Death Notice Book 8: Chapter 27: The Full-Scale Assault

Release Date: 2026-06-05 06:23:06

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On the fourth morning after the migration group left Qiongda’er Forest, the first attack from the human rogue band finally came. It was a group of about a hundred rogues. Almost none of them reached the migration group before being wiped out, only a handful managing to escape.

Whether it was Qin Lun, Adeline, Menon, or the other Elf Elders, they had all underestimated the powerful combat capabilities of the elves. Of course, it was also because this attacking rogue band lacked high-ranking combatants or top-tier equipment. Ordinary human bandits simply couldn’t resist the elves’ precise archery against the elves’ precise archery.

Truthfully, this group of bandits had been clever enough to target only the tail end of the migration group. However, the forty or so elves stationed there required just three volleys to ensure most of the bandits remained permanently in this land.

Though it was only a minor victory, it lifted everyone’s spirits. At this point, even the most cautious High Priest Menon began to picture reaching Ank Forest after completely annihilating the attackers, with zero casualties among the elves themselves.

Yet, merely a day later, the elves suffered a major setback. Targeting the tail end again, a different human mercenary band numbering over two hundred achieved a different outcome.

This painful lesson etched itself deeply into the elves’ memories. The mages and Druids within the caravan no longer held back their power. Even during pitch-dark nights, the mages insisted on setting Magician’s Eyes around the perimeter. The Druids took turns shapeshifting into birds of the air, flying up to watch for any unusual movements across the plains.

However, as Qin Lun had warned earlier, pushing things to extremes backfires. The better the elves’ defensive measures became, the more they forced the scattered human rogue bands, mercenary groups, and dark organizations to band together. Small units merged into larger ones. Harassment parties transformed into highly aggressive, significant forces.

On the afternoon of the sixth day, less than a hundred miles from Naga Lake crossing, the attackers finally abandoned small-scale harassment. Over a dozen rogue bands gathered together, forming a ferocious horde of bandits numbering two thousand strong, which swept menacingly towards the elven migration group.

This time, it wasn’t just the rear, or any single section. The human robbers launched an all-out assault on the elves. Practically every elf in the entire migration group was fighting. The whistling sound of arrows, the clash of swords, shouts, and screams became a single chaotic roar echoing across the plains rolling with golden wheat.

Thwang! Thwang! Thwang! The rhythmic sounds of bowstrings snapping echoed like a beautiful symphony. With every flash of black light streaking through the air, a cloaked figure in a dark robe inevitably collapsed to the ground.

Blood flowed along the ditches of the rice paddies, gathering into small streams that slowly seeped into the earth beneath the golden waves. Nourished by it, the golden wheat seemed even more vigorous, rustling in the morning breeze as if celebrating this unexpected “extra meal.”

Qin Lun stood atop a caravan wagon. The large elk that pulled it had been unhitched and was kneeling, tucked behind the wagon to avoid stray arrows. In front of the young man, two youthful Elven Hunters each held a makeshift shield—essentially hollowed-out oak logs—covering him. While rudimentary, the hardwood surface of oak was as tough as iron, offering better protection than oiled vine shields against most arrows and blades.

Qin Lun didn’t refuse their spontaneous act of protection, even though he truly didn’t need it. The awakening of the Elven Hunter legacy had fully unlocked the potential of his Moonlight Elf Bloodline.

Gannett’s Left Eye, Wind Element affinity, Clock Eye, and Detection Aura – these four abilities, combined with his Combat Model, created a layered defensive zone around Qin Lon.

Within a thousand meters, Qin Lun could make out two dragonflies mating. Within five hundred meters, the Wind Element conveyed even subtle anomalies directly to his ears.

At two hundred meters, the sensing threads formed by Clock Eye felt like invisible tentacles. Enemies within this distance felt touchable to Qin Lūn.

Closer still, within a hundred meters, they entered the Detection Aura zone. Qin Lun didn’t believe anyone could evade his detection here, unless possessing A-grade stealth or Legendary Rank Perception suppression.

Though he stood conspicuously on the wagon, radiating an almost show-off aura, no attack truly threatened him. What good was the fastest, most powerful arrow if its trajectory was deciphered hundreds of meters away?

