I counted quickly:
twenty beings.
The dwarves wore solid plate armor — not for parades, but for protection against cave-ins and rockfalls. Everything on them was functional and heavy.
Hands:
Each carried either a heavy dwarven pick-hammer (for tunneling) or a sledgehammer (for testing ceiling stability).
Belts:
At their sides hung geological hammers with sharpened tips (for extracting clean ore samples) and leather pouches to store them. Above their heads, fixed to mounts, burned oil lanterns — their light was dense and left no deep shadows.
Packs:
Their heavy backpacks were filled with provisions, short chains, and explosives (a minimal supply for controlled blasts).
The elves were lighter. Their equipment was elegant but durable — leather reinforced with chainmail or bronze plates. Their role was rapid movement and working with height and water.
Backs:
Each carried a neatly packed, waterproof coil of rope (rescue lines, grappling hooks) and a combat bow.
Hands:
They held long, thin poles with metal tips. These were used to test water depth, ground stability, and for belaying.
Bags:
In their light satchels they carried herbal tinctures, fast-acting bandages, and waterproof cases for fragile maps.
The humans were the brains of the operation — recording, measuring, and route planning.
Hands:
They carried sealed wooden tablets with parchment (to keep it dry), compasses, and leveling tools.
Packs:
Their backpacks held measuring chains or long cords treated with wax (for distance recording), along with spare wicks and fuel for shared lanterns.
Their task was not simply to “go in,” but to gather concrete data:
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Mapping: Creating a layout of the cave system.
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Geology: Evaluating rock types and locating ore veins (dwarves’ task).
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
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Hydrology: Estimating water volume (Zenhald and the elves).
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Safety: Assessing risks (collapses) and threats (monsters, traps).
I stepped closer.
“Hello,” I said.
They stared at me.
After a few seconds of silence, one dwarf squinted.
“Hold on…” he leaned closer. “Is it really you?
That legendary one?”
“Apparently,” I replied.
“We were told,” he continued skeptically, “that you were a huge man. Someone the light itself had never seen.”
Another dwarf added:
“Yeah. The kind even mountains are afraid of.”
They looked at me again.
“How old are you?” a human asked.
“Eleven.”
Silence fell.
“…A child,” someone exhaled.
I shrugged.
“At least you’re old.”
A second of silence.
Then the entire group burst out laughing.
“Alright,” the dwarf said, wiping his eyes. “I already like this kid.”
Footsteps.
I turned.
And froze.
She approached the group.
In armor. Real combat armor — not ceremonial, not for show, but the kind worn for a long time, often. The sword on her back wasn’t decoration, but a familiar, everyday thing. Her cloak was slightly worn — not from poverty, but from travel.
She was about the height of a normal elf — around 1.78 meters. Nothing “imposing.”
And yet she immediately commanded all attention.
Her movements were calm. Confident.
Not sharp — precise.
Her green hair wasn’t fully tied back; a few strands fell freely over her shoulders. Her eyes were bright green, alive, attentive. Her beauty wasn’t doll-like or flashy.
The kind you don’t notice right away.
And then suddenly realize you’re only looking at her.
I realized it too late.
It was the same elf woman.
The one who sat beside me.
The one who scratched my head.
The one who laughed — and ran away.
And now…
She stood here.
Different.
And yet the same.
The elves immediately dropped to one knee.
“Liara Eirinvel,” they said in unison. “Legendary warrior of the forests.”
I just kept staring.
My thoughts… stopped.
My head felt empty.
She halted, surveyed the group — calmly, sharply —
and only then noticed me.
Our eyes met.
Something in my chest tightened.
Not pain. Not fear.
Just… as if I forgot how to breathe for a second.
She raised an eyebrow.
“And what are you doing here?” she asked with a faint smirk. “Caves aren’t for children.”
I blinked.
“I’m not a child.”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “Of course.
You’re just small, dirty, and without armor.”
She stepped closer.
Too close.
“So how did you even end up here, hero?”
I finally exhaled.
“I was asked to escort them.”
She looked at the group.
The dwarves immediately looked away. The humans pretended to study the ground.
“I see,” she said.
Then she looked back at me and smirked.
“Alright. But if you get eaten, I’ll say I warned you.”
I frowned.
“And if I don’t?”
She leaned in — and I didn’t have time to react or step back.
Her fingers quickly, lightly ran through my hair.
Exactly like before.
As if it were… natural.
“Then maybe I’ll let you go further,” she said, straightening up.
“Let’s go, little hero.”
She turned and walked toward the exit.
The group followed.
I stood there for another second, feeling my ears burn and my heart beating far too loudly.
“Is she really legendary?” I whispered to a dwarf.
“Unfortunately,” he whispered back.
I sighed…
And followed them.
We mounted our horses.
I — on Noxus. He snorted, clearly displeased at being used as ordinary transport again, but didn’t argue.
The group moved out.