Chapter 268: Chapter 268 – “Why did you kill my Mother!?”

The battlefield had fallen into an uneasy silence.

The clash of magic and steel had faded into distant echoes, replaced by the brittle hum of tension that hung heavy in the air. The flames flickered low, casting fractured shadows across the clearing where the war flames’ faint glow still pulsed — shimmering, but alive.

Luca could feel it — the change. The war outside had paused for them, but another kind of battle had begun.

Sylthara stood before the Elf Queen, her body trembling, her breath uneven. Her golden eyes, sharp and bright a moment ago, now shimmered with barely restrained emotion. She clenched her fists so tightly her knuckles turned white, the veins along her arms straining as if her body itself was fighting to contain her rage.

Across from her, the Elf Queen stood tall — regal, silent, her long olive-golden hair flowing like moonlight. Her gaze was calm, unreadable… but cold.

The air between them was suffocating.

“I presume,” the Queen said at last, her voice low, measured, and heavy with age, “you are the princess of the dark elves.”

Sylthara’s breath hitched. For a heartbeat, her expression wavered — then hardened. Her teeth ground together, and her voice came out colder than frost.

“That’s right,” she said, each word cutting through the silence like a blade. “I am the daughter of the Dark Elf Queen… the one you all killed!”

Luca’s eyes widened in shock.

Killed her… mother?

His mind reeled, the words echoing endlessly. But how? He had seen enough of the elves — their kindness, their reverence for life — to know such cruelty seemed impossible. Yet Sylthara’s trembling voice, the fire in her eyes, told a different story.

He looked toward Elowen and the recovered elf queen beside her. Both wore the same expression of disbelief — brows furrowed, lips parted, as if they too couldn’t comprehend what they had just heard.

“What are you talking about?!” Elowen snapped, her composure cracking for the first time. “We didn’t kill her!”

Her voice carried anger — but also confusion, almost desperation.

The Elf Queen, however, remained silent. Her eyes stayed fixed on Sylthara, ancient and unreadable. The silence stretched like a blade between them.

Sylthara’s lips quivered. Her body shook — not with fear, but with emotion too heavy to contain. Her fists trembled as tears, unbidden, streaked down her cheeks, glinting under the faint light.

“After doing everything…” she whispered, her voice breaking, “now you deny it? Just how shameless can you all be?!”

Her voice cracked like thunder, echoing through the clearing. The few injured elves nearby froze where they stood, their gazes darting nervously between the two figures — the Queen of Light, and the Princess of Shadows.

Luca’s chest tightened.

What the hell is going on? he thought. What truth… am I missing here?

And then, at last, the Elf Queen spoke. Her tone was calm, yet carried a dangerous edge — like a blade concealed behind silk.

“You are placing grave accusations upon us, girl,” she said, each syllable deliberate, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Do you even understand the consequences of uttering such words without proof?”

Sylthara’s gaze darkened. Without a word, she reached into a hidden pocket within her armor and pulled out a weathered parchment, its edges burnt and torn.

Her hands shook — not from fear, but fury. She flung it toward the Elf Queen, the parchment slicing through the air before the Queen caught it effortlessly.

“This, I always kept it with me.” Sylthara spat, her voice trembling with emotion, “It was found beside my mother’s corpse!”

The Queen’s expression, for the first time, changed. Her eyes widened faintly as she looked down at the old parchment in her hands. The faded ink still glowed faintly with elven script, the words carved into memory more than paper.

“This…” she whispered.

Sylthara’s voice broke again, hoarse, raw. “It says, ’Don’t ever try to come in contact with light. The dirt should always stay in the shadows.’

Written by your kind… as my mother’s dying message!”

Elowen took a sharp step forward, anger and disbelief clashing across her face. “That doesn’t prove it was us!” she snapped, her voice rising.

The wind stirred between them, heavy with unspoken truths. The parchment fluttered faintly in the Elf Queen’s hand.

Sylthara’s eyes glimmered with restrained fury, tears threatening to spill once more as she glared at the Elf Queen. Her voice, when it came, trembled with emotion but cut through the silence like tempered steel.

“Do you think we’re fools?” she snapped. “Why don’t you ask your precious Elf Queen what else can be found on that parchment?”

The Elf Queen’s expression faltered. Her fingers trembled faintly as she turned the parchment over, scanning its half-burnt surface. Then—

Her eyes widened. Her composure cracked for the first time, and her voice came out in a faint, trembling whisper.

