Chapter 266: Chapter 266 – The Oath Under the Full Moon!

The night was drenched in blood and fire.

Smoke coiled upward, black against the darkened sky, as embers drifted like dying stars over the sacred roots of the World Tree. Its once-luminous glow was faint now — tainted, flickering, as if struggling to breathe beneath the corruption spreading from its base. The air was thick with the stench of iron and ash, screams echoing between the trees like the cries of dying spirits.

Luca sat near the fractured roots. His eyes were unfocused, his thoughts still tangled in the remnants of that golden light, that fading warmth. The echoes of her final words still lingered in his ears.

“Remember… if anyone can answer that question, it’s you… Luca… or should I say… Kian.”

His fingers trembled faintly. Kian. The name clawed at something deep inside him — something buried, something he didn’t yet understand.

But that moment of stillness shattered in an instant.

“Kill these rotten creatures for our Emperor!”

The roar came from the battlefield ahead — raw, guttural, and filled with bloodlust.

Luca blinked, snapping back to reality. He looked up, eyes narrowing as the wave of cultists surged forward, weapons gleaming red in the firelight.

“…No time for questions now,” he muttered under his breath.

He rose slowly, the motion fluid but heavy, the dirt and blood clinging to his coat. The glow of the flames reflected off his crimson eyes — sharp now, focused. Around him, the remaining dark elves stood trembling, their bodies wounded, mana nearly spent… but their resolve unbroken.

Even with the odds stacked against them, they refused to flee. They stood between the cultists and the dying World Tree, guarding it with the same defiance their ancestors once showed.

A faint pang of respect stirred in Luca’s chest.

He looked over the battlefield — charred soil, dying light, the faint scent of sap and blood. So this is what they’ve become… guardians until the very end.

But then a thought struck him — Sylthara.

His gaze darted to the side, searching desperately through the haze. “Where is she?” he muttered.

Then he saw her.

Kneeling beside the vast trunk of the World Tree, her head bowed, hands pressed against its bark as if praying. Her shoulders trembled, silver hair catching the flicker of flame. Tears streamed down her cheeks, tracing lines through the ash that stained her face.

Luca took a step toward her — but before he could speak, Sylthara’s eyes snapped open.

And for the first time since he’d met her, they burned.

Gone was the guilt, the helpless sorrow that had broken her moments ago. In its place was something fierce — resolve sharper than steel, brighter than the fire raging around them.

She stood, her hand still pressed to the tree, as if drawing strength from it. The light of the World Tree shimmered faintly at her touch. Then she turned — meeting Luca’s gaze with golden eyes that seemed to pierce straight through him.

Her boots struck the blood-soaked ground as she strode toward him. When she reached him, she suddenly stopped and….. bowed deeply — her fists clenched so tight her knuckles turned white.

“Please…” Her voice trembled, but not with fear — with desperation. “Help me save what remains of us… and the Mother Tree. Please!”

The plea cracked something inside Luca.

He stared down at her, torn between too many emotions — pity, admiration, frustration. He didn’t know what that kind of desperation felt like. To want to save something even when the world called it impossible.

He exhaled slowly. “You…” he murmured, eyes narrowing as he studied her face. She was shaking — not from weakness, but from the sheer will holding her together.

He glanced past her to the dozen or so dark elves still standing guard around the World Tree. Their faces were bloodied, eyes hollow but burning with the same determination their ancestors once showed seven thousand years ago.

For a moment, Luca could almost see them — their forebears, the Queen and her warriors — standing in that same place, defying the corruption, smiling through their tears as they gave everything for the world.

He clenched his jaw.

“…You’re just like them,” he whispered, more to himself than to her.

Sylthara lifted her head, her golden eyes meeting his — eyes that carried both sorrow and fire.

Luca sighed and reached out, grasping her arm and helping her stand. Her fingers were cold, trembling slightly against his palm.

He looked at the battlefield again — the advancing cultists, the dying flames, the trembling world that seemed ready to collapse.

He had one chance to turn this tide. Moonslayer.

That technique would end this fight… but leave him completely drained, defenseless.

He swallowed hard, his mind running through the risks. Can I trust her? Can I trust them to protect me when I’m nothing but a target after that?

He turned back to her.

“…Can I trust you?”

Sylthara blinked, startled — then slowly, she straightened, her hand pressing to her heart as she met his gaze unwaveringly. The flames reflected in her golden eyes.

The night howled with battle cries and the roar of corruption, but for that heartbeat — only silence existed between them.

A pact waiting to be sealed.

Under the pale glow of the full moon, the battlefield looked like a scar carved into the earth itself—ash, blood, and broken steel glimmering red beneath the sky. Firelight licked the gnarled roots of the dying World Tree, its once-golden glow flickering weakly like a heartbeat fading away.

