Night deepened, and the entire street went dark. If you listened carefully, you could still hear cheers coming from the night market; people were having a drinking contest.
Yun Zhe pressed his ear against the door and listened for any sounds; all he could hear was quiet breathing. He then quietly walked to the window, opened it, and jumped out.
Meanwhile, two blocks away from Yun Zhe, a dozen members of Nightfire surrounded another hotel. Guards were stationed upstairs, downstairs, at the main entrance, and at the back door. The bald man carrying a giant axe was the first to climb onto the windowsill of a second-floor apartment, deftly opened the window, and rushed inside. Two more men followed, entering together.
The three men immediately jumped down the building one after another, dejected. The bald man put away his giant axe and shook his head at the shadows.
The night market was nearly empty of vendors and customers. Most had gathered in the taverns near the market, drinking and reveling together. The shops frequented by elves were completely deserted. They had begun packing up their stalls, huddled together, and chatted quietly in their elven language, occasionally bursting into laughter—a more subtle and restrained sound compared to the laughter in the taverns.
The old elf hadn't packed up yet, chewing on some bright green leaves as he watched the other elves pack up. Yun Zhe walked up, squatted down, and pressed his hand against the black cloth; judging from the feel, it was a sword.
The old elf saw Yun Zhe from afar and wondered if this person was really the one from his memories. Just as he was lost in thought, the man grabbed the Elf King's sword under the black cloth.
The old elf felt a sudden panic.
They arrived at the night market just as a torrential downpour began. A group of them accidentally slipped into this grave, the kind common to elven warriors: corpses, armor, longswords, and bows. The bows were completely unusable, but the armor and longswords were still in good condition.
The rain was pouring down, and they didn't examine the tomb's occupant closely. Following elven custom, they simply tried to cover the tomb again. However, the area was prone to collapse and landslides due to the torrential rain, and it was located on a main passageway. Improper covering could allow other grave robbers to disturb the deceased. Seeing that reburying the body was becoming increasingly difficult, the elder elf, as the leader and eldest member of the group, ordered the remains, sword, armor, and broken bow to be collected and taken back to their homeland for a second burial.
But after the rain stopped, as the old elf examined the elven sword and armor, he suddenly discovered that the sword was a mithril longsword, a weapon reserved for elven royalty. The elves were initially excited, then enraged. After all, for an elven royal to be so carelessly buried on human territory was a profound insult to the elves. Elves rarely abandoned their companions; this could only mean one thing: the elven royalty and his retinue had all perished here.
"What a brutal battle this must have been!" the elves murmured among themselves, for it was rare for an elven army to be completely wiped out during the ten-year war.
But what they discovered next left the elves in an awkward situation.
The old elf discovered royal insignia on both the armor and the sword hilt: three feathered arrows crossed to form a six-pointed star. However, this insignia belonged to an elven royal family that had betrayed the elven kingdom. During the most difficult year of the ten-year war, they led their tribes in a betrayal of the elven kingdom, defecting to the humans.
The details are complex and varied, but this betrayal certainly made the already teetering Elf Kingdom even more precarious.
If it weren't for the emergence of heroes who turned the tide and saved the day, coupled with the internal strife within the human race caused by unequal distribution of spoils, the situation might be very different now.
What was meant to be a rewarding discovery turned into a hot potato. The old elf was embarrassed, and finally decided to hastily bury the broken bow and bones, sell the sword to earn some gold to take back, and take the armor back to the dwarven craftsmen to reforge. It was, in a way, compensation from their race to all the elves.
After all, they will never be forgiven and will never be able to return to the homeland of the elves.
However, the person in front of us is holding the sword, which means that this person may have discovered the sword from the beginning.
Or perhaps, he came specifically for this sword. The old elf closed his eyes slightly, quickly recalling the events of the past two days.
Yun Zhe simply sat down on the ground. "Old sir," Yun Zhe pointed to the black cloth, "Let's get straight to the point, old sir, I want this. Name your price."
The old elf sat up straight. "How much money do you want?"
Yun Zhe held up five fingers.
The old elf leaned back and shook his head. He thought to himself, "A casual elven sword would cost at least twenty or thirty gold coins, let alone a mithril elven king's sword. Offering this price is ridiculous."
Yun Zhe shook his head. "Ominous things aren't worth much."
The old elf's eye twitched, and his expression turned serious. "Nonsense."
Yun Zhe shrugged. "Then name your price?"
The old man held up three fingers: "Thirty gold coins."
Yun Zhe snorted coldly, "You elves are always very confident in your things and never hide them. But this sword is covered with a black cloth. I'm afraid there is some kind of hidden injury."
"These are priceless treasures, not to be shown to others lightly."
"You elves never sell truly valuable treasures, you're just trying to fool people..." Yun Zhe waved his hand impatiently, "Give me a fair price, sir."
"25 gold coins, no less."
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