At his feet lay three arrow quivers. One was already empty, another half full. His elevated position providing a clear view down, combined with his precise rapid-fire technique, made Qin Lun seem like an efficient engine of death, constantly spitting out lethal arrows.

Assailants and those in black cloaks charging towards him mostly met their end the moment they stepped into his most intimate zone. A spitting arrow of fine iron piercing their throats, they’d collapse. Between one hundred and one hundred fifty meters, the bodies formed a crescent arc, like a realm of death carved out by the God of Death.

Across the battlefield, Qin Lun’s kill rate easily dwarfed that of other Elven Rangers and Hunters by a factor of ten. It wasn’t that he was vastly more powerful than seasoned veterans, but rather due to his unique approach.

Learning from previous skirmishes, these bandits were mostly well-equipped. Though not piled high like proper Knights, the vanguard often carried round shields and leather armor. A few richer ones wore breastplates over vitals. Even those lacking resources layered thick cotton coats, stuffing bits of scrap iron over critical spots.

This protection might have deflected ordinary elven bone arrows. But the Fine Iron Long Arrows of high-ranking Rangers and Hunters, infused with piercing energy? Impossible to stop.

The problem was the immense drain of using a Piercing Arrow; even high-ranking Hunters couldn’t use them rapidly in succession. Even Qin Lun or the female elven archer from the Lost Novices group faced this limitation. Stamina wasn’t the immediate concern, but Apostle Skills had cool-down periods too.

Under these constraints, Elven Rangers and Hunters usually fired four or five arrows before being forced into melee. In Qin Lun’s area, despite the rising calls for close combat echoing across the field, he remained an anomaly. He stood like a lone sentinel, fighting off the bulk of attackers from the relative safety of his hundred-meter vantage point. In the entire chaotic scene, apart from zones secured by powerful elven mages, Qin Lun was likely the only Elf Hunter actively holding the enemy at arm’s length – specifically, a hundred-meter distance.

Two key factors enabled this unique situation. The first was Qin Lun’s utter precision in target selection. Empowered by his supreme detection abilities, he instantly grasped the relative strength of each onrushing foe. He only attacked the low-ranking rogues and ordinary bandits, deliberately leaving gaps for the stronger attackers to pass.

Those elite opponents? They became problems for others nearby. Remember, Qin Lun wasn’t alone; a seventh-ranked Shadow Gale Panther prowled near the wagons, and the highly capable warrior Iristin stood vigilant. Aim to quickly bring down most run-of-the-mill thieves? Absolutely. But even nearby Elven Rangers, finding themselves under sudden pressure, often instinctively focused on tougher foes who slipped through Qin Lun’s deadly coverage. The result? A synergistic effect.

The second factor lay in his Combat Model and the ‘Weakness Crosshair’ ability. The Piercing Arrow skill indeed had a long cool-down, approximately thirty seconds. On a rapidly shifting battlefield, thirty seconds was an eternity, easily enough for attackers to close the gap. Yet Weakness Crosshair, fundamentally an enhanced targeting module, was passive. It consumed no Stamina or Energy Points, had no cool-down, and only required factoring in environmental hindrances like wind – a breeze for Qin Lun with his exceptional Wind Element affinity.

By applying the Combat Model and activating Weakness Crosshair practically permanently, Qin Lun transformed every Fine Iron Long Arrow fired using his Rapid Shot skill. Each mundane projectile suddenly packed maybe half-glimmer or a third-shadow of a minor-league Piercing Arrow’s true elemental punch. Adequate to bring down a crack swordsman emanating palpable martial energy? Unlikely. But perfectly efficient for turning average human scum into permanent inhabitants of the ditch? Undoubtedly. Drain the energy of an elite soldier with two quick arrows before letting a nearby Ranger finish the weakened opponent through melee? Yeah. Catch a moderately armored veteran just right in a weak spot to cause debilitating injury? Absolutely. Pin down a charging captain whose arrogance leads to momentary exposure? Yep. This consistent stopping power consistently leveraged in every single released shaft.

Qin Lun was ruthlessly pragmatic. Unlike some flamboyant Elven Rangers specializing in showy headshots or attempting impossible heart shots past layered armor, he focused on one vital point the enemy simply couldn’t fully guard: the throat, or the open mouth.

