Chapter 186: Letter

Chapter 186: Letters

A month later, the festival proceeded as usual in the heart of the valley of Pine Mountain.

The Council of Elders remained dissatisfied with the Elven King and sought to drive him out. The rift within the clan deepened, yet Percy ignored all the murmurs and continued to manage his endless daily affairs.

The Withering at the edges of Pine Mountain needed purification; injured elves required healing; anxious clansfolk needed reassurance—along with countless unexpected incidents.

For instance, a lovestruck elven maiden had fallen for a dashing incubus, her soul tarnished gray. After wandering the mortal world for twenty years, she was captured by the clan’s archers and imprisoned.

Or there was the wildfire that broke out in the eastern depths of the forest, spreading rapidly and pushing a certain plant species to the brink of extinction, necessitating hand-pollination and nurturing… The list went on, keeping him constantly on the move.

Some of these matters weren’t urgent nor required the Elven King’s personal attention, but Percy seemed deliberately immersed in work, avoiding idle thoughts whenever he had a spare moment.

He couldn’t help but overthink.

Whenever he grew still, Percy couldn’t stop replaying the day of the divine message, analyzing every slight quiver of the Mother Tree’s leaves. His mind was in turmoil, tossing and turning over the cryptic responses from the Mother Tree, finding no peace.

On that day, he had pleaded with the deity, asking Elu to appear at the next Full Moon Festival. But Elu’s attitude remained elusive, and to Percy, the upcoming Full Moon Festival felt like Judgment Day from myth—when the deity would descend to deliver a verdict, determining whether the Elven King was guilty.

Thus, the waiting month was torture.

Yet, while Percy fretted and busied himself with tasks, he remained unaware that the white-haired deity perched high in the Mother Tree often rested his chin in his hand, stealing occasional glances at him.

Elu wasn’t a deity who enjoyed spying on elves’ private lives, but when his mind wandered, his gaze would drift unconsciously toward the valley.

Percy’s fate, as foretold, was undeniably tragic—and indeed tied to Elu—so the deity couldn’t help but pay him a little extra attention.

He feared the foolish elf might do something irreversible.

Percy’s daily routine was simple, monotonous to the point of dullness, even carrying a kind of ascetic devotion.

He kept a strict schedule: handling affairs by day, and by night, sitting quietly to read. When the moon shone bright and stars dotted the sky, he would immerse himself in the cold springs for his daily cleansing, then change into fresh robes and retire to his unyielding wicker bed.

His sole pastime was organizing books—taking out the leaves tucked inside, laying them out to dry in the sun one by one, and carefully placing them back.

Yes, Elu’s leaves had all been collected by the Elven King.

Percy stored them meticulously, preserving them like pressed flowers between the pages of books. Each day, he would flip through them, checking their condition, smoothing out any creases before returning them to their place.

His handling of the leaves was painstaking, as though cradling fragile treasures. In truth, the Mother Tree’s leaves were remarkably resilient—they could withstand rough handling without tearing.

Watching this, Elu couldn’t help but touch his own hair.

It gave him an odd sensation.

The leaves were part of Elu’s body, and he wished Percy would return them rather than keep them pressed in books as specimens.

But the Elven King clearly had no idea of the Mother Tree’s wishes. After sunning the books, Percy would usually rise to bathe, at which point Elu would avert his gaze—only to steal one more look once the elf was asleep.

Even in sleep, Percy maintained perfect decorum, hands folded over his abdomen, his expression serene. As he slept, his peaceful features softened, rendering him almost painfully beautiful—except…

Elu eyed the wicker bed and tugged at his hair again.

So hard. It looked utterly uncomfortable.

He patted the cocoon-like soft bed behind him—woven from silk and horsehair, a tribute from the elves—luxuriously soft and cozy, enveloping him like cotton.

Though many philosophies on the continent advocated asceticism, and the elves were an austere and solemn race, Elu didn’t actually wish his beloved creations to live this way. He wanted every elf to rest on beds as soft as honey and milk, nestled among Pine Mountain’s forests and valleys, soothed by murmuring streams and the glowing moon above, spending their days in peace and tranquility.

The same went for Percy.

So, Elu tapped his head and thought aloud, "Once I can leave, I'll get him a new bed."

Unfortunately, that day was nowhere in sight.

