[{"data":1,"prerenderedAt":-1},["ShallowReactive",2],{"origin-reincarnated-as-an-elf-prince":3,"chapter-reincarnated-as-an-elf-prince-reincarnated-as-an-elf-prince-chapter-293":6},{"origin":4,"title":5},"english","Reincarnated as an Elf Prince",{"chapter":7,"nextChapterSlug":20,"prevChapterSlug":21,"totalChapters":22,"novelImage":23},{"id":8,"novel_id":9,"title":10,"slug":11,"index":12,"content":13,"wordcount":14,"created_at":15,"updated_at":16,"volume":17,"translator":18,"content_hash":19},267258,538,"Chapter 293: Doubts (1)","reincarnated-as-an-elf-prince-chapter-293",293,"\u003Cp>Lindarion stepped back without fanfare and motioned toward the group. \"We fly.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Thariel raised an eyebrow. \"All of us?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You said the boy doesn’t have long.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She hesitated for a half-second.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then nodded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Alright. We load up.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The elves moved quickly. Efficient. No wasted movement. The stretcher was braced between the curved ridges of Ashwing’s shoulders.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Two of the guards climbed up first. Then Thariel. Lindarion took his place last, just ahead of Ashwing’s left wing joint, fingers braced against a gold-spined ridge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You know where their fallback is?\" he asked Thariel.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"East. Ravienel Valley. Old hunting forest past the barrier trees. Twenty miles.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We’ll be there in ten.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ashwing’s wings snapped once.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The wind kicked off the ground in a burst.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And then they were airborne.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The wind over the valley was sharp.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the sight below was a different world from the one they’d left.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No smoke. No burning.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Tents lined the inner edge of a crescent-shaped forest clearing, a small stream cutting through the center.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Wooden stakes had been driven into the ground hastily. A few mana lanterns glowed faint blue at the perimeter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No towers. No stone. No banners.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Just makeshift survival.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>As they descended, Ashwing spiraled once, slow and wide. A signal. No sudden movement. He landed on the outer edge, clearing space with a rush of wind and crackling wingbeats that sent some of the younger guards scrambling to brace their posts.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then stillness.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lindarion hopped down first.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The guards behind him moved with the stretcher, careful and quiet.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Elves began to gather.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A healer ran forward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No one spoke Lindarion’s name.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But they stared.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not in awe.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>In recognition.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’That’s worse.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He stepped aside and let the stretcher pass, brushing soot from the side of his coat with a single hand.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>His mana core felt heavy, like someone had wound wire around it and pulled tight. The divine affinity still flickered under his skin, but dimly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We’ll need another dragon for evac,\" Thariel said. \"There are still a few in the field near Carandel.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We’ll figure it out,\" Lindarion muttered. \"Later.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>She looked at him, then nodded once.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You’re not going to rest, are you?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He didn’t answer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Because they both already knew the answer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The trees thinned.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And the camp unfolded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Canvas tents, some the deep green of the Sylvarion guard, others patched from whatever scraps had survived the city fires. Stone cooking circles smoked faintly along the outer edge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Elven soldiers moved in slow patrols, quieter than usual, worn, many wounded, and most walking with the quiet kind of grief that didn’t need to be explained.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lindarion stepped off Ashwing’s back, boots crunching the dead needles that blanketed the ridge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The wind shifted.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He took a breath.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’Still air. That’s worse than smoke.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Ashwing shrank behind him, landing lightly and remaining in a half-size, small enough not to panic the camp but large enough to stay visible at Lindarion’s shoulder.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The dragon’s scales glimmered faintly in the overcast light, eyes scanning the treeline.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No one greeted them.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Not at first.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A few sentries stopped at the sight of Ashwing but didn’t raise weapons. One or two whispered quietly and turned away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Guess they didn’t roll out the carpet,\" Ashwing muttered inside his mind.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’I’m not here for a parade.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Sure, but a nod might be nice.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lindarion kept walking.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>No one barred him, but no one saluted either. Not even when they saw his eyes, Sunblade gold, or the sigil stitched into the shoulder of his coat, a fading crest of his house worn into the leather.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’They don’t know if I’m here as a survivor... or as a prince.’\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He understood the silence.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He hated it anyway.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The center of the camp was a wide clearing framed by two fallen trees and a half-broken statue of Corellian, the old moon-sage.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A table had been assembled from three stone slabs and a long shield, pushed together with maps and scrolls atop it.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Three elves stood in loose formation: one hunched over the edge of the map, one leaning against a spear, and the third pacing slowly in circles.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>None of them noticed him right away.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The guards stationed outside did.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"You can’t go in there,\" one said, stepping forward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lindarion didn’t stop walking.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I’m Prince Lindarion of Solrendel,\" he said evenly. \"I’m here to speak with whoever’s leading this camp.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The guard hesitated. She looked maybe twenty-five, young for an elf, though her armor had scuff marks. Her brow furrowed.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"No one said you were coming.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"No one sent me.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Her eyes flicked to Ashwing, who was now crouched at the edge of the treeline behind him, tail twitching faintly.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"And you’re alone?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lindarion didn’t answer.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Wait here,\" she said finally, and turned to slip into the tent.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The other guard didn’t relax.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Neither did Lindarion.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The tent flap opened again.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A tall elf stepped out, dark-skinned, long silver hair tied back, features sharp as carved ice. He wore travel-worn armor, ceremonial in shape but practical in wear.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>A short cloak draped over one shoulder, dark green and navy, with the faint white threads of command rank at the edge.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lindarion didn’t recognize him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>But the man recognized him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Prince Lindarion,\" he said with a voice like cold riverstone. \"I’m Commander Taldris Elaren. You should’ve sent word.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I didn’t know who’d still be alive,\" Lindarion replied, blunt.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>That earned a small pause.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Then a nod.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Taldris stepped aside. \"Come inside.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>—\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The inside of the strategy tent smelled like damp wood, blood, and old ink. Half the scrolls were sealed. The rest lay open, weighted by stones and empty ration tins.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Three figures turned to face him as he entered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>One was an older woman with a burn scar running down the side of her face—armor scuffed to hell, her sword laid bare on the table’s edge. She gave him a brief glance. No more.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The second, a younger elf with short red hair and a broken arm in a sling, nodded once. \"Didn’t think any of the royals made it out.\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The third, a scribe or clerk, judging by the ink-stained gloves, gave a low bow but didn’t speak.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Taldris closed the flap behind him.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lindarion stepped forward.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"Where’s my father?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>None of them answered.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>The fire in his stomach flickered hotter.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"I was told Solrendel was attacked. The queen is missing. The king injured. Is he dead?\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Taldris looked toward the map, then back.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"We don’t know. He hasn’t been seen since the capital breach. He held the eastern gates with the First Blades. By the time our messengers got in—\"\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>\"—there were no First Blades left,\" the red-haired elf finished.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>Lindarion didn’t flinch.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>He just stared.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>And nodded.\u003C\u002Fp>\n\u003Cp>’Not dead. Just missing. That’s worse.’\u003C\u002Fp>",1130,"2026-05-29T17:03:12.825Z","2026-06-01T04:29:47.183Z",1,"novelbin.me","0ac8090f3523fcd87a7ad7a6d8fc67c08077f68f5d29e98f0a4c8f20585b6a41","reincarnated-as-an-elf-prince-chapter-294","reincarnated-as-an-elf-prince-chapter-292",564,"https:\u002F\u002Fnovelzhen.com\u002Fimages\u002Fcovers\u002Freincarnated-as-an-elf-prince-cover.jpg"]