Chapter 242: A Strange Land, A Strange People, and Strange Happenings

The great eagle descended from on high, alighting upon a lofty platform built into the trunk of the Tree of Life. With a powerful beat of its wings, it set down the trio—Wang Yu, Avia, and Noelle—before letting out a sharp cry and taking to the skies once more. It vanished into the canopy above.

“Let’s ask around,” Wang Yu suggested, sweeping his gaze over the unfamiliar elven city. “If Mr. Gewen was right, it shouldn’t be hard to find a place to stay.”

Scaffolded within the heart of the forest, this city made one thing abundantly clear: they were far beyond the borders of any human kingdom now.

The eagle Angola had dropped them off on what appeared to be a roosting platform for large creatures. It was connected to a network of walkways that led to the dwellings where the elves resided. From where they stood, they could see elven folk moving gracefully between buildings.

“Let’s go,” Avia said, taking Noelle’s hand. The three made their way along the path toward the elven residential quarters.

Wang Yu found the elven capital less alien than he had anticipated. Aside from the construction in the trees, the layout of the city wasn’t all that different from Aleisterre.

Shops and markets were clustered along the broad platforms encircling the ancient trees, while homes were scattered more freely throughout the upper branches.

There were apothecaries, blacksmiths, general stores, and bookshops—all the trappings of a city, much like those in human kingdoms.

Yet there was a distinct difference in the atmosphere. The elves who walked the streets were composed and serene, far removed from the clamor and disorder of human crowds. Their long lifespans, Wang Yu surmised, must have fostered a certain detachment in the face of change.

Their arrival in the elven city caused little stir. Now and then, a cloaked elven ranger might leap gracefully from rooftop to rooftop, pausing only briefly to scrutinize the three strangers who bore no elven traits.

Wang Yu guessed these were the city’s equivalent of guards, keeping a close eye on outsiders—especially in these uncertain times.

“We could grab someone at random and ask,” Wang Yu suggested, “but maybe it’ll help if we go to a tavern or the like.”

His gaze landed on a building in the distance—a tavern, a place adventurers knew well. He hadn’t expected to find such a venue among elves, whose culture seemed so restrained. And yet there it was.

He stepped toward it without hesitation.Pushing open the door, Wang Yu was greeted by the familiar warmth of tavern life—lively, unreasonably cheerful, and faintly chaotic. Yet this one had a gentler feel than the ones in Aleisterre. The chatter was more subdued. A sweet melody floated through the air; someone was playing the harp.

“…What in the world is that? A beastkin? No, wait—”

Wang Yu stopped short as he stared. Atop the bar counter lay a black cat, sleek, elegant, and completely at ease. Beside it sat a wineglass filled with clear, fragrant liquor.

The cat wrapped its powerful tail around the glass stem, raised it, clinked it gently against the glass held by the elf bartender, and then drew it to its lips—if a cat could even be said to have lips. In one smooth motion, it drained the entire glass.

Wang Yu had no idea how that cat managed to down a drink larger than its own head.

“Welcome,” the bartender said, spotting Wang Yu. He had a shaker in his hand and a smile on his face. “What can I get you, traveler?”

“Actually,” Wang Yu replied, dragging his attention away from the cat, “I’m hoping to speak with someone knowledgeable. I’d like to ask a few things, if you don’t mind.”

He produced a smooth, ripe acorn from his pocket—the token Gewen had given him—and held it up for the bartender to see.

“Ah, the elder’s sigil?” the elf said, eyebrows arching in surprise. “Then you must be guests from afar.”

“That’s right,” Wang Yu confirmed. “Elder Gewen said to bring this and ask about accommodations.”

The bartender beamed. “If the elder gave you that, you’re no ordinary travelers—you’re honored guests of our people. Welcome to Liaheim. I hope you find it to your liking.”

He offered a warm greeting to Avia and Noelle, then turned and rummaged behind the bar. Moments later, he retrieved a smooth sheet of bark upon which a map had been inked.

“Here,” he said, unfurling the map. “These houses here—” he said, circling a section, “—are for honored guests. Just follow the route, show your token to the guards at the gate, and you’ll be welcomed in.”

He handed the map to Wang Yu and grinned. “How about a drink to start? A small welcome from me to you.”

Before Wang Yu could reply, the elf had already whipped up three drinks and slid them across the bar.

