【 STATUS REVERSAL 】

Andris swore that in his thirty years being an expert in the trade business, he had never encountered such a troublesome foe.

Brutal, fierce, with their every move honed to kill.

As a former adventurer now working under Sauron Trade Group, he had always considered himself cunning, pragmatic, and shameless when it came to battle.

Yet compared to the elves before him, Andris suddenly felt that his actions all this time had been far too honorable… perhaps even a bit naive.

These long-eared fiends rarely fought one-on-one. Instead, they seemed entirely accustomed to ganging up on their enemies like a pack of rabid wolves.

Every time Andris and his men were on the verge of breaking free from their suffocating encirclement, a swarm of elves would immediately pounced upon them, forcing everyone back into the fray…

Moreover, he could even hear the elves surrounding him excitedly shout things like:

“Watch out! He’s trying to escape!”

“Hurry! Block the way of that subboss!”

“Fuck! Get him!”

Andris: “…”

He tried opening his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end, he didn’t even know where to start…

These elves weren’t just shameless.

They were strong.

Terrifyingly strong.

Even way back from their initial clash, Andris could already tell that all of these elves were seasoned warriors. Moreover, not only were their individual ranks high, but their combat experience was undeniably extensive—most likely having fought in countless battles.

Every attack he launched was met with a perfectly timed counter.

Fighting them felt like facing a gang of battle-hardened veteran mercenary captains who had spent years teetering on the edge of life and death.

However, Andris knew that such mercenaries were rare—the kind forged only through years of blood and fire, with only one in a hundred emerging at best.

But clearly, these foes he was currently facing weren’t mercenary captains.

They were elves!

A race universally acknowledged as the least skilled in combat among all sentient races!

And yet, these very beings Andris had mocked countless times in the past now stood before him in a manner he had never imagined…

Ruthless, cunning and downright crazy.

Even with the intel reports he had gathered about the supposed formidable elven mercenaries who had one day emerged out of nowhere and participated in the war underground, Andris had not expected them to be this difficult to deal with. ȑä𝐍ọBĘŜ

The reports had painted them as skilled and ruthless, but they had failed to capture the sheer level of strength these evil elves exhibited. Their tactics were unlike anything Andris had encountered before—highly coordinated and meticulously executed.

Instead of rushing in blindly, they grouped themselves into smaller tightly knit five-man squads, each moving with seamless synchronization as if guided by a single will.

Each squad included at least one heavily armored elf, clad from head to toe in plate armor and wielding blunt weapons. These vanguards absorbed attacks with ease, cutting off Andris’s every attempt to break through. They were akin to an impenetrable wall of steel, offering him no clear opening to exploit.

In particular, the vanguard of this five-man unit attacking him was the bane of his efforts, constantly blocking his every move.

This armored elf might not have had the greatest offensive strength, but their sheer endurance alone was terrifying. The guy didn’t rush forward nor make any flashy moves; instead, they absorbed his blows with remarkable resilience.

Whenever Andris made a desperate attempt to break through, this heavily armored vanguard would immediately step in, absorbing the full force of his lethal strikes before adjusting their stance, never once giving ground.

It felt so aggravating since this annoying guard would merely cough up a bit of blood before swiftly springing back into action, laughing as though his attacks were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

To make matters worse, just as Andris exhausted his strength in a futile attempt to damage to the vanguard, the remaining four elves in their team would seize the moment and swarmed him again, leaving him no chance to catch his breath or gather enough strength to launch another attack!

Every strike they made targeted his weakest vital points, the areas that were the hardest to defend.

Worse yet, these elves weren’t just low-ranking experts either!

All five of them were at least his equal in rank.

In this situation, a coordinated attack from such skilled opponents, especially while he was in the midst of exertion, was, quite frankly, nearly impossible to defend against!

With each exchange, Andris could feel new wounds tearing open on his body.

The sheer helplessness of being completely cornered with nothing he could do but passively defend himself was so mortifying that Andris felt the urge to vomit blood.

