up the broken longbow with his bleeding hand, his blood staining the arcane runes.
Without wiping it away, he dragged his heavy, defeated steps off the training grounds.
The interrogation room was located on the bottom floor.
The ironwood table and chairs exhaled a stale scent, while a narrow window faced the inner courtyard, where faint bloodstains still marked the stone flags.
Alleria sat across the table, laying out the confiscated items one by one: a skinning knife, a barbed heavy spear, a worn Lordaeron hunter’s license, and the bag of dried smoked meat.
She raised her eyes, her gaze as sharp as a drawn blade, locking onto Li Fan.
“Your name, origin, true purpose for crossing the border.
And how you discovered that troll scout hiding in the canopy before you shot.
Answer them one by one.
Don’t waste my time—I will judge their truth myself.” Li Fan leaned back against the hard wooden chair, his posture relaxed.
“Li Fan.
A wandering hunter from eastern Lordaeron.
Chasing a bag of smoked meat.
As for the ambush—the rise and fall of his breathing didn’t match the frequency of the wind blowing through the canopy.
A tiny misalignment.” Alleria stared at him intently for five seconds.
She looked down, opening the frayed license, and spoke coldly: “This license is an expired document issued by Lordaeron.
But the way you generated power back in the woods today was by no means human marksmanship.” She looked up again, her eyes sharp enough to pierce through him.
“That was a ‘pure physical bow technique’—abandoning magic entirely to wring killing power out of raw flesh.
That is a lost battle technique of the Quel’Thalas rangers from five hundred years ago.
Where did you learn it?” Li Fan’s fingers resting on his knee paused briefly.
“A remnant scroll.
A blind mercenary.
And countless real battles where I barely survived.” The quill in Alleria’s hand froze over the parchment for a moment before resuming its scratching rhythm.
Immediately after, she bluntly threw out two tactical questions regarding the frequency of Amani troll activity in the south.
They sounded ordinary on the surface, but were exceptionally tricky—a deep probe into his tactical awareness worthy of a high commander.
Without hesitation, Li Fan threw his answers onto the table in the coldest, most precise terms possible.
The tip of the quill came to a heavy stop against the paper.
The gears groaned as the ironwood door locked shut again, the sound of military boots fading down the corridor.
Li Fan lay back down on the cold stone cot, staring up at the rough stone ceiling.
The sound of the broken bow crashing to the ground and Firas’s defeated back flashed through his mind.
Outside the corridor, faint raised voices leaked through the door frame.
“…classify the crossing…
follow standard procedure…
hand him over to the Silvermoon Ministry of Diplomacy…” came Alleria’s suppressed voice.
The other voice belonged to Karan, heavy with gravity: “But the Ranger-General heard about what happened at the training ground.
Her secret order is to detain him for now.
She wants to see him in person tomorrow before making a final call.” Li Fan pulled his ear away from the wall and lay flat on his back.
*They’re using protocol to protect me, while simultaneously using raw authority to keep me under total control.* The argument outside finally died down.
The footsteps faded completely into the far end of the hallway, and absolute silence descended.