The arrival of 66 interrupted the god's rest and likewise prolonged Elu's recovery time. Between researching purification spells, Elu attempted to use his magic, only to fail each time.

He sighed deeply.

If things kept going like this, by the time of the critical moment in the story when Percy was fated to die, Elu still wouldn't be able to leave the barrier.

But to stand by and watch an innocent elf perish—Elu couldn't do it.

Though the deity himself couldn't depart, a portion of the Mother Tree's energy remained usable. Amidst the overlapping branches and leaves, a green fruit quietly took form. Its surface was adorned with intricate golden patterns, weaving together into vast, mysterious markings. Finally, in a secluded spot before a Festival, the ripe fruit fell with a thud, its hard shell cracking open to reveal a young man.

He appeared to be about twenty years old, his pale golden hair reaching past his ankles. His features were refined and peaceful, curled up in a fetal position within the fruit. As the fruit split, he stretched and stepped out—only to...

*Thud—*

The deity stumbled and smacked headfirst into a tree trunk.

The Mother Tree trembled briefly.

66: "...Lord Elu, are you alright?"

The mini system flew over, carefully nudging the deity's reddened forehead with the edge of its screen.

"Ouch... It's fine. The pain sensitivity in this body is still set too high."

Deities could freely modify their creations. Elu usually left default parameters untouched, but the body he crafted for himself was open for tweaking.

Elu steadied himself against the tree trunk. "I'm not used to walking."

The body was freshly made and needed time to adapt—much like a human infant learning to walk. Besides, deities typically floated, and Elu was the type who'd rather sit than stand, lie down than sit—a total homebody who spent his days napping indoors.

Honestly, Elu had been rooted in Pine Mountain for millennia, rarely even stepping outside his door, let alone walking. Those long, elegant legs were little more than ornamental.

66 wiped away imaginary sweat. "Yes, your walking is... awkward, like a newborn fawn. I once had a kitten protagonist who crawled more gracefully than you walk... Watch your head!"

*Thud—*

Elu winced as he pulled his long hair free from the vines. "The hair might be a bit too long... Odd. Percy has long hair too, yet I've never seen him trip over it."

This body bore an eighty percent resemblance to Elu himself, but to avoid direct association with the deity, he had altered his signature silver hair and eyes to a pale gold.

66 poked Su Zhu. "Should we go straight to the Elven King?"

Elu struggled to steady himself. "I can't explain my identity. Let's observe from afar and wait for an opportunity."

Elu hadn't yet figured out how to tell Percy.

This body wasn't a typical elf but a mix of elf and human traits. Currently severely injured, Elu couldn't wield magic in this form, nor did he possess elven spiritual energy. If he showed up in elf territory, he'd likely be mistaken for either a lost traveler who'd wandered into Pine Mountain or a hostile outsider.

The former would be escorted out; the latter, imprisoned.

Elu considered leaving a handwritten note on the elf's desk when no one was around, marked with the Mother Tree's unique seal, explaining his absence.

Previous generations of Elven Kings had also received handwritten messages from the Mother Goddess. Percy would only need to compare the handwriting to verify it.

—And while Percy isn't looking, retrieve his leaf.

Number 66 perched on his shoulder: "Lord Elu, let's step back a bit. The festival is about to begin."

As the moon gradually rose, elves began entering the valley one after another. Just as before, they placed their brewed honey and wine beneath the Mother Tree, seeking the Mother Goddess’s blessing.

Elu slipped past them and walked into the valley, heading toward the elf settlement.

He intended to leave a letter for Percy.

As the banquet grew louder, the scent of honey and berry wine drifted on the wind. Elu turned and, through the cover of several bushes, caught sight of Percy at the center.

The Elven King still wore those same improper garments, holding a harp beneath the Mother Tree, gazing up at its branches. Elu could almost picture his expression—that same devout, gentle look, yet filled with indescribable sorrow.

Percy’s spirits had improved greatly compared to when Elu first saw him—dazed and haggard, steady but lifeless. The Elven King seemed to have found something to hold onto; his once-withered existence now brimmed with renewed vitality. His eyes, too, had cleared, glistening with starlight. This vitality was like a seedling just breaking through the soil—fragile, but undeniably present.

He stood beneath the Mother Tree, silently tightening his grip on the harp strings.

No one knew the depth of Percy’s nervousness.

