Even though Luna and Lulu were absolutely terrible at shooting arrows themselves, they could still recognize the sharp, slicing sound of a bowstring being released.
So, they knew instantly that someone was aiming straight for Luca and turned towards Luca.
Luna herself felt her heart seize up.
A flash of panic crossed her face—raw, unfiltered fear—and she didn't even know why.
She had only met him today. He was human, a race she'd been taught to distrust, maybe even despise. He'd teased her, disarmed her, and made her lose her composure multiple times. He was frustrating, confusing, and unpredictable.
But...he was also kind.
He had healed Lulu's wound, laughed with them, and carried her sister without complaint. He had brought warmth and a strange spark of energy into her quiet, lonely world.
And now, seeing death flying straight toward him—she realized something deep and immediate:
She didn't want anything to happen to him.
Without thinking, she stretched out her hand, as if she could somehow stop the arrow herself. Her lips parted—a silent, desperate gasp—her body moving on instinct alone.
Beside her, Lulu did the same, eyes wide with alarm.
She might not have trusted him completely yet, but she liked him—he was fun, easy to tease, and surprisingly gentle. Like an amusing, oversized pet she'd already grown attached to.
And the thought of seeing him hurt...it made her stomach twist.
"Nooo!" She cried, reaching out like she could grab the arrow midair.
But the arrow was too fast.
There was no time.
Both sisters' eyes widened in horror—the sleek shaft of the arrow gleaming in the sunlight, closing the distance in an instant. They knew it would strike him, knew they couldn't stop it—
But fortunately...Luca could.
The moment the arrow was about to pierce his thighs, Luca moved.
It wasn't just fast—it was instantaneous. A blur, a flicker of motion that the eye could barely register.
And then, impossibly—he caught it.
He stood there, calm as ever, his expression was relaxed, almost impressed. He even twirled the arrow once in his hand, admiring its craftsmanship as both sisters gawked in utter disbelief before finally saying,
"Now that is what I call a perfect shot."
"Not only was the speed impressive." He continued, almost like a teacher grading a student's work. "But the accuracy was perfect—just below the thighs."
"Not enough to kill me instantly, but enough to immobilize me, make me bleed out slowly, let go of the hostage and give the shooter plenty of time to question me later."
"Smart. Efficient. And deadly." He nodded approvingly. "This...This is what I call true archery."
Luna and Lulu stood frozen. Their mouths hung slightly open, their wide eyes reflecting both awe and confusion.
Luna couldn't even find her voice, her brain still trying to process what she'd just witnessed.
Luca's gaze, however, had already shifted upward, following the faint trail of where the arrow had come from.
"Now..." He murmured, his tone light but edged with curiosity. "I wonder who exactly fired this magnificent shot."
The forest answered him.
From above, the leaves began to stir.
Shadows moved.
The silence that had hung heavy over the village shattered—as figures began to emerge from every direction.
From the bridges.
From the wooden houses built into the trunks.
From the thick branches overhead.
Even from behind the massive roots below.
Elves. Dozens of them.
They moved with the silence of trained hunters, their steps light and precise, bows and blades glinting faintly in the filtered sunlight.
In mere seconds, Luca found himself surrounded—nearly forty of them, all aiming their arrows down toward him, their gazes sharp and watchful.
"They were here all along…" Luna gasped.
"Waaah...I didn't even sense them!" Lulu's mouth fell open in awe.
They had been hiding all along. Watching. Waiting.
And each elf was strikingly beautiful in her own way—slender and graceful, with flawless, pale skin that glowed faintly under the canopy's light.
Some had hair as bright as sunlight—soft blond, like spun gold.
Others had long crimson locks that shimmered like fire.
A few had snowy white or ink-black hair that framed delicate faces and long, pointed ears.
Their attire was similar to Luna and Lulu's—form-fitting, elegant hunting gear woven from enchanted fibers that hugged their slender figures perfectly.
Some were petite and sharp-eyed, others voluptuous and poised, but all of them radiated that ethereal, ageless beauty only elves possessed.
And not one of them was male.
Every single elf that appeared was a woman—young, beautiful, and deadly.
Luca let out a soft, almost admiring whistle.
"So that's where you all were hiding." He muttered. "And here I thought the village was deserted."
But his gaze sharpened as it moved upward to the platform that was right in front of him.
There, standing alone above the others, was a woman unlike any he'd ever seen.
The moment his eyes fell on her, his breath hitched in his throat.
She wasn't merely beautiful.
She was otherworldly.
Her long, golden hair shimmered like woven sunlight, cascading down her back and flowing gently in the wind.
Her eyes were a striking ocean-blue, so piercing they seemed to look straight through him.
Her ears were long and elegant, and her face—graceful, refined, yet proud was framed perfectly by the faint glow of the sun above her.
Her nose was delicate, her lips full and soft, their color natural but captivating. Her body was tall and slender, sculpted with effortless perfection, her posture exuding both nobility and danger.
But even through her clothes he could see the full curves of her figure, her chest full and plump, her rear sticking out from the sides as if her clothes couldn't contain her massive assets.
But what struck him most wasn't her beauty.
It was her presence.
She looked down at him not with curiosity or hostility, but with a calm, icy authority that froze the air around her.
Her expression was cold enough to make even the sunlight feel sharp and brittle, her gaze the kind that made people bow their heads without realizing it.
"Well..." He said quietly, looking straight up at her. "I think I just found the one who shot this."
