Tales of the Endless Empire
Chapter 219: Predator’s Patience

Thalion stood at a crossroads, caught between instinct and strategy. The battle unfolding around him was one meant for blood, but he had no desire to kill the elf. No — he wanted something far more valuable than a corpse.

The system shop hovered only a thought away, and there had to be a way, some loophole, to steal that skill. He had claimed the eyes of the vampiress before, so why not this as well? The only problem was simple but urgent: how to knock the elf unconscious without killing him.

At this point, the special quest and its rewards barely registered in his thoughts. Whether the other elves would seek revenge or not had already become a certainty in his mind — their pride alone guaranteed it. But Thalion’s focus was consumed by that skill. He needed it. No matter the price.

His mind whirred with possibilities. Eagly, with his high wind affinity, could make perfect use of the technique, but Thalion’s ambitions stretched beyond that. He imagined binding the skill to darkness, merging it with the shadows. From what he had seen, the ability not only accelerated the user’s healing but allowed teleportation as well. The crippled Eclipsari he had encountered lacked any form of movement skill, and this — this would be the perfect complement to the darkness element.

Every time Thalion loosed another arrow, he whispered a silent prayer, willing the attack to maim rather than kill. The elf was no novice, far from it. Despite the relentless onslaught, his opponent showed no signs of exhaustion or retreat. In fact, the elf had begun retaliating with his own brand of fury — slicing the air with sharpened wind slashes.

But at this range, Thalion barely needed to move. He sidestepped the attacks with ease, never once halting the formation of his next arrow. Even as his mind plotted, his gaze flicked toward the bows runes, curious about the strange effect they had on the flow of blood. They seemed to stabilize it in ways Thalion didn’t yet understand, but the potential was clear. If he could replicate that technique, his own blood manipulation would leap to terrifying new heights.

The elf, however, was beginning to crack. Subtle at first: the stiffening of shoulders, the narrowing of eyes. Desperation. If this went on much longer, the elf would turn and flee. Thalion couldn’t allow that. Without a second thought, he reabsorbed the floating blood around him, letting his body fall back toward the earth, simultaneously reducing the power channeled into his Crimson Garden.

The elf’s lips curled into a cold, vicious smile the moment Thalion touched the ground. His silhouette blurred as he lunged forward, blade flashing. Thalion exhaled slowly.

Perfect.

"What the hell is he doing? Why did he stop the bombardment?" Maike asked, voice tense, fingers gripping Kaldrek’s hand.

Until moments ago, the battle had played out so one-sidedly that even the elf’s agility hadn’t looked like enough to change the outcome. Thalion had hovered midair, balancing on swirling streams of blood while bombarding his opponent from above — every arrow guided with lethal precision. But now? The entire blood construct had collapsed, the crimson liquid falling to the ground like rain, dragging Thalion down with it.

The elf saw the opening and struck, moving with that same inhuman grace Maike had grown to despise. Each of the elf’s motions was flawless, a cruel blend of elegance and lethality, as though the fight itself were choreographed.

"He’s running out of mana," Kaldrek murmured under his breath, barely audible. His sharp eyes never left the battlefield. He had already signaled one of the waiting strike teams to prepare for intervention should Thalion fall. Even with the elves' superior skill in one-on-one combat, they were outnumbered — and three skyships hung overhead, their cannons armed and ready to drown the field in fire and death if the tide turned.

The clash on the ground had escalated into a whirling storm of steel. Thalion and the elf circled one another in a brutal, hypnotic rhythm. Their blades danced faster than the eye could follow, strikes blurring into a seamless flow of attack and counterattack. Early in the fight, Thalion’s technique had given him the edge, but now the elf had adapted — and the advantage shifted.

From time to time, the elf’s blade slipped past Thalion’s defense, carving thin, shallow cuts that his armor barely managed to deflect. Hope flickered briefly in Maike’s chest whenever the reinforced plating absorbed a blow, but it wasn’t enough. Thalion couldn’t break through. His counters never landed.

The elf’s wind domain had grown denser, strong enough to disperse the lingering blood mist and tear through the creeping vines that clawed at his legs. Thalion wasn’t even using the signature red vines that usually sprouted from his own body — only those from his domain, weaving across the ground like snakes. The difference in pressure was clear. Thalion was on the back foot.

It was like watching a nightmare replay itself. The same hopelessness they’d felt during Josh’s final moments began to settle over the group. The elf, blade unwavering, landed blow after blow, and this time the blood didn’t stay hidden. Red trails streaked across Thalion’s armor, seeping from fresh wounds.

"Not bad, human," the elf taunted after another brutal exchange, his voice sharp as broken glass. "But you only played into my hands. I was merely waiting for you to run dry."

