Though the words sounded bold, even arrogant, coming from the young and diminutive fairy princess, Nahida, they carried an entirely different weight. Her calm confidence radiated reassurance, steadying even the usually impulsive elven archer.
However, the situation remained far from simple.
“With Her Highness’s power, defeating it shouldn’t be an issue,” the archer said, fingers grazing the bowstring. “But if we just kill it outright, the surrounding rivers might overflow catastrophically.”
The River Severer wasn’t just a single entity. These massive creatures were highly social, rarely straying from their groups. Their migrations across rivers in great numbers had earned them the moniker “River Severers.”
Additionally, this particular individual—though enormous—was still only a juvenile, as evidenced by its size and the nickname “Lernaean Hydra,” a name that hinted at its origins.
“Killing a beast of such grandeur might bring prosperity to the forest, but it would also invite disaster,” the archer added, conflicted.
“So, what we need to do is subdue it somehow and drive it back to its habitat?” Stelle proposed, her voice uncharacteristically serious.
“But… how do we even manage that?” March 7 asked, staring at the massive creature. She struggled to think of any way to drive off something so colossal. This wasn’t a stray sheep—it was a rampaging giant barreling toward the heart of the elven settlement.
“No matter what, we must stop it here,” Nahida declared firmly.
As the enormous beast finally broke through the final barrier of the forest’s natural defenses, the cause of its strange behavior became clear.
Atop the creature’s throne-like back, nestled between its spiny plates, was a small, dark figure. Barely clinging to the beast’s shifting back, the figure flailed its arms and shouted incomprehensible words.
“Wait… I’m not seeing things, am I?” March 7 exclaimed, her eyes wide in disbelief. “Is that a goblin?!”
Despite her shock, it was impossible to deny—the shadowy figure riding the beast was indeed a goblin, spitting foul words and drooling profusely.
“It’s a goblin rider,” Nahida said with a sharp clarity that only deepened the tension.
The elven archer’s jaw dropped. “A goblin rider?! Riding what—gray wolves? Fine. Horses? Sure. Even donkeys, I’d believe. But this… isn’t that thing technically a dragon?!”
Her voice quivered as if witnessing an impossibility.
“This is no goblin rider,” she corrected herself, her voice shaking. “This… this is a goblin dragon rider.”
Stelle, however, was unfazed by the drama. “It doesn’t look like the goblin’s controlling it, though,” she observed plainly.
Her sharp eye for detail had noticed the lack of harmony between the “rider” and its “mount.” Rather than directing the beast, the goblin was provoking it, pushing it closer to a full-blown rampage.
“You’re right,” Nahida agreed. “Even someone with poor riding skills knows to prod their mount forward. That goblin is likely aggravating the creature by accident, not through any real skill.”
“So the goblin itself isn’t the main threat,” March 7 concluded, narrowing her eyes and nocking an arrow. However, the goblin’s erratic movements atop the creature made it nearly impossible to get a clear shot.
The plan was straightforward: incapacitate the goblin first.
Nahida turned her attention to the villagers. Most were still confused by the commotion, but a few had begun evacuating under the guidance of two familiar figures: the elf leader with the shining silver helmet and Dan Heng.
The pair worked seamlessly, quickly ushering women and children to safety while the village’s rangers reinforced defensive positions to intercept any other monsters.
Spotting Nahida’s group, the elf leader and Dan Heng adjusted their approach, heading toward them.
“Your Highness!” the elf leader called out, his voice strained with urgency. “Please retreat to safety with my sister. This area is far too dangerous!”
He sprinted toward her like an arrow, sweat dripping from his brow after surveying the village’s defenses.
Dan Heng, arriving shortly after, gave the group a quick once-over to confirm they were unhurt. His gaze lingered on their still-damp hair before he commented, “You should fall back and regroup. We’ll handle things here.”
March 7 couldn’t help but laugh. “Wow, Dan Heng! Didn’t know you could be so caring!”
Seeing her familiar companion brought relief to March 7, easing her tension enough for a cheeky grin.
