Chapter 81: The Weeping Blood Forest

Chapter 81: The Forest of Weeping Blood

"Become a follower?" Sylvira was stunned.

Dorian said enthusiastically, "Lady Saint, allow me to introduce you to our great Lord of the Abyss, the all-knowing Shadow Mentor, the Patron of Art and Beauty. He is the savior of the downtrodden, the god who brings light and hope..."

Lyman was dying of secondhand embarrassment again. He himself often played Xiaoqi to pitch the Apostle on their cause, but hearing someone else do the selling was a whole different beast.

So awkward! Hearing someone rattle off his own titles like a waiter reciting specials was bad enough, but what made it worse was Dorian's tone, which sounded like he was running a pyramid scheme.

He wished the ground would swallow him whole, yet he had to sit there, keeping up his cool, aloof image.

Thank goodness he had "Masterful Acting" and "Shadow Play," or the villagers wouldn't need to rebuild their homes—they could just come here and find a whole new city underground.

"Ahem, Captain Dorian, I think this matter should be handled by the Divine Servant," he cut off Dorian's sales pitch.

"Oh! Right! It should be Xiaoqi!" Dorian turned to Sylvira and explained, "Xiaoqi is the servant of the great Patron and the one above us apostles."

Lyman focused his mind, and with a "poof!" Xiaoqi materialized from a puff of smoke.

The little white creature's tail puffed up as it jabbed a finger at Dorian: "What do you mean 'the one above'! Don't make it sound like we're some kind of shady underground group!"

"But aren't we literally an illegal—" Dorian was silenced by a glare from Xiaoqi, and he shrank back, hugging his knees and not daring to make a peep.

Sylvira watched this scene, thinking to herself: a troupe leader, a rat, a white animal that looked like a cat and a rabbit—what kind of circus act was this?

Then the white creature floated over to her, putting on a friendly expression and giving her a slight nod:

"My name is Xiaoqi. Although this is our first meeting, my master has actually had his eye on you for a long time."

"The Lord of the Abyss, watching me?" Sylvira repeated in a daze.

"You've made fervent wishes before, haven't you? My lord heard your prayers from the endless void and turned His gaze toward you. I never thought we'd meet this soon."

Dorian slapped his thigh in realization. So it was all part of the great Patron's plan after all! He knew the events at Tree Orchard Village were no coincidence!

Sylvira sighed: "Do I have to believe in the Lord of the Abyss? What would happen if I refuse?"

"Uh, nothing, really," Xiaoqi said. "My master doesn't force anyone to believe in Him. And it's not like you can just decide to believe on a whim. Only when you uncover the true desire buried in your heart will my master accept you as an apostle."

"Then, your master can fulfill my wish?"

"Uh, it's not like it happens overnight—it's a gradual thing. My master will give you a hand, but you'll also have to put in the work yourself..."

Sylvira lowered her eyes: "If believing in the Lord of the Abyss can make my wish come true, then I'm all in."

"Don't you want to think it over—wait, you're just agreeing like that?"

Her quick decision caught Lyman completely off guard. He'd expected to have to do some serious persuading, trotting out Sylen and Tove as success stories before she would reluctantly agree.

Lyman hesitated, then opened the Book of the Evil God and took out the fourth blank Apostle Card. "Then, what is your wish?"

Sylvira answered without hesitation: "It's simple—I want my people to live in peace, happiness, and freedom. If making this wish come true is possible, I'd do anything."

Almost immediately, radiant lines of light began to trace themselves across the Apostle Card. They sketched the figure of a slender elf woman with wild, unkempt hair, her face identical to Sylvira's, kneeling with her arms outstretched as if cradling something.

But the lines stopped just before they could trace her hands and whatever she was holding.

The Apostle Card was not completed.

Judging by the progress, it was almost there—just a hair's breadth away. The thing is, going from 99% to 100% can be harder and take longer than going from 0% to 99%.

"This isn't your true wish yet," Lyman said seriously.

Sylvira's gaze instantly darkened. "Every word I said was true, without a hint of a lie."

"I believe you, but people sometimes don't really know their own hearts."

