Chapter Eighteen

The tension hung heavy in the air, thick as the shadows cast by the looming trees. The elf leader, his eyes sharp and keen, surveyed his companions. "We shall lure them to the designated spot," he declared, "and then... let the dance of blades decide the victors."

From the depths of the forest, a gruff voice echoed, "Alright, men, we move in fifteen minutes. Remember, bring back the good, or don't come back at all." The smugglers' leader, a burly brute with a scarred face, barked his orders, his words dripping with greed and violence.

"Do you trust them?" one of the elves asked his leader, a hint of doubt colouring his voice.

The elf leader allowed a subtle smile to play on his lips. "Trust? In humans? Never. But they believe they hold the upper hand, and that will be their undoing. We shall reclaim what is rightfully ours, one blade at a time."

Under the cloak of night, the procession began. The gleaming weapons, potent and valuable, were guarded by a contingent of Prehendrins, th