Chapter 259: Chapter 259 – Why did I do it?

The night hung heavy, thick with the smell of blood and the acrid tang of corrupted mana. The World Tree’s roots shivered beneath the weight of dying chants, its pale glow flickering weakly as dozens of exhausted dark elves formed a protective ring around its trunk. Beyond them, cultists encircled the sacred heart, their murmurs a constant, grating pulse in the night.

At the center of it all, crimson met gold. Luca’s eyes burned like molten fire against Sylthara’s sharp, unyielding golden gaze. Her dagger pressed steadily against his neck, the cold steel biting into his skin, a reminder of the fragile line between trust and death.

Luca’s annoyance flared, but he forced himself to inhale slowly, centering his mind. Calmness was a weapon too. He met her stare, unflinching.

“Who are you?” Sylthara’s voice was low, strained with exhaustion, her blade steady, her breath uneven.

Well… at least she’s willing to talk, Luca thought, studying her war-torn face, the dirt and blood streaking her silver hair, the exhaustion in her posture barely masking the steel beneath.

“I am Luca Valentine,” he said evenly. “I was invited by the Elf Queen to the Elven Forest.”

Her eyes narrowed sharply, the dagger pressing a fraction closer. “Why should I trust you?” she spat, each word laced with a history of betrayal. “We’ve already been betrayed enough.”

Luca’s brow furrowed slightly, puzzled by her intensity. He glanced at the battle raging around them, the cultists advancing, the remaining dark elves fighting desperately for every root, every inch of soil. “Can we… first get out of this situation?” he said, his voice calm but edged with urgency. “My friends are dying there, the Elf Queen is injured. Once we reach her, you can confirm it yourself.”

Sylthara’s golden eyes flickered with unease, distrust sharp as a blade. She pressed the dagger harder into Luca’s neck, her grip deliberate, almost reflexive. The distrust in her stare was palpable — unspoken but raw.

This is it! Luca thought, his patience snapping under the pressure of battle and time. I can’t waste another second with her distrust.

His eyes hardened, sharp as the blades at his side. In a heartbeat, he moved — faster than the eye could follow.

The world seemed to contract as he twisted free, sliding out from under the dagger’s pressure. The motion was fluid, lethal — and in the same instant, he pivoted behind Sylthara. Her own dagger now pressed to her neck, warm and insistent.

“I don’t have time!!” His voice cut through the night like a blade, sharp, angry, unyielding.

Sylthara froze, eyes wide, the world spinning around them for a fraction of a second as realization and shock rippled through her. Around them, the dark elves halted mid-breath, the cultists’ advance faltering as if the night itself had stilled.

For a heartbeat, only the wind whispered through the corrupted roots, carrying the scent of blood and fire, of desperation and resolve.

Crimson and gold, steel and shadow, two wills locked in an impossible standoff — and the night waited, trembling, for the next move.

The dagger pressed cold against her skin, again golden eyes locked with the crimson, just the situation in reverse. Sylthara’s mind raced, muscles coiling like steel springs. Every second counted. She didn’t flinch, didn’t panic. Instead, she bent her knees, lowered her center of gravity, and shifted her weight with a dancer’s precision.

With a sudden twist, she pivoted on her heel, sliding past Luca’s grasp. The motion was razor-sharp: she pressed her dagger into his arm, letting the edge guide her rotation. Her momentum carried her behind him in a heartbeat, the blade now poised lightly against his neck.

“Not bad… but predictable,” she murmured, voice steady despite the adrenaline screaming through her veins.

Luca’s eyes narrowed. This girl… every move is precise, every step calculated. She’s not just fast—she’s a weapon in motion.

Before he could respond, Sylthara spun again, her body a blur of grace and controlled chaos. She pivoted around a jagged root, planting one boot to spring off the ground, using Luca’s own momentum against him. Her dagger moved with uncanny precision, never telegraphing, always threatening, controlling the space between them.

Luca exhaled, voice low and sharp. “Enough games!”

He lunged forward, twin sabers slicing the air in arcs of black and white. She rolled beneath one strike, leapt over another, backflipping onto a raised root, landing silently with barely a whisper of movement.

The clearing around them was tight, every step, every turn, every dodge a calculated dance. Blood, ash, and sparks of mana filled the small space, shadows stretching and twisting like living things.

Sylthara’s voice rang out, commanding over the chaos. “Elves! Defend the Mother Tree! Hold the line! I will handle this here!”

Her words carried authority, yet desperation laced every syllable. The other dark elves tightened their formation, spears clashing, shields locking, their movements precise but defensive.