The Elven Saint's brows knitted together. She wanted to argue, but the words died in her throat. The other party was a servant of a god, acting on the god's will—couldn't a god see into a person's heart better than any mortal?

Was her wish really not about her people? That couldn't be. Ever since she was born, she had always, always...

Lyman was used to this by now. Sylen and Tove had both been the same way—Captain Dorian was the odd one out.

Maybe it was because Captain Dorian was older, more seasoned, and had been through his fair share of ups and downs, so he'd figured himself out early on?

Elves might live longer than humans, but they also seemed to mature more slowly. A three-hundred-year-old saint, in human terms, was probably only in her early twenties. Plus, with their long history of living isolated lives, they rarely got the chance to really examine their own hearts.

"It's fine. Lots of apostles didn't know their own hearts at first," he said. "One day, you'll discover what you truly wish for."

Sylvira's expression dimmed: "So should I still..."

"My master has already taken note of you. When you're ready, you can call His name anytime."

With that, Lyman floated over to Mr. Shadow: "My master wants you to look into the Black Sun Cult. You'll be going with Sylvira to the Verdant Court. Is that alright with you, Lady Saint?"

The Verdant Court was the elven capital, and since ancient times, no outsider had ever been allowed inside. Even in the most open period of elven history, human merchants could only trade in the woods outside the court.

But maybe that rule needed to change now. If the Holy Councilor had brought the Black Sun Cult into the court, then Sylvira bringing a puppet in to stop them shouldn't be a problem, right?

"Fine. We leave today." Sylvira nodded.

Lyman then turned to Dorian: "What are you planning to do next?"

Dorian stroked his beard and let out a long sigh: "I was hoping to stay in the village a few more days, but the troupe already accepted an invitation from the Starfall City Merchants' Guild, so we've got to hit the road soon..."

Lyman had Mr. Shadow hand the silver-gray mouse to Dorian: "Then please look after this little guy for me."

Dorian hesitated, then reached out and took the mouse. It squeaked in his palm, nose twitching and tail wagging happily.

"This is my good buddy. Take him out to see the world." Lyman gave Dorian a pat on the shoulder.

***

That same day, Sylvira set off for home with her guards, who were still nursing their injuries. She'd wanted to leave the most badly injured behind in Tree Orchard Village to recover, but the guards flat-out refused. They'd rather die than abandon their mission. Faced with their unwavering resolve, the saint had no choice but to give in.

They brought along the puppet Lyman used to possess. Once they reached the Verdant Court, they'd summon Mr. Shadow to manifest.

Dorian, meanwhile, led the troupe north the next day. This time, Dandelion got his own seat on the big wagon.

Lyman himself kept traveling with the prisoner convoy, heading for Crow's Roost on the continent's eastern coast.

The three went their separate ways, their fates splitting at this crossroads. But since the world was round, who knew if those three roads might cross again somewhere down the line.

***

Seven days later, Sylvira and her group finally made their way south along the Stone Statue Road and reached the forest's edge.

The moment they set foot in the forest, they knew something was off.

"That's... our forest?" Erowen stared in disbelief at what he was seeing. "How did it end up like this?"

The elves' forest should have been an endless sea of green, with sunlight streaming through the layered canopy. Flowers blooming, grass lush, birdsong weaving beautiful melodies, and if you listened closely, you could hear the rustle of beasts moving through the underbrush.

But the forest now was nothing but gloom. Though it was a bright, sunny day, not a ray of light could penetrate the canopy. Stepping beneath the dense foliage was like stepping straight into night.

The woods were deathly silent—the songs of birds, the hum of insects, the rustle of beasts had vanished without a trace. All they could hear was the soft crunch of their own footsteps on fallen leaves.

The great elks shifted uneasily, gently nudging their riders with their antlers as if urging them to turn back.

Sylvira's expression was grim. She dismounted, walked to an oak tree, and gently ran her fingers over its rough bark.

As the Saintess, she shared a faint connection with the forest. The canopy stretched toward the sky, the roots delved into the earth, and her consciousness spread in all directions, allowing her to faintly sense everything around her.

But this time...

"I can't feel it." Sylvira lowered her hand, a creeping dread seizing her.

It was an indescribable sensation—like a healthy person waking up one morning to find they've gone deaf and blind, forever robbed of a sense they once had.