“You’ve arrived at a good time,” the bartender added. “As luck would have it, Master Yaslan is performing today. He’s the finest bard in all of Liaheim—his stories and songs are second to none.”

Wang Yu examined the drink and took an experimental sip. It was light, airy, and fragrant, almost like fruit juice—and, more importantly, low in alcohol.

He handed one to Avia and one to Noelle, then took another sip as the bartender continued his easy chatter.

Following the elf’s gaze, Wang Yu spotted the bard in question—a long-haired man seated at the center of the tavern, a wooden harp cradled in his arms. His fingers danced across the strings, sending a cascade of notes flowing through the room like clear water.

The music was tender, fluid, and achingly expressive. Each note seemed to tap gently at the listener’s heart, stirring hidden emotions in perfect rhythm with the melody.

All conversation trailed off. The crowd grew silent, captivated by the bard’s song.

“He’s good,” Wang Yu whispered. “Actually, this may be the best bard I’ve ever heard.”

He nodded in quiet appreciation. Most of the music he’d encountered in this world had only passed as “decent” by Earth standards—but this was something else entirely. The bard’s performance was mesmerizing.

“Of course he is,” the bartender whispered back with pride. “That’s Master Yaslan. You’ll hear more about him soon enough.”

“Oh, right—I’ve been wondering since earlier—huh?!”

Wang Yu turned his eyes from the bard to something even more astonishing.

The black cat had left the bar and was now reclining on a chair like a person as it lazily listened to the music. But it didn’t stop there.

Wang Yu’s curiosity made him ask the bartender about the unusual cat. It didn’t have the aura of a druid, and there weren’t any magical fluctuations around it, either. It likely wasn’t a transformed being—so what was it?

With an almost casual gesture, the cat raised a paw, sliced open a rift in the air, and reached into it. From the shimmering tear, it pulled forth a snow-white cat slightly smaller than itself.

It then wrapped a foreleg around its companion. The two of them sat side by side and quietly enjoyed the music.

Wang Yu was dumbfounded. A cat of such intelligence was already fascinating. But one capable of casually opening a spatial rift and summoning a companion was something else entirely.

“Oh, the cat?” the bartender said, noticing his stunned expression. “That’s Ahn, one of our most loyal patrons. The first time he walked in… well, we were just as surprised. He’s no druid, and neither is he transfigured—just a cat, as far as we can tell. You get used to it after a while.”

He tilted his chin toward a sleek white cat lounging on a shelf nearby. “And the white one’s its mate. Odd, isn’t it? Haha—every new customer has that same expression when they see them. Carrying your partner around in a portable spatial pocket sounds outrageous, but somehow it works out for them.”

The bartender was clearly amused and well accustomed to Wang Yu’s reaction. He offered the explanation with the kind of warmth reserved for a story he never got tired of retelling.

“A cat that knows spatial magic is already absurd enough,” Wang Yu thought as he listened blankly. “Hauling your girlfriend around in your pocket sounds far less absurd in comparison…”

“I’m not sure what species Ahn is,” the bartender went on, “but Ahn is clearly a master of spatial magic.

“There was this drunken, ill-mannered elf who once thought it’d be funny to try and grab Ahn. The moment his hand reached out, a dozen spatial rifts opened over his head. Longswords and other weapons came flying out like a storm. He got sober real quick after that.

“None of us know where Ahn gets all those weapons, or how he wields them so precisely. But make no mistake—cat or not, that one’s not to be trifled with.”

He shook his head slowly, awe still lingering on his face despite the familiarity of the tale. Even for someone clearly acquainted with the black cat, Ahn remained an enigma.

“Firing weapons from spatial rifts… The King’s Treasury spell?” Wang Yu mused inwardly. “A cat who knows King’s Treasury—sometimes this world really does like to throw surprises at you.”

He shook his head at the thought of Ahn taking on a drunken elf with weapons pouring out of thin air.

While he was exchanging banter with the bartender, the music in the tavern came to a gradual end. The soft hum of the bard’s lute faded, and the audience sighed with reluctant satisfaction. Yet none asked for an encore.

Wang Yu, seated with his back to the stage, heard footsteps approaching and turned just in time to see the bard Yaslan walking toward them.

The man’s violet hair was tied in a loose knot behind his head, matching his equally violet eyes—deep and serene, like moonlight reflected in still water. His figure was tall and graceful, a perfect balance of elegance and masculine presence. But it was his face that drew the eye: it was so beautiful it seemed sculpted by divine hands.

