Chapter 80: The Traitor

Chapter 80: The Traitor

Lyman stood in the lightning and rain, his gaze sweeping over those present.

He had clearly just heard this leader in black claim to be from the "Black Sun Cult"!

The very Black Sun Cult that had reduced Cape Prison to ruins and purchased forbidden arts from Relf Stone Spear!

The Black Sun Cult that his sister Livia belonged to!

Why were they here? Why were they attacking the Elven Saint?

A thousand thoughts swirled through Lyman's mind. He desperately wanted to grab the black-clad man and demand answers, but he knew full well that the man would never give him a straight answer.

The black-clad leader stared hard at this uninvited, mysterious stranger. The man was clearly a superhuman, able to move freely through shadows. Was he an ally of the Lady Saint, or did he have some other agenda?

"And who are you?" the black-clad leader asked coldly. "Don't interfere with the Black Sun Cult, and I might let you live!"

Just as I suspected... Under his cloak, Lyman's eyes went cold.

The devastation at Cape Prison was still fresh in his mind. He could never allow the Black Sun Cult to run rampant.

Fortunately, his "mysterious organization" was nominally the Black Sun Cult's sworn enemy—so he might as well lean into that persona.

"I'm here on my Lord's orders to purge heretics like you." Lyman revealed the Blade of Revelation.

"Your Lord?" The shadowy leader's expression shifted slightly. "Who do you serve?"

Suppressing his embarrassment, mentally cringing the whole time, Lyman spoke in a calm, even tone: "My Lord is the Lord of the Abyss, the Shadow Mentor, the Patron of Art and Beauty... and the Black Sun Cult's sworn enemy!"

"The Lord of the Abyss?" The Elven Saint raised her head, giving him a look of surprise and confusion.

"Never heard of him! We'll kill you too!"

The black-clad leader's robe billowed in the wind, lifting him into the air like a giant bat.

His subordinates couldn't fly like he could, but they all knew the priority was to gang up on the Elven Saint and the Shadow Transcendent.

One subordinate charged at the Elven Saint with his sword, but just then, the grass under his feet inexplicably knotted itself and tripped him.

He cried out and hit the ground, eating a mouthful of dirt. The next second, Lyman appeared beside him like a ghost and drove his blade into his back.

He aimed his crimson dagger at another black-clad subordinate, about to slip through the shadows to reach him, when a sudden sense of dread seized his mind.

—Don't go over there. Something will block you!

Lyman took the warning and stopped.

Was this "Death's Neighbor" at work? Was it warning him that this subordinate had some hidden trump card?

But there was clearly nothing in the way. "Death's Neighbor's" warning was too vague—it could help him avoid danger, but it didn't offer much in the way of attacking.

Just as Lyman hesitated, a weak but determined voice spoke up behind him.

"Watch out—they have some kind of invisible long-range attack!"

The Elven Saint Sylvira propped herself up on her silver bow as she spoke to Lyman. Her golden hair, soaked by the torrential rain, clung to her face, making her look a complete mess—nothing like the lofty, revered Lady Saint she was supposed to be.

"I got hit by an invisible attack just now," she said.

Erowen leaped off the elk and rushed to her side. "Lady Saint!"

Seeing Erowen covered in wounds, Sylvira's heart ached, but she knew this was no time for sentimentality.

She quickly drew an arrow from the elk's saddlebag, nocked it on her silver bow, and aimed at the black-clad leader in the sky.

Suddenly...

Hum—

The same low hum that had made Sylvira dizzy and bleed from her orifices sounded again. This time she couldn't even stay on her feet, and her vision went black.

She blacked out for a moment. When she came to, she found herself on one knee. Erowen had already collapsed at her feet, out cold.

The cold rain washed over her. Blood mixed with the rainwater, forming a winding stream.

"This... this is... a bat's..." She raised her head with difficulty.

She had read that bats emitted a special sound for echolocation. Humans couldn't hear it at all, but elves had sharper hearing and could pick up traces of it.

Was the black-clad leader's Supernatural Ability "bat transformation"? That would explain why he could fly and make those weird sound waves...

The black-clad leader in the air had a smug smile on his face. His sonic attacks had limited range, but once they landed, the target would take serious damage.

