Survival Shenanigans With Elf Mistress

Chapter 13 The Chosen One

Descending that hillock felt like sliding into a dream straight out of a low-budget Lord of the Rings knockoff. Huts were clustered on the sloping hillside below like a shantytown. Smoke curled lazily from kitchens, furnaces, and smitheries, probably trying to signal aliens or something.

I could smell the damp earth along with roasting herbs. It was kind of comforting, NGL.

"My people," Ellara said, like she'd been on the run for too long. "Sylvan Elves."

She was in her light form now, slender and graceful. I enjoyed watching her take happy steps as she led the way down the uneven path. But I could also notice the tension in her shoulders, the way her fingers twitched like she was ready to switch at any moment.

I followed her closely, afraid she'd zap me otherwise. Not that I planned to run. Where would I go anyway? Back to goblin-infested caves? Nah, my mind was on other things.

The reason I was so excited about entering this Elf town was simple—potential harem material. These Sylvan babes looked lithe and wild from afar, with flowing hair and unrealistic curves.

"Finally, I'll get the royalty treatment I deserve," I thought, grinning like an idiot who'd just won the lottery.

The fantasy universe owed me at least a blowjob for all the bullshit it'd put me through. And yes, make it elf-flavored, with extra-deep throat—courtesy of the prophesied hero.

Ellara glanced back, her hazel eyes narrowing in her princess-like face. "Wipe that stupid smile off your face, Akira. These are refugees, not your playthings." Her tone was soft, almost kind—Light-Ellara at her finest. But I knew better. If I spoke one wrong word, she'd flip to dark mode, to step on my balls.

The villagers spotted her first. Cries of "The Medley! Lady Voss! She's returned!" rippled through the camp like a wave.

Elves poured out from huts. The women didn't disappoint. Well-toned, healthy figures with flowing hair in shades of green and gold, and curves that made my mouth water.

"Bed me, ladies," I fantasized, picturing them naked and swathed in farm-made butter, lining up to thank the prophesied hero with open arms... or legs. My pants tightened at the thought.

Ellara explained as we approached, gesturing animatedly. "Sylvan elves don't live in urban cities like the regular bloodlines, nor do they accept the Elf High Council's rule."

"The Council was a self-appointed governing body of the seven Elven monarchs," she added. "Sylvans have to migrate yearly to dodge both the Council and the Holy Kingdom's hunters. We've danced this dance for years—hiding in shadows, scraping by on berries and birds. This is the longest surviving Sylvan habitation, thanks to my stealth magic."

"Didn't you say the Elf Council has a large bounty on your head?" I asked, eyeing a particularly busty elf woman carrying a basket of fruits. She caught my stare and blushed. Score one for the outworlder charm. Good job, Akira!

Ellara nodded grimly, tugging me by the manifested collar to keep pace. "That's why I slip away for quests and searches when I can, so they never find my trail to this location."

The village elder—a wiry old elf named Leroy, stepped forward first. He greeted Ellara intimately, wrapping her in an affectionate hug, his gnarled hands clutching her as if she were the last lifeline in a storm. I felt jealous for a moment.

"Princess, the stars foretold your return... And is that him? The outworlder?"

Along with Leroy, all other eyes turned to me. I puffed up my chest, ready for the hero's welcome. "Bow down, peasants. Akira the Survivor arrives to smite your foes and... uh, bless your beds."

The words slipped out before I could stop them, my pervy brain overriding common sense.

The entire crowd went silent. The elder's gaze sharpened, landing on me like a hawk spotting a mouse. "The outworlder... The dark one's work?"

Murmurs spread like wildfire—fear, anger, suspicion. The mood changed abruptly.

Ellara nodded. "He is Chernobog's summoning. Akira the Survivor."

Gasps rippled through the crowd like a stormy wind. "The dark one's chosen?" "The bringer of darkness?"

"The herald of the apocalypse?"

"Sent to drown Arcadia in shadow!"

Chaos erupted in seconds, the crowd turning into a mob. Elves darted forward, uncoiling ropes from their belts without delay. Several strong men grabbed my arms and hauled me towards a central tree. It looked suspiciously like a gallows.

"Execution for the devil's pawn! He'll corrupt us all!" they chanted, dragging me while I kicked and cursed.

"What the fuck?! Get off me, you pointy-eared freaks!"

I thrashed, but the Elves were too many, overwhelming my still-low-level strength easily.

Apparently, everyone was so scared of this Chernobog guy that they didn't even name him aloud most times. Since I was summoned by him, eliminating my poor self was their natural mob inclination.

"Help!" I cried out, spotting Ellara far back in the fray.