Chapter 254: Chapter 254 – Give them a New Will to Fight!

Under the moon’s pale glow, the once-serene forest of the elves was now a vision of ruin. Charred bark crumbled into ash beneath the faint wind, flames danced along blackened roots, and the air reeked of smoke and blood. The World Tree’s radiant aura had dimmed into a haunting stillness — as though the forest itself were holding its breath.

Amid the devastation, the Elf Queen knelt upon the scorched soil, a trickle of crimson staining her lips. Her golden-emerald hair, once flowing like sunlight, now clung to her face in disarray. “…Mother Tree…” she whispered weakly, one trembling hand reaching toward the distance — toward the ancient heart of their forest.

“Your Majesty!” Elowen’s voice broke through the chaos as she rushed forward, dropping to her knees beside her queen. Her hands glowed faintly with healing magic, the green light flickering like dying embers. “What happened? Please, speak to me!”

The Queen barely managed a breath. “…Her roots… they’ve been… poisoned…” Her words trailed into a cough, blood splattering against her palm.

And then — the laughter.

A jagged, sickening sound tore through the silence.

“Jjiejeiejeiejeiejeie!”

Their leader, a tall man with silver tattoos etched across his face, stepped forward, dragging his serrated dagger along the ground, sparks flying.

“Look at you now,” he sneered, voice dripping with venom. “The proud Elves of the World Tree… brought to their knees. How pitiful. Don’t worry — we won’t kill you just yet. You’ll all live long enough to watch your precious forest die.”

Elowen’s hands trembled, fury burning in her eyes, but before she could rise—

A sound like thunder ripped through the clearing.

Fwip—whssshhhh—thud-thud-thud-thud!

Hundreds of arrows cut through the night sky, their tips glinting with moonlight. They rained down like a silver storm, impaling the front lines of cultists before they could react. Dozens fell, their mad laughter replaced with screams.

Everyone turned toward the ridge.

There—an army of elves, thousands strong, stood with their bows drawn, their expressions fierce and resolute. The faint shimmer of mana circled their arrows, illuminating the dark battlefield in ethereal light.

At their front stepped an elven commander clad in dark-green armor, his long hair fluttering with the wind. His voice boomed through the flames:

“For our Mother Tree! For the Queen! Let no shadow defile our forest again!”

A resounding cry erupted across the ranks:

“For the Queen!”

The lead cultist’s grin twisted into a snarl. “Suit yourself, tree-rats!” He raised his dagger high, crimson energy flaring around him. “Slaughter everyone—leave no one alive!!”

The cultists roared in unison, charging forward like a tide of chaos.

The battlefield exploded into motion. Steel clashed against enchanted wood; arrows whistled overhead as the frontlines met in a storm of blades and blood.

Vincent appeared beside Elowen, deflecting an incoming dagger with a burst of mana as he shouted, “Elowen! Get the Queen to safety — now! Don’t lose focus!”

Elowen nodded, eyes fierce despite the fear. “Understood!”

And as the two retreated toward the rear line, Luca, Aurelia, Kyle, Selena, and Lilliane arrived, their faces illuminated by the burning forest.

Luca’s twin sabers gleamed in the infernal light as he took a defensive stance beside Elowen and the wounded Queen. His voice was calm — but his eyes were sharp with resolve.

“Everyone… prepare yourselves.”

The night burned with chaos.

Sparks danced like dying stars above the forest canopy, and the scent of blood thickened the air. The battle had consumed the once-sacred ground — a clash of light and darkness, of steel and sorcery, echoing beneath the wounded gaze of the World Tree.

Elowen knelt beside the fallen Elf Queen, her trembling hands glowing with healing light, whispering ancient chants that were half prayer, half desperation. Around them, screams of rage and pain mingled with the roar of burning leaves.

Luca dashed forward, twin sabers flashing under the moonlight. His movements were a blur — each strike clean, precise, cutting through cultists before they even had time to scream. Sparks burst from his blades as they clashed against cursed steel, and waves of mana rippled with every swing.

“Move!” he shouted, parrying a blade aimed at an injured elf before cutting his attacker cleanly across the chest. “Don’t let them surround you!”

On his flank, Aurelia fought like a storm given form — her blood spear glowed with fiery light, thrusting and spinning with divine grace. Every motion was fluid, every strike a deadly arc that cut through multiple enemies at once. “For the forest!” she cried, her voice sharp and unwavering.

Kyle fought beside her, his heavier spear whirling with brutal precision. Each sweep shattered bones and split armor, the ground cracking beneath his mana-imbued strikes. “Sister! On your right!” he shouted, intercepting a cultist that tried to flank her.

“Already handled!” she replied, her spear flashing with light as she impaled another.

Further back, Selena stood with calm, cold composure amid the fire and screams. Frost spiraled from her fingertips as she raised her staff. “Cry of Winter!”

A surge of freezing wind swept across the field, turning a dozen cultists into lifelike statues of ice — only for Lilliane to raise her hand next, her eyes glowing with seven-colored mana. “Burn them!” she commanded softly. A wave of multicolored flames roared over the frozen enemies, shattering them into glittering dust.

Her voice trembled slightly, but her magic was devastating — thunder cracked from above, lightning and fire and wind converging at her command. Even the cultists hesitated for a moment, awe and fear flickering in their mad eyes.

