Reincarnated as an Elf Prince-Chapter 253: Attackers

The wind over the academy’s plateau was cold. Not sharp. Just steady, the kind of chill that snuck under the edges of cloaks and reminded people to head inside after sunset.

Luneth Silverleaf didn’t.

She stood near the edge of the high outer terrace, one boot planted on the railing, arms folded, braid pulled tight over her shoulder like a silver ribbon against her coat.

She wasn’t brooding. Not exactly.

She was thinking.

Which, for her, usually looked the same.

’He should’ve told me more.’

She hated guessing. Hated waiting even more. Lindarion had said he’d return, said there were things he had to deal with first. She hadn’t pushed.

But he was out there alone. Again.

And she didn’t like the feeling sitting in her stomach.

"You’re not going to jump, are you?"

The voice came from behind her, dry, slow, familiar in the way old rugs were familiar: always there, always slightly askew.

She didn’t turn. "Sylric."

Her homeroom teacher, short black hair, beard like he hadn’t shaved in a week, cloak mostly on, boots mismatched, stepped up beside her and leaned lazily against the railing.

"Nice night," he said. "If you like pacing in circles for hours."

"I wasn’t pacing."

"You were thinking too loudly."

Luneth let out a quiet breath. "Did you need something?"

Sylric gave a noncommittal shrug. "Felt a weird ripple over the back wall. Could be the supply run team coming back late. Could be something more annoying."

"You think someone snuck in?"

"I think someone’s about to regret trying."

Luneth’s eyes narrowed.

Then she heard it.

A soft crunch behind the training hall wall. A shadow moved, not slowly, not fast. Just... wrong. The kind that didn’t belong on campus.

Sylric straightened. Still looked half asleep. But his fingers flexed once at his side.

"You know," he said conversationally, "I really hate when people try to mess with my students."

Another figure moved out of the shadows, cloaked, face hidden, stepping fast toward Luneth’s back.

She didn’t flinch.

She just turned slightly and raised one hand.

Ice.

Sharp, clean, and already circling her wrist.

But Sylric moved first.

One step. No dramatic flash. No announcement.

Just a flick of his finger, and the air snapped.

The figure froze mid-step.

Literally.

Frozen.

From the boots up.

Luneth turned the rest of the way as the cloaked form tried to twist free, but Sylric’s magic wasn’t flashy. It was complete.

"Who—" she started.

"Don’t know yet," Sylric muttered. "But he just tried to grab you. I’d say he’s not a fan."

The ice cracked louder now, spreading up the figure’s chest.

Another one dropped from the roof. Luneth saw the glint of steel this time.

Her hand moved, ice lancing upward in a spiral.

It missed.

Or it would’ve, if the roof hadn’t vanished under the attacker’s feet.

A snap.

Sylric’s second spell collapsed the tile beneath the second figure like folding paper. They hit the ground hard.

"Two more in the courtyard," Luneth said.

"Already handled," Sylric replied.

Sure enough, the soft thuds in the distance ended with sharp groans and a low buzz of mana collapse.

Sylric stepped forward and flicked the frozen attacker’s hood back.

The man underneath didn’t look like much. Early thirties. Shaved head. Scar under one eye. No insignia.

Luneth looked at him, then at Sylric.

"That was planned."

"Yeah," he said. "And poorly."

Luneth didn’t smile. She rarely did.

But she didn’t look quite as tense now.

"You think this is connected to what Lindarion’s dealing with?"

"I’d bet my next ten naps on it."

"Then I’m going after him."

Sylric looked at her.

"You’re going to ignore the academy’s orders?"

"Yes."

He paused. Scratched his head.

"...Need a ride?"

—

Lindarion landed just outside the capital, boots crunching over frost-laced roots, the teleport shimmer peeling off his coat like mist.

Ashwing reformed over his shoulder, tail flicking once.

"Quiet tonight," the dragon said.

"Too quiet."

Lindarion didn’t mean it in the paranoid way. He meant it like someone who knew how things were supposed to sound.

The birds were gone.

The wind felt wrong.

He turned once, just enough.

That was all it took.

Ten shadows broke from the tree line in near-perfect sync. No wasted movement. No pretense.

Just aggression.

Each wore the same blackened armor. Simple, efficient. Faces covered. Mana cloaks tight to their bodies.

But the air behind them buzzed wrong.

Like this was something trained. Something fed.

Ashwing hissed through the bond. "Not bandits."

"No."

"Not mercs either."

Lindarion’s hand was already up.

The closest one lunged.

Fast.

Lindarion didn’t dodge.

He caught the man’s wrist mid-swing and twisted hard. Bone cracked. The blade clattered.

Lightning surged down Lindarion’s arm and exploded against the attacker’s chest, flinging him backward into the dirt.

"Strike one," he muttered.

The others didn’t hesitate.

Good.

He hated slow fights.

Three came from the left. A fourth tried to flank. Two more dropped from trees above. Precision attacks, nothing random. They weren’t underestimating him.

That was a problem.

Lindarion slid back one step, then vanished in a shimmer of astral flicker, appearing behind the tree-line attacker mid-swing.

His dagger caught air.

Lindarion’s palm didn’t.

Fire surged in a tight spiral from his fingers, point-blank into the man’s side. Controlled burn. Enough to drop him screaming. Not enough to kill.

Yet.

He turned, eyes scanning fast.

Another attacker came in low, blade tipped with a blue glow. Mana disruptor. That was new.

Lindarion didn’t block.

He stepped through.

Void magic whispered over his shoulders, folding him sideways just enough to let the strike pass through air, not skin.

Then he twisted.

Blood affinity coiled in his fingers like hot tar, stabbing forward into the man’s thigh, not lethal, just enough to drag the pain sensors into overdrive.

"Three down," Ashwing noted.

"Seven to go."

And they were starting to hesitate now.

One tried a binding glyph, not a spell. Physical.

Lindarion didn’t even look.

Darkness bled from his boots in a silent ripple, crawling up the glyph like ink through water. It snapped the moment the threads met his aura.

Updat𝒆d fr𝒐m freew𝒆bnov𝒆l.c(o)m