This wasn’t his first festival, but after cycles of hope and crushing disappointment, this was the first time he had glimpsed even the faintest possibility.

If the Mother Tree answered his call this time, if Lord Elu chose to appear, if his wish could come true…

So when the celebratory music began, Percy took a deep breath. His broken harp strings had been repaired, and the crystalline notes spilled from the Elven King’s fingertips, rising toward the Mother Goddess’s heavenly abode.

He waited for Elu’s response.

But gradually, the music softened. The elders’ quarreling reached him, and murmurs spread among his kin behind him. Percy’s hands stilled.

His hand, hidden in his sleeve, trembled uncontrollably.

The tremors worsened until he could barely hold the harp. Percy had to press down on his sleeve to avoid drawing attention.

The Mother Tree stood silently in the night, like a monolithic spire piercing the heavens—tall, lush, and wordless.

Once again, the deity refused to answer.

The Elven King lowered his emerald-green eyes, veiling all emotion. “My apologies, everyone. Tonight, the Mother Goddess has not descended. The festival is canceled. You may all depart.”

Meanwhile, in the heart of the valley, Elu made his way unseen into Percy’s dwelling.

*

After all, he was a deity. In just half an hour, he had learned to control his body with ease—though his gait remained unsteady, occasionally forgetting he couldn’t fly and stumbling about. Still, he reached his destination.

Among the elves, there was no theft, nor any need to lock doors. Elu wandered through Percy’s study.

From the Mother Tree, he had often cast his gaze here, watching Percy read in the afternoon sun, organize his manuscripts, and dry his leaves.

The Elven King’s study was excessively sparse—just a long desk and a vine-woven bookshelf. The shelves held travelogues and magical treatises, while the desk bore neatly stacked parchment made from bark and a quill.

Elu dipped the quill in ink and began writing. First, he penned an apology, then explained the reason for his slumber. Finally, after deliberation—fearing he’d been too subtle—he shyly added at the end: “I do not dislike you. On the contrary, Percy, you’re among my most cherished elves.”

With his beauty, gentleness, composure, and harp skills—how could Elu help but like him?

With that done, he drew a golden filigree onto the page, the lines weaving like the Mother Tree’s leafy veins.

This was Elu’s personal sigil—his mark.

Finally, he tucked a gleaming golden leaf he had brought from the Mother Tree into the letter as a second token.

This leaf was different from the outer ones—it came from the innermost circle of the canopy, a true piece of divine origin. If sold, it could command an astronomical price in the black markets of the western continent.

Having done all this, Elu glanced around and pinned the letter to the vines by the bedside, ensuring Percy would see it before going to sleep.

......Should this be fine now?

He carefully reviewed the letter's contents again—everything important had been explained clearly, with no room for misunderstanding. Then he looked at the bookshelf, hesitating over whether to take back the previous leaves. But remembering how Percy treasured them, he sighed.

Oh well, if Percy likes them, let him keep them. There are plenty of leaves anyway.

With everything settled, Elu clapped his hands lightly. To avoid running into the elves and being mistaken for a suspicious intruder—or worse, having to explain himself—he returned to the valley before the elves came back, returning his body to the fruit.

Then, the vines coiled tightly around the fruit, wrapping it up again. His body curled back into its dormant state as it was carried all the way back to the canopy.

Like he was never there.

Elu let out a soft yawn.

Feeling as though he had resolved a major problem, a sudden drowsiness washed over him. And when a god slept, time became meaningless—it could be a day, or it could be ten years. Elu turned onto his side in the soft cocoon, burying his face in the snow-white silk pillow and tucking himself in snugly under the blanket.

"66," the god murmured with another yawn, "let me know if anything happens."

66: "..."

The Mini System pouted, clinging to the edge of the cocoon and muttering, "I'm a tragic story system, you know? You realize what I'm here for, right? Even if something happens, I won't wake you up!"

Come on, its whole purpose was to keep the god asleep!

Elu was already settling in, his eyes closing as his serene sleeping face settled into the cocoon. His silver hair cascaded like a waterfall over the edge. At the system’s words, he lifted his head slightly and chuckled softly. "66, you know I’m a god, right? I’ve never misjudged anyone."

With that, he cleared a small space beside the cocoon, laying out a soft silk blanket before gently placing the system there. "I've got a feeling that if anything changes, you’ll definitely let me know."

66: "!"