Behind them, Vincent’s sword glowed with radiant blue aura, his strikes heavy and deliberate. Each swing of his blade carved shockwaves into the ground, cleaving through ranks of cultists. His voice rang out: “Hold the line! Do not falter!”

And the elves — thousands of them — responded. They loosed arrow after arrow, drew blades and daggers, and threw themselves into the fray. Their songs of battle echoed through the night.

But then—

The tide began to turn.

One by one, the elves started to fall.

Their movements slowed, their arrows missed their mark, and their mana seemed to weaken. Even the light in their eyes began to fade.

Luca parried a blow, spinning and slashing two cultists across the chest. But when he turned—he froze.

Elves — the very warriors who had stood proudly minutes ago — were now being overwhelmed. The cultists pressed forward like a wave of darkness, uncaring for death, their bodies emanating a foul aura that corroded everything it touched.

A spear dropped from a dying elf’s hand. Another fell to his knees, his bow burning in his grasp.

“What…?” Luca whispered, his eyes wide. His sabers trembled slightly in his grip. “They shouldn’t be this weak… elves are naturally stronger, faster—why are they…”

A flash of light from Selena’s magic illuminated his expression — confusion, disbelief, and a creeping dread.

He looked up toward the forest canopy. The once-glowing leaves of the forest trees shimmered faintly… but the light was fading. The mana — the life essence that empowered every elf — was waning.

“Don’t tell me…” Luca muttered, tightening his grip on his sabers.

The cultists’ laughter echoed again, wild and triumphant.

Luca’s heart pounded.

And the ground beneath them began to tremble—

**

Elowen fell to her knees beside the Elf Queen, tears streaming freely down her face as the cries of dying elves echoed from every direction. Her hands trembled, drenched in blood — not her own, but that of the Queen she was desperately trying to heal. Her magic flickered weakly, her voice cracking with every word she forced out.

“Your Majesty, please—stay still—your mana’s still unstable—!”

But even as she spoke, her gaze darted around in agony. Everywhere she looked, her people were falling.

Elves who had lived for centuries — gone in moments. Their brilliant auras dimmed, their bodies collapsing into the dirt they once protected. The sight tore something inside her.

“N-no… stop it… please stop!” she choked, pressing her glowing palms against the Queen’s chest, trying to pour every drop of her strength into her. “Why… why can’t I save them?”

Her voice broke, and she bowed her head, her tears dripping onto the Queen’s robe — pale green fabric now stained dark with blood.

The Elf Queen’s breaths were shallow, her hand trembling as she reached up and rested it gently on Elowen’s cheek. Despite her frailty, her eyes still held their ageless light.

“Elowen…” the Queen murmured, her tone steady despite the pain. “Listen to me.”

“Y-your Majesty—”

“Go. To the Mother Tree.” The Queen’s voice sharpened, though weak. “Something is corrupting it from within. The elves’ mana… their strength… it’s being drained. If the Mother Tree dies, all of us will be weakened and be slaughtered by those devils.”

Elowen’s eyes widened, horror dawning in them. “No… I can’t—! You’re still hurt, if I leave—if something happens to you, the others—”

“If I die,” the Queen interrupted, her tone calm, resolute, “then so be it. My life is not what sustains the forest — the Mother Tree is. You must go.”

Elowen shook her head violently, her tears falling faster. “I can’t leave you behind!”

The Queen’s grip on her cheek tightened slightly, enough to still her trembling. “Do you think I don’t understand your fear, child?” she whispered. “But you must have faith.”

Elowen bit her lip hard, her chest aching. “But… if you fall… the morale of the elves—it’ll shatter. They’ll lose all will to fight…”

For a long moment, the Queen said nothing. Only the sounds of battle filled the silence — arrows flying, screams dying, flames crackling. Then, softly, she spoke again:

“Then give them a new will to fight.”

Elowen froze, her lips parting in disbelief. “What…?”

The Queen’s eyes, though dimmed, glowed faintly as she smiled. “The Mother Tree’s roots see what we cannot. Perhaps… it already foresaw this.”

Her words echoed in Elowen’s heart.

And suddenly—something clicked.

Elowen’s trembling hands lowered, her breathing sharp and uneven. “N-no…” she whispered. “N-not me…” Her gaze darted across the battlefield, scanning frantically through the chaos — through flames, through corpses, through the rain of arrows and blood.

Her heart pounded.

And then — she saw him.

A figure drenched in crimson, moving through the fire like a phantom. His twin sabers gleamed with silver light, cutting through cultists faster than the eye could follow. His hair, once neatly brushed, now matted with sweat and blood. His expression — pure, unwavering focus.

Her eyes widened further, realization dawning like lightning behind them. Her lips parted — and then curved into something between disbelief and awe.

“M-maybe…” she whispered, her voice trembling as tears continued to fall. “M-maybe the Mother Tree already predicted this would happen.”

The Queen looked at her weakly, confusion flickering in her gaze.

Elowen turned toward the battlefield fully now, the glow of fire reflecting in her tear-streaked eyes. “And she already gave us the answer for it.”

The Queen followed her gaze — and there, amid the chaos, she saw him too.

The boy who was not of this forest.

The one the Tree had allowed to enter its heart.

The one who now fought like a force of nature itself.

Elowen’s voice rang out, breaking through the chaos — desperate, fierce, and filled with conviction:

“LUCaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!”

Her cry tore through the battlefield — through the clash of blades

, through the roar of flames — carrying with it the last, fragile hope of an entire race.

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