"I don't know—" the shopkeeper began, but before he could finish his lie, an arrow made of shadows whistled through the air and tore deep into his shoulder.

He let out a guttural cry as the force of the impact sent him stumbling back into the wall. Blood splattered across the wooden floor, blooming dark and fast. The elf clutched his wound, his trembling hands slick with crimson.

Edward's eyes flicked toward the shadowy figure standing behind him—the newly summoned Shadow Archer, its form half-faded into the gloom. He hadn't meant for the strike to hit that hard, but it being the first time he used it, he didn't know what to expect. With a dismissive wave, the archer dissolved into mist.

"You won't last long unless you get healed," Edward said calmly, voice cutting through the man's panic. "Now's your chance to make that happen."

The elf's breathing hitched. His lips quivered as he searched for another lie, but the pain and the slow pool of blood beneath him broke his will faster than any threat.

"I… I led you into the ambush," the elf finally gasped out.

Edward stepped closer, the faint echo of his boots filling the silence. "Go on."

The shopkeeper swallowed, his voice trembling. "Some months ago… I got a big buyer for all my weapons and armours. I didn't care who they were—I just needed coin. But… it turned out to be an elf called Vael."

Elarien's gaze sharpened instantly at the name.

The shopkeeper continued, his tone heavy with guilt and fear. "He… he was one of the Crimson Oath commanders. Once I realised, it was too late. I'd already supplied them. I kept going—couldn't risk what they'd do if I stopped."

Blood dripped steadily from his wound. He pressed harder against it, gritting his teeth, but the blood never stopped coming. Edward glanced briefly at Elarien. Her face was cold, expression unreadable. Yet her eyes burned with quiet fury—the kind that could freeze someone where they stood.

"He passed by here a few weeks ago," the elf said suddenly. "I didn't know he killed anyone, I swear! He only came to schedule another pick-up, then left."

"Pick-up?" Edward repeated.

"He usually sends others to arrange them. Every month or two, someone collects whatever weapons and armour I've prepared. I always set aside the best gear for them—just in case."

Edward frowned as the pieces began to connect. "And the ones who attacked us…?"

"They were coming for that same pickup," the elf admitted weakly. "But when you two came asking questions, I told them. I told them where you'd gone."

Edward's eyes narrowed. "If they weren't here yet, how did you manage to tell them?"

The elf hesitated. His gaze flickered toward Elarien, then back to Edward. "Whisperwood Tome," he muttered.

Edward raised an eyebrow. "Whisperwood… what?"

Elarien stepped forward, her voice calm but low. "It's an old elven relic. Made from the bark of the Whisperwood tree—trees that once connected elven towns through the flow of mana. The tomes allow written words to travel between their bound pairs. Only a few remain," she explained.

Edward exhaled, realisation dawning on him. "So he didn't even have to meet them. Just… wrote it down."

The shopkeeper nodded, swaying slightly. His skin had grown pale from blood loss, and his breaths were shallow and uneven.

Edward frowned at the sight.

"If we want him alive long enough to answer more," he said to Elarien, "we'll need to treat him."

Elarien looked at the elf, then toward the doorway. "That won't be an issue," she said firmly. "Elves look after their own."

Without another word, she stepped outside.

Moments later, the sound of hurried footsteps filled the air. Villagers began to crowd the doorway—the same faces they had seen earlier in the tavern. The innkeeper from before led them, his expression grim.

"Leave him to us," the innkeeper said, gesturing for two others to lift the wounded man. "He'll live long enough to pay for what he's done, I promise you that," he added.

Edward stepped aside as they dragged the shopkeeper out. The faint trail of blood they left behind glimmered darkly against the wooden planks.

Elarien watched them disappear into the street. "The people here loved Elendir," she said quietly. "They'll make sure justice is served."

Edward nodded, his gaze still fixed on the doorway. "Good. I'm sure there is more answers we can get out of him."

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The shop smelled faintly of iron and dust, mixed with the sharp tang of blood.

Then, Elarien turned to Edward.

"Let's head back," she said. "I need to report back, and we should make a plan on how to move forward."

By the time they reached Valendell, night had fallen. The city was draped in silver light from the moon above, the streets deadly silent, nobody but them walking through them. A few lanterns flickered near the gates, their glow reflecting off the marble walls that surrounded the capital.

The two walked in silence through the streets. The calm of Valendell returned, the atmosphere that seemed to uplift the person the moment they entered.

As they neared the city's center, Elarien suddenly slowed her pace. "I will take my leave here," she said.

Edward stopped. "Very well," he replied after a short pause. "I will see you tomorrow,"

She gave a small nod, her expression softening for the first time that evening.

Then, with a swift movement, she turned and vanished down a narrow side street.

Edward continued alone.

The winding paths of Valendell hadn't gotten any easier to navigate. He took two wrong turns and nearly circled back before finally spotting a familiar street leading down to his chambers. But rather than heading straight there, he took a sudden turn.

Down a quieter street stood a small hut. Vines and tree bark interwined with its structure, faint candlelight glimmered from within, and sitting outside on a worn wooden chair was an elderly elf.

"Ahh… young man," Thyrion called out, his voice rough but warm. "You've returned."

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