Bandits charging yelling war cries? Turned the very noise with little intent beyond intimidation back into a death sentence. Shield raised? Made them feel foolish for the millimeter opening appearing exactly where Qin Lun’s uncanny precision anticipated the briefest glimpse of neck. Stumbling for breath? Became his cue to speed-stitch shut their windpipe. Whenever they roared, believing it summoned divine protection, Qin Lun would react with unnerving calm. He’d metaphorically reach out, place his arrow right through that vulnerable opening resembling a target circle, silencing that cry forever. A clean stop. Supposed snarls frozen atop lips; supposedly fear-inducing threats swallowed back instinctively with a terminal gurgle.

…

Grem gasped for breath, dodging a massive paw swipe with a nimble hop. Mustering his energy, he stamped his right foot firmly, hefting his two-handed war blade towards the towering black bear confronting him. Yet, right then, a muddy yellow light sparked to life on the scaling-obscured arm! His fierce strike, amplified through committed muscle fiber tension and skill built over years, thudded sickeningly into yielding earth wisps – penetrated barely halfway through the thick limb ‘meat’ before painfully rebounding as if from solid rock. Shock ran through his frame.

His legs wobbled, nearly buckling from weapon impact whiplash interacting with weird environmental forces. The expletive formed mentally against the Druid: “Damned pest!” His glare held frustration. This… creature… looming over four meters tall… was no mere beast. It was a true Elven Druid. Feeling the disturbingly resilient earth energy, sensing the alien flow of energies defining its stance? Likely higher ranked than him. Entire situation transformed into an unwanted hassle.

Druids blended spellcraft with raw physical power, infuriating all melee specialists. When roughly matched in rank? Forget duel… think prolonged nuisance combat becoming physical and mental endurance trial. Not overpowering attacks, but endless buffs, debuffs, healing shifts, entanglement snares – mere presence generated exhaustion attrition! Below the torn fabric of robes and bristling fur now, intensified yellow-hued energy pulsed. Increasing physical resistance aura? Indisputable. Uncomfortable energy leaching bite? Peculiar. Roots subtly thickening? Absurd… turning a tough foe utterly nightmarish to dislodge or defeat. Natural fortification aura clung thick; edge seemed actively blunted by magic charge in tissues. Hounding spells eroded his endurance.

Natural Healing, Entangling Vines, Summon Wild Creatures… As Leader of the “Razorblade Cutthroats” merc crew and a high-ranked swordsman, Grem had started this fight eager. Confidence now leaked away like his soggy bandanna interior. Mere ants this powerfully enhanced by constant earth and energy upkeep? How absurdly… persistent! Each rapid kick, each paw swipe… served as frustrating distractions… opening windows for hidden thorns clinging via unnatural adhesive sap? Newly forming roots clutched his weary boots! Previously experienced rage turned into dull resolve to manage damn time until escape chance appeared. Getting slowly whittled down felt terrifyingly inevitable here.

Actually, Grem harbored a sneaking suspicion this Druid secretly outranked him. Fighting instincts felt crisp, raw strength potent, spellcasting motions efficient – sole flaw lay in handling aggressive human swords targeting critical joints and exploiting momentary recovery delays rather than trading blows with oversized predators. But even that minor tactical gap narrowed alarmingly during their duel. After ten minutes locked in this exhausting stalemate, Grem’s twinged neck muscles screamed to retreat.

Despite laser attention on dodging claws and paws, battle-honed instincts screamed through ambient noise changes: sounds of nearby clashes decreasing rapidly! Grim feeling pitted wet grains inside his belly confirmed hostile territory collapse.

“Hah!” White-hot light abruptly ignited along Grem’s greatsword blade! Channeling every ounce of reserved strength into shockwave generation technique, he aimed the gathered blazing arc towards his tormentor’s distorted head shape! Concentrated compression wave? Not precise… meant physical displacement! Simultaneously, planting both feet firmly then springing backwards as the heavy forward swing momentum passed… utilizing its initiating shoulder carry precisely as escape propulsion additive? Classic cavalryman withdrawal technique revisited for personal extraction! Free hand instinctively stuffed blade deeper into scabbard even while already turning! Fleeing posture snapped into place! Shoulder joints complained under abrupt torque! Eyeline instinctively swept sideways. Need assessed: how dire his crew’s situation? Hope? Shattered instantly.

