But with the elves’ physical strength and magic power, they can truly control the battlefield for a long ti.
It is precisely because the various groups of elves have distinct characteristics that the united elf race rules the world.
The whispers of auxiliary mages flowed like the night breeze within their ranks, imbuing arrows with the will to track and bestowing warriors with nimble blessings.
Compared to the Radiant Elves, they seem sowhat modest.
They mostly play a supporting role on the battlefield for other troops.
Between them, the vast battlefield is a hellish mire.
The bodies of human and beastman servitor armies lie in layers, severed limbs and shattered weapons mixed in blood-stained mud.
The quantity of elves is limited; you cannot expect the elves to truly dispatch their own people to the frontline for combat.
If that were the case, why fight?
Set up such formations, fight a few tis, and the elves can announce their extinction.
Servitor armies are inevitable.
Even on this continent where elves truly hold the dominant power, non-elf races account for at least half.
These non-elf races have long integrated into the elves over millennia, becoming non-elf elves.
The tragic nature of the battlefield is naturally intimately related to them.
The dying roar of beastman warriors still carries the remnants of beasts, while human wails are drowned in the thundering of war drums and magic.
Servitor armies clash like turbid torrents, repeatedly shattering under imnse casualties, leaving more lives as sacrifices in this elf-dominated contest.
"For the glory of the Eternal Crown!"
A Radiant Elf Knight shouted, his voice piercing through the clamor.
He rode atop a pure white steed, with a horn on its head and bright silver armor on its body.
His ornate sword pointed towards the flank of the Moon Elves, a unit of enemy mage heavy infantry, like moving fortresses, shattered the human formations trying to intercept them.
All approaching spells were easily broken by them, they were specialized units for handling mages.
They charged into the human ranks and slaughtered, after all, elf auxiliary mages stood at the farthest back, reaching them was impossible.
Their runic heavy armor sparked blindingly under magic attacks, yet remained unmoved.
"Moonlight guide, arrow rain pour!"
The commander of the Moon Elves responded, his voice cold as ice.
In an instant, a cloud of magical arrows rose into the sky, tracing fatal parabolas.
So arrows exploded upon impact, kicking up dirt and flesh; so pierced through heavy armor gaps, freezing blood; others bizarrely bypassed the front heavy armor, directly assaulting the rear mages.
A young Radiant Elf Mage Apprentice scread as a magic arrow entwined with vines pierced through his shoulder, then was firmly bound by resilient roots bursting from the ground—that was the work of Wood Elf allies.
The elves already sick of the dominance of Radiant Elves are not only the Moon Elves; they are rely the vanguard of rebellion and discontent, also the largest group.
"Eira!" An elderly Radiant Mage exclaid, a scorching ray accurately severing the vine.
He looked at the apprentice’s pained and youthful face, a trace of weary sorrow flashing in his eyes, "Hold on, child. This... should not be our fate."
War.
Or civil war?
Words of honor are aningless, words of reason are aningless, like insane beasts, incomprehensible.
Why has the proud race fallen to this?
The dissatisfaction and confusion within cannot be answered.
Elves internally have much aversion to civil war.
Elsewhere, a Moon Elf Ranger moved like a specter among the chaos of the servitor armies, her deep purple hair fluttering amidst the gunpowder.
She precisely shot down a Radiant Elf light armor warrior attempting to ambush a companion, the arrow embedding in his thigh.
The warrior fell with a muffled grunt, his bright silver hair stained with gri.
The ranger swiftly advanced, pressing a dagger inset with a Moonlight Stone to his throat.
"Surrender, child of Radiance," her voice carried a barely perceptible tremor, "Lay down your weapon, I guarantee your safety."
Even with the war at its peak intensity, elves still strive to ensure each other’s safety.
Unless necessary, there’s no need to go to the last step.
This is the tacit agreent between them.
Even the upper echelon of elves cannot issue cruel orders, as it would instantly rob them of their voice, leading to the tribe pointing fingers.
The count is too few, the elven preciousness is their weakness.
The captured elf warrior’s eyes burned with anger, but seeing the equally young face of the other, the fla seed to flicker.
"Traitor..." he rasped, yet still released the short sword in his hand.
The ranger shouted to the approaching companions behind her, "Take him away! Guard him carefully, don’t let those blinded by hatred approach him!" Her words contained command, but also a hint of deliberate emphasis.
War...civil war has already sullied them.
"rcy? For these maggots who steal moonlight?"
A rough voice sounded, a Moon Elf warrior with a fresh knife scar on his face rushed over, eyes full of pure hatred.
His curved saber still dripped with blood, clearly having just escaped the fray of the servitor armies. "Look at what they’ve done! My brother, in Starfall Valley, was burned to ash by their light spear! At that ti there were no captives, so all we can do is avenge!" He roared, poised to assault the captive.
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