Sylthara stood before it—her silver hair tangled with soot and blood, her golden eyes burning with a feverish light. Behind her, the sacred tree loomed like a colossal silhouette, its branches framing her in the moonlight. The air trembled, thick with desperation and resolve.

She pressed a trembling hand against her heart, her voice rising through the crackling flames and distant screams.

“We, the proud race of the Dark Elves—though our numbers may have withered, though our lands lie in ruin—swear before the Mother Tree, the moon, and the stars that have not yet abandoned us.”

“By the blood of our ancestors who once guarded this forest, by the souls of those who sleep beneath its roots, we pledge our blades, our lives, and our honor.”

“As long as you walk the path of truth, Luca Valentine, we shall stand by you. In light or shadow, in triumph or despair—we will follow. As your allies… as your shadows… or, if fate demands, as your slaves.”

Her voice cracked slightly, the weight of generations pressing against her words. “So please…” she whispered, tears reflecting the moonlight, “save my kin.”

The air stilled. Even the battle seemed to hush for a heartbeat, as if the world itself had paused to witness her oath.

Luca stared at her, the flickering firelight painting her figure in shades of gold and crimson. He felt something heavy settle in his chest—respect, sorrow, and a strange warmth he couldn’t name.

I didn’t expect her to go this far… he thought, closing his eyes for a moment. But she’s shown her resolve. Now…

He opened them again, twin sabers gleaming in his hands—one dark as night, the other bright as moonlight. “It’s my turn!,” he said quietly.

He turned to face the battlefield where the remaining elves were being pushed back.

“Call them to the roots of the World Tree,” he ordered.

Sylthara didn’t hesitate. She lifted her hand, shouting commands in the ancient tongue, and the surviving elves obeyed, retreating toward the glowing roots. The cultists, confused by the sudden withdrawal, halted their advance.

Luca stepped forward alone, his cloak whipping behind him in the rising wind. The black and white sabers glinted like twin moons in his grasp. The cultists muttered among themselves, unease creeping in.

Hey, Aira, he called inwardly.

A low, echoing voice answered in his mind. Yes, I’m here. What’s your plan? Flee with the elves on my back?

Luca shook his head faintly. “That would be easier. But if we run, the Mother Tree will fall. There’s only one way left—to kill them all.”

I see, Kunpeng’s voice rumbled like thunder on the horizon. Then what do you need from me?

“I’ll need height,” Luca said, eyes narrowing. “I have to go higher than them—to reach everything with one strike. Let’s take the elves above ground level. Keep them safe until I’m done.”

With a surge of energy, the Kunpeng materialized—a colossal beast of silver-blue feathers and starlit scales, wings stretching across the battlefield. Its very presence sent shockwaves through the air, scattering ash and fire alike.

The cultists froze in awe and fear. Then, one sneered, forcing a laugh. “Look at that! The filthy elves are planning to run from here!”

Another spat, charging forward. “My dibs on the princess!”

Before the man could take another step, a silver flash cut through the dark. A head rolled across the blood-soaked ground.

Luca didn’t even glance at it. “Get on,” he said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

The elves hesitated. Sylthara’s jaw tightened. “If you plan to flee,” she said sharply, “we won’t follow. We’ll fight to our last breath.”

Her kin murmured in agreement, their tired eyes blazing with pride.

Luca met her gaze, calm and unwavering. “Trust me.”

Something in his tone—quiet, steady, and absolute—made her chest tighten. Confusion, fear, and faith warred inside her, but she turned and shouted, “Everyone, on the beast! Now!”

The elves obeyed. One by one they climbed onto Kunpeng’s vast back. As an elder passed Sylthara, he muttered under his breath, “I hope you know what you’re doing this time.”

Her hands clenched into fists. When the last of her people were aboard, she turned back to Luca, eyes flicking toward the dying glow of the World Tree.

He extended his hand toward her, faint embers dancing around his silhouette. “Don’t worry,” he said softly, almost reverently. “Nothing will happen to the Wor—no… to the Mother Tree.”

The way he said it—Mother—made her eyes widen. For a heartbeat, she forgot the war, the blood, the fear. Then she nodded, determination returning to her face as she placed her hand in his.

Their fingers clasped—and Kunpeng’s wings unfurled.

“Fly high,” Luca commanded.

The great beast roared, the air trembling as it leapt skyward. The elves clung to its back as the wind howled around them.

Below, the cultists screamed, unleashing a barrage of fire and magic.

The ground where Luca had stood just moments before erupted in a blinding Boooooom!!!, fire and darkness swallowing the spot whole.

And from above, beneath the light of the full moon, the final battle for the Mother Tree began.

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