Chapter 450: Alleria Windrunner

The sharp whistle, paired with the warning arrows, conveyed an unmistakable message.

"It must be a patrol of high elves."

With this thought in mind, the caravan halted in the middle of the road, assuming a defensive posture.

Before long, several high elf rangers on tallstriders, equipped with bows and short swords, surrounded the caravan.

Moments later, other rangers appeared, gracefully weaving through the forest, their movements a testament to their agility.

When the caravan guards saw these slender, leather-armored high elves with their strikingly beautiful appearances, they finally relaxed.

Although the trolls had suffered catastrophic losses in their wars with the high elves and humans—leading to the collapse of the mighty Amani Empire—they had not been entirely wiped out. 

These resilient creatures continued to survive in small tribal groups, harboring millennia-old grudges against the high elves deep within the forests of Zul'Aman.

Despite numerous campaigns by the high elves to eradicate them, the trolls had never been entirely defeated. 

Occasionally, smaller troll bands would cross the borders into Quel'Thalas, wreaking havoc. The patrols of high elf rangers were a necessary measure against these incursions.

Even the emissaries of the Kingdom of Lordaeron had heard of these events. Once they confirmed that their encounter was with elves, they could breathe a sigh of relief.

Although the high elves were prideful, they bore no hostility toward humans. As long as the travelers identified themselves, the patrol would typically allow them passage.

As expected, the leader of the ranger patrol stepped forward. A female ranger, with a melodic and enchanting voice, called out after slinging her longbow onto her back:

"Strangers, halt your advance. You are in the presence of a high elf ranger patrol. I am Alleria Windrunner, the leader of this team.

Now, state your identities. Based on your answers, we will decide how to proceed with you."

Alleria Windrunner?

The name sent a jolt through Alaric.

In his previous life as a player of World of Warcraft, few figures embodied the hunter profession and the high elf race more vividly than the Windrunner sisters.

The three Windrunner sisters, born of the same mother, each left an indelible mark on Azeroth's history. 

Their remarkable abilities, divergent fates, and unparalleled beauty made them icons among the various races of Azeroth.

They were, without question, the poster figures of the Warcraft universe.

Though Alaric had long anticipated meeting the three sisters, he hadn't expected to encounter the eldest, Alleria, so soon.

Was this destiny?

Alaric, who never put much stock in fate, found himself amused by the thought. 

Dispelling his usual inclination to let others handle such interactions, he stepped out of the carriage, his eagerness unmistakable—like a fan rushing to meet a goddess.

"I never thought I'd see the day," he mused to himself.

Suppressing his excitement, Alaric steadied his steps and emerged from the carriage.

Before him stood a tall, graceful figure. Her long golden hair shimmered under the sunlight, making her seem as if she were bathed in divine radiance amidst the golden woods.

The moment Alaric laid eyes on Alleria, he felt no disappointment.

She was breathtaking. Her slender figure was both delicate and strong, much like her physique. She wore light armor over a green or oak-brown shirt, paired with shorts.

A hooded cloak flowed behind her, and her arms were protected by leather gloves reaching her elbows, matching her knee-high boots. 

At her side hung a thin sword, a pouch, and a horn, while a longbow and a quiver full of arrows rested on her back.

Even though Alaric had traveled through multiple worlds and met countless extraordinary women—some of whom were as beautiful as the elf before him—he had never encountered anyone who blended strength and elegance so seamlessly.

He could understand why the caravan guards were mesmerized, standing dumbfounded for several seconds without responding to her inquiry.

But Alaric was no ordinary man. Within moments, he shook off his fascination, composed himself, and spoke.

"Sinu a'manore," Alaric greeted in Thalassian, the language of the high elves, his tone calm and gentle. 

"Lady Alleria, I am Maverick Sandor, a mage from Dalaran and the leader of this caravan. I come as an emissary of the Alliance to Quel'Thalas."

Alleria nodded, circling the caravan to inspect it carefully before approaching Alaric directly.

From this close distance, Alaric could see her pointed ears peeking out from her golden hair. Her wild, emerald-green eyes studied him with curiosity.

"Sinu a'manore, Archmage Maverick Sandor," she finally replied in her melodious voice. "I have heard your name from many mages in Silvermoon City. 

While they will verify your identity, I must ask you to explain what you mean by 'the Alliance.' If I'm not mistaken, your guards and carriages appear to come from the Kingdom of Lordaeron."

"You are correct; I set out from Lordaeron," Alaric explained. 

"Perhaps you've heard the news—on the southern continent, a race called orcs has emerged. Savage and brutal, they seek to conquer more lands. 

The Kingdom of Stormwind has already fallen to their invasion. In response, the human nations have united in Lordaeron to form an Alliance. I represent this organization."

"I've heard of those green-skinned creatures," Alleria remarked evenly. 

Her demeanor suddenly shifted as she swiftly drew her longbow, nocking an arrow in one fluid motion. She aimed not at Alaric, but at something behind him.

Her movements were practiced and precise, completing the action in less than a second—a testament to her mastery as a ranger.

"Is it such a creature you speak of?" Her voice grew colder but retained its enchanting quality. "Come out, infiltrator. I see you."

Initially, both her subordinates and the caravan guards were puzzled by Alleria's sudden action, her arrow aimed at an empty corner. Weapons were almost drawn on both sides.

But in the next moment, a figure emerged from the shadows—a green-skinned female wielding dual daggers. 

Her appearance was so sudden it was hard not to believe she had been there the entire time.

"It seems these green-skinned creatures have taken an interest in you," Alleria remarked to Alaric, her bow still trained on the newcomer. 

The orc woman, tense and ready to strike, locked eyes with Alleria, daggers held in a reverse grip.

The atmosphere grew tense.

Finally, Alaric broke the stalemate.

"All right, everyone, lower your weapons," he said, stepping between the two. "Garona, put down your daggers—they mean no harm. 

Lady Alleria, please lower your bow. This is no enemy but my companion."

Alaric quickly explained Garona's identity to Alleria.

The tension in the air eased at last.

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