Maike felt her stomach twist at the sound of his voice — that smug, self-assured tone. She hated it.

She wanted nothing more than to wrap her fingers around his throat and squeeze — squeeze until his stubbornness gave way. But instead of yielding, or pulling some last-minute trick as he had against the vampires, Thalion simply attacked again. As if nothing else existed beyond the blade in his hand.

“Was my fight with him just as hopeless-looking?” Josh asked, now standing quietly at Maike’s side. The healers had patched him up enough to walk, but his voice was still heavy with defeat.

Jack, ever the realist, crushed whatever small spark of hope Josh had been nursing.

“Not even close. You never got the elf this exhausted.”

Maike’s head snapped toward Jack, her eyes sharp with a glimmer of hope.

“Wait — you mean the elf is exhausted too?”

“Of course he is,” Jack replied, his voice lower now, tinged with concern. “Look at his footwork. It's getting sloppier by the second. His swings are losing both speed and weight. The only problem is, Thalion's fading just as fast.”

Maike’s mind raced.

“Maybe… maybe he’s faking it,” she suggested, though the thought sounded hollow even as it left her lips. “Could he be pretending to be this worn out? Trying to bait the elf?”

But even as the words hung in the air, her own instincts pushed back against the idea. The risk was simply too great — especially with the elf hurling him across the field, wielding that wind-knight form and a sword nearly as large as Thalion himself. No. This wasn’t a bluff.

The fight dragged on, and her unease deepened. Around her, the other elves stood with their usual smug grins, the same arrogant expressions that had never left their faces since the battle began. It stoked a hatred in her chest — sharp and bitter — perhaps even worse than what she reserved for the undead.

Enslaving a human base would surely bring them a mountain of credits. But still, something didn’t add up. Why had they come here in the first place? Surely they weren’t foolish enough to believe they could seize this place alone, not with so few numbers.

She scanned the now fully repaired fortifications, the soldiers stationed along them alert and prepared for another siege. Whatever the elves’ true motives, this reckless assault made little sense.

A sharp, mocking voice snapped her attention back to the duel.

“Well now, little human,” Sandor, the elf, sneered after landing a heavy kick against Thalion’s chest, sending him skidding back across the dirt. “When you die, I’ll make sure to put your sword and armor to proper use. Consider it your final good deed.”

The elf adjusted his stance, twirling his blade as if this were all some elaborate game.

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“You humans never stood a chance. Defeating an elf? It’s simply not in your nature.”

But before Sandor could savor his monologue any longer, Thalion attacked again, forcing him back into silence.

It was clear now — even to the untrained eye — that both fighters were reaching their limits. Their auras, once vivid and imposing, flickered and waned like dying flames. The elf’s breathing grew shallow and ragged, while Thalion’s own exhaustion showed in his slowed movements. His chest remained eerily still beneath the armor, likely masked by its weight, but the way he staggered and the slight delay in his parries told the truth. He was running on fumes.

Still, somehow, Thalion always managed to place his blade or gauntlet between himself and the elf’s sword at the last second, deflecting death again and again.

Maike couldn’t help but admire the eerie beauty of his armor’s self-repairing enchantments — metal reknitting itself, covering the damage, though the wounds beneath likely remained unhealed. At the very least, the reinforced plating would make it harder for Sandor to exploit the same weak spot twice.

One thing puzzled her, though. Despite the advantage, the elf hadn’t once returned to his windform — not even when Thalion’s strikes occasionally slipped past his guard, drawing thin lines of blood. He could have ended this long ago, yet something held him back.

The dance of blades stretched on until, without warning, Thalion forced the elf back with a sudden, violent mana wave. Sandor stumbled, landing heavily on the ground, and Thalion’s voice cut through the tense air, cold and sharp.

“What’s wrong, pointy ears? Why don’t you use that windform of yours anymore? Getting boring over here. Oh — and what kind of skill is that, anyway?”

The elf’s jaw tightened, his gaze darkening.

“I’ll make this slow for you, human,” he hissed. “We’ll see how much fight is left when I’m done.”

As he spoke, his blade began to hum with power, its edges glowing as his aura surged higher once more.

Thalion tilted his head slightly, voice dry, almost amused.

“Ah, so that’s a ‘no,’ then.”

And then it happened.

Thalion’s aura exploded outward, more intense than anything he had displayed before. The air itself seemed to crack under the sudden pressure. In a single heartbeat, his domain flared to life, snapping the elf’s wind domain apart like brittle glass. Vines, dark and barbed, erupted from the ground, coiling around Sandor’s legs before he could react.