Sylthara turned, spinning like a cyclone, dagger and twin short blades flashing, striking with both precision and raw emotion. Every cut, every feint, every step a demonstration of her skill — blocking, parrying, countering, using roots and jagged bark as leverage, her hair whipping around her face in streaks of silver.

But as the fight pressed on, her composure began to waver.

“Why… why does everyone want to betray us?!” Her voice cracked, rising with rage and sorrow. “All I wanted… all I ever wanted… was to get back to the Mother Tree… why does everyone want to kill us?!”

Her attacks grew wilder, faster — no longer just technical strikes, but a storm of emotion. Twisting, spinning, slashing through the small clearing, her golden eyes glistened with tears. She ducked beneath an incoming swing, kicked off a root, and launched into a spin, dagger arcing through the air.

Luca’s mind raced, analyzing, calculating every move. She’s beyond skill now. She’s raw emotion incarnate. Every strike is fueled by desperation, grief, and fury. This… this is what happened before I came.

He leapt over a fallen branch, sabers humming, blocking a blade with one and slicing a spear in half with the other. Her movements were beautiful, terrifying — every pivot, every flick of her blade, every roll in the tight space a symphony of violence and despair.

Sylthara’s tears streaked through sweat and ash. She thrust forward, eyes blazing. “Why can’t anyone see… we’re all that’s left… and yet… they still come for us!”

Luca’s crimson eyes sharpened. She’s losing control. Her focus, her precision… it’s all fueled by pain now, not strategy. But….I don’t have time , she needs to calm down.

“Enough!” Luca’s voice thundered, Timing it perfectly, he intercepted a swing too wide, catching her momentum with one saber across her back. The force sent her stumbling backward, and Luca’s other saber nudged her forward — a push, not a strike, intended to save her from falling completely.

But the jagged World Tree root loomed like a spike, dark sap glistening beneath the pale corrupted light. Sylthara’s balance faltered; her boots skidded on the slick, blood-soaked soil.

Her dagger remained clenched in her hand, but for a heartbeat, gravity had the upper hand. She arched backward, teetering dangerously.

Sylthara’s boots skidded across the slick, blood-soaked soil. The jagged spike of the World Tree loomed beneath her like a waiting predator. Time slowed — each heartbeat echoing in her ears, each breath trembling with terror.

Instinct screamed before thought. Luca’s body moved faster than reality allowed. In a blur of motion, he slid behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her waist. The momentum shifted, and for an instant, the spike’s cruel tip tore into his back. Pain exploded through him, hot and sharp, and he stumbled forward, dragging Sylthara with him.

Her eyes widened, and she froze mid-step. The world seemed to tilt, the blood-stained roots and shattered earth spinning beneath her. Slowly, she realized what had happened — his body had shielded hers.

Luca collapsed, the spike piercing through his back, chest heaving, blood slicking the ground beneath him. He coughed violently, the pain radiating through him with every shuddering breath.

Sylthara staggered upright, her golden eyes wide, shimmering with shock and a strange, sudden calm. She looked at him, hesitation and confusion threading her voice.

“W-why… why did you do it?”

Luca’s vision blurred as he coughed again, taste of iron and ash filling his mouth. He didn’t answer. His crimson gaze met hers, burning yet distant.

Why did I do it? His mind echoed the question as pain clawed at him. He couldn’t rationalize it — the reflex, the instinct, the surge of… care? A warmth he hadn’t expected, threading through his exhaustion and fury.

Sylthara’s breath caught. Slowly, carefully, she kneeled beside him. Her hands trembled slightly as she took his own in hers, warmth meeting the chill of steel and blood.

Luca’s eyes fluttered, stunned. He could feel the pulse of life, the heartbeat in her touch. The world seemed to pause, the cries of cultists, the distant clash of steel, even the whisper of corrupted mana, all fading into silence.

And then — a blinding light erupted around them. Pale, searing, pure, swallowing the darkness, the blood, the chaos of the corrupted roots.

Luca’s thoughts stuttered. W-what’s happening? The world distorted around them, shadows dissolving into luminescence, the air crackling with raw, uncontainable energy. His muscles froze, his heart pounding in confusion and awe.

Sylthara’s golden eyes mirrored his stunned disbelief, wide and uncomprehending. Her hands pressed tighter against his, anchoring them both in the overwhelming brilliance.

The roots beneath them pulsed — not with corruption, but with life, as if the World Tree itself recognized the moment. The light surged, wrapping around their bodies, lifting them slightly, weightless, suspended in the impossible brilliance.

Luca’s chest heaved. Pain, instinct, shock — all mingled into a single, raw sensation. And through it, one undeniable truth pierced his mind: he had no idea what was happening… yet he knew, somehow, that nothing would ever be the same again.

*****

“Child, do you….remember me?”

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