Androgynous to the point of ambiguity, he too was something of an enigma. It was only through careful attention to subtle detail that Wang Yu could discern his gender.

Wang Yu privately rated him a solid 9.5 out of 10. Without a doubt, he was one of the most strikingly beautiful people he had seen since arriving in this world.

He was comparable, even, to the divine corpse he’d once encountered. Perhaps the only difference was that while the corpse radiated divine perfection, Yaslan’s beauty was natural—peaceful, harmonious, and pleasing to behold. Still, Wang Yu wasn’t one to judge others by their appearances.

Yaslan seemed to be making a beeline for their table, though Wang Yu didn’t know what for.

“May I trouble the three of you for a moment?”

His voice, soft and melodious, carried a gentle neutrality as androgynous as his appearance.

“You’re Mr. Yaslan, aren’t you? Your performance was truly memorable. What brings you over?” Wang Yu replied with matching courtesy.

“I am a bard,” Ayslan began, his words deliberate and clear, “wandering the continent in search of singular stories—witnessing them, collecting them, and preserving them in song. I possess a gift. A peculiar ability. I can perceive echoes of the past—stories etched into the people I meet.

“I’m not aware of the full details,” he continued, “but from those lingering traces I sense, I find inspiration. That inspiration, in turn, fuels my music. And music, to me, is power.

He turned to Avia and Noel with a small, knowing smile. “From this young lady, I sense but a few stories—but each one is brilliant in its intensity. And from the little girl, I feel the weight of long, long years—a chronicle written in time itself.”

Then he looked to Wang Yu.

“But you… From you, I sense nothing at all. No stories. No traces. It is something I have never encountered before. If I may, I’d like to ask you to share a song. Something you’ve heard, perhaps, or something you know. I believe it may hold inspiration I cannot find elsewhere.”

Wang Yu didn’t detect a shred of deception in the bard’s words. Yaslan’s presence alone suggested he was no ordinary being.

“Another enigma,” Wang Yu thought to himself, “wielding power beyond the bounds of void, mana, and fighting spirit, just like that astrologer. These undefined powers are becoming a curious pattern…”

He mulled over the bard’s request. It wasn’t unreasonable. Sharing a piece of music was simple enough.

“I’m no musician,” Wang Yu said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “But I’ve heard a lot of songs I like. Will that do?”

“Certainly,” Ayslan replied, genuinely pleased. “The birth of a song, its composition, the life of its creator… All of that is a story. And every story you share brings me closer to new music. Perhaps, in turn, I can offer you a story that will aid you as well.”

Yaslan’s violet eyes boasted a sincerity that brooked no falsehood.

“Alright, then.” Wang Yu grinned. “I’ll whistle a tune for you.”

Whistling was one thing Wang Yu was good at. He couldn’t sing to save his life, but whistling? He’d spent enough time on Earth whistling casually that he’d developed decent skill.

And now, with a knight’s muscle control, his whistles were precise enough to count as an instrument.

He chose Canon in D. It wasn’t a complex piece, nor a long one. But it was beautiful, peaceful, and relaxing. That was enough for someone like Wang Yu, who didn’t care for deeper meaning or symbolism in music—only whether it sounded good to the ear.

As he whistled the gentle, flowing melody, the tavern quieted. His knightly strength ensured the tune carried clearly through the room without wavering notes or faltering pitch.

Wang Yu knew full well his rendition would never rival Yaslan’s artistry. The bard’s skill transcended music; it was his magic. Just as he’d said, his songs held power, told stories, and stirred the soul.

Wang Yu, by contrast, could merely recreate a tune faithfully. It was a simple, clean performance, with little artistry.

When the final note faded, Yaslan clapped. Others in the tavern joined in, some with hesitant surprise, and some with genuine delight.

“A lovely piece,” Ayslan said with a smile. “Simple, yes—but perhaps that’s music in its purest form. Beauty for the sake of beauty. Thank you for sharing it.”

He strummed his lute, and the melody of Canon spilled forth, richer now, layered with emotion and nuance that had not been present in Wang Yu’s version. Somehow, Yaslan had managed to unearth the heart of the piece and given voice to something deeper.

Yaslan sincerely expressed his gratitude to Wang Yu for sharing the tune, then posed a question after a brief pause.

“Is there something you seek to understand, or something you hope to find here in Liaheim? Perhaps one of the stories I know may be of help to you.”

Wