"Alas, at this time every year, Silvermoon City will have a firework show to welcome the arrival of the new year. It seems that there is no chance this year." Aminel murmured to herself in the camp.
"Check the arcane energy of the magic cannons. If it is not enough, keep reloading. The next wave of troll attacks will come soon." Leylin and Tyr'ganal reminded the mages around them to build defenses again.
Behind this army is the Farstrider Enclave. Since Kul'krazahn ordered a full-scale attack on the elven camp, the Sanctum of the Moon and the Sanctum of the Sun have all suffered a certain degree of heavy damage.
In the current Ghostlands, the elves' transportation routes have been cut off. Now the Farstrider Enclave has become the only important place for storing supplies and baggage.
Tyr'ganal, his face dusty, stepped down from the magic cannon position. His hair dishevelled, his brow furrowed. "We've held out here for half a month, since our last mission. I wonder how much longer Commander Thalorien will let us continue."
Tyr'ganal was frustrated. Staying here, passively taking the brunt of the blow, wasn't his style. He casually threw the energy storage array aside to vent his frustration.
Leylin patted Tyr'ganal's shoulder and said, "The situation isn't just tense here; every camp in the Ghostlands faces the same danger. The trolls' first offensive is almost over, and I think we'll launch a counterattack."
Before the war began, Leylin hadn't imagined the elves would find themselves in such a vulnerable position. The once-established defensive line had been broken apart within ten days, leaving each camp to fend for itself.
"How many soldiers are left in our army?" Leylin asked.
Tyr'ganal stood up and surveyed the entire front. There were no more than a hundred warriors and rangers still able to move.
"Over half the troops have been injured, and half have retreated to the Farstrider Enclave to receive treatment from the priests."
The situation wasn't too bad. As the leader of this unit, Leylin had a clear understanding of his troops' combat effectiveness. The average number of soldiers was sufficient to withstand the incoming troll attacks.
The trolls engaging Leylin's troops were also suffering losses, and they didn't seem to be sending reinforcements.
The trolls were fighting a desperate battle, determined to break through all the elven camps in the Ghostlands in one swoop.
To maintain the soldiers' morale, Leylin stood up and shouted to them, "My glorious and brave rangers and warriors, the troll offensive is beginning to weaken, and victory is within our grasp."
"For Quel'Thalas!" the rangers and soldiers shouted in unison.
These days of fighting had changed the soldiers' entire camp's perception of this human mage. Perhaps before the battle, some elven soldiers had disobeyed Leylin's orders and movements, but during the troll attacks, this mage repeatedly led the charge, charging at the forefront of all the soldiers.
Every time the battle reached a stalemate, this mage would use his extraordinary magical memory to secure victory.
Aminel, who had been silent until then, looked at Leylin and said, "I have to say, you're becoming more of a leader now."
"So you've emerged from your reverie. I thought you were simply lost in the beauty of the Lunar Festival." Leylin smiled.
Aminel rolled her eyes at Leylin and chided him, "You don't understand. The Lunar Festival is the most wonderful holiday for young elves. All the girls look forward to this holiday, watching the fireworks with their beloved elves, hoping for a happy life in the coming year."
"Elves are generally long-lived, so such opportunities are plentiful." Leylin said sarcastically. Leylin could only think of fifteen such festivals.
Aminel looked at Leylin tenderly and said, "You'll accompany me next year, right?"
Leylin didn't refuse. He nodded and said, "Of course I won't refuse an invitation from a beautiful mage like you."
"Just the two of us?" Aminel said greedily.
"Uh, and Vereesa, I'll discuss this with her then," Leylin said matter-of-factly.
Aminel blushed; she hadn't expected Leylin to be such a scoundrel. Just as she was about to raise her fist to strike him, Leylin shouted in alarm.
"Everyone, alert! The trolls are coming."
This time, the troll soldiers looked different. Their equipment appeared quite sophisticated. Not only did they wield spears, but they also had shorter daggers at their waists.
Leylin remembered these soldiers; he had seen these well-trained elite trolls in Zul'Aman.
As a rational leader, Leylin knew the trolls' target wasn't them, but the Farstrider Enclave behind them.
The attacking trolls numbered no more than a hundred, yet Leylin felt an unprecedented pressure.
"Control the magic cannons, Tyr'ganal, and unleash all the arcane energy," Leylin said sternly.
Tyr'ganal rolled his eyes, nodded, and quickly climbed to the rear magic cannon position. There were four magic cannons and sixteen arcane bombs.
"Let's go, Aminel! We must attack proactively." Leylin knew the quality of these troll soldiers; these elite trolls were many times stronger than ordinary trolls.
Aminel looked at the trolls, now dressed in their new attire, then at Leylin. After a brief moment of thought, Aminel suddenly kissed Leylin's dry lips.
After a brief contact, Aminel turned and took the highest position on the battlefield. Leylin surprised by Aminel's surprise attack but had no time to relish the sudden kiss.
"Warriors, attack!" Leylin leaped and dived.
A gleaming golden staff followed Leylin closely, its powerful arcane energy instantly engulfing the trolls at the forefront.
Tyr'ganal controlled the magic cannon, bombarding the rear of the troll formation frantically. Each arcane bomb incapacitated at least two elite trolls who were unable to dodge.
A frost storm arrived, and Aminel circulated the frost elements in the air, pouring down cones of ice into the troll formation.
The troll soldiers came into contact with the elven warriors, and the elven soldiers sensed the difference between these troll warriors: their powerful fighting energy.
The air was thick with chaos and despair as the battle reached its brutal climax. The troll's sharp spear flashed like a deadly lightning bolt, piercing through the elf's delicate armor with a sickening crunch.
Blood erupted from the elf's wound, spraying across the battlefield—and, in a cruel twist of fate, splattered directly onto Leylin's face. For a moment, Leylin's mind froze in shock.
The crimson stain was hot and sticky, a visceral reminder of the peril that lurked here. But as he looked into the fallen elf's eyes—those shimmering pools of life and hope—something deep within him shifted.
These elves, nameless yet noble, had fought valiantly at his side, their courage shining even in the face of death. A strange, almost primal surge of emotion swept over Leylin.
His usual calm, calculated demeanor was shattered, replaced by a fierce, burning anger. His eyes, once cold and analytical, now blazed with a bloodshot intensity that seemed to sear through the chaos.
They were no longer mere eyes—they were infernos, capable of incinerating everything in their path. The battlefield seemed to tremble under the weight of his wrath.
Leylin's voice, usually precise and measured, now roared with a ferocity that echoed like thunder. "You dare to spill their blood? You will pay—every single one of you!"