Alas, to further add to his frustration, behind these attacking elves at the forefront stood a line of individuals draped in priestly robes.

Whenever he managed to injure an elf, those priests in the back would chant incantations and invoke healing spells to heal their wounded comrades.

Furthermore, the spells they were casting seemed far more potent than those used by the priests from Eternal Church, as, unlike the divine spells he was familiar with, this elven healing magic took effect almost immediately.

If he remembered correctly, it normally took at least ten days for an injury to heal, which was completely unlike the healing spells these elves were using, where wounds were miraculously mended with just a flash of divine light.

Quite frankly, this kind of instantaneous recovery, with no apparent drawback, was nothing short of horrifying in Andris’ opinion.

With such disparity in terms of strength and healing abilities, it’s no wonder that not a single elf had fallen at this point.

Meanwhile, the number of orcs and mercenaries behind him was dwindling fast, and as the battle dragged on, Andris felt his strength slipping away.

Even the pain from his wounds was slowly starting to feel numb.

“Cowards! Do any of you elves dare face me in single combat?!”

He bellowed, unwilling to accept the crushing inevitability of his fate.

But instead of silence or shouts of anger he had expected, his challenge was met only with cold, mocking sneers.

Yes—mocking sneers.

Andris could hardly imagine such a word being associated with elves.

Yet, as he took in their mocking expressions—each elf’s face alight with excitement and a hint of madness—his disbelief slowly transformed into something far worse:

Horror.

The gleam in their eyes wasn’t one of mere confidence or superiority. No, it was something darker, something twisted, as if they were enjoying him struggle desperately for survival.

They reveled in mad bliss when an orc or mercenary was slain, their faces twisted in savage delight as the life drained from their victims. Whenever someone managed to slip away, they groaned in disappointment, as though deprived of their rightful entertainment. Their utter indifference to death, to the suffering they caused, and their wanton slaughter of both orcs and mercenaries alike, was downright chilling, leaving a deep sense of dread within Andris.

He had spent over thirty years roaming the continent and had encountered numerous kinds of people from various races along the way.

During his journey, he had met those who enjoyed battle and those who were ruthless beyond measure…

But among all the countless sentient species he had encountered in his life, never had he seen a group as deranged and insane as these elves before him.

Some killed for power.

Some killed for wealth.

Some killed for status and authority.

But these elves…

Their sheer disregard for life, the twisted pleasure they derived from inflicting death, and the disturbing joy that lit up their eyes in the midst of carnage set them apart from anything he had ever known.

It was as if they thrived on destruction, basking upon a madness that ran so deep it defied any comprehension.

At that moment Andris finally understood.

To them, he was not an enemy to be vanquished, but a mere plaything for their sick enjoyment.

It was evident in the expressions they were sporting.

It was the same kind of expression Andris had seen beforehand upon the faces of those cultists worshipping evil gods or chromatic dragons toying with their prey.

At last, he finally understood why the denizens of the underground had labeled these elves with such an ominous appellation:

—Evil Elves.

Truly, branding them with such a term seemed completely appropriate and fitting in Andris’ opinion.

Alas, it was too late.

The orcs and mercenaries around him were dying faster and faster. Meanwhile, more and more of these evil elves closed in, surrounding and blocking their path from all directions.

If there was one small consolation he could hold onto, it was that, even now, only the original five-man squad who had confronted him at the start remained standing before him.

The other squads had merely surrounded him, watching at the sidelines without taking any action.

If they had joined in, Andris was sure he would have died already long ago…

For a fleeting moment, he wondered if perhaps this was the last shred of mercy these elves had for him.

Then he overheard their conversation.

“Why isn’t he down yet? You guys are so slow. Need some help?”

Not down yet?

Andris blinked in confusion.

On instinct, he glanced around and that’s when it hit him—only then did he finally realize the horrifying truth.

At some point during his brutal battle with those five-man squad, he had become the last one still standing, the sole survivor in the middle of the carnage.

His heart went cold.

But seemingly oblivious to his despair, the elves kept on chatting:

“Well, this guy’s pretty strong… but don’t even think about stealing our prey! This subboss is ours!”