The bond between her and the forest had been severed.

"Bring it down," Sylvira ordered her guards.

Erowen unstrapped a long, wrapped bundle from his elk's saddle. Two other guards caught it, carefully untied the ropes, and let the wooden puppet inside tumble onto the thick layer of fallen leaves.

Sylvira bowed her head and murmured, "Respected Lord of the Abyss, though I am not yet your Apostle, I humbly beg your aid. Send Mr. Shadow to me..."

The puppet shuddered, then moved its limbs in a grotesque, jerky sequence before twisting itself upright.

The next moment, it draped itself in a cloak of night, transforming into the Mr. Shadow Sylvira knew well.

"Is this the Verdant Court?" Lyman, having been summoned, looked around.

"This is the edge of the forest," Sylvira explained. "I sensed danger, so I called you here ahead of time."

"I thought the elven forest would be," Lyman searched for the right words, "greener."

"It used to be lush and green, but now it... I don't know how to describe it. It's turned into something... unnatural."

Lyman stepped a few paces deeper into the woods. He trod on soft, fallen leaves, feeling a sticky, clammy sensation underfoot, as if he were stepping on something alive.

Of course, it was all in his head. The leaves were still leaves, thickly layered. But the eerie atmosphere put his instincts on edge.

"Be careful, Lyman," Lunast's voice cut into his mind without warning. "Something terrible is buried in this forest."

"Tsk, I told you to give me a heads-up before you speak," Lyman replied with annoyance.

"Now's not the time for that," Lunast said. "The forest's already changed."

"Changed?" Lyman repeated in surprise.

Lunast continued, "You know the elven forest isn't like your average woods. In the elven court, their Sacred Tree grows. That tree isn't just a plant—it can bear children, so in a sense, it's alive. The forest isn't ruled by the elves—it's ruled by the Sacred Tree. If the forest is corrupted, that means..."

"The Sacred Tree's corrupted? It's dead?"

"Lyman, there are plenty of things in this world worse than death."

Lyman wanted to ask more, but Sylvira spoke up: "Either way, let's head back to the court first. Everyone, keep your weapons ready—don't let your guard down."

The guards drew their swords and longbows, forming a tight formation around Sylvira and Lyman. Sylvira nocked a golden arrow onto her silver bow as well.

The group crept slowly toward the court.

The Statue Road stretched deeper into the forest, lined with lifelike statues on both sides. The deeper they went, the more numerous and finely crafted the statues became.

Several times, Lyman nearly mistook the statues for living people. Having seen real dragons before, he also thought more than once that a dragon was chasing them.

The air suddenly grew thick, heavy with a cloying, metallic tang that pressed into their lungs.

This wasn't the smell of blood from a wounded creature. It was everywhere—even without wind, it surged from all directions, seeping into every breath.

Erowen took the lead, squinting into the distance before letting out a startled cry.

"Look! That tree... it's bleeding!"

The group followed his gaze. Ahead, a stout oak stood. Its rough, dark-brown bark was covered in countless fine, winding cracks.

These weren't natural splits or drought-induced cracks—they looked as if something had torn the bark open. Dark, viscous fluid oozed from the wounds, reeking of iron.

The canopy overhead cast a suffocating shadow. Peering through the gaps in the leaves, they saw no blue sky—only a blood-red expanse.

Every leaf, whether emerald or withered, had hardened, dark-red teardrop-shaped clumps hanging from its tip, weighing the branches down.

Drip... drip... drip...

The liquid fell onto the thick layer of decaying leaves, drumming a steady beat against everyone's nerves.

The elves exchanged terrified glances. Even the ever-brave Erowen couldn't help swallowing hard.

"I-I'll go check!" he said, mustering his courage.

"Wait," Lyman stopped him. "I have an idea."

He pulled a small straw effigy from the Divine Casket. He'd been bored lately and had woven quite a few.

The elves watched as he tossed the effigy to the ground. The next second, it twitched its limbs, sprang up, and wobbled toward the bleeding tree.

Just as it stepped within ten paces of the oak—

Buzz—

A piercing, discordant shriek erupted with explosive force.