He turned to the Shadow Transcendent—he was next in line!

—Hum!

The strange, piercing screech once again filled Sylvira's mind. But this time, the damage was less severe than before, as if the sound wasn't aimed straight at her.

So the black-clad leader's target was the follower of the Lord of the Abyss?

Sylvira was about to warn him, but she saw him standing perfectly still, completely unfazed.

"You're not hurt?" Sylvira was astonished.

Lyman gave her a strange look. He was also wondering why the two elves had suddenly started coughing up blood. Had they taken some kind of internal damage?

The black-clad leader was even more stunned than Sylvira.

What the hell? He had clearly aimed at that brat—why was he completely unharmed?

The black-clad leader refused to accept it and launched another sonic attack. This time he put everything into it. The piercing sound was so intense that even the elves outside the attack range and several nearby subordinates grabbed their heads, groaning in pain.

Yet the Shadow Transcendent remained completely untouched.

The black-clad leader was baffled. After a long pause, he stammered, "You... are you deaf?"

"I'm not!" Lyman said coldly. "But I'd say you're the blind one."

He pointed his dagger at the surrounding black-clad subordinates, sweeping it in a circle.

"And you," he said, "are all dead men."

—Boom!

A fork of lightning struck down from the sky, as if a god had driven a blade of pure light straight into the earth.

Amid the thunderous crash, Lyman's figure vanished, then reappeared in an instant behind one of the black-clad subordinates.

A flash of crimson, and blood splattered.

The black-clad subordinate's body crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. Before the body even hit the ground, Lyman's figure vanished.

Then he reappeared behind another black-clad subordinate.

The lightning faded, and the hill plunged back into darkness. Then came another flash of thunder and lightning.

When the pale blue-white light once again illuminated the earth, painting everything in stark black and white, everyone clearly saw the second black-clad subordinate collapse into a pool of blood.

The Shadow moved through the ranks of the Black Sun Cult.

Rain poured down in torrents, lashing wildly at everything. Thunder boomed like drums, pounding furiously against the vault of heaven and earth.

Thunder, rain, and screams merged into a frenzied symphony. And the Shadow, flickering in and out of existence between flashes of light, was both conductor and dancer alike.

Like a specter returning from the edge of hell, a ghost emerging from the depths of nightmare, he danced a dance of death.

In the blink of an eye, all the black-clad subordinates lay sprawled on the ground. The Shadow stopped, twirling the blood-stained dagger deftly between his fingers before pointing it at the black-clad Chief in the sky.

The Chief's pupils contracted sharply in the alternating light and darkness, reflecting the rain-soaked figure of Death himself.

He was terrified, desperate to turn and run. But in the Black Sun Cult, incompetence was the one thing that was never tolerated.

Even if he died today, he would complete his mission: kill the Elven Saint!

He opened his mouth, readying another sonic attack.

Lyman tilted his head back, letting the cold rain lash his face.

The Chief floated in the air, but Lyman had no ability to fly. He wanted to find a bird to carry him skyward, but with the rain pouring down like a river from the heavens, all the nearby birds had taken cover.

No choice—he'd have to try out the relic he'd recently acquired.

Lyman drew the bloodstained crystal from the Divine Casket.

—the Lament of the Earth!

From the soil, stained red with the blood of the black-clad subordinates, a thick vine burst forth!

It greedily drank the blood. Not only did it drink the blood pooling on the ground, but even the corpses rapidly shriveled, becoming desiccated like mummies.

Lyman stepped forward, seized the ever-growing vine, and rose into the sky with it.

Like the boy in Earth's fairy tales who climbed a beanstalk into the sky to battle a giant.

The Chief recoiled in terror, but the vine chased him, lunging at him like a dancing serpent.

When the distance between them shrank to less than a meter, Lyman leaped and grabbed the Chief by the collar.

—Attribute Storage: Release!

The weight stored in the transparent ring was released all at once!

Boom!

It was as if a fist from the heavens had struck him square on. The Chief felt like he'd been hit by a meteor, crashing heavily to the ground, sending up a massive splash, and even forming a crater centered around him.

He heard the sound of his bones breaking and his skin tearing. Blood gushed from his mouth and nose, and his throat filled with a sickly, metallic sweetness.