“But we’re Trailblazers, not damsels in distress! Even if we were ambushed in the middle of a hotpot party, I’d handle it just fine!”
“Hotpot?” the elf leader murmured, perplexed by the term. “No matter. Does this mean Her Highness often accompanies you into danger?”
The concern in his tone was palpable, though he stopped short of openly criticizing their approach. As much as he wanted to chide them for involving the princess in perilous missions, he lacked the authority to judge her chosen guardians.
In the current situation, he set those thoughts aside.
“Stay alert—it’s approaching!” Nahida raised her hand.
A fierce gust of wind erupted from the forest floor, swirling like a vortex to form an invisible cage. The massive beast barreled straight into it, howling in pain as it collided with the barrier.
The ground quaked under its roar. Though the attack hadn’t been enough to bring it down, the blow clearly hurt it.
The elf leader froze, astonished by what he had just witnessed.
As the next village chieftain, he was well-versed in magic. He could beseech the wind spirits for blessings, but commanding them outright was far beyond his abilities.
The spirits, like the wind they embodied, were wild and untamable, obeying only their whims. No elf, no matter how revered, could do more than humbly request their aid.
Yet Nahida had summoned them without so much as a chant or offering, wielding their power as if it were an extension of herself.
She’s… like the incarnation of the wind itself, the elf leader thought, his astonishment giving way to elation.
If the young princess could already demonstrate such divine power, there was no doubt in his mind—she was destined to inherit the blessings of the World Tree and become the guardian deity of the elves.
“Not bad!” the elven archer cheered, her confidence surging. “Now watch me, Your Highness!”
She dashed forward with feline grace, leaping from branch to branch toward the beast.
Taking a position closer to the creature, she aimed for the goblin atop its back. Shooting from the ground would’ve been ineffective given the distance and the erratic movements of both the beast and its “rider.”
But as the archer loosed her arrow, it ricocheted off the beast’s spiny plates. The goblin noticed the attack and shrieked in anger, thrashing against the creature’s back to goad it toward the source of the arrow.
Unfortunately for the goblin, the beast wasn’t one to obey commands.
Surrounded by swirling winds and disoriented by the sandstorm forming around it, the creature lashed out wildly. Its thrashing movements flattened trees and sent debris flying, creating a dangerous storm of destruction.
Nearby, Mimiya climbed a tall tree with surprising agility, leaving claw marks in the moss as she ascended.
“Wait—you?”
The elven archer paused, recognizing her fellow hunter.
It was clear they had the same goal. Both had chosen the best vantage point for a precision strike.
But now, the question hung between them: who would take the shot?
“You think you can show off in front of Her Highness before me? Not a chance!” Mimiya taunted, clinging to the tree trunk with one hand and one foot. With her free hand, she nocked an arrow, holding it steady in her teeth as she adjusted her aim.
The elven archer could only look on with a pitiful expression as Mimiya loosed the shot.
The arrow, crafted from a tree sprout, threaded itself neatly through the gaps between the beast’s spiny plates, piercing the goblin rider’s eye socket with deadly precision.
Clutching at the arrow buried in its right eye, the goblin froze in pain, its body stiffening as it forgot to hold the reins.
Before it could recover, a second sprout arrow struck its other eye, this time silencing its screams for good. The goblin toppled from the beast’s massive back and plummeted to the ground, where it was unceremoniously crushed beneath the creature’s giant foot.
The River Severer’s enormous footprint left only a smear of blood and scattered limbs where the goblin had once been.
With the irritating goblin gone, the beast’s rage abated slightly. But as it turned its eyes to the source of its imprisonment—a tiny, fragile figure radiating immense power—its fury reignited.
The monster’s eyes burned red as it charged forward, undeterred by its wounds.
Dan Heng and Stelle leapt into action, weapons raised, meeting the beast’s onslaught head-on.
Of course, attempting to stop such a behemoth with mere human strength would be a fool’s errand. Instead, their goal was to buy time—forcing the creature to exhaust itself until it could be subdued.
