Chapter 113: Chapter 113: The Crumbling of the Sacred Walls

​The night air of Vaelith, usually perfumed with the sweet, ethereal aroma of Light-Bloom flowers, now bit into Dayat’s lungs like thousands of icy needles. As their feet crossed the threshold of the waste disposal lift onto the open plaza of the World Tree’s lower branches, the brief sensation of freedom was immediately eclipsed by a harsh, cold reality.

​Dayat paused for a fleeting second, closing his eyes as the night wind whipped against a face caked in prison dust and dried blood. But there was no peace to be found. Every breath he took now carried the sharp residue of raw Mana and a hatred that had begun to crystallize into a cold, iron resolve within his chest.

​”Dayat… your shoulder… the blood,” Lunethra whispered. Her voice trembled, thick with a concern that bordered on desperation. She had only just reclaimed her staff, but her eyes remained fixed on the jagged, weeping gash left by Veyron’s blade.

​Lunethra reached out with a delicate hand, a faint golden glow beginning to pulse at her fingertips as she attempted to weave a basic mending incantation. However, before her fingers could brush against Dayat’s skin, a pale, deathly cold hand clamped around the Elf’s wrist with startling force. Dola stood between them, her eyes glowing with a sharp, violet intensity, her bionic pupils distorted by ripples of static.

​”Internal medical units are not required. The protection and maintenance of the Host is the sole authority of the primary bionic assistant,” Dola’s voice was toneless, yet it carried a high-frequency resonance that signaled deep systemic irritation.

​Lunethra gasped, staring into Dola’s unfeeling, crystalline eyes. “Dola, what are you doing? He’s in pain! Let me help him!”

​”Dola, let her go,” Dayat interrupted, his voice a low growl without turning his head. He didn’t stop moving; his gaze remained fixed on the horizon, toward the city corridors that were rapidly filling with armed silhouettes. “She’s healing me. Do not obstruct what benefits our survival. We need full stamina to reach the gate.”

​Dola hesitated for a microsecond. Her newly awakened emotion chip processed Dayat’s command in a way that defied the standard logic of an AI. Slowly, she released her grip, but she immediately stepped forward, positioning her body as a physical barricade between Dayat and Lunethra. She left no opening for the Elf to touch him again. Dayat ignored the strange dynamic; his focus was pinned on the thunderous rhythm of approaching boots.

​”TRAITORS! DO NOT LET THEM ESCAPE!”

​From every corner of the root-corridors, hundreds of Elven guards poured out. They were no longer the citizens who worshipped heroes with garlands of flowers; they were a mob fueled by the inflammatory rhetoric of the elders, sent to eradicate the “Messenger of the Maiden.” Dozens of Root-Guards with silver spears and hundreds of mid-tier Paladins surrounded the plaza.

​”Dola, clear a path. Kancil, stay on my flank,” Dayat commanded.

​The battle erupted in a heartbeat. Dayat drew a long, steady breath, triggering the Mana circuits gifted by the Spirit of Vaelith beneath his skin. In his hands, particles of violet light solidified into a pair of radically modified Desert Eagles. Every projectile that roared from their muzzles was no longer a mere lead slug; they were concentrated clusters of corrosive Mana that shattered the magical shields of the guards in a single, devastating impact.

​Dola moved like a localized storm of annihilation. She no longer fought with mechanical stiffness. She hovered inches above the ground, her hands weaving through the air as if orchestrating a symphony of death. With a single gravitational pull, ten Elves in front of her were slammed into the ironwood floor with enough force to shatter bone, followed by a violent repulsion that sent them hurtling off the branch into the lightless abyss below.

​”Distance to the West Gate: 1.8 kilometers via the primary branch artery,” Dola reported, snapping the neck of an Elf who tried to ambush them from above with one hand, without even breaking her stride.

​They began to run. The journey felt like a sprint through a beautiful, floral hell. The distance between the dungeon and the West Gate was usually a leisurely thirty-minute stroll, but now every meter was a contested warzone. They raced across winding root-bridges and through bioluminescent hanging gardens.

​The civilians peering from behind the windows of their organic homes no longer offered prayers. They hurled stones, empty potion vials, and scraps of food at Dayat. He responded with warning shots into the air that brought down the city’s crystalline decorations, sending the citizens screaming into the shadows. There was no friendly hero left; only a fugitive ready to level anything in his path.

​Kancil blurred through the crowd like a hungry black shadow. The Vibro-Knife in his hand hummed with a soft, deadly drone, severing the neck-seals and joints of the guards with a terrifying, hollow efficiency. Dayat glanced sideways, seeing Kancil’s face—splattered with blood, yet wearing a calm, almost psychopathic half-smile.

​Good, Kancil. This world is filthy, and you’re finally learning how to clean it, Dayat thought with a dark, paternal pride.

​The Palace of Verdia – The Crystal Throne Room

​Queen Verene stood rigid on the palace balcony, overlooking the lower branches. Her usually serene face was pale under the moonlight, contrasted by the fires beginning to bloom in various sectors of the city. The vibrations from Dayat’s manifestation explosions rattled the very floor beneath her feet.

​Suddenly, the massive doors to the throne room burst open with a resounding bang. A tattered Paladin, his face streaked with soot and blood, fell to his knees, gasping for air.

