Andris swore that since he beca a professional, in thirty years he had never encountered such troubleso enemies.
Ferocious, ruthless, each move deadly.
As a forr adventurer absorbed by the Sorren Comrce, he already considered himself cunning and sly enough in battle.
However, compared to these elves before him, he felt that his past self was much too chivalrous...
These long-eared creatures, hollering excitedly, rarely fought one-on-one and seed long accustod to ganging up.
Every ti Andris was about to break through the encirclent, several elves would swarm over and block his way...
He even heard their excited shouts:
"Watch out! He’s trying to escape!"
"Quick, block this little boss!"
"Get him!"
Andris, ...
He opened his mouth, intending to say sothing, yet didn’t know where to start...
The elves were not only sly.
They were also strong.
Very strong.
Just one exchange, and Andris could perceive their solid combat experience.
Not only were their ranks high, but they also seed to have experienced countless battles already.
Each of Andris’s strikes would be intercepted by the elves, perfectly tid...
Engaging with them gave Andris the illusion that he was facing those old, sly rcenary leaders who hovered on the edge of life and death for years.
However, Andris knew that such rcenaries could only be honed through years of struggle through blades and fire, one in a hundred.
But these guys before him weren’t those rcenary leaders...
They were elves!
Elves, recognized among intelligent species as the least adept in combat!
Yet, these very elves whom Andris had privately mocked countless tis before, now appeared before him in a form he had never imagined...
Vicious, cunning, frantic.
Even though he already knew from so trade channel news that the elf rcenaries erging in the Underworld warfare had robust prowess, Andris had not expected them to be so difficult.
Moreover... these elves not only had impressive individual strength, but they also knew how to cooperate exceedingly well.
They usually operated in groups of five.
In the group, there was always one stubborn, heavily armored figure, ard to the teeth, leaving Andris no space to strike...
This elf might not have the strongest combat ability, but his resilience to beatings was terrifying.
Whenever Andris resolved to stake it all, this tough guy would willingly step forth, deflecting all his lethal attacks.
And their side, at most, would cough up so blood yet laugh heartily and leap back into battle the next second.
When Andris’s initial strength waned and his next surge had not arisen, the surrounding elves would seize the opportunity to swarm in...
Each of their moves targeted his most deadly and defenseless spots.
Yet, these elves were not even remotely lacking in level.
In fact, many of them were not beneath Andris’s level at all.
This kind of ambush by such beings, when one’s strength had not yet gathered, was nearly impossible to guard against.
In almost every round of attack, Andris would accumulate new wounds on his body.
This almost entirely passive fighting strategy frustrated Andris to the point of wanting to vomit blood.
However, there was sothing even more infuriating.
Behind the hunting team of elves, there stood several figures dressed in priest robes.
Whenever an elf was injured, they would chant spells, employing Divine Arts to heal them.
Their Divine Arts were even more formidable than the Priests of the Eternal Church, almost working wonders instantaneously.
In Andris’s understanding, injuries that would require at least ten days or half a month of rest would heal instantly after a ray of Holy Light.
That terrifying speed of treatnt filled Andris with dread internally.
In the balance of gains and losses, none of the elves fell, yet the number of Half-Beasts and rcenaries following Andris dwindled...
As the battle dragged on, Andris felt his strength waning, and even the wounds on his body began to numb.
"Elves! Do you dare face one-on-one?!"
He roared in frustration.
Yet, Andris rely elicited sneers from the elves in return.
Indeed, sneers.
Andris found it hard to imagine this word being associated with elves.
But seeing their faces, filled with a touch of madness amidst excitent, along with the cheers or regretful sighs they made whenever a Half-Beast or rcenary got killed, their complete disregard for slaughter and death horrified Andris imnsely...
He had road the continent for over thirty years, encountering countless individuals and races.
He had seen those who loved to fight, and those who were cruel.
Yet among all intelligent races he had seen, he very rarely encountered beings as deranged as the elves before him.
So slaughtered for wealth, others for status.
But in the eyes of the elves before him, there was only excitent and bloodlust.
They... were doing it for pleasure.
It seed that in their eyes, he wasn’t an enemy, but a toy for their amusent.
Such expressions, Andris had only seen before on fanatical Evil God believers and playful chromatic dragons playing with their prey...
At this mont, Andris finally understood why these elves were called Evil Elves by the residents of the Underworld.
But it was already too late.
The number of Half-Beasts and rcenaries with him decreased steadily, while the elves besieging Andris grew ever more nurous.
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