Reincarnated Into A World Of Elves As The Only Man-Chapter 15: Battle 1

The battlefield was a sea of bodies.

Moonlight's forces moved like a storm given form—water-wielders shifting the terrain beneath their enemies' feet, air-dancers carving paths of death through the chaos. Thornvale's warriors, clad in armor shaped from the very trees and stone of their homeland, fought back with vicious determination. Yet, despite their cunning, despite their illusions, they were faltering.

Princess Elysia surged forward, her blade a silver arc in the moonlit night, carving through Thornvale warriors as if they were reeds before a scythe. A soldier in dark green armor lunged at her, an obsidian axe raised high, but Elysia turned her strike aside with a flick of her wrist. Before the warrior could recover, Elysia's sword carved through her abdomen, parting metal and flesh as effortlessly as slicing silk.

'They dared,' she thought, stepping over the body before her. 'They dared to threaten our child.'

A spear thrust toward her ribs. She twisted, catching sight of her attacker—an elven warrior with deep brown skin, her golden eyes fierce even in death. Because Elysia's sword was already embedded in her throat, blood spilling down her chest in hot rivulets.

Beside her, Sorrel moved with a scholar's precision, each strike guided by years of study. She wielded not just a blade but the weight of Moonlight's history, the understanding of a hundred battles fought before this night. Thornvale blood painted the ground in dark streaks as her water-crafted spear pierced armor and flesh alike. A Thornvale warrior tried to parry, but Sorrel shifted her grip and plunged her spear into the woman's thigh. She collapsed with a choked scream, but Sorrel was already moving, whirling to drive her weapon through another enemy's heart.

Lady Aria, Mistress of Winds, danced through the fray. A Thornvale soldier lunged at her, sword raised—but the air itself betrayed her. A gust of wind twisted her strike wide, and before she could recover, Aria's blade opened her throat. The soldier crumpled, gurgling, hands clawing at the wound, but Aria did not stop. Wind whistled around her as she spun, slicing down another enemy, and another. She was untouchable, an unrelenting force of nature, her silver hair flickering like a phantom in the storm of war.

A Thornvale captain, marked by the intricate carvings on her wooden breastplate, leapt at Aria with a pair of curved daggers. Unlike the others, she was fast. She moved with a predator's grace, her movements precise, deadly.

But Aria was faster.

The air around them howled, and suddenly, the Thornvale warrior's feet left the ground. She twisted midair, trying to land safely, but Aria was already beneath her, sword flashing. A clean slice across the stomach, a rush of blood, and the captain landed in two pieces.

Yet even as Moonlight's warriors pressed forward, the enemy did not crumble.

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Elena was waiting.

At the heart of Thornvale's formation, the Earthborn Queen fought like a woman possessed. Her claymore, heavy and brutal, cleaved through Moonlight warriors with terrifying ease. The ground itself answered her fury, shifting to swallow enemies whole, jagged roots lashing out like serpents. A young Moonlight soldier cried out as the ground cracked beneath her feet, vines snapping around her legs, dragging her down into the earth. Her scream was cut short as the soil swallowed her whole.

Commander Maria stood at Elena's side, her illusions sewing chaos amidst Moonlight's ranks. Phantoms surged in the mist—spectral archers loosing arrows that were not real, soldiers appearing where none truly stood. And yet, her blade was no mere trick.

She moved like liquid shadow, slipping between warriors, carving them open before they even registered her presence. A Moonlight soldier screamed as Maria's sword slid under her ribs, her own spear falling uselessly from bloodied fingers. Another soldier, desperate, swung wildly—but Maria stepped aside with effortless grace, running her blade across the woman's throat with a practiced flick of her wrist.

"Don't struggle," she murmured as the soldier collapsed. "It only makes it worse."

A Moonlight warrior with twin blades came at her next, her face streaked with war paint, her breathing steady. This one was experienced. Maria parried the first strike, twisted away from the second, and lunged low, cutting deep into her opponent's thigh. The warrior staggered but did not fall, her blue eyes blazing with defiance. She raised her sword once more.

Maria admired her for a brief moment—then drove her blade into the woman's chest.

Elysia's gaze locked onto the two figures in the distance—Elena, hewing through her warriors with monstrous strength, and Maria, a phantom of death in the moonlit haze.

'Enough.'

Her fingers tightened around her sword, and she raised her voice above the chaos.

"Hold the formation! Do not let them push forward!"

Moonlight's forces obeyed. Wind-dancers wove currents through the air, disrupting illusions and scattering Thornvale's shadowed warriors. Water-wielders turned the battlefield into a quagmire, forcing Elena's soldiers to fight knee-deep in sludge.

Lyra, ever the vanguard, rode through the chaos like a force of nature, her heavy cavalry crashing into Thornvale's flanks. At her command, ice formed beneath the hooves of her riders, allowing them to charge across terrain where others would sink.

One of her riders was thrown from her horse as a Thornvale warrior leapt onto the beast's back, driving a jagged stone blade into its neck. The warhorse shrieked and collapsed, but before the Thornvale warrior could celebrate, Lyra was upon her. The woman barely had time to turn before Lyra's war axe split her skull in two.

The screams of the dying filled the night.

Moonlight's warriors pressed their advantage, blades flashing, water and wind carving destruction through Thornvale's ranks. The enemy had underestimated them. The illusions failed. The terrain betrayed them. The battle was turning.

And yet, in the eye of the storm, Elena merely smiled.