The war was not something any sane individual wished to participate in. While some exceptions existed, it was not the norm.
When one stepped onto the battlefield, they usually carried with them a mixture of reasons why they fought. Some fought for glory, some fought for personal satisfaction, and some fought to defend their home out of sheer patriotism.
However, what differentiated this war against the beast was that if the elves lost, they would have been enslaved and used as cattle for the southern savages. This was not mere war, but a struggle for existence.
No sentient being wished to be eaten and treated like a cattle animal. Thus, even if weaker, each elven warrior fought with a ferocity never before seen in their history.
Despite their relative weakness, defeat meant becoming food for the savages.
While the Southern Beasts could have crushed them a long time ago, the presence of elites kept them at bay. Any time a large groups of beasts were spotted by their scouts, either Azure Hallowshield or the Spymaster Lira and their unit would have been dispatched to deal with them.
Thus, normal soldiers were left to deal with small amounts of remaining invaders.
However, in the past few days, the number of skirmishes they engaged in grew sparser.
Two heavily armored men stood at a hastily built wooden watchtower as their green cloaks fluttered in the wind; their duty was to raise an alarm if the beasts approached, and fortunately, none ventured toward their outpost.
"This really should make me feel more at ease, yet I cannot seem to get it out of my head that they are planning something."
"Commander, the beasts are not capable of strategy; if their numbers are reduced, it might mean that they have lost a sizable portion of their population and can no longer maintain their attacks."
"I suppose so, I suppose so." The commander crossed his arms as his gaze fell over yonder. It was a quiet night that he prayed for, yet now it filled him with unease. "Boy, send the scouts, I won't be able to rest until it is confirmed that no beasts are waiting in ambush."
The last thing we need is another Seventh Moon fiasco. Losing so many soldiers to an ambush was an embarrassment beyond compare, yet he had not heard from the royal family. His first assumption was that they merely did not think it was worth their attention.
Arrogant as ever. His brow quivered, and he leaned on the wooden railing.
Nobody had ever questioned why the beastman tribes united merely to fight against his home.
Of course, it was not true unity like humanity or elves had when they built their kingdoms; instead, it was a loose alliance of various tribes, some prone to violence, while in rare exceptions, they went against their nature.
The tribal alliance had attacked them, and ever since then, elven lives have suffered. Before they fought with each other, they thus kept their numbers to a manageable degree. They could protect their citizens from being captured and eaten, yet until recently, it grew harder to do so.
Then, the attacks grew sparse.
"What if it's some kind of trick?" The generals would not believe him, nor did the capital respond to his concerns; it was like his leaders wanted their people to become pets to creatures of lesser intellect.
His gaze turned up toward the full moon that hung above his head. A soft sigh escaped his lips as his eyes wandered to the blood-stained clearing in front of him.
A single light flickered in the forest that bordered the clearing in the distance, which prompted him to squint his eyes.
Then appeared two more, then three.
His eyes widened, "An Attack!"
While it shouldn't have made him relieved, it was certainly better than the silent unease that invaded him.
He turned sharply toward the guardhouse and pushed the door open. Inside was a small chair, a table with various reports, and a single candle that served as the light source. From the ceiling, a long rope connected to the bronze bell that hung from the tower.
His gauntlet wrapped at the end of the rope, and with a powerful pull, a loud sound rang through the elven encampment. It was time to defend their kingdom once more.
The commander pulled his sword out and rushed out. He approached the ladder and quickly slid down.
It did not take too long for the savages to make themselves known.
The bipedal beasts of various sizes made their way toward the opening, their fur only covered by the crude leather and cloth, and their weapons primitive iron and bone.
They were the very image of primitive savages. However, what disgusted him the most was what their vanguard consisted of. Around the necks of large furry tiger-like beastkin, they wore necklaces of Elven ears and teeth.
Some carried the heads of slain warriors, possibly a way to honor their opponent, or likely a mere brag of their battle prowess. Yet even those severed heads lacked their ears.
When an elf was slain, the beasts always took the ears as a trophy. It was such a disgusting practice that the commander wished to puke.
A loud roar stunned him, and then the beasts charged. Yet the forces who stood behind him did not yield. They had faced the hordes many times before, and this attack was smaller than before.
"Casters! Rain hell upon them!" The very moment his order reached his soldiers' ears, the rain of fire and ice descended upon the horde. Yet they were relentless.
A small drop of blood formed on his lips as his teeth dug into them. "Warriors, prepare for impact!"
The elven forces could not face the beasts head-on; they were far too physically strong. The only way to repel them was to use their superior tactics.
A wall of steel formed next to him.
"Casters, Barriers!"
A thin veil of magic formed between them and the beasts.
The vanguard slowed down and raised their crude weaponry.
Clang
The barrier threw them back slightly, which the elves used to charge forward and pierce the beasts with their spears and swords.
After a single strike, they retreated, and the barrier formed again. The beasts charged forward once more, and the action repeated.
The commander gripped his sword tightly as the number of beasts thinned.
A loud roar echoed from the distance, and instead of pressing on, the beasts stopped and retreated.
His teeth clenched.
The earth rumbled, and from the forest appeared a creature. It was the only way to call it.
It was a gigantic lizard-like entity. It wore armor made of dragon bone and in its hand carried the massive cleaver of the same material.
"A… a brute! Retreat!" The commander motioned for his forces to fall back. "Casters place barriers and hit that thing!"
Yet the barriers popped as if they were made of soap, instead of even slowing down the brute it was much like walking over a simple pebble.
His troops fell back, and he withdrew his blade. If he could save even one of his soldiers, then he would die fighting, despite it being hopeless.
Defilers! Heretics! Did you think I would not find you?! Did you think my Mistress would sit idly as you defile her temples?! A powerful voice rang around them. And the time seemed to slow down to a crawl.
Then the sky darkened, the moon turned dark, and the mists surrounded the battlefield.
From the lunar eclipse descended a young woman. She wore a long, frilly black dress, and her hair almost reached her heels. In her hands, she held a large silver glavie that was reminiscent of a crescent moon.
Her face was soft and her eyes black.
Her eyes left a streak of dark mists, and her posture was of someone who held absolute confidence.
"Behold! You defilers, I am the Blessed Child of Mistress Len, the goddess of Night! Carve the name of Ilya into your worthless skulls!" Her presence stunned even the brute.
The beasts who relied on instinct knew they had no chance against the woman before them.
She held a greater blessing of Night. Nobody but other blessed children would ever stand a chance against her.
"A… a blessed child." The commander gulped.
She swung her glaive and threw it over her shoulder as her gaze fell on the retreating elves. "Run away, little elves. I have business to attend to."
The commander merely nodded. He was not one to deny a salvation served on a silver platter.
The elven force retreated, leaving the woman to face off against the brute.
Her face darkened, "How dare you exist in my presence, how dare you defile a temple honoring my lady?" Her voice was calm yet crackling with hidden fury.
She brandished her Glaive, and a streak of silvery light escaped its blade.
It expanded and cut into the ground.
The light hit the brute, and the world went silent. In a moment, a small splash of blood escaped the brute, and its body split into two.
As their ace fell, the remaining savages whimpered and attempted to run away; however, she would not allow such a thing.
The mists grew thicker.
Anyone who dared enter them would be consumed by the darkness.
"Done and dusted." The glavie dematerialized, and Illya rubbed her hands together.
She looked up and clasped her hands together. "My Lady, your will be done."
While the vengeance for her lady's temples was an important task, she had something even more important.
"If my Lady considers it more important, then…" Her lips formed a wry smile. She would fulfill her mission, no matter what.
The dark fog surrounded her, and Illya disappeared.