063 Silent as a Whisper

Norsen Plains, Eastern Region

Karl, Francis, and Edward, the three young mice, moved in single file across the open plain at a rapid pace.

A day and a half had passed since they left the Horseshoe Mountain Heights. After a brief rest, the trio pressed on toward the Fargon Forest.

From above, the line of the three mice was strikingly reminiscent of the scene in "The Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers," when Aragorn and his companions raced across the plains to rescue the hobbits.

After a day and a half on foot, the three rodents had long left the influence of Highcourt behind and now entered the uninhabited expanse of the Norsen Plains.

“One kilometer ahead and we’ll reach Fargon Forest,” Karl crouched in the grass, estimating the distance.

“Maybe we should wait until nightfall to enter,” Edward suggested, “It should be safer to sneak in under the cover of darkness.”

“Have you noticed anything odd?” Francis suddenly spoke, his expression serious, not at all joking.

“Did you see something?” Karl asked.

“It just feels like we’re being watched…” Francis shook his head.

“Maybe you’re just tired and a bit jumpy,” Edward tried to reassure him.

“Still, we should be careful. We know nothing about Fargon Forest. No need to rush in,” Francis replied.

“Yes, I agree.”

Settled in a shallow depression on the plain, the three mice set down their bamboo baskets and replenished themselves with some food and water.

Luckily, the day was overcast. Otherwise, the endless stretch of plain under the baking sun would have been unbearable.

A hundred meters due north, hidden in the tall grass, a seven-member squad of dark elf scouts lay in wait, eyes fixed on the hollow where the mice rested.

At the very front of the elves was their squad leader—Tuvey.

“Captain Tuvey, they seem to have stopped to rest,” one of the subordinates whispered.

“Wait a little longer. Patience!” Tuvey’s sinister gaze never wavered from the hollow ahead. Half a day earlier, a night owl had brought news from the front lines: three mice had left Horseshoe Mountain under the cover of darkness, but their purpose remained unknown.

Following Elder Norwell’s instructions, Tuvey’s squad had arrived here in advance to lie in wait. Their patience had finally paid off; after half a day, they had caught up with Karl and his companions.

Peering through gaps in the grass, Tuvey’s eyes remained fixed on the depression a hundred meters away.

Because the mice rested on the far slope of the hollow, Tuvey’s view was momentarily blocked.

At that moment, Ron Broadwaist stepped forward to Tuvey’s side.

“Boss Tuvey, we’ve been waiting nearly half an hour. I reckon the three mice are just resting. How about I call in the others so we can take them down in one go?”

The young dark elf sentinel spoke with utmost respect. In the dark elf society, hierarchy was strict and unyielding. Even Ron, the tribe’s foremost archer, started out as a common scout—this was his first time leaving the Fargon Forest.

Tuvey shot Ron a sidelong glance, his tone dismissive. “Just three mice—do you really need to call for backup? You want to let other squads take credit for this? Do your job, Ron.”

“Keep your eyes on them!”

Ron, seeing Tuvey’s impatience, nodded and withdrew to his post. Among the dark elves, seniority was everything. Even the best archer, when faced with his captain, could only defer.

The wait dragged on; three hours passed, and darkness slowly fell. The three mice remained motionless in the hollow.

As dusk settled, Tuvey pinched the bridge of his nose and spoke in a low voice, “Spread out and prepare to move. Ron, cover our rear.”

“Understood!”

The seven-member squad, on Tuvey’s orders, fanned out in a ninety-degree arc, leaving Ron in reserve while the other six prepared to close in.

Tuvey had his reasons. Dark elves could move freely at night, their night vision unparalleled. The three-hour wait was deliberate—once darkness fell, the elves would have a decisive visual advantage over their prey.

Soon, each member of the squad found their position. In the center, Tuvey raised his right hand and pointed forward with his index finger.

Six dark elf sentinels crouched low and began to advance.

In the hollow, Francis, previously reclining with eyes closed, suddenly snapped awake.

“It’s night—they’re about to make their move!”

From the start, Francis had sensed the lurking dark elf scouts in the grass. Karl hadn’t chosen his companions at random—Francis was no ordinary mouse. Calm and sharp-nosed, he could detect the faintest change in the air.

In the height of summer, the plain’s heat was oppressive. Even before the mice had appeared in Tuvey’s line of sight, Francis had noticed the pungent, iron-tinged scent unique to dark elves, starkly obvious on the windless plain.

There were only two explanations: either a squad of dark elves had recently passed, or a group was lying in wait nearby.

A glance at the empty horizon suggested the scent would have dispersed if the elves were simply passing through. That left only one possibility.

With enemies lurking nearby, Karl and his friends displayed a patience far beyond their years. While the dark elves watched from the grass, the mice also silently tracked their numbers and positions—a quiet contest of nerves.

Sure enough, just as night fell, the restless dark elf sentinels made their move.

The elves were cautious, advancing in silence and perfect rhythm, tightening their encirclement.

Karl carefully parted a sliver of grass to observe. The dark elves crept forward, bodies low and tense, their movement subtle and hard to spot.

One… Two, three… Four, five…

“Six in total—you were off, Francis,” Karl whispered. “The last one is due north, covering the center with a drawn bow.”

“These elves are more cautious than we thought.”

“Do you think they’ve noticed us?” Edward asked.

“Impossible. If they knew we’d spotted them, they wouldn’t risk such a reckless attack,” Francis shook his head.

“Fifty meters,” Karl reported, leaning against the slope, his right eye scanning the field.

“Two with shields and blades, four with spears,” he continued relaying what he saw.

“Forty meters. One looks like he’s about to spot me.”

“We move at thirty meters,” Karl decided.

“No problem,” Edward affirmed.

“Edward, the fat one with the spear on the right is yours,” Karl assigned.

“I’ll take the captain in the middle.”

“I’ll handle the one on the left with the bare arms!” Francis volunteered.

“Thirty-five meters… Thirty-four…”

“Damn, they’re about to charge! I’m exposed!” Karl’s plan fell apart in an instant, and he panicked.

“Damn it!” Edward growled.

At that very moment, thirty meters ahead, Captain Tuvey’s keen night vision caught sight of Karl peering from the hollow.

“Take cover!” Tuvey barked, dropping to his side.

At once, the three mice raised their crossbows in perfect unison, bracing them on their arms as they sprang up from the hollow.

Each crossbow aimed at a different target—three dark elf sentinels armed with spears.

Their intention was clear: the first volley needed to deal heavy damage to the enemy squad.

Without hesitation, three bolts whistled through the air toward the startled dark elves thirty meters away.

In the next instant, the clash between the two squads erupted in full force.