The Invincible Young Master

Princess Ling tilted her head, curiosity mingling with skepticism in her gaze.

"Why only him? Is there any particular reason?" she asked, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the old elf.

The old elf shook his head, a kind smile on his weathered face, and replied softly. "No, no particular reason. This young man seemed fated, that's all."

"Fated?" Princess Ling echoed, raising an eyebrow.

The elf nodded, his smile widening. "It's hard to explain. It's more like a hunch, I suppose. Sometimes, you just sense a connection."

Spark, lounging back with a casual air, interjected with a dismissive wave. "Don't believe this old man's words, Princess. He's just trying to sell you his woods with his tales."

Princess Ling glanced at Spark, noting the faint smirk on his lips, then turned back to the old elf. She maintained a polite expression, but her mind whirled with questions. The elf's demeanor and words, though intriguing, did have the ring of a practiced storyteller, someone used to spinning tales to entice or distract.

"We've already met twice; it's your fate to go there. What do you say, young man?" The old elf's voice carried a hint of insistence, as if he believed in some deeper connection.

Spark, unfazed by the old elf's question, simply shrugged. "Well, fate or not, I'm not interested in wandering through more forests or chasing after mythical trees."

Yuna, who had been silently observing the exchange, leaned forward, her eyes glinting with curiosity. "And what truth lies in your tale, old thing? Why should we believe in these woods and your connection to the World Tree?"

The old elf hesitated, his fingers tightening around his bundle.

"The World Tree's wood holds immense power," he began, his voice low and earnest. "It's not just wood. It carries the essence of the tree, a fragment of its ancient magic. Those who understand its value..."

"Well, if you want to prove you're not lying and there's truth to your words, then let's burn some of your woods and see their magical properties," Spark suggested, pointing to the flickering bonfire at the center of their camp.

"That…" The old elf's eyes darted to the bundle, reluctance etched on his face.

"See? If you hesitate like this, no one will believe your words," Spark added with a grin, leaning back, his eyes gleaming with challenge.

The old elf sighed, a look of resignation washing over him.

"But money…" he muttered, almost to himself.

Spark sighed as well, exasperation mingling with amusement. "That again?"

Thinking of something, Spark's lips curved into a mischievous grin as he said, "How about this? I've got a great idea that could make you a lot of money."

The old elf's ears twitched at the mention of money, and he leaned in, eager for Spark's next words. "What is that idea?"

Spark held up a jug filled with clear water, gesturing towards Yuna with a flourish. "Do you see this jug of water? She can turn it into wine."

The old elf's eyes widened, a look of bewilderment crossing his face. "Really? How?"

"Show him," Spark instructed, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

Yuna, catching on to Spark's playful scheme, nodded with a mischievous grin. "It's a secret technique, so make sure you don't tell anyone," she whispered conspiratorially.

Taking the jug, Yuna closed the opening with her palm and began to chant strange, melodic words, her voice barely above a whisper. Moments later, she removed her hand and passed the jug back to the old elf.

The old elf peered inside, his eyes widening in disbelief. The water had turned into a rich, red wine, its aroma wafting up and tantalizing his senses.

"Why don't you taste it, to see if it's real?" Spark suggested, his tone casual yet inviting.

The old elf hesitated, shaking his head.

"I can't. I'm bad with drinks," he replied, trying to hand the jug back to Yuna.

"It's only a glass. Just taste it," Spark urged, signaling Zhao Shi to pass a glass to the old elf.

Zhao Shi quickly handed a glass to the elf, who still appeared hesitant. But as the heady aroma of the wine continued to fill the air, the old elf's resolve weakened. He poured himself a small glass, the deep red liquid shimmering in the firelight.

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