The screech blended countless tones: some so high and sharp, like nails scraping glass, sending shivers down the spine; others low and rumbling, like thousands of trapped beasts howling in unison from beneath the earth, rattling the skull.

And then there was something like the distorted, desperate wail of human cries. All of it twisted together into a devastating torrent.

The straw effigy burst apart instantly, its head flying high, arcing through the air before landing softly and bouncing a few times.

The elves stared at each other in horror.

"What... what was that sound?" Erowen's face turned ashen. "Is the tree screaming?"

Sylvira was shaken by the sight as well. She gestured to her guards to stay calm, then retrieved a red glass bead from the elk's saddlebag.

It was a trinket she'd looted from the Black Sun Cult members who had attacked Tree Orchard Village—shatter it, and it would erupt in flames. That's how the cult had set the village ablaze.

Sylvira tied the bead to her golden arrow, drew her bow, and aimed at the weeping oak.

Whoosh—

The golden arrow streaked through the air like a brilliant flash, briefly piercing the darkness of the forest.

Yet another piercing "WHRRR—" screech erupted the moment the golden arrow neared the tree.

The golden arrow disintegrated into dust without even touching the bark.

Sylvira furrowed her brow: "What in the world is that?"

One of the guards pointed deeper into the forest: "Look, there's another bleeding tree over there!"

The group looked around and realized with a shock that it wasn't just two. Along the Statue Road, at regular intervals, there stood trees, split open and weeping blood!

The spacing was so uniform it looked deliberately arranged.

"It's like a warning line," Lyman murmured, "shutting us out."

They had no choice but to cross this "cordon," yet anything that approached the bleeding trees was ground to powder by that piercing shockwave. What could they do?

Lyman wasn't sure whether using "Shadow Play" to merge into the shadows could evade the bleeding trees' attacks. It might very well be a case of "try it and die."

What about flying above them? The bleeding trees clearly had an attack range—fly high enough and they'd avoid it. Lyman could have the bird courier carry him over, but what about the elves?

Too bad the Black Sun Cult member who could turn into a bat had killed himself. If they'd gotten his relic, they might've been able to fly.

"Wait—not everything that approaches those trees gets attacked."

Sylvira spoke up suddenly. She pointed at some trees near the bleeding ones: "Those trees are fine. Maybe they don't attack plants? Mr. Shadow, don't you have some relic that controls plants?"

Lyman nodded. "I do. But that relic needs blood. You saw it yourself—those Black Sun Cult members got drained dry."

"I'll offer my blood," Sylvira said without hesitation. "Please summon the plants and give it a try."

"Lady Saint, you can't do that!" Erowen exclaimed. "Use my blood instead!"

"No, use mine! Lord Erowen's the better fighter—he should save his strength!"

"Then use mine! I'm already hurt and can't fight anyway..."

Watching them nobly squabble over who should sacrifice, Lyman sighed.

"You each chip in a little—everyone gets a share. Fair enough, right?"

The elves didn't object. One by one, they stepped up, cut their wrists, and let their blood drip into the dirt. Despite Erowen's strong protests, Sylvira gave her share of blood too.

Lyman pulled out the "Lament of the Earth."

Where the elves' blood pooled, a vine as thick as a wrist burst out of the ground. It twisted and writhed, reaching toward the bleeding tree at Lyman's command.

The elves' hearts were in their throats. They'd given their blood to that vine, so of course they hoped it wouldn't fail.

The vine crept forward cautiously. Meanwhile, the soil quickly soaked up the blood. When it finally crossed the spot where the Little Straw Effigy had died, the elves all breathed a sigh of relief.

The vine crept toward the bleeding tree, its curled tip brushing the cracked bark—nothing happened.

Lyman gripped the "Lament of the Earth" tight and shouted, "Attack!"

The vine turned into a whipping serpent, lashing at the bleeding tree. A thunderous boom shattered the forest's strange silence. Normally, that noise would've sent countless birds scattering, but aside from the explosion's echo, the forest made no other sound.

The thick, cracked trunk couldn't take the brutal hit and burst apart.

Wood chips and thick, steaming dark-red pulp splattered everywhere.

The elves either turned away or threw up their arms to shield their faces. Even Sylvira covered her eyes on instinct.

