Chapter 105: Chapter 105: A Thorny Banquet

​The morning sunlight in Vaelith had never seemed as brilliant as it did today. A clear, crystalline blue sky stretched over the crown of the World Tree, while thin, wispy white clouds drifted lazily, driven by a gentle breeze that carried the sweet, intoxicating scent of Light-Bloom pollen. Thousands of Elves from every tier of the colossal tree had gathered along the primary thoroughfares leading toward the Emerald Plaza. The air was a chaotic symphony of cheers, hymns of praise, and the rhythmic clinking of wooden harps, creating an atmosphere of celebration so grand that it felt as if there were no room for sorrow left in the city.

​Dayat stood atop an organic carriage drawn by a pair of snow-white Verdant Stags. He was draped in an honorary robe of shimmering platinum provided by the palace, which glistened like liquid starlight under the sun. Beside him, Dola stood in a deep blue gown that caught and reflected the ambient light, her expression a mask of clinical calm even as her eyes performed high-frequency sensory scans every microsecond. Kancil was in the same carriage, waving his hands with exuberant energy at the Elven children who threw handfuls of flower petals toward them.

​”Look at that, Bang! They’re all screaming your name!” Kancil shouted, his eyes wide with wonder. “It feels like just yesterday we were scurrying through the sewers of Bakasa, and now we’re the center of attention for an entire continent!”

​Dayat forced a smile, but there was a knot in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain. It was a cold, leaden weight that refused to dissolve. He glanced toward Lunethra, who was mounted on a stag alongside the carriage. Her face was unnervingly pale, despite her efforts to return the waves of her people. Her sharp eyes remained fixed on the palace balconies, where the Elders of the Council of Root Guardians stood like statues in their heavy ceremonial armor, their expressions unreadable and distant.

​”I’ve got a bad feeling, Cil,” Dayat whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar of the crowd. “The smiles of those Elders up there… they don’t reach their eyes. It’s like they’re watching a slaughter, not a parade.”

​”Maybe they’re just jealous because you look better in that robe than they do in their rusty gear,” Kancil joked, trying to lighten the mood, but his own grip on the carriage railing tightened.

​The carriage came to a halt in the very center of the Emerald Plaza, a vast courtyard paved with polished ironwood that had been hardened and etched with intricate, spiraling Mana patterns. At the far end of the plaza, a stage woven from living blossoms had been prepared. Queen Verene stood there in all her regal glory, flanked by the formidable trio of Thalmirion, Faelar, and Eldara. In Verene’s hands was a crystal chalice that pulsed with a soft, rhythmic green light—an object known as the Holy Root Trophy.

​”People of Vaelith!” Verene’s voice boomed, amplified by the natural acoustics of the tree’s branches and a subtle amplification spell. “Today, we gather not only to celebrate the miraculous healing of our World Tree but to honor those who risked everything for our future. Dayat, the Hero, please step forward.”

​Dayat stepped down from the carriage, followed closely by Dola and Kancil. Lunethra dismounted as well, walking a few paces behind them. Every step Dayat took was met with a deafening crescendo of cheers. However, the moment his foot touched the floral stage, the atmosphere shifted. The silence that followed was unnatural, heavy, and sudden—as if someone had sucked the air out of the plaza.

​The sun was still shining, the sky was still a perfect blue, yet Dayat felt a chill that pierced through his platinum robes and settled in his marrow. He looked at Verene. The Queen, who had once looked at him with a glimmer of gratitude, now stared at him with eyes that were hollow, vacant, and as cold as a mountain glacier.

​”Dayat,” Verene began, her voice devoid of its previous warmth. “We thank you for everything. And now… accept your final reward.”

​Verene raised the crystal chalice high into the air. It wasn’t an award. It was a trigger.

​”ACTIVATE!” Thalmirion thundered from the rear.

​CRACK!

​The ironwood floor beneath their feet didn’t explode with fire; instead, it erupted into a mass of pitch-black, gnarled roots that moved with the speed of striking vipers. These were the Iron-Root Constrictor Nets, an ancient Verdian war-magic designed not to bind Mana, but to physically crush the life out of anything caught within their coils.

​The roots lashed around the legs of Dayat, Dola, and Kancil with impossible velocity. They didn’t just bind; they exerted thousands of kilograms of instantaneous pressure against muscle and bone.

​”W-WHAT IS THIS?!” Dayat screamed. He tried to lunge forward, but every time he exerted his muscles, the roots constricted further, tightening their grip around his chest and abdomen until his lungs burned for air.

​Dayat gritted his teeth, trying to center his mind. A flicker of sapphire-purple light began to spark in his palm; he intended to manifest a high-frequency vibration blade to slice through the wood. But the moment his manifestation began, the pressure from the roots spiked tenfold, targeting his vital points with surgical precision.

​”Ugh… AH!” Dayat coughed violently. A spray of fresh, hot blood erupted from his mouth, staining the front of his beautiful platinum jubah. The pain was excruciating, as if his internal organs were being squeezed by the hand of a titan. His purple manifestation flickered and died before it could even take shape.

​”System… physical integrity failure… external pressure exceeding chassis tolerance limits…” Dola’s voice was a jagged mess of static. Her body, crafted from advanced bio-synthetic materials, was now buckling and warping under the sheer force of the roots. Her eyes blinked a frantic, high-intensity red, and though her mouth was open, no sound came out. Her expression remained robotic, yet there was a visible glint of mechanical agony in the way her ocular sensors vibrated.

​Kancil didn’t go down without a fight. He managed to unsheathe his dagger and made a desperate swipe at the roots coiling around his thighs. But four heavily armed Paladins, who had been standing as an honor guard, immediately turned their weapons on him. Kancil dodged one spear and kicked a Paladin’s shin, but a secondary set of iron-roots snared his back, slamming him face-first into the hard wood of the stage.

​”LET GO!” Kancil shrieked, thrashing against the binds, but the pressure only intensified, forcing a muffled groan of pain as the wood pressed against his ribs.

​Meanwhile, Lunethra was being ensnared by a different kind of trap—the Platinum Shackle Nets. These were specifically designed to suppress Mana. Lunethra tried to ignite her sorcery, but every ounce of Mana she channeled was instantly absorbed by the shackles, leaving her weak and breathless.

​”Verene! What is the meaning of this?!” Lunethra roared, her anger warring with a profound sense of disbelief. Even as her body was forced into a kneeling position, she stared at her sister with a terrifying, defiant grin. “You choose to listen to these ancient, rotting corpses of the Council over your own blood?”

​Verene stood before her sister, her face an unyielding mask of ice. “It is you who betrayed your blood. You brought an enemy into our home. You brought a herald of the Maiden of Steel to poison our sacred roots. I do this for the people… for the Verdia you abandoned so long ago.”

​Thalmirion stepped forward, facing the crowd that had now fallen into a state of paralyzed confusion and growing fear.

​”PEOPLE OF VAELITH! BEHOLD!” Thalmirion shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at Dola. “This creature is not human, nor elf, nor beastkin! She is a construct, a vessel of the Maiden of Steel! We have obtained authentic proof from the Echoing Core! This human, Dayat, is nothing more than a ’Host’ controlled to infiltrate our sanctum! The healing of the World Tree was merely a ruse, a cover so they could plant the seeds of annihilation in the tree’s very heart!”

​There was a moment of absolute, ringing silence. Then, the crowd began to stir. The air grew thick with a different kind of energy—fickle and volatile.

​Dayat looked toward Ilthir and Lyna, who were standing not far from the stage. Ilthir, the guard who had saluted him with such respect, now drew his sword and pointed it at Dayat with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. Lyna, the attendant who had smiled at him just yesterday, stared at him with a hatred so visceral it felt like a physical blow. To them, Dayat was no longer a savior; he was a pile of refuse defiling the palace.

​”Deceiver…” an Elven citizen in the front row hissed.

​”HERALD OF THE MAIDEN! BRINGER OF THE DOOM!” another screamed.

​In an instant, the cheers that had once deified Dayat transformed into vitriolic curses. The flower petals that had been thrown in honor were replaced by stones and rotted fruit, pelted at the trio as they lay bound and broken.

​Dayat knelt on the stage, his breath coming in ragged, bloody gasps. He looked at Verene, and then at the people he had just saved. The physical pain of the constricting roots was nothing compared to the searing fire of betrayal burning in his chest. He was furious, he was bitter, but the physical reality of the trap held him immobile.

​”I… I saved you…” Dayat whispered through gritted teeth, blood trailing down his chin.

​”You did not save us,” Faelar replied, stepping forward to grind his boot into Dayat’s bound hand. “You merely prepared us for the slaughter by your master, the Maiden. Drag them to the depths!”

​The Paladins stepped forward, pulling on the anti-Mana chains connected to the root-nets. Dayat, Dola, Kancil, and Lunethra were dragged roughly across the plaza floor, which was now littered with the debris of the ruined feast. They were pulled away from the bright, mocking sunlight and toward a massive wooden gate that led to the eternal darkness beneath the World Tree’s roots.

​”It hurts… it hurts…” Kancil whimpered as his body bounced against the cold, stone steps of the descent.

​Dayat couldn’t find the breath to answer. He could only stare at the receding blue sky of Vaelith for one last moment before the iron-bound gates of the Deep Root Cellar slammed shut with a final, echoing thud. The sound cut off all light and hope. In that suffocating, damp darkness, only one thought remained in Dayat’s mind, burning brighter than any manifestation: Revenge.

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