Frozen terror instantly froze sweat newly beading upon his forehead! At a horrified glance? Beside his current struggle zone? Abundant corpses of Cutthroats and Claw Mark Brigade mercs lay scattered! Faint choked cry escaped his lips. Zooming then? Horrifically specific cluster? Slightly left? Body density spiked. Fog of war lifted briefly just so… outlining chilling geometry: one hundred fifty bodies?! Maybe even two hundred? Packed densely enough to form a weird crescent moon of crimson detritus… pointing inward like accusing finger? Dimensions estimated? Roughly monstrous three-hundred-pace curve… depth maybe fifty. Entire unit probably halved! Attack utterly shattered! Core inside? Stood central fact: a damned ordinary wagon.

Around that caravan wagon, over a hundred elves clustered – elders, frightened woman fledglings clutching toddlers, skeletal youth bodies. Centerpoint? One figure above… impossibly relaxed? Silver-haired male? Wearing worn hunter leathers? Oak bow in hand? Movements flowed liquid… singular elegance barely noticing dead men formed his steps. Unnerving warmth graced predator-perfection lips? Dark pit depths showed baseline non-emotion identical to ocean trench stillness? Genuinely unsettling psychological cold pierced Grem’s hardened nerves. Reflected recognized true predator spirit indifferent to life fire in sentient eyes? Previously detected psychologically vacant glare? Resonated deeply hazardous psychic signature parallel to elite professional torturers rumored within deadly Zhentarim? Recognize predator not merely aggressive like orc… not sadistically aestheticizing agony like demonologist… but fundamentally operationalizing killing as intensely functional management task? Highest operational level serene brain control? Permeated sense of calmness? Stripped all life essence valuation beyond ‘part of biomass cycle’? Critical danger signal registered instantly. Soul chilling cold front settled upon perception centers.

Amidst his fleeing cutthroats, confusion briefly pierced: “Such type among pointy-eared? Impossible!” Logic short-circuited. How? Assumed heritage: grace & love-song death rites… abruptly punctured by porcelain psychopath? Defied understanding. Ancient lineage tree produced such… efficient machine? Absolute contradiction against established ethos? Impossible – forbidden per elders’ tales!

His mind pieced together a horrifying intuition: That grotesque corpse crescent centered around that single cart? Was likely entirely the handiwork of this silver-haired phantom archer. This single elf might be responsible for the downfall of nearly half the members of both merc bands under his command! Absolute stats defied imagination considering active threats… Yes! Maintaining that death aura required impossible continuous lethal arrow flow!

With the rank-and-file fighters depleted, the archer suddenly switched his sharp focus towards hunting the surviving elites. Frighteningly precise? Target acquired: Commander Schlieffen from opposing “Steel Talon Blades” formation!

Schlieffen approached Seventh Ring Pyramid limits… final tier of Mid-Rank Magician layers… potentially half-step Advanced threshold achieved? Actually surpassing Grem’s personal strength by significant amount. Collaborative raid scheduled tonight? Intended plunder of Moon Elf survivors? He originated as primary planner… assumed coordinator role. Absolute confidence aura previously radiated! Normally… expected Schlieffen capable of overwhelming two elven Rangers swiftly? Raw talent presence undeniable… intellect profound?

Currently? Stuck firing frantically with two! Barely functional freedom existed? Pure frantic defense posture?! Color completely gone from proud façade? Jaw tightening? Two overlapping barrier fields crackling experimentally?! Starting defensive options felt surreal?! Conversely understanding formed instantly within Grem: defensive necessity overriding offensive posture became utterly mandatory! Why?

This silver archer fired without haste – methodical tempo. Yet each shot possessed uncanny intuitive precision! He seemed capable of detecting resonant frequency patterns in the magical shield’s shimmer? Normal rate? Consistently penetrating standard single barrier within three average arrows? Without leveraging the Penetrating Arrow energy projection. How? Effectively saw through the ephemeral protective pulse… isolated inevitably shifting flaw point? Delivered perfectly calculated kinetic force snapshot?! Psychologically terrifying! Stood as ultimate magical swordsman nightmare! Arrows flawlessly tracking energy drain without pause! Grem privately recoiled mentally; facing that? Hands gripp