Lyman straddled him, dagger aimed at his throat.

"Tell me, why did you try to assassinate the Elven Saint?!"

"It's... the Cult Leader's orders..." he rasped.

"What does the Black Sun Cult want with the elves?"

The Chief's smile widened, a "heh heh" sound rattling from his throat, as if his lungs had become a broken pair of bellows.

Lyman suddenly sensed that something was wrong. He pried open the Chief's jaw, but it was already too late. The man swallowed something, his throat bobbing.

Then, with a smile that was both ashamed and relieved, he fell back and stopped moving.

"Damn it!"

Furious, Lyman raised the Blade of Revelation high and drove it deep into the earth.

The sound of splashing footsteps came from behind him. Sylvira and Erowen, supporting each other, limped over to stand beside the Chief and Lyman.

"He poisoned himself?" Sylvira asked quietly.

Lyman nodded silently.

They hadn't even given him a chance to interrogate. The Black Sun Cult must have issued poison hidden in every member's teeth, precisely to prevent capture.

All three fell silent.

At dawn the next day, the rain that had poured all night suddenly stopped. Sunlight spilled across the fields, and a rainbow even appeared in the sky.

***

Such a beautiful sight made it hard to imagine the tragedy that had unfolded the night before.

Nearly a third of the buildings in Orchard Village had been burned down. Thanks to the sudden downpour, the fire had been quickly extinguished, and most structures had survived, though they needed repairs.

With the help of the Elven Warriors and the troupe members, all the villagers had escaped safely, with no casualties.

The united and hardworking villagers of Orchard Village began rebuilding their homes as soon as the sky cleared.

The homeless were taken in by their neighbors. The men cut timber from the nearby woods to build new homes for those whose houses had burned down. The women brought steaming hot food from their kitchens to serve the guests from afar. The children kept busy too, tending livestock for the adults, clearing debris, and watching over the younger ones.

The injured were housed in the meeting hall, cared for by the troupe's female diviner. Besides acting and fortune-telling, she seemed well-versed in herbal medicine. Even the plant-loving Elven Warriors lay obediently still, waiting for her to bring bowl after bowl of bitter herbal broth.

Sylvira walked along the still-muddy road. She had only given herself a simple bandage, declining the female diviner's more thorough care.

"I'm sorry, Elder Marco," she said to the old man beside her. "We brought disaster to this village... no, I should say I brought it."

"Please don't say that, Lady Saint," old Marco said, stroking his white beard. "Those black-clad men brought disaster to this village. You're a victim too. If we blamed you, the black-clad men would probably laugh themselves to death!"

"But if I hadn't come here, you wouldn't have suffered this calamity..."

"Ever since our ancestors swore to guard that treasure for the Holy Son Feralion, we've been prepared for crisis." Old Marco smiled at Sylvira. "Don't underestimate us, Lady Saint. The people of Orchard Village have been warriors for generations. We've been fighting since our ancestors' time! Though by our generation, we've forgotten all the swordplay."

"Thank you," she said softly. "I brought some elven specialties with me—they should be worth something. Please take them to trade for supplies. Once I return to the Verdant Court, I'll send more."

"If you truly want to compensate us, then catch the real mastermind behind this. Make them pay, make them know that good is rewarded with good, and evil with evil. My father always said the finest wine in the world is the blood of one's enemies."

The old man let out a hearty laugh, gesturing animatedly:

"But don't actually haul the corpse over here! It would scare the children!"

Sylvira opened her mouth, but it felt like something was stuck in her throat, and no words came out.

After saying goodbye to the old man, she went to the supply warehouse next to the meeting hall. She'd borrowed the space from Elder Marco to use as a temporary private meeting spot.

The troupe leader and the mysterious Shadow Transcendent were already there waiting.

They'd traded names earlier—she knew the former as Dorian Calest, a poet and playwright. The latter went by Mr. Shadow, and he and Captain Dorian were brothers in faith, sharing the same god.

Two men who worshipped the same "evil god"...

Was it fate that brought them here? They should have been strangers, yet an invisible hand had woven their fates together into a tapestry of blood and fire.

Sylvira sat down beside them on the ground. Both men nodded at her.

