Chapters 11 Commander Fallek falls part 2

Fire read the detailed report and crept closer with Poison Fang, crouching low in the underbrush.

Once they found a decent overlook, Fire paused, studying the patrol layout on her map. Enemy routes shifted like clockwork, and with the commander stationed in the central tent, his guards moved in radiating rings.

A single Orc Knight lagged behind the others—straying from its squad to urinate near a dying tree.

Fireblade squinted through the foliage.

That one.

She tapped the map, then whispered to Poison, “This is where I draw a commotion, and you attack from stealth.”

Poison smirked. “Try not to die, boss lady. If you want to impress her, you gotta show more strength.”

Fireblade’s face flushed. Her reply caught in her throat.

“What—me? Impress her? She’s... she’s not even—”

She cut herself off and turned away. Not the time. Not the mission.

She took a slow, steadying breath.

Then leapt.

The world blurred around her as she dropped from the tree, twin blades drawn. The orc didn’t even look up before she landed—knees bent, weapons plunging down like fangs.

SHHUNK.

Both swords drove into its shoulders, carving deep through muscle and bone. The orc collapsed beneath her, twitching violently as it gurgled green blood, eyes wide in stunned silence. Its cleaver clattered against the roots.

She twisted both blades and yanked them free in a burst of gore.

One heartbeat.

Two—

A horn blared.

RRRRAAAAGHH!

The entire camp roared awake.

Tents flapped as orcs bellowed, goblins shrieked, and horns blasted again from three different outposts. From rickety towers on the outskirts, goblins began loosing crude arrows into the trees. Patrols snapped into tighter formations. Hissing voices snarled guttural orders.

And across the center of the camp—deep, choked, and inhuman—came a piggish screech that rattled the air:

“GRAA’KHT VAASH! SHRRR-HUK TAR!”

Fireblade’s breath caught in her throat.

Fallek.

She could feel it—his presence like a toxin in the air. Not just loud. Heavy. Oppressive.

The camp had come alive.

And they were hunting her.

She turned and ran, sprinting into the shadows between the trees, clutching her blades tight. She didn't know how many were chasing her yet—but she knew they were coming.

Footfalls thundered behind her—heavy and fast. Goblins shrieked. Arrows whizzed past.

Fire’s pulse spiked. Her grip tightened.

“Shit,” she hissed. “Blue, any time now...”

Then—she threw the first Fire Snapper.

As dark as it was, she wasn’t sure Blue would see them, but she was desperate.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Explosions rang out. One of the goblins closest to the blast lost an arm, shrieking as it spun into the dirt. Orc Knights lifted thick arms to shield themselves, but the blasts shredded through flesh and left them bleeding—too injured to swing with speed.

Fire didn’t hesitate.

She leapt forward, cleaving the goblin’s head clean off.

Then she spun into the orcs—twin blades clashing, deflecting, stabbing.

Her Ice Blade Domain triggered mid-combat—twenty ice shards blooming outward, cutting into everything around her.

When the orcs fell, she turned and sprinted again—her eyes darting to the minimap. Icons blinked. Movement tracked in real time. Whoever was feeding her this info—Blue or the scouts—they were good.

She tossed more snappers into clustered formations, scattering enemies who’d begun to group up. Fallek, on the other side of camp, watched this chaos unfold.

His fury roared.

"Block her escape! She knows too much!" he barked, voice like a blade dragged through gravel.

Fire didn’t stop.

Even as the enemies wised up, splitting their patrols to isolate her, she countered—attacking stragglers one at a time, never giving them a chance to regroup.

But it was taking a toll.

Her stamina dipped below thirty percent. At zero? Game over.

She shoved the worry down.

Another orc charged—a shield-bearer, faster than she expected. It rammed straight for her. Fire sidestepped, barely avoiding a crushing blow, and tossed a Fire Snapper directly at its chest.

She knew the blast would catch her too.

No choice.

BOOM.

The shield-bearer collapsed, body blackened and broken.

She was flung back—blades raised at the last second in a Parry, softening the impact.

Dazed, ears ringing, she stumbled upright.

"Stamina below 10%"

She ignored it.

She had to.

But then the air shifted.

She felt it—before she saw him.

Fallek.

The commander’s killing intent hit like a hammer, slamming into her chest. It froze her mid-breath.

She turned—just in time to see the massive ogre charging, sword raised high, closing in too fast to dodge.

“Oh shit—”

She yanked out every last Fire Snapper.

Threw them like her life depended on it.

Because it did.

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

Each detonation rocked the earth.

The ogre’s momentum broke, his massive form slowed—but not stopped.

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His armor sizzled. His skin blistered.

He was still coming.

He was inhuman.

He raised his sword—Fireblade knew she couldn’t dodge in time—

And then—

A shadow blinked into existence.