Only when the splintering stopped did the elves dare open their eyes and look at the oak.

Its upper half was nearly torn clean off, exposing the inside.

The tree's core was hollow.

And that hollow was filled with something else.

A person.

***

The Verdant Court. The Grand Council Hall of the Sacred Tree.

Twelve Holy Councilors sat in high-backed chairs arranged in a semicircle. Councilor Lamanor sat dead center. His fingertips pressed together, his piercing gaze locked on the woman standing in the middle of the hall.

On the curved table before him sat a long wooden box. The box was carved with layer after layer of patterns—decorative at first glance, but on closer look, they were dense runes, used in ancient times to ward off darkness and evil.

The Holy Councilors' eyes all fixed on the center of the hall. A woman stood there in a black robe, with silver hair and crimson eyes. She had delicate features and looked young, yet facing twelve elves more than twenty times her age, she showed no fear at all. Instead, she wore an amused smile, sizing them up like goods on display.

"The task you gave me is done," she said softly. "The 'human stakes' are set, and the border's sealed. From now on, without the Councilors' say-so, no one can enter your forest. The elves will live forever undisturbed, at peace, on this pure land."

Excited, disbelieving whispers rippled through the hall.

"No more filthy, vile humans bothering us!"

"All the world's disasters come from humans—if we just stay away from them..."

"We can watch over the forest till we die of old age..."

Livia cut off the Councilors' murmurs: "I've already given the method for making the human stakes to Councilor Lamanor. With it, you can build a mighty army. From now on, no one will dare mess with the noble elves. Of course—"

The woman gave a sly smile, "If the elves ever want to leave this forest, you'll have the weapons to conquer the whole continent."

A lot of the Councilors were getting eager.

Councilor Lamanor glanced at his kin, then lifted his chin arrogantly: "Why would we elves ever want the lands of filthy humans? Guarding our forest is enough. Right, my friends?"

A female Councilor spoke up at once: "Absolutely right, Lord Lamanor."

Livia shrugged, looking totally uninterested in the elves' politics.

"I've done what I promised. Now it's time for you to pay up, right?"

Councilor Lamanor ran his hand over the long box in front of him: "This sacred relic has been in our keeping for a thousand years. If you hadn't brought us a way to protect the forest, we'd never have given it to a human."

"I'm so flattered." Livia's tone was flat, with zero hint of actually being flattered.

She strode up and grabbed the box. Lamanor glared at her, holding the box down for a few seconds before letting go reluctantly.

"Careful—the box has powerful seals on it," he said. "Don't open it carelessly unless you're fully prepared. Otherwise, the relic's power will leak out and permanently change everything around it."

"I know." Livia stepped back, holding the box, and smiled again. "The supreme and holy True God already showed me in a dream how to use this relic."

At the mention of the "True God," Lamanor snorted in disdain. The elves never believed in gods. They'd come to this land and built their court with their own strength. So-called gods were just powerful races from other worlds.

"By the way, honored Councilors, I just found something out," Livia said casually. "The guy I sent to kill the Saint—he failed. Ugh, with underlings this incompetent, I'm truly unlucky. Looks like the Saint's already back at the Statue Road."

"What?!" Lamanor slammed the table and jumped up, veins popping on his forehead. "Livia, you failed your mission!"

"Don't worry, I have other subordinates. I'll send them now to finish the job. With the 'human shields' in place, I doubt the Lady Saint will be any match for them. After all, her connection to the forest has been severed, and she's just an ordinary person without supernatural ability."

The Councilors cast uneasy glances at Lamanor.

Lamanor felt uneasy, as if needles were pricking his back, and he gritted his teeth, saying, "Then go now, and be quick about it!"

The elves could not kill each other by their own hands, for those who did would be cursed by the Sacred Tree, so Lamanor had no choice but to entrust the task to others.

Livia looked meaningfully at the Holy Councilors, raised her voice, and called out, "Grayshaw!"

The grand hall's door opened a crack, and a burly man in black slipped in. He was the same boatman who had ferried Livia to the prison island.

"Take some men to 'welcome' the Lady Saint, and make sure she," Livia paused with intent, "has her fill before returning."