Captain Dorian had a stack of papers on his lap and an open ink bottle at his feet.

"What are you writing?" she asked.

"Oh, I figured I'd write down last night's events while my memory's still fresh—might make good material someday!" Dorian hadn't slept a wink all night, yet he was still full of energy.

Sylvira turned to Mr. Shadow. This faceless superhuman was... playing with a mouse.

He was holding a small silver-gray mouse, scratching its little head over and over. The mouse squeaked happily, clearly loving it.

Sylvira's lips twitched, but in the end she didn't ask why he was doing that.

"Thank you both for everything you've done for my people and for Orchard Village." She bowed her head deeply. "I don't know how to repay you. If there's anything I can do, just say the word."

Dorian perked up right away: "Now that you mention it, I'm wide awake! I've always been curious about elven culture and customs—mind if I interview you later? And if I could get a tour of the Verdant Court... ow!"

He yelped in pain because Mr. Shadow had kicked him and even let the mouse bite him.

Dorian hunched his shoulders, hugged his knees, and went quiet, looking sulky.

"I think what we need most right now is candor," Mr. Shadow said in a hoarse voice. "Because the Black Sun Cult isn't just your enemy—it's ours too."

"Your... Lord of the Abyss cult's enemy?" Sylvira noticed his choice of words. "Did the Lord of the Abyss send you two here?"

"Captain Dorian happened to be passing by, saw the village on fire, and summoned me for help," Mr. Shadow said. "My supernatural ability lets me possess inanimate objects and show up in distant places. My current body is actually just a puppet."

Sylvira suddenly got it. No wonder the bat chief's sonic attacks didn't work on him. His body was a puppet, after all!

"But since we've all met here, how can there not be some divine will at play?" Dorian said in a mysterious tone. "The world's a grand stage, and all men and women are merely players.* And the gods are the directors behind the scenes, the playwrights penning the script..."

Mr. Shadow cut him off: "Lady Saint, can you tell me why you came to this village?"

Sylvira saw no reason to hide it—the whole village knew they were hunting for the relic anyway.

She told them the whole story of how the Holy Son Feralion had left the relic behind, but she didn't reveal what the journal actually said, and she kept quiet about the unopenable box. That was Feralion's last message to her, a treasure meant for the elven race—not something for outsiders to see.

Mr. Shadow's face couldn't be seen, so there was no reading his expression. But Dorian had a strange look on his face.

"Um, Lady Saint," he asked carefully, "is Feralion a common name among elves?"

"Yes—the previous Holy Son was named Feralion, so after he passed, lots of people named their kids after him in his memory. I even have a young attendant with the same name. Why do you ask?"

Dorian let out a relieved sigh: "Oh, I see! Then it's nothing!"

Sylvira went on: "After that, the Black Sun Cult attacked us. I have no idea what they're after. You two seem to know a lot about the Black Sun Cult—what exactly are they?"

Only Mr. Shadow—Lyman—could answer that one. Dorian had never actually come face-to-face with the Black Sun Cult.

"They're followers of an evil god," Lyman explained.

"Like us?" Dorian raised an eyebrow.

"Not even close." Lyman shot Dorian a glare. Since Dorian couldn't see his face, the glare was completely wasted on him.

"Our lord has always helped people in dire straits, while the Black Sun Cult skulks in the shadows scheming. They're our lord's sworn enemy."

Dorian thought to himself: the Black Sun Cult had shown up in the colony before, and Miss Tove was there too. That must've been the great Patron sending an Apostle to track down the great enemy.

And this time, when the Black Sun Cult hit Orchard Village, he just happened to show up and summon Mr. Shadow—that had to be the Patron pulling strings behind the scenes!

The Patron and the Black Sun Cult were playing their game on a worldwide scale, and he and Mr. Shadow were just pawns on the divine chessboard. The twists and undercurrents of it all were beyond imagining!

Just thinking about taking part in this divine game, being swept along in the great currents of history, got Dorian's heart racing.

What a stroke of luck to be chosen as an Apostle!

Sylvira's face fell as she murmured: "So the Black Sun Cult tried to kill me for political reasons? To keep the elves down?"

Lyman was about to nod in agreement when Dorian spoke up: "Not necessarily. Lady Saint, who all knows about your search for the relic?"