Their strikes, though insignificant compared to the monster’s sheer size, were enough to irritate it further. The beast lifted one of its massive forelegs, preparing to crush them into the same paste as the goblin.
But before it could strike, a voice, carried on a gentle yet commanding breeze, rang out.
“Stop, lost dragon.”
Nahida floated mid-air, her pale green hair glowing softly in the fading light. The winds surrounding her coiled and purred like tame cats, their howls transforming into a soothing hum.
The River Severer, a creature that had known no fear since its birth, hesitated for the first time in its life.
It opened its maw to roar, but no sound came. No matter how hard it strained, the very act of vocalization seemed stolen from it.
The air around the beast thickened, becoming an invisible barrier. Even Dan Heng and Stelle were forced to retreat, wary of being caught in the vortex of power.
The creature thrashed, its massive body writhing against the invisible bonds that held it. But the more it struggled, the more its strength waned. Slowly, its frenzied movements ceased, leaving it panting and drained.
Nahida hovered above the beast, her voice tinged with awe.
“You resemble a brontosaurus, a brachiosaurus… perhaps even an alamosaurus,” she mused, as if cataloging a relic of a bygone age.
Despite its immense size, the River Severer gazed up at the girl whose entire form might fit within its pupil. Yet it felt no anger—only helplessness.
The emotions welling within the beast mirrored a long-buried memory: the terror of its first migration, when it was swept away by a river’s current and separated from its kin. Back then, even with its parents at its side, it had felt this same overwhelming sense of vulnerability.
Unable to collapse under its own massive weight, the creature instead lowered its head in submission—a gesture of reverence toward the being it now recognized as far greater than itself.
Nahida, her voice like a soothing hymn, continued to calm the beast. As her words washed over it, the River Severer became still, standing as docile as a well-trained pet.
For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath.
Then, as if snapping free of the spell’s enchantment, March 7 whipped out her camera, gleefully snapping photos of the scene. “Ugh, it doesn’t fit in the frame!” she complained, dragging Stelle to a better vantage point. Dan Heng, visibly exasperated, followed after them.
Meanwhile, Mimiya and the elven archer returned to the group, bickering loudly as they pinched each other’s cheeks.
“You’re the one who’s late to the shot!” Mimiya protested.
“Yeah, right. Who distracted the beast in the first place?” the archer shot back.
Their quarrel left the silver-helmeted elf leader rubbing his temples in frustration. After finally managing to separate the two, he approached Nahida with a newfound reverence.
“Your Highness,” he began, his voice heavy with respect.
“I’ve told you not to call me that,” Nahida sighed, her expression one of quiet exasperation.
Though her appearance alone might easily inspire reverence, she disliked the title—something the elf leader had evidently failed to grasp.
Scratching his head awkwardly, the elf stammered, “Er… I apologize, Your… um, I mean… well…”
Before he could fumble further, his sister interjected with a smirk.
“Ha! You can’t even figure out your wife’s feelings, and here you are trying to interpret Her Highness’s intentions? Give me a break!”
“That’s… a fair point, actually,” the elf leader admitted sheepishly, completely missing the mockery in her tone.
“No matter what, your subjugation of the River Severer is proof enough!” he continued, regaining his composure. “The elders will no longer be able to question your worthiness to ascend the throne.”
“Elders?” Nahida tilted her head.
“The council of long-lived sages from every village,” he explained earnestly. “They serve as key members of the Elven Court. Earning their approval solidifies your claim as our rightful queen.”
“After today, even the most skeptical among them will have to admit their doubts were misplaced.”
Nahida, however, remained pensive. The idea of dealing with elders—and potentially enduring long debates—made her quietly contemplate the merits of making an early escape.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting its final rays across the forest, two moons began their slow ascent. Their ethereal glow bathed the towering trees in soft, silvery light, illuminating the serene aftermath of a battle that would soon become legend.
—
This is a fan translation of 星铁，开局一把琴，靠卖唱养活自己 by 灯子. All rights to the original work belong to the creator. Please support them by exploring their original work or sharing it with others if you can. Thank you for reading and supporting my efforts to bring this story to a wider audience!
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