The golden-haired elf didn't answer. She just continued to stare down at him, her icy gaze steady, sharp, and full of silent judgment.
And though she said nothing, Luca could already tell—
This was her.
The Matriarch of the Elves.
Leona Silverleaf
The one he'd been looking for.
Luca thought he had already seen every kind of beauty this world had to offer.
From queens draped in silks to goddesses cloaked in light to the elf before them—he had met them, fought beside them, and even angered a few.
But the moment his gaze lifted again toward the bridge, he realized just how wrong he was.
Because another woman had just stepped beside the golden-haired matriarch.
And for the first time in a very long while, he felt his breath hitch.
She was just as beautiful.
No...perhaps even more dangerous in her beauty.
Where the matriarch stood like a radiant sun carved from gold—pure, regal, untouchable—this woman was the opposite, a living shadow wrapped in mystery.
It was as if the heavens themselves had split light and darkness into two halves and shaped them into sisters.
They were undeniably similar. The same delicately pointed ears, the same full lips that seemed made for soft laughter, and the same perfect features sculpted with almost divine precision.
Even their eyes were identical—piercing, intelligent, and otherworldly.
And yet, everything else about her was different.
Her hair was not gold, but black—deep, lustrous black that gleamed like a midnight river beneath the moonlight. It framed her face in soft waves, cascading down her shoulders in contrast to the sunlit brilliance of the woman beside her.
Her skin was pale, glowing faintly under the filtered light, the dark strands of her hair accentuating every elegant line of her body.
Her attire too was unlike the other elves.
While most wore emerald or forest tones that blended with the trees, she was clad in pure black—an elegant, form-fitting gown that shimmered faintly with every movement.
The slit along her thigh revealed just enough to make his pulse quicken, and the neckline—high yet provocatively cut—hinted at a deliberate defiance of elven modesty.
She wasn't just beautiful. She was bewitching.
There was something in the way she held herself—relaxed yet coiled, as if every breath she took carried hidden intent.
Her smile was soft, but there was mischief flickering at the corners of her lips, and her eyes glimmered with the kind of confidence that only someone dangerous could carry.
If the matriarch was sunlight that burned cold—distant and divine—this woman was darkness that shimmered warm, seductive, and alive.
A mystery that beckoned.
A secret that promised ruin.
Luca felt his throat go dry. His grip on the arrow slackened slightly as he swallowed hard, the faintest smile twitching at the corner of his lips despite himself.
Just then, a small hand tugged at his sleeve.
"Are you all right?"
Luna's voice came out tight with worry. She stepped closer, scanning his hand anxiously.
"D-Did it pierce you? Did it go through your palm? Are you bleeding?"
Lulu, still on his back, leaned forward too, her usual playful tone replaced by concern.
"Yeah, are you okay, human? Should I get down? Did the arrow hurt you?"
But Luca just waved them off, smiling.
"I'm fine, I'm fine." He said lightly, twirling the arrow once more before tossing it aside.
"But forget that. What I really want to know right now…" His eyes flicked upward again, his tone turning amused. "That's your mother, right? The one with the golden hair?"
"And the other one beside her...your Auntie Nyx, I'm guessing?"
Both sisters stiffened instantly.
Luca continued, grinning.
"You weren't exaggerating at all. She really is an enchanting woman—no, both of them are. Your mother's cold as a glacier, and your aunt. Well…"
His eyes softened, a faint awe in them.
"Your aunt looks like the kind of woman who seems playful. But one wrong step and you won't even know when she stabbed the dagger through your heart.."
Hearing this, Luna blinked up at him, completely dumbfounded.
Just moments ago, she'd been worrying whether he was bleeding out—and now he was standing there ogling the two most dangerous women in the village like he was evaluating art.
Her lips tightened as she felt a strange, unfamiliar irritation rise in her chest.
"Unbelievable." She muttered under her breath, cheeks heating up despite herself. "You were almost killed a moment ago and this is what you're focused on?"
But when he looked down at her with that infuriatingly charming grin, she found herself at a loss for words.
"Yes." She finally said in reluctant defeat. "You're right. That really is my mother...and that's Aunt Nyx."
"Wow." Luca said simply, eyes still fixed upward. "So it really does run in the family. Same sharp eyes, same regal beauty...whether it's mother, daughter, or sister..."
He looked towards her.
"...every single one of you could give any model from my world a inferiority complex."
Hearing this comment that came out of nowhere, Luna's initial irritation instantly melted into flustered panic.
Her face turned pink, her lips parting wordlessly.
"Y-You...You can't just say things like that…" She muttered, looking away, her heart betraying her composure.
Meanwhile, Lulu was less concerned about the compliments and more fascinated by the arrow in his hand.
"How did you catch that, human? That's amazing! You didn't even flinch! Do it again!" She said excitedly, bouncing slightly.
Before either of them could say more, a sharp, cold voice cut through the air.
"Stay right there, human."
The tone was enough to freeze the air itself.
All three of them looked up—and found the golden-haired matriarch, Leona aiming another arrow directly at Luca's chest, her expression deadly calm.
"Make another move toward my daughters..." She said slowly, her voice firm and chilling. "...and I will make sure the next arrow goes straight through your heart."
Around her, nearly fifty elves followed her lead, their bows drawn in unison.
And though their stances weren't as perfect as hers—some trembling slightly, others fumbling with their arrows—it was still a formidable sight that would make any man tremble.