"Me, my guards, and my attendants. Plus the members of the Council of the Holy Descendants," Sylvira said. "The rest of my people just know I'm heading out—they don't know why."

"Do they all know exactly where Orchard Village is? I mean, this place is pretty out of the way—you'd never find it without a map."

Sylvira thought for a moment, then shook her head: "Only my guards and I know where it is."

Dorian said: "But the Black Sun Cult showed up at Orchard Village at the same time you did. It's like they knew beforehand—they even had the arson planned out..."

"Ah!" Sylvira gasped. "You mean..."

Lyman caught on to what Dorian was getting at. "There's a traitor among the elves who sold out the Lady Saint's route?"

"It can't be my guards!" Sylvira said firmly. "They've served me for years—I'd bet my life on their loyalty. Besides, I only told them exactly where Orchard Village was after we left the Verdant Court. Even if they wanted to leak it, they wouldn't have had time, right?"

"So basically, someone leaked your travel plans to the Black Sun Cult before you ever left the Verdant Court," Dorian said. "You said you found Orchard Village's location in the journal. Can only you read it, or can anyone?"

Sylvira hesitated: "I found the journal in the Sacred Tree library, tucked inside an old book. I was thrilled when I came across it."

Dorian spread his hands: "So it's not out of the question that someone else checked out that book before you and read the journal first. That person found the precious Holy Son's journal but didn't report it—just quietly put it back. That'd be pretty unusual."

Lyman picked up where he left off: "Then there's another possibility: someone deliberately stuck that journal inside the old book, hoping you'd find it."

Dorian looked at Mr. Shadow, suddenly feeling a kindred spirit—great minds thinking alike. "That person knew you well enough to bet you'd definitely go on a treasure hunt. So they tipped off the Black Sun Cult ahead of time to set a trap at Orchard Village. This whole treasure hunt was rigged from the start. But the relic at Orchard Village has to be real, right?"

"Only real bait works. Just like real con artists never lie." Lyman nodded to himself, feeling that saying just kept gaining value.

Sylvira went pale. She never dreamed her own people would betray her. Shouldn't she trust her own kin over these two humans? But then again, shouldn't she trust evidence, logic, and reason over her kin?

Everything she'd believed her whole life seemed to be crumbling piece by piece.

Dorian kept going, in full swing: "The Holy Son's journal is an incredibly precious document—no ordinary elf would have one, right? Lady Saint, who in your tribe would be most likely to hold onto the Holy Son's journal for years without anyone finding out?"

"The Holy Son's relics get passed down to his successor, but until that successor comes of age, they're usually held by the Council of the Holy Descendants..."

Dorian and Lyman exchanged a glance. The poet's face seemed to have "It's definitely them" written all over it.

"The Holy Councilor planned this attack?"

Sylvira's first thought was that these two were full of it. But then, Lamanor's face surfaced in her memory.

Lamanor, who had always butted heads with her, had unexpectedly supported her this time. She'd figured her years of hard work had finally gotten through to that Holy Councilor, making him drop his bias against her—but now...

"You've got someone in mind, don't you?" Lyman asked, studying Sylvira's expression with his "Masterful Acting" skill.

Sylvira shot to her feet. "I must return to the Verdant Court at once. Whether it's that person or not, I have to go back and confirm. Besides, the Black Sun Cult failed once; they might try again. Staying here would bring trouble to innocent people."

Dorian rubbed his hands together eagerly. "I also think you should hurry back to take charge. The Black Sun Cult might be lurking in the Verdant Court—we must root them out completely!"

"It's not that easy," Lyman said. "The Black Sun Cult possesses many forbidden arts, capable of transforming people into monsters or converting life energy into weapons. If they could be wiped out that easily, would they still be the Lord's great enemy?"

"Then all the more reason for me to go back. I can't let those dangerous people stay on elven soil." Sylvira said. "Though I'd love to stay longer in the orchard village, time's tight. Both of you, thank you again for your help. Please leave me a way to reach you, and I'll send you a thank-you gift. Let's part ways here..."

"Wait." Lyman raised a hand to stop Sylvira. "Would you like to become a believer in my Lord?"

Author's note:

*A Shakespeare quote.