The biting wind, carrying fine snowflakes, lashed against the towering, thick white walls of the fortified city, producing a mournful sound.
On the city wall, the armor of the patrolling soldiers reflected a cold, hard luster in the thin winter sunlight.
In a sparse cedar forest several miles from the city wall, several figures stood quietly, as if they had blended into the environment itself.
They wore thick travel cloaks that matched the color of the bare branches in the snow, with the hoods pulled low, revealing only their beautifully shaped chins and sharp eyes that occasionally flashed with a wary light.
It was the "Eye of Emerald Leaves," an elven delegation from the Emerald Forest, dispatched by Elder Galadriel and led by Glenshire.
Glenhill, the elven ranger with the green leaf pattern on his forehead, was currently concentrating with his eyes closed.
His slender fingers gently pressed on the ground covered with a thin layer of snow, and an invisible sense spread outwards towards the fortified city like ripples on water.
A moment later, he opened his eyes, his amber-gold pupils filled with surprise and solemnity.
"Captain?" asked Tar Salin, an elven warrior with a resolute face and carrying a longbow made of emerald wood, in a low voice.
“The abnormality of life energy… was clearer and more… ‘brutal’ than it was felt at the edge of the forest.”
Glenhill's voice carried a rhythm like a forest whisper, yet it couldn't hide the confusion within.
"It is within that human fortress, and on the road leading to it. It is not a natural resurgence, but a... forced 'awakening' and 'drive'."
Like an invisible hand, it roughly plucks the strings of life, forcing them to bloom against the will of winter.
His gaze was directed toward the fortified city, as if he could penetrate the walls and see the untimely greenery stubbornly peeking out from certain corners within the city.
"The source of this power undoubtedly points to Blackrock Territory further west, to the residence of Viscount Linde. He himself is not only the source, but wherever his activities have reached, he has left the imprint of this distorted law. This fortified city has not been spared either."
The other elf, slender in figure, with the outline of a flowing, leaf-woven robe faintly visible beneath her cloak, was Lyra Ryan, skilled in nature magic.
She took a deep breath of the cold air, her delicate brows furrowing slightly:
“Extremely faint, homologous energy particles also remain in the air. Although sparse, they are exceptionally persistent. Like maggots clinging to bones, they pollute the pure, cold winter air. This is by no means the gentleness and purity that God’s grace should possess.”
"Such blatant distortion of the laws of nature is despicable!"
Tal Salin gripped the bow handle on his back, a hint of warrior's anger flashing in his eyes.
“Anger won’t help, Tal.”
Glenhill's voice regained its composure, carrying the decisiveness of a leader.
"Elder Galadriel's orders are to investigate and make contact. Before ascertaining the truth and the other party's intentions, no rash actions should be taken, lest we alert them."
The Fortified City is the gateway to Blackrock Territory and the closest human settlement we can reach, close to that viscount. Perhaps we can gather crucial information about Lind Truk here.
He looked around at his companions:
"We need to immerse ourselves in them, to observe these humans as we would observe the habits of an unfamiliar herd in the forest, especially the rumors about their lord."
Let us hide our pointed ears and pride, and disguise ourselves as traveling scholars or caravan guards from afar.
"Lyra Ryan, can your illusion magic temporarily conceal our most obvious features?"
Lyra Ryan nodded, a faint, almost invisible emerald halo swirling around her fingertips, like the morning mist.
A gentle halo swept over the heads of the elves, making their distinctive pointed ears appear rounded and soft, like those of ordinary humans.
The elf's uniquely delicate outline was slightly blurred, adding to the air of a weary traveler.
"Remember, speak less and listen more. Human universal language is not unfamiliar to us, but pay attention to accents and word usage habits."
Glen Hill gave his final words of advice.
"yes!"
…………
The fortified city, the West Wind Inn.
This is a typical border inn that quickly recovered and prospered after the war. It is a stone and wood structure with three floors. The ground floor is a noisy tavern and dining hall, and the upper floors are guest rooms.
The air was filled with the smells of beer, barbecue, sweat, and cheap tobacco, and the place was bustling with noise.
Mercenaries, small merchants, and supply convoys crowded around the long wooden tables, talking and laughing loudly, exchanging snippets of news from the front or vulgar jokes.
Glenhill and his party of five (including two young elven scouts) attracted a brief moment of attention as they entered the inn.
Their tall stature, composed demeanor, and extraordinary bearing, though enhanced by illusion, made them stand out somewhat from the crowd.
However, the innkeeper, being well-traveled and knowledgeable, assumed they were either a guard from a fallen noble family or attendants of scholars from a distant land, and warmly invited them to stay in two relatively quiet rooms on the third floor.
Unbeknownst to them, the moment they stepped into the hotel, a pair of eyes hidden behind the bar, seemingly casually wiping glasses, had already quietly locked onto them.
The owner of the eye is called "Old Pipe," one of the many secret sentries Viscount Lillens has set up in the city, with the outpost being the Westwind Inn, a place with a complex flow of people and a hub of information.
He was unremarkable in appearance, with a weathered face and rough fingers, like an ordinary old bartender.
But deep within those cloudy eyes lay the sharpness of a falcon.
“Five new faces, just moved into two rooms on the north corner of the third floor.”
The old pipe slowly wiped the cup while whispering in a voice only he could hear.
He noticed not only their height, but also the lightness and harmony with which they moved, seemingly out of place in their surroundings; the overly concise and precise way they ordered, lacking in local slang; and the way the leader (Glenhill) scanned the hall while waiting—not with curiosity, but with assessment, a condescending scrutiny.
More importantly, as one of them (Lyla Ryan) sat down, the hem of her cloak inadvertently brushed the ground, revealing a fragment of silver moss, a type of moss with a faint fragrance, on the tip of her boot—a rare find near the Fortified City.
"He's not a mercenary, he doesn't seem like a merchant, and he's certainly not a fleeing farmer..."
The old pipe smoker quickly made a judgment in his mind: "Their actions were methodical, silent, highly vigilant, and carried... an indescribable sense of 'cleanliness'."
Without making a sound, he slid a special copper coin, engraved with a tiny castle crest, into a hidden compartment under the bar.
The information had already been quietly passed out through undisclosed channels within the hotel.
…………
The Viscount's Castle, the study.
Viscount Lillens was engrossed in studying the latest border defense map, the candlelight flickering on his tired yet still sharp face.
Although the arrival of winter temporarily froze the large-scale battles, the infiltration and harassment by small groups of elite Sassin scouts never stopped, keeping him on edge.
Knock knock.
A soft knock sounded on the door.
The trusted chief guard approached silently and gently placed a copper coin engraved with the West Wind Inn's mark and special patterns on the desk.
Lilens's gaze instantly shifted from the map to the copper coin.
He picked up the copper coin, ran his fingertips along the patterns, and immediately understood its origin and information level.
"West Wind Inn, marked 'Old Pipe,' highest level of attention, five people," the head guard reported in a low voice.
Lillens leaned back in his chair, his knuckles tapping lightly on the table.
“Five people… tall, silent, vigilant, ‘clean’?” He repeated the core message conveyed by the code.
"At this critical juncture, to appear in my fortified city..."
"Sass spies? That's not right... Why would Sass spies come here? This place is still some distance from the front lines."
"Keep people watching them, but don't alert them. Report their every move to me."
"Yes, Your Excellency."
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