I must kill him! Where am I? The tent again—unconscious, with a couple of fractures in my arm. I still did not master these swords; they were stronger than I expected. I had tried to leave these tunnels. I was a Night Elf, not a being clinging to the depths. But leaving was not simple—not with billions of enemies, not with tunnels flooded by the Chaos Marks' invasion.
They gave me a little extra rest. The city was Tornalite, a few kilometers from where I began my journey. The dwarves built during the day; their hammers echoed in the tunnels. Great barricades were built in the main tunnels, leaving small tunnels with spear barriers. The work was hard—I could see their hands bleeding, some striking, forging, others simply losing blood as they engraved the spears with movement runes to eliminate enemies.
I no longer hurried. Unlike the first months, I remembered that night three days after Chapatrueno left. I felt great—my weapons light and sharp beyond any doubt; they would get me out of here at full speed. I left in the dead of night—they should have beaten me just for that. I left through the main tunnel. Everyone occupied with defenses did not pay attention to me. Suddenly, a simple worm emerged—one meter long, exuding acid. It fell so quickly with a single broadsword stroke. Then a variety of insects—nothing lethal yet. Suddenly, I found animals of all kinds dead, blocking my movements, with enemies feeding on them while multiplying. I grew weaker. Not even three hours had passed, and my leather armor was lost. My weapons were fine, but they slipped on the fluids of thousands of beings—not just the large ones; beetle-sized things tried to bite, flies, ticks—all kinds of beings trying to eliminate me, to advance to the city's entrance.
I used magic—all I knew—but it was not enough. My enchantments were those of a huntress—for an enemy I pursued and cornered, to eliminate a hundred and then have more behind them. That drained emotionally. There came a moment when I was sure I would die. That was when the light appeared. At first, only a flash—it seemed like a giant flame. Fighting so long in absolute darkness did not affect me, but of course, we preferred light. That was it—daylight magic, with its heat, its force, relieving me, removing from my back a hundred-toothed thing I had no strength to face. There he was with his stupid worried face—like later, Caliza, leader of the Rocaceleste dwarves and one of the founders of "The Clan."
When I recovered my strength, he came to see me—weak. That was the first thing that came to my mind. I had certainly learned to retract in this world. He united everyone when the reign fell, taught the other dwarves to cooperate with the merchant dwarves, especially one from the city of Jasper, I think. But those two directed everything—yet it was the other dwarf who received recognition. Even though Caliza and I were the ones who broke through, he provided logistical support so I would not run out of food, or worse, when my wounds were so many I could not continue. He also built barricades in the midst of battle, with the sole goal of covering my retreat. I was alone—there were more warriors, but they had to guard the cities while we protected them. Once the barricades were up, a small contingent separated and stayed to guard and repair the defenses. Everyone would say it was a stupid plan—I did—but it was because I did not know everything there was to know. Now I did.
The tunnels leading outside were blocked, infested to the point where the last time I fought/saw my rival seemed like a skirmish. I had scars over wounds, scabs within a mark, deep injuries. The dwarves healed all this, but that did not stop the pain. I welcomed it, like the aromas of the cavern. There was everything—the heat of the forges, the bland bread baking in a distant oven, the crunching of shards from the rock pieces they transported to get raw materials for their weapons. No one interrupted me as I walked to the central house. There, Caliza awaited me to find out if I had managed to hold the checkpoint. This city was important for our goal—we would have to achieve it if I wanted to get out of here. My vengeance depended on it.
The house was two stories—a luxury where wood was a precious, scarce commodity. They were not made of that material; that would be ridiculous. But the beams, flooring, and moldings only achieved with wood indicated that this person possessed great fortune or had enough to rent all the required wood. But never inside—he spent his time directing everyone. Even though he could not use weapons well, he was always at the front, directing, defending builders and some mages. But now that I looked, there were many soldiers—not survivors or berserkers—seeing some of them fight with a hole in their stomach and not fall until they tired... gave me chills. These came in full armor, heavy, with half-body shields. A big fish must be coming here.
The whetstone was useless on my swords. Made of dragon bone, they stayed sharp—not counting the multiple enchantments they carried, most in the dwarven language, but also some basic ones in Elvish. That was terrifying, but it was a master smith who imbued them... I hated him, but he was right—I could not accompany him. Now less than ever. The crazy visitor was the public figure of this nation, son of one of the wealthiest merchants. He received power but bore great responsibility toward his people, unlike his progenitor. I visited the statue where the earth dragons fell—that was where we began to advance. I knew this day would come, when I would know why we advanced toward the center instead of the shores. I used the whetstone because I needed to entertain my hands. I was sweating. In the country's center was the great forge, abandoned in the kidnapped king's time. There, magma was pumped to the different villages; its channels still worked. If we managed to activate its devices, we could repel the attackers, leaving room to escape, to keep my promise.
The journey passed without incident. The soldiers accompanying the "ruler" used scales from the earth dragon and its young on their armor and weapons. I had great skill for dealing damage, but they watched my back and protected me when I had to return to be healed by some dwarf medic. It bothered me that they had to come only now, but I did not complain much. We advanced two cities in one night instead of one per week. Spirits were high. People walled off the secondary tunnels. I slept dreaming of immense heat, creatures being incinerated. When on the fifth day I saw the outskirts of Magmite, the city before the forge, my feet had wings.
The forge was gigantic—everything one could wish for. The source's magma channels branched to all corners of the mountain. The engineers were still figuring out how to activate it, but once they succeeded, I would be free to pursue and kill their hero. I suppose no one expected me to continue in my obsession, but they would not understand—it was something we Forest Elves and now Night Elves kept: honor in our history.
What was that scream? One of the royal guard dwarves had fallen. Something emerged from his forehead—a spear... of bone? Suddenly, two dozen enemies attacked us. All looked like elves, but they were horrible—on their faces, only death and pain. Two more dwarves fell, but I was already at their backs. My weapons spun; they tried to stop their edge with skin shields, with their weapons, with their flesh. Nothing stopped it—my blades cut and tore. Before they moved away from my troops—I was not their leader, but I was the one keeping them alive—then I heard it. I already knew it—the noise of thousands of legs, of beings that eat, die, live, and reproduce at the same time. They were the Chaos Marks hordes! We could not barricade any site—they came from all tunnels. We could only retreat, but even doing that meant leaving a five-hundred-meter stretch. As everyone ran, I saw the elven aberrations blur on the floor and vanish. They lost ten. Now I also knew they were not with the Chaos Marks... I had to send their captain. We must hold in Magmite, though I feared everything was lost. Beloved Moon Reflection—I will not die on my knees! For the Dark Forest Elves! Breeze of the Forest will defend the city with her life!