“Yeah! Everyone here can attest that our party’s been fighting him since the beginning, so don’t any of you dare kill snatch and rob us of the last attack EXP bonus!”

“Pfft, how pathetic. You guys are struggling this much against a single Silver-rank mob? What a bunch of noobs.”

“Excuse me!? This boss clearly is an elite monster, okay?!”

Elite…monster?

Are they… talking about me?

Andris didn’t understand some of the words these elves were using, but for some reason, he felt deeply insulted.

Despite wallowing in despair, a small spark of rage reignited within his chest. He wanted to roar in defiance, to make one final desperate stand, to prove that he wasn’t ready to give in just yet.

But the excessive blood loss had already left him with no strength to fight back any longer.

He managed to withstand a few more blows with a resounding shout before the heavily armored elven vanguard struck his sword aside and, to add salt to his injuries, shamelessly claimed it for himself.

In the next instant, the remaining four elves swarmed him, their blades plunging into his body again and again, leaving him resembling a pincushion.

Andris tried opening his mouth—only for a mouthful of dark blood to spill out of it.

In the last moments before his consciousness fully slipped away, a single regret lingered within Andris’ mind:

What a pity… I hadn’t sold those three elves yet.

They would have fetched me a fortune…

And then, with no more strength to fight it, everything around him finally faded into blackness.

༺⟐༻

The one-sided battle ended in less than ten minutes.

Each uninjured player immediately began looting the battlefield afterwards, while those who had incurred more serious injuries received extensive healing from priests and druids with healing specialization.

Meanwhile, Meryer, still in his elven humanoid form, silently observed the players around him as they joked and laughed, casually looting the discarded equipment on the ground, whilst showing no concern for the brutal aftermath of their carnage.

Seeing their antics, he couldn’t help but heave a deep sigh.

“Every time I watch them fight, I get the feeling they’ve been possessed by demons…Seriously, going against these guys is like encountering bad luck that can last up to eight generations, and no amount of experience can prepare you for their sheer savagery.”

Then, he turned to the female red dragon beside him and smirked:

“Oh, by the way—‘bad luck that can last up to eight generations’ ¹ is a phrase from their homeland. It basically means someone is extremely unlucky.”

Tiberia: “…”

Meryer’s gaze flickered over her, a subtle disappointment tugging at him as the red dragon’s eyes betrayed no hint of emotion, unlike what he had expected.

Seeing the lack of response from her, he shifted awkwardly in place, before clearing his throat.

“Well? Does this battle completely shattered your perception of these elves you deemed to as ‘weaklings’?”

He gestured towards the players.

“As you can see, these guys are nothing like your typical elves. They can become completely crazy, despicable, and ruthless once they decide that you are an enemy. Which is a far cry from the friendly, polite bunch that was initially sucking up to you back in the Elven Forest.”

At that, Tiberia finally showed a reaction.

“…Well isn’t that great?”

Her gaze swept across the players, filled with an almost fascinated admiration.

“What?”

Meryer choked on his words.

“I said—” Tiberia repeated, her voice firm, “Isn’t that great?”

As she finished speaking, Tiberia’s eyes gleamed with excitement as she gazed at the players.

“They’re completely obedient and submissive to me, yet ruthless and bloodthirsty toward those they deem as enemies… They are exactly the kind of perfect servants I wanted!”

Meryer: “…”

Servants?

He rolled his eyes internally.

Dream on…to them, you’re just a glorified supplier of dragon scales and saliva.

But after that little jab in his mind, a sudden thought struck Meryer. His head quickly turned towards the crowd of players nearby and shouted,

“Hey, listen! Anyone who’s managed to loot beautiful gemstones or plenty of gold coins can trade them with me, Lord Meryer, in exchange for my shiny, dazzling scales!”

This cunning black mongrel!

Tiberia’s expression twisted—but then her eyes lit up.

Not to be outdone, she crossed her arms and smirked before loudly proclaiming,

“No, you guys listen to me instead! I’ll double whatever he’s offering!”

