(Book 2 Complete!) Tales of the Endless Empire [LitRPG Apocalypse]

Elaria arrived on New Earth with the few elves who had managed to escape the human assault. A heavy weight pressed upon her chest. She had failed, not only had she been defeated in battle by a human of all things, but her son still remained imprisoned by their enemy. The shame was unbearable. For days she had feared her patron's wrath, certain that such humiliation would be punished harshly. Yet instead of retribution, she had been rewarded. Her patron's voice had carried triumph, not disappointment. Not only had the goddess reclaimed much of her lost strength, but she had also drawn the notice of the strongest among the elven gods, or so Elaria had come to understand.

What astonished her most was that the hunt for the human was no longer hers alone. The other elven deities, those who had bestowed blessings upon chosen within the tutorials, were now united in a secret manhunt. Only the elites were aware of it. This knowledge could not spread, not while rival factions like the vampires might seize the advantage. The human had to be brought down by elven hands, there was no other option. For Elaria, this meant far more than vengeance. It meant support, resources, blessings and everything she would need to both level and reclaim her son. The thought of him missing the chance to evolve while chained by humans was unbearable. His freedom would be bought, whatever the cost.

Still, she would not kill the human leader. Her patron had been explicit. He was to be broken, tormented until he revealed every secret of the god who had blessed him. Because he had to be blessed, no mortal could rise to such power without divine backing. Elaria drew a glowing stone from her pouch, watching as one etched rune flared with light. Smiling faintly, she tucked it away and followed the direction it pointed. Soon, she would stand before the chosen of her patron.

The journey did not take long. To a lesser elf it would have been days of travel, but her bloodline allowed her to move with unnatural speed. She emerged into a wide clearing already alive with activity. Elves bustled through partially completed streets, wooden buildings rising in elegant arcs as though grown straight from the earth itself. It was heartening to see her kin thrive, even if she had abandoned those weaker survivors who lagged behind. She was no nursemaid, and they were elves, they would find their own way.

The first she encountered was a hunter on his way out to slay beasts, a genial man who smiled warmly as he pointed her toward the chosen. Her next meeting was with Faerion, tall and golden-haired, his lean frame radiating strength and elegance. More importantly, he bore a legendary blessing and had fought alongside the chosen herself. He welcomed her with quiet pride and led her deeper into the heart of the camp.

At the center stood a great lodge, its walls carved from massive beams, its design grand enough to rival palaces. As Elaria walked past lines of elves, she noticed the difference immediately. These were no weary survivors. They had dominated their tutorial, facing neither desperation nor brutal attrition as her people had. Their eyes held no resignation, no lingering scars of defeat.

They radiated purpose and unshaken pride. By contrast, her own loss to the human had been a wound upon her people's spirit, her fall from grace dragging all beneath its shadow. But that humiliation would soon turn to opportunity. She had seen the human fight with her own eyes, every strike, every technique, every secret unveiled in the crucible of their duel. He could not have hidden more. She would deliver that knowledge to the chosen, and together they would set the trap. The human could not run from the elves forever.

Inside the lodge, the air was rich with polished wood and faint incense. Ten elves of formidable aura reclined upon golden-adorned couches, their presence filling the room with quiet majesty. At their center stood one who could only be Liraeth. The moment Elaria entered, she knew. The winds themselves sang softly around her, a melody of reverence and delight. She was, without question, the chosen of her patron.

"Greetings," Liraeth said, her voice melodic, commanding, and impossibly beautiful. "You must be Elaria. I welcome you to my new home. I am Liraeth."

Overcome, Elaria dropped to one knee, her gaze fixed upon the polished wooden floor. "I greet the chosen. I am Elaria. What is your bidding?"

"You may rise," Liraeth replied with effortless grace. "Tell us what transpired in your tutorial, and speak of the human we must capture. This mission holds the utmost importance, even greater than conquering this world. Though," she added with a small smile, "I would prefer to achieve both. So please, Elaria, begin your tale."

Elaria began recounting what had transpired. She tried to ignore the dismissive glances cast her way when she explained how the prince had been lost, though she carefully shifted most of the blame onto Athilirion. A few gasps of disbelief echoed through the hall when she spoke of their retreat from the catacombs, but for the most part, none dared to interrupt her. That changed, however, the moment she admitted that she had lost her duel against the human. She kept it brief, a mere summary of events, but even so, the room stirred.

"How weak must you be to lose to a human?" one elf scoffed, disdain etched across his face. He wore the robes of an archer. His aura clearly weaker than her own, which only stoked her fury further. Were it not for the chosen's presence, she would have gladly silenced his insolence in blood. Forced to keep her composure, she instead steeled herself to explain. Liraeth had not spoken in her defense, which meant the chosen tacitly approved of the insult.

"Thalion is no ordinary human," Elaria said sharply. "His class is that of a shapeshifter..."

"A shapeshifter?" the archer cut her off with a sneer. "You lost to that? Their only strength is adaptability, not dueling. How pathetic." His words drew a ripple of disbelief across the gathered elves. Many had assumed the human to be some stray, a fugitive clinging to luck, not a warrior capable of toppling an elf of Elaria's renown.

"Well," she snapped, eyes narrowing, "I might have explained, had you given me more than a breath to speak. And if you truly believe yourself stronger, we can step outside and test that theory." Her voice carried a dangerous edge, the promise of violence clear in every syllable.

"There will be no duels between elves," Liraeth interjected. Her tone, though melodic, brooked no argument. "We are not barbarians. Elaria, continue your report."