Twin daggers flew—fast, aimed for the commander’s throat.

Fallek sensed it, mid-swing.

Whirlwind Slash.

The air screamed as his blade spun—

But it passed through nothing.

Tier Zero: Flash Step.

The figure vanished.

And then—

A dagger sank into his foot.

He howled, twisting to crush the assassin—

But arrows flew.

One he blocked. Another he dodged.

The third?

It clipped his cheek.

Green blood spilled.

He snapped.

In a berserk fury, he kicked the rogue—sending her crashing into a lookout post.

Then turned to Fireblade.

She was already moving.

A flash of steel.

Twin blades drove into his shoulder.

She flipped, somersaulted, and vanished into the trees.

Poison Fang had risen, limping the opposite direction.

Fallek chased Fireblade.

Deeming the assassin beneath him, he left her for the minions.

Spells lit the trees.

Arrows rained down.

And still—

He pushed on.

But his steps slowed.

Breath hitched.

Heart thundered.

Sweat poured down his face.

A shudder.

A stumble.

And then—

He collapsed.

Dead.

To the chime of several notifications.

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📜 Notice: Your team has completed the quest Protect the Elven Strongholds

🏰📜 Kingdom Alert: Commander Fallek has been slain! A day of joy, as the Light strikes closer in the fight against the Dark!

🎉 Congratulations! You have slain an upper-echelon officer affiliated with the Envoy of the Dark Allied Forces.

Rewards:

• +50% Reputation in all Veron Kingdom cities

• EXP Gained to All Stats: ×2

• Bounty Reward – Commander Fallek: 32 gold

• Item Acquired: Shield of Glory

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But the four assassins didn’t dare stop.

They fled into the darkened night—

They could celebrate once they were back behind the elven stronghold’s walls.

Blue swore under her breath. “Fuck... why did the kingdom notification ring?”

She urged her horse forward, trying to outpace her thoughts.

The alert had gone out to every player in Veron territory.

Most would shrug it off—just another system ping about some obscure event or faction update.

But the sharp ones? The scouts?

They’d start digging.

Where had it happened? Who triggered it? Was it tied to a fort? A raid?

And if they followed the trail far enough, they might end up here.

To the elves. To her elves.

Blue clicked her tongue. No names had been broadcast. No location. Not yet.

But it wouldn’t stay that way forever.

She needed time. She needed space.

She needed this alliance locked down now—before rival guilds started sniffing around and forcing their way into the elven trust she hadn’t even fully earned yet.

Trade ties. Faction quests. Diplomatic milestones.

Anything to deepen the bond while the trail was still cold.

Because they weren’t watching yet.

But they would be.

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The elven gates opened like a sigh, and the three remaining Robin Arrows and Blue were ushered inside—welcomed like champions.

The contrast was jarring. One moment Blue was racing through strategy—

The next, she was seated in a throne-like chair, surrounded by warmth, music, and far too many full goblets.

A flute trilled from the far balcony—haunting and soft.

Platters of spiced meats and enchanted fruits passed on trays of moon-glass.

Glasses overflowed with shimmering wine.

Laughter rang like wind chimes.

The group that had been left to defend the fort told the returnees how one moment they'd been blasting magical cannons and arrows at a horde of orcs and goblins—

But the next moment, their quest abruptly came to an end, signaling the death of the commander.

This news had the attacking orcs fleeing in all directions, and they’d been treated like royalty since then.

Blue smiled hearing that. On their end, things had gone exactly as she planned.

To her left, Happy Riddler, Red Mist, Wry Finch, and a few of the younger players had sprawled out in a circle, passing around a softly glowing enchanted bong, their faces red from laughter and too many hits. One hiccupped, the smoke turning into little glittering bats that chased each other above the firelight.

Nearby, Poison Ivy and Rising Tide had abandoned formality entirely, locked in a heated dance with two gorgeous elven men—spinning and laughing, the music pulsing in their bones.

And Blue?

Blue was drinking.

Every time she set her goblet down, another was handed to her.

Every time she looked away, another beautiful elf was brushing her arm or offering a toast.

She’d earned it, they said. A hero. A slayer of darkness.

But it wasn’t victory that drove her to drink.

It was fear.

She sipped again.

I’m running out of time.

The warmth in her chest wasn’t just the mead. It was pressure. The pressure to stay ahead.

To keep Josh and his friends safe. To keep her advantage hidden.

Blue stared into her wine, watching reflections ripple in the dark crimson surface.

For a moment, the sound of the celebration seemed distant—like it was happening behind glass.

But then one of the elven men knelt beside her, brushing a curl from her face with gentle fingers. His voice was velvet.

“You carry weight in your gaze, champion. Will you not let it go tonight?”

She hesitated.

Another offered his hand, eyes luminous and earnest.

“We do not forget our saviors so easily. Stay, dance, breathe. Let joy meet you where sorrow has walked.”

Blue blinked—then laughed, light and startled. A real laugh.

Maybe they were NPCs. Maybe the charm was scripted.

But after all she’d carried these last few days?

She could use a little scripted kindness.

“All right,” she said softly, setting down her goblet and letting one of them lead her to the center of the courtyard.

She danced. She smiled. She let the music soak into her bones.

And when another elf spun her away and pulled her back with practiced grace, she laughed again—freely now, her earlier stress melting into the soft-lit night.

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Across the courtyard, Fireblade watched.

Alone at the edge of the celebration, she sat on a stone bench, arms folded, jaw set.

Blue was surrounded by admirers—handsome, elegant, flirtatious.

They moved around her like planets around a star.

Every laugh, every glass of wine, every brush of a hand made something sharp twist in Fireblade’s chest.

It was stupid.

They weren’t even real.

So why did it bother her so damn much?

A soft laugh came from nearby.

An elven woman—elegant, draped in moon-colored silk—sat beside her, sipping wine with quiet grace.

“Young warrior,” the woman said, eyes glinting, “no battle is won from a distance. If that woman stirs your heart, you should draw closer.”

Fireblade tensed. “They’re not even real,” she muttered.

The elf tilted her head. “Your travelers say the funniest things,” she murmured, watching Fireblade as if she was the one not real.

Fireblade cut her a sideways glance, irritation flaring. “Why are they flirting with her?”

The elven woman smiled knowingly, her voice dropping to a whisper as she turned her gaze away from Blue.

“We are sensitive to strength,” she said. “And that woman... she radiates it. Her mana flows like a song—balanced, powerful, calm. For beings of magic like us, standing near her is... comforting.”

Then, she turned to Fireblade, appraising her.

“You too carry strength, but yours is wild. Hot. Like a flame not yet mastered.”

She smiled slyly. “Me? I like it a little hot.”

Fireblade coughed, flushed, and shot to her feet.

Without another word, she stalked across the courtyard and grabbed Blue by the arm.

Blue, very drunk and all smiles, waved lazily to the elves. “Bye, hunks~”

Fireblade dragged her out onto a balcony. The night air was cooler here. The music softened behind them.

Blue pouted, leaning into the stone rail. “I was having fun with my hunks. Why’d you pull me out here?”

Fireblade hesitated, then mumbled, “You’re drunk... and they’re NPCs. It’s weird.”

Blue’s laugh came soft and warm, and despite herself, it made Fireblade smile.

“Don’t laugh,” Fireblade said. “Those dark elves seem... sketchy. I bet they’re the type to get you all hot and bothered, then siphon all your mana.”

She nodded sagely. “That’s probably their scam.”

Blue burst into even louder laughter, leaning against Fireblade now, helpless with mirth.

Fireblade tried to stay annoyed—but failed. She chuckled too.

Once they calmed down, Blue wiped a tear from her eye and grinned.

“Do you really think the dark elves are the game’s succubuses?”

Fireblade blinked. “Honestly? Yeah. Wouldn’t put it past the devs.”

Blue giggled and tilted her head. “You’re cute. But hey—I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

She raised a finger dramatically.

“The neural link system? It shuts off one very specific nerve path. Guess which.”

Fireblade tilted her head. “The... heart?”

Blue snorted. “No, silly. Sexual response.”

She grinned wide at Fireblade’s stunned expression.

“Yup. No arousal. No sex. No in-game hookups with NPCs or players. Pants don’t even come off. Like, ever.”

Fireblade stared at her for a beat—then let out a laugh. “Damn. That’s... kinda sad. But I get it. People would abuse the hell out of it.”

“Bingo,” Blue said, nodding. “But there is a paid adult mode. NPC brothels, private rooms, the works.”

Fireblade made a face. “Yeah, nah. I’m good. Real life works fine for me.”

Blue smiled at that. “Good answer.”

Then she added, teasingly, “So... now will you let me go back and make out with the hot elves?”

Fireblade answered too fast. “No.”

Blue sighed, overdramatic. “Ugh. Fine. The game’s ending in a few minutes anyway. You win, Mom.”

She poked Fireblade’s bicep, giggling.

Fireblade grumbled. “Still weird they all stuck to you like—like some kind of enchanted harem.”

“It’s weird,” she repeated under her breath.

Then she felt it—Blue leaning her head gently against her chest, stifling a yawn.

And Fireblade… didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

She just stood there. Still. Warm.

Blue’s eyes closed, a soft smile curving her lips. She looked content—peaceful in a way Fireblade had never seen.

And in that moment, Fireblade’s heart whispered the one truth she couldn’t silence:

I don’t care what she says about arousal.

I want this woman in every way, and in every world.