Ranger

Daelin was stunned for a moment, then quickly shook off the lingering sense of loss. After all, the elves weren't even supposed to be in the Alliance to begin with, and from a purely transactional perspective, he nodded, agreeing with Duke's assessment.

"Alright, Your Majesties, Gentlemen, no matter what, let's put on a brave face and go welcome them!" Lothar declared, clearly telling them to stop being such petty squabblers.

Everyone else had already come this far, so they grudgingly agreed.

They mounted their horses and began the descent down the mountain and across the village. Antonidas, despite being well over sixty, hopped onto his steed with the agility of a spring chicken. King Terenas, on the other hand, would have needed a step-ladder and a small army of five or six servants to hoist his royal self onto a horse.

As they rode to the dock and were just dismounting, the first elven warship glided gracefully into its berth.

A tall, slender figure leaped down, her landing so feather-light it made barely a whisper on the stone pier, as if a cloud of cotton wool had drifted onto it. Her long, blonde hair, reaching all the way to her waist, caught the sunlight, shimmering like spun gold.

Lothar and Duke heard the tell-tale sound of more than one person around them suddenly struggling to breathe. Of course, the one gasping loudest was Turalyon, standing right beside Lothar.

When everyone got a good look at the figure, they were so utterly floored by her stunning beauty that words simply failed them.

Unlike most high elves, who tended to be slender and overly pale, her figure, while appearing a touch delicate at first glance, was actually incredibly fit. And unlike the high elves' mainstream rulers – those spellcasters who favored flamboyant, colorful robes – her attire was all forest green and oak brown, blending seamlessly with nature.

She wore a light breastplate over a pure white shirt, shorts that brazenly exposed half of her thighs, a hooded emerald green cape draped dramatically behind her, and a pair of light brown leather gloves that extended from her fingertips all the way to her elbows. The same went for her long boots, which protected her up to her knees.

A rapier, with a pristine white scabbard and a verdant green hilt, very elven in style, hung from the belt on her left hip. On her right, a small pouch for trinkets and a diminutive signal horn.

A longbow and a full quiver were slung across her back. Of course, because she carried it sideways, the bowstring stretched diagonally across the middle of her chest, making her already impressive assets look even more… tall and proud.

Whether it was Daelin, Llane, or Lothar, as high-ranking officials of their kingdoms, they were always surrounded by beautiful women. In this day and age, a noble man who didn't have a few mistresses was practically embarrassed to show his face in public. Not to mention Lothar, who was already a widower. For a handsome, middle-aged man like Lothar, he was practically a walking magnet for female attention.

Yet, only a select few of them could even approach the sheer beauty of this elf, but none had ever witnessed such a perfect fusion of beauty and grace.

Lothar could perfectly understand why even his adjutant, Turalyon, who had just completed his paladin baptism and was rigorously disciplining himself with virtues like "justice and piety," was utterly captivated by her.

At this precise moment, the greatest tragedy unfolded! It was a tragedy because the table was covered with tableware.

Turalyon, who was silently nursing his newfound crush, simply stared at the mysterious goddess of his dreams and whispered, "Honey, I miss you so much—" Then, in a moment of pure, unadulterated passion, he lunged forward, tackling Duke to the ground in a tangle of limbs and clattering armor.

That beautiful face, the one that had just mesmerized them all, rubbed against Duke's chest like a lovesick puppy. The intimacy was so profound, so utterly uninhibited, that anyone witnessing it would have immediately concluded that this female elf and Duke shared a love so extraordinary, so deep, it defied explanation.

At this moment, Turalyon felt his "heart," which he had guarded for over twenty years, shatter into a million pieces. It was ruthlessly crushed by one of his superiors, Duke Edmund, a man with a longer and more glorious resume.

Though Turalyon knew his unconfessed love for her was utterly insignificant, he couldn't control the raw surge of emotion. His mouth moved, as if to speak, but in the end, only silence escaped him.

They were already a couple. Am I really going to break them up just because I fell head over heels at first sight?

No! No way!

The paladin's strict discipline wrestled with Turalyon's emotions, and soon, reason prevailed once more.

Lothar gently patted Turalyon's shoulder, offering silent comfort, a gesture that spoke volumes.

However, no one, absolutely no one, expected the situation to take a sudden, miraculous, and utterly bizarre turn.

"Excuse me, beautiful lady," Duke stammered, frantically typing with both hands to prove his innocence. Oh, no, he pressed the backs of his hands flat against the ground, a desperate plea of "not guilty." At the same time, his eyes were glued to the sky, which seemed interesting but was actually empty. His entire body was stiff as a board, and his face was a perfect poker face.

Scared? What does that even mean?

All the bigwigs on Lothar's side were dumbfounded. Duke and this stunning elf weren't an item? Then was this beautiful woman throwing herself at Duke considered an attack?

What in the blazes is going on here?!

Logically speaking, the guards around them should have sprung into action, but no one dared to make a move. This was a chaotic situation, and one wrong step could mean a swift, embarrassing death!

At that very moment, the second elven warship began to dock beside the first. A flash of green suddenly shot out, leaping from the ship when it was still five meters from the shore.

A voice, filled with shame and fury, shrieked across the air!

"Sylvanas, what in the name of the Sunwell are you doing?!"

Upon hearing that voice, the elf woman (now confirmed as Sylvanas) and Duke, who was still pinned beneath her, both trembled simultaneously.

Sylvanas, quick as a whip, stuck out her tongue, lightly pressed the ground with her left index finger, and then, like a spring-loaded jack-in-the-box, her entire body bounced up. She landed solemnly in front of the Alliance leaders, as if nothing untoward had happened.

Seeing her graceful, beautiful figure, a serene smile plastered on her face, seemingly without any artificial expression, no one would have guessed that she was the one who had just tackled the Deputy Commander of the Alliance to the ground.

Lothar and the others were dumbfounded, their minds a complete mess.

Duke, meanwhile, was utterly disheveled, his back soaked in cold sweat. That was a close call! If I hadn't remembered clearly, my relationship with Alleria would never have reached this point. If I had been even a little bit of a pervert just now, even if I had nine lives, I'd be a dead cat right about now!

Damn it, that was the legendary Sylvanas! The Sylvanas who hadn't even turned into a ghost yet!

Duke felt a whirlwind of emotions, he couldn't quite put his finger on what it was like. Overall, he could only say that it was… great to see Sylvanas.

Over there, the true culprit, Alleria, finally rushed over and grabbed Sylvanas's long, pointed ears.

"Sister! Don't—it hurts! It hurts! It hurts! I know I was wrong! Please don't treat me like this in front of so many kings! It's incredibly rude!"