Grinding her teeth, Elaria obeyed. She detailed all she had witnessed of the human's combat style. His shifting forms and his unnatural endurance. Few listened with care. Many turned their heads, gazing idly out the windows or shifting restlessly in their seats, dismissing her words as little more than excuses. Only Liraeth's eyes remained fixed on her, sharp and calculating.

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"I do not believe his combat prowess is our greatest concern," Liraeth concluded once she had finished. A faint smile touched her lips, prompting chuckles from several of the others. "But thank you for your thoroughness, Elaria. The true danger of a shapeshifter lies in adaptability. If he realizes we hunt him, he will vanish, change form, slip away into some crevice of this world. I would prefer to prevent that before it happens. Suggestions?"

"We have expert trackers," the archer declared quickly. "And as Elaria herself admitted, he lacks a water form. If he runs, he won't be able to hide in rivers or seas. I would not waste sleep worrying over his escape."

Liraeth merely nodded, then turned to another who had raised a hand. "The greater difficulty lies in locating him to begin with," the elf said. "We are building networks with those we've encountered, but without the tokens, messages must be carried by hand. Even if someone discovers the human, by the time word reaches us, he may already be gone."

"Doesn't her son remain with the human?" an older elf suggested, his robes heavy with arcane symbols. A mage, no doubt. "Their blood is bound. Surely we can use that connection to track him. If the human is establishing a base, as he must, then he will keep the boy close."

"An excellent idea," Liraeth replied, her eyes glinting with approval. "My patron has already given me the rites for such a circle. With his blood as a tether, we can draw a precise path. The sooner we find him, the better. We cannot allow him to build a fortress from which to defy us."

"But finding his base won't be enough," Elaria interjected coldly. "He commands more than thirty thousand humans, not to mention orcs and Athilirion. If they scatter, I would love to see how your trackers pick one shapeshifter's footprints out of that chaos." The barb she threw at the archer was deliberate, and it silenced him for once.

The chamber fell quiet, heavy with unspoken doubts.

"We could position scouts, spread them wide, and watch for his favored hunting grounds," one elf offered hesitantly, though his tone betrayed little conviction.

"To muster enough fighters to pin down the entire human horde will be a challenge," the old mage added. "And if the human carries an escape token, all our effort may be wasted."

"That will not be a problem," Liraeth said smoothly. Her voice rang with quiet confidence. "I can bind those tokens, sever their power. Should he attempt escape, he will suffer the backlash and be left broken before us."

Elaria's eyes lingered on Liraeth, a spark of unease flickering within her. She must have bought a rare treasure from the system shop just for this task, Elaria thought, both dazzled and unsettled by how far the chosen had already planned ahead. The scope of her foresight was frightening.

"If the escape token can truly be blocked," the old mage said, his voice steady as polished steel, "then why not lure him into a duel? After defeating Elaria, the human may well be swollen with overconfidence. He likely does not know of our ability to sever his escape. We could present it as a matter of honor, a duel to free Elaria's son and claim his base peacefully." His lips curved into a thin smile. The suggestion was ruthless, yet chillingly effective, and Elaria felt a twinge of alarm. This elf was dangerous.

"I would rather ensnare him in the wilds than invite him to an open duel," Liraeth replied, her melodic voice calm but faintly disinterested. "I am a chosen. The chance of him accepting such a challenge is slim." She dismissed the idea with the flick of a hand, her gaze already distant.

"That narrows our course," the old mage continued without faltering. "Three paths remain: ambush him during a hunt, launch a full assault upon his base, or tempt him into the duel nonetheless. For the ambush, we could place an elf within his camp as a spy. After all, they accepted Athilirion. Why not another elf, pleading for sanctuary? It would grant us not only his location but also a way to follow him into the system event itself. A tracker hidden within his party could ensure he never escapes our sight." His words carried a weight that silenced the chamber, and for the first time, even Elaria felt grudging admiration. This old fox is a genius, she thought grimly.

"An intriguing idea," Liraeth said with a rare glimmer of approval. "But who do we send? Either someone weak and seemingly harmless, perhaps a young girl unlikely to arouse suspicion, or one strong enough to resonate with Athilirion himself."

"I will go." The old mage stepped forward, his white hair catching the lamplight, his smile wicked and deliberate. "I may not be young, but I resonate with Athilirion, and experience will serve me where innocence would fail. A true spy must weave through shadows without raising suspicion, and should questions arise, he must have answers. Someone weak would never be accepted into the human's inner circle, nor into his party during the system event. I, however, will earn their trust… and turn it against them."

The room stirred with uneasy murmurs. A few elves even clapped softly at the declaration, though the sound rang hollow with dread. Elaria shivered despite herself. This was not a man one wished as an enemy. His cunning alone was dangerous enough.

"And more than a mage, I am an alchemist," he added, his smile fading into cold seriousness. "If the decision shifts to a full assault, I could poison their supplies, taint their water, or weaken them from within. Their stronghold would rot before their eyes."

"Excellent," Liraeth said, her voice smooth as running water. "Then it is settled. Once we have the human's location, you will infiltrate his camp. I shall begin the ritual immediately. This council is dismissed. You all know your tasks." With a graceful sweep of her hand, she rose from her seat and glided through a backdoor, her departure as effortless as a breeze through leaves.

The gathered elves bowed low, then filed out with swift precision. Elaria remained still, anticipation boiling in her chest like fire in a forge. So it begins, she thought. My son will be freed sooner than I dared hope, and that human… that arrogant creature… is walking blind into a world of agony.

She almost pitied him. Almost. He and his people were likely building their base in blissful ignorance, believing the horrors of the tutorial were finally behind them. They could not be more wrong.