A crimson thorn launched from the earth, piercing the elf’s shin clean through. Sandor staggered, breath locked behind gritted teeth, but held back a scream as an escape token flashed into existence in his hand.

Before the token could activate, Thalion was already there. The blade of the Blooded Templar sang through the air, severing the elf’s hand at the wrist.

The token clattered to the ground, useless.

Vines shot upward, wrapping around Sandor’s entire body. Only a single, strangled scream escaped before the writhing mass silenced him for good.

Beside Maike, Kaldrek let out a low whistle.

“What a monster. The whole fight — it was all a setup, just to catch the elf off guard.”

Maike nodded silently. She couldn’t have agreed more.

But there was no time to dwell on it. Some of the remaining elves stepped forward, faces darkened with fury, clearly intent on avenging their fallen comrade. Yet before they could move, a deep metallic thunk echoed across the battlefield.

A massive harpoon, fired from one of the ballistae atop the wall, embedded itself in the earth barely a meter in front of the lead elf. The warning couldn’t have been clearer.

The elves froze, glancing at one another, unsure. Their indecision only deepened as Thalion slowly turned toward them, his expression hidden, but his aura rising once again like a gathering storm.

His voice carried over the field — cold, indifferent, utterly unconcerned.

“I won. Now leave. If I see another elf step foot here, I won’t be so merciful.”

For a moment, the elves stood frozen, pride and fear locked in battle across their sharp features. But reality settled on them like a heavy cloak. There was nothing left for them here but retreat.

One by one, they turned and disappeared into the forest, leaving only the fading echo of Thalion’s victory behind.

<--

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Thalion’s mouth as he watched the last of the elves vanish into the dense embrace of the jungle. Their retreat came later than expected, but the battle had ended exactly the way he’d planned. A drawn-out dance, yes — longer than he would have liked — but in the end, the moment had arrived, and he had struck with all the precision and cruelty the situation demanded.

The elf never even stood a chance. The fear effect woven into his armor had remained unused, carefully reserved for another day. Instead, Thalion had relied on the unflinching power of his Crimson Gaze — a direct assault on the elf’s soul. Strong as the creature’s spirit had been, it still wasn’t enough to shake off the influence entirely. The moment the elf faltered, the crimson virethorn had sprung from the ground, wrapping around his leg like a living snare, rooting him in place and sealing his fate.

The rest, as always, was just execution.

Thalion’s gaze drifted toward the severed hand lying nearby, the elf’s spatial ring still glinting faintly against the blood-smeared ground. He’d already decided it would go to Josh — the man had earned it after standing his ground far longer than anyone could have expected against such a foe.

But the real prize wasn’t the ring. It was the elf himself.

The greatest challenge had been ensuring the elf stayed alive. The crimson virethorn, left unattended, would have drained every last drop of blood without hesitation. Thalion had to constantly exert his will over both vine and victim, carefully siphoning just enough mana and stamina to keep the elf teetering on the edge of life — broken, helpless, but not dead. He even had to grow a flower from the elf’s throat just to silence his pained whimpering, a grotesque bloom sprouting from his mouth like nature’s own gag.

But that was only the beginning.

His true goal was to make the other elves believe their comrade was dead, to make sure they didn't come back for a rescue mission. Thalion had no intention of letting such a valuable asset slip away, no matter how much pressure or firepower the enemy brought to his doorstep. Not when he had plans for the elf — and, more importantly, for the skill the elf had used so masterfully. The System Shop would appear in a matter of hours, and if there was a way to extract or mimic the technique, Thalion would find it.

Raising one hand, he signaled a nearby scout unit to follow the retreating elves. Knowing their camp’s location was now a top priority. Arrogance burned bright in the hearts of their kind, and there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that they would come back, hungering for revenge.

He lingered near the wall for another moment, waiting until most of the soldiers had drifted away, returning to their preparations for the looming war with the undead. Only then did Thalion finally release his domain. The crimson haze dissipated, revealing the elf’s twitching, broken body sprawled across the blood-soaked earth. Vines still coiled through his limbs and chest, binding him tightly like a grotesque marionette.

With a simple gesture, Thalion manipulated the blood within the elf’s veins, lifting him into the air like a limp ragdoll. His own feet rose from the ground as he began floating toward his tower, the wounded elf trailing behind like a trophy on an invisible leash.

This was about to get interesting. The elf would tell him everything — about their plans, about their kind, and most of all, about that skill.

And if the interrogation dragged on longer than expected? The others could go ahead and start bombarding the Black Fortress using Jim’s formation. He wasn’t worried. For now, his instincts told him one simple truth.

He’d just struck gold.