​”Report… Your Majesty!” his voice shook. “The prisoner Dayat… they have breached the Deep Root sectors! The entire lower guard has been slaughtered!”

​Verene gripped the balcony railing until her knuckles turned white. “How? That prison is bound by the pure Mana seals of the Ancestors! The human should be paralyzed!”

​”They possess an alien power, Your Majesty! And… Lord Veyron… the Vice Warden…” The Paladin bowed his head, unable to meet her gaze. “He has fallen. Decapitated.”

​The atmosphere in the room froze instantly. Verene felt her heart stop for a beat before a tidal wave of fury crashed against her chest. Veyron was one of her most trusted inner circle, the symbol of legal iron in Verdia. His death was a direct, bloody insult to the throne.

​”He dares…” Verene hissed, her voice carrying a chill that turned the air to frost. “That lowly human dares to spill noble blood on this hallowed ground!”

​She turned to the Paladin General standing by the throne. “Issue a general mobilization order! Deploy the entire Verdant Stag division and the elite Light-Archer corps! Blockade all access to the West and East Gates! I do not care if we have to burn half the city—I want that human and the traitor Lunethra on a golden platter before the sun rises!”

​”We shall act immediately, Your Majesty!” the commander bowed and sprinted out.

​Verene stared at the distant West Gate. “You think you can walk out of here alive? You will learn that the roots of Vaelith are always thirsty for the blood of sinners.”

​Back to Dayat

​”Dayat! They’re beginning to retract the sky-bridges!” Lunethra shouted, firing bolts of light from her staff to suppress the archers lining the rooftops.

​Dayat saw the massive root-mechanisms beginning to pull the wooden bridge ahead of them away. If that connection was severed, they would be trapped on an isolated branch with nowhere to go.

​”Dola! Pull it back!” Dayat roared.

​Dola skidded to a halt, digging her heels into the wood until the floor cracked. She extended both hands toward the retreating bridge. “Gravitational Manipulation!”

​A horrific sound of groaning timber echoed through the district as Dola’s gravitational force fought against the tree’s magical mechanisms. The bridge shuddered, then was violently dragged back into position with a deafening thud that shook the entire quarter. They sprinted across the gap just as a thousand light-arrows hammered into the spot they had occupied seconds before.

​Kancil leaped onto a guard captain blocking their path, driving his knife through the man’s eye with a lightning-fast strike, then using the dying body as a meat-shield as more arrows rained down. Dayat watched the carnage with a widening, predatory grin. The 1.8-kilometer journey felt like an eternity, but finally, the magnificent structure of the West Gate began to loom on the horizon.

​The wall stood thirty meters high, constructed from ancient Ironwood and reinforced by a transparent Mana shield that pulsed with “holy” energy. Atop the battlements, thousands of Light-Archers stood ready, their bows curved and lethal.

​”TRAITOR! HALT OR YOU SHALL BE PURIFIED BY THE LIGHT OF NURA!” a Paladin Captain’s voice boomed through an amplification spell.

​Dayat stopped in the middle of the open plaza, a hundred meters from the gate. He wiped the blood dripping from his forehead out of his eyes. A low, gravelly laugh began to bubble in his throat—a sound that made Lunethra shiver.

​”Nura? Your Goddess wasn’t there when I was being tortured! She wasn’t there when your people pelted me with stones!” Dayat screamed, his voice raw with power.

​He drew a long breath, allowing Dola’s system to synchronize fully with his intent. On his shoulder, violet particles coalesced with frightening speed, forming a heavy metallic structure that radiated an aura of pure destruction. An NLAW (Next Generation Light Anti-Tank Weapon) materialized. However, its warhead didn’t glow with standard chemicals; it shone with a corrosive emerald-green light—the result of Earth’s Thermite infused with the Mana of the Vaelith Spirit.

​”Dayat… what is that? The energy… it’s terrifying,” Lunethra whispered, stepping back.

​”It’s a parting gift for your petty sister, Lunethra,” Dayat replied coldly. He locked the target on the Mana-core at the center of the gate.

​”FIRE!” the Paladin Captain ordered from the wall.

​WHOOSH!

​Dayat pulled the trigger before the first arrow could leave its string. The rocket surged forward with a roar that tore through the silence of the night, leaving a trail of violet-green fire in its wake. The moment the warhead impacted the Mana shield, a massive energy annihilation reaction occurred.

​BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!

​The explosion defied every law of magic understood by the Elves. The core of the massive gate vanished in seconds. The “eternal” Ironwood was reduced to splinters of burning charcoal that rained down upon the plaza. The Mana shield shattered like glass struck by a sledgehammer. A gaping, blackened hole was torn through the center of Verdia’s sacred wall, revealing the path to the dark wilderness beyond.

​Dust, smoke, and the acrid scent of ozone filled the air. Dayat lowered the now-empty launcher and let it dissolve back into light. He looked back toward the palace in the distance one last time, his gaze a silent promise of ruin.

​”The path is open,” Dayat said tonelessly. “Kancil, Lunethra, Dola… let’s go.”

​They disappeared into the thick smoke, leaving a wailing Vaelith behind them—a city filled with screams and rising flames. Ahead of them, the wild, untamed forests of Verdia waited in the dark.

​That night, Vaelith wept. And in the heart of the darkness, Dayat led his team toward a destiny that would reshape the continent of Aethera forever.

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