Meryer: “…”

This conniving overcooked lizard!

Thus, the two resorted into a heated bidding war, each raising their offers higher and higher in an ever escalating contest of pride.

“Triple his offer!” Tiberia scoffed, tossing her hair back.

“Ha! Quadruple hers!” Meryer shot back with a grin.

Gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd of nearby players as they cheered the two on, like eager spectators at an auction, goading them into driving their offers even higher and higher.

༺⟐༻

While the two dragons duke it out in their ever increasing rivalry, the rest of the players chuckled and chatted whilst casually continuing to loot the battlefield.

Meanwhile, their leader, Little Salty Cat, watched her guild members with an unsatisfied expression.

“These orcs and mercenaries are way too weak. I remember they were supposed to be strong, right?”

She had expected a more serious challenge, but it turned out these mobs were not as much of a threat as she had initially assumed.

Had she known their ambush would be this easy, there would have been no need for such meticulous planning in the first place. Instead, they could have just simply steamrolled through these enemies without much preparation.

As she surveyed the battlefield, HootyBird’s gaze lingered on the discarded weapons and armor scattered around them and shook her head.

“It’s not that our enemies have gotten weaker,” she said thoughtfully. “It’s just that we’ve gotten stronger instead.”

Little Salty Cat raised an eyebrow.

“Have we really become stronger?” she asked doubtfully before adding, “Still, the minimum level to even take on this quest here in the Desert of Death is level 40. Considering such steep requirements, I really thought we were in for a tough battle, you know? But most of the enemies died right away the moment I fired off a few fireballs at them, which was really disappointing.”

“Come on now, Cat. Just be glad your fireballs landed on the enemies this time and that no one got caught in the crossfire during the battle.”

Optimist quipped from the side.

“Shut it! Get back to looting, you bastard!”

Little Salty Cat smacked him with her staff.

“Ow!”

Optimist yelped, then burst into laughter as he dodged away from the petite mage barely half his size who was trying to smack his behind again and again.

“Hahahaha!”

Watching their silly antics from the side, the surrounding players joined in on the fun, their laughter echoing across the vicinity.

While they joked around, they still kept on gathering the dropped gear from the fallen orcs and mercenaries. Every now and then, someone would stumble upon some gold coins or trinkets, letting out an excited cheer before rushing over to Meryer and Tiberia to trade them as credits for their scales or saliva later on.

Then, amidst the lively atmosphere, a few players suddenly called out in excitement from the distance:

“Guildmaster! We found three mobs who are still alive over here!”

“Hahaha! Oh man, it’s so funny that these guys are trying to play dead… haven’t they noticed that the bodies of anyone we kill disappear?”

“Lmao, is their AI bugged or something? Watching them play dead on the ground like that almost feels like an insult to my intelligence.”

“Hahahaha!”

Hearing the commotion, Little Salty Cat walked over and soon spotted two mercenaries and an orc huddled together, their bodies visibly trembling. The trio looked utterly terrified as they stared at the players surrounding them with wide eyes filled with fear.

“Hmm, you guys still kept these three alive?”

Little Salty Cat raised an eyebrow in surprise.

She thought for a moment, then stepped closer to observe them more clearly. The moment she did, the three flinched and shuddered even more intensely.

The three had been pretending to be dead all this time, but they had seen everything.

Contrary to her appearance, this small, cute-looking girl was actually by far the most terrifying one among all these elves, having wiped out three senior mercenaries with just a single fireball, incinerating them on the spot into charred smithereens.

“E-E-Elven lady! P-Please… don’t kill us! Don’t kill us! W-We surrender!”

One of the mercenaries pleaded desperately.

After hearing what the other party said, Little Salty Cat’s eyes flickered with interest.

“Okay, fine. But in exchange, you’ll tell us everything you know about the Desert of Death, including details about the orc tribes nearby.”

Some players had previously ridden their dragons to scout from above and had already discovered the nearby orc settlement.

However, they were uncertain about the exact number of orcs residing in that tribe or whether there was a particularly powerful figure among them worth noting.