“…Nature’s mana.”

A murmur swept through the nearby injured elves, the words rippling through the crowd like a ghostly wind.

Sylthara broke. Her body trembled as she sank to her knees, clutching her chest, the tears she had held back finally spilling down her face.

“What did she want…?” she whispered, her voice quivering with grief. “She just wanted to rest beside the Mother Tree after death… She knew she didn’t have long — we, dark elves, don’t live as long as you! She—she only wanted a small corner of the forest… where your kind are buried after death…”

Her hands curled into fists against the dirt, her tears falling onto the blood-soaked ground.

“She was already dying,” Sylthara continued, her voice breaking. “She didn’t want power, or forgiveness — just peace! And yet you… you killed her!”

Her words turned into a choked sob. “Why… Why did you have to kill her? You didn’t even let her come home…”

Luca’s throat tightened. He didn’t speak. He couldn’t.

He simply placed a hand on her shoulder — steady, silent, the only warmth in that heavy moment. His crimson eyes lifted, fixing on the Elf Queen with a single unspoken question.

Is it true?

The Elf Queen met his gaze. For the first time, doubt flickered behind her composed exterior. Her hands shook slightly as she clutched the parchment.

“N-no,” she said, her voice trembling. “You misunderstand, child. Your mother… she did come to speak with us — about resting near the Mother Tree. There was… a disagreement, yes, but nothing worth killing over. Though our races have long been divided, I swear on the Mother Tree itself — we did not kill her!”

Sylthara lifted her head, her golden eyes burning with disbelief and fury.

“Then what about the traces of Nature’s mana on that parchment?!” she shouted. “There’s no one in this world who can wield Nature’s mana inside the Elven Forest except for the Light Elves!”

Her accusation hit like lightning.

Even the Elf Queen’s breath caught. The color drained from her face. Slowly, she closed her eyes, raising a trembling hand over the parchment.

A tiny golden sphere of light emerged from her chest — the essence of her mana — and floated into the parchment. For a few tense seconds, nothing happened. Then her eyes snapped open again, glowing with golden fury.

“…Where is Elder Faelorin?” she demanded, her tone suddenly sharp and commanding.

Elowen flinched at the sudden authority in her voice. “H-he… he hasn’t been seen since the war began!”

The Elf Queen’s hand tightened around the parchment, the crack of parchment echoing through the silence. Her eyes flashed like molten gold.

“Find Elder Faelorin,” she hissed, her tone laced with rage. “Now!”

But before anyone could move—

A cold, mocking chuckle slithered through the air.

“Tch tch tch… how amusing,” a voice said, dripping with venom. “Who would’ve thought an ant would disrupt our plans so beautifully?”

Every head turned.

Across the battlefield — now eerily still — the remaining cultists stood in eerie formation, their once-chaotic frenzy replaced by unnatural calm. The war had stopped, both sides frozen in uneasy truce.

The elves, bloodied and battered, stood together supporting each other. The dark elves formed a loose ring at their flank, wary but ready. And at the front — Aurelia, Vincent, Kyle, Lilliane, and Selena — as they were clearly exhausted and injured from battle approached Luca, standing besides Luca instinctively.

As Aurelia came to his side , glanced at Sylthara as she said to Luca in a worried tone, “What happened to you?”

But before he could answer…

From among the cultists, a tall figure stepped forward.

Gray tattoos snaked across his face like veins; his grin was a slow thing, lips parting as ash drifted through the air. Behind him, the cultist tide spread—a living black river swallowing the light. He let the destruction unfurl before him with the ease of a spectator, tasting the chaos like a savory thing.

The battlefield, moments ago frozen in tense revelation, now seemed to breathe with dread. The wind itself recoiled as his corrupted mana oozed into the air, suffocating, almost alive.

He stopped several paces away, his gaze sweeping lazily across the elves, the dark elves, and the battered heroes who still stood their ground. Then, his eyes landed on Sylthara and Luca—gleaming with venomous satisfaction.

“It all started with that bitch,” he said, voice curling with malice, “and will end with her daughter.”

The words fell like thunder. Sylthara’s body stiffened, her breath catching in her throat as her crimson eyes widened in disbelief. Luca felt her tremble beneath his hand—an instinctive reaction that shattered the fragile calm that had held her together.

And across the field, even the Elf Queen and Elowen’s eyes widened — as the realization struck them all at once.

The cultists were behind her mother’s death… just how deep did their scheme run?

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