It was for this reason that Salty Cat had decided to plan an ambush, to ‘lure the snake out of its hole,’ so to speak and test the waters to see whether their side could contend with the tribes living here in the Desert of Death.

Hearing Little Salty Cat’s demands, the two mercenaries looked as if they had been granted a royal pardon.

Under the furious glare of the lone orc, the two humans spilled everything they knew, including detailed accounts of the orc tribe’s inner workings, the number of Orc warriors, and any notable defenses or weaknesses the tribe might have.

“I see… so this tribe has a population of around a thousand, with four to five hundred of them being warriors…”

Little Salty Cat mulled over the information she had gotten.

“Seems like a pretty small tribe? I’d say our current group are more than enough to handle them. A night raid could probably even wipe them all out in one sweep.”

“I think so too.” Calabash nodded from the side.

“Same,” Optimist chimed in.

Even Boxlunch, who had been silent this entire time, gave a subtle nod of approval.

“Alright, we’ll launch a surprise raid on that tribe tonight.”

Little Salty Cat declared.

“What about these guys?”

Optimist gestured at the two mercenaries and the orc.

“Ahem, mind letting me have three of them? I’m just a little short on experience points for my next level. I don’t mind taking a smaller cut of the loot in exchange.”

He grinned, flashing his pearly white teeth while twirling his bloodstained sword.

The captured mercenaries and orc turned deathly pale upon hearing this.

But Little Salty Cat surprisingly shook her head.

She had been carefully studying these three all this time. In particular, their bulkier, more muscular frames—which by far looked sturdier than those of elves—caught her attention, as an idea began to take shape in her mind.

Without a word, she activated [Eye of Faith] which was a skill she had acquired from her secondary Priest class, and examined the beliefs of all three of them.

As she expected, their faiths were displayed in a red hue.

This meant the trio were believers of a particular deity, but the light red color signified that their belief was wavering, perhaps even superficial at best.

“Shallow believers, huh…” Little Salty Cat murmured, her lips curling into a thoughtful smile as her initial rough idea further solidified within her mind.

Then, she suddenly flashed them a sweet, angelic smile. Yet, the words that followed out of her lips were anything but innocent, sounding more like something that came from the devil himself:

“”You three. Renounce your faith and I might just consider sparing your lives.”

The Trio: “…”

After hearing this, the other players who had been silently listening from the sidelines were left stunned by her suggestion.

“Pfft…Salty Cat, what are you saying? What does renouncing their faith even mean?”

“Are you seriously letting them go?”

“They’re our enemies!”

“Yeah! What a hassle…let’s just kill these three. They’ll give us a ton of EXP!”

Nonetheless, Little Salty Cat stood her ground and defiantly shook her head.

“Who said I was letting them go?”

That caught everyone off guard.

“Wait… so you’re not letting them go?”

“Then what? Are you planning on bringing them with us?”

“Did you forget? Our faction doesn’t allow any outsiders from other races to enter the Elven Forest, you know? And these three are clearly our enemies…”

“Yeah! Don’t expose the goddess’s secrets—ow! Why’d you pinch me?! It won’t be exposed; certain keywords are automatically censored as soon as they leave our mouths anyway!”

The surrounding players chattered among themselves, trying to make sense of what she had said. Noticing that her suggestion had left many confused, Little Salty Cat simply shook her head again and clarified.

“Guys! Guys! Just shut up and listen for a second. Who said anything about them entering the Elven Forest?”

“Do any of you remember that we’re facing a shortage of manpower capable of mining the ores in Rivendell? After checking the faith of these three, an idea just came to me—how about we put them to work as laborers in the Dark Mountains instead?”

¹ 倒了八辈子的血霉 — this chinese phrase translates to ‘bad luck that can last up to eight generations’

It is a colloquial expression used to describe someone who is experiencing extreme misfortune or bad luck, often in a situation where things seem unusually or excessively unlucky. The phrase emphasizes just how unlucky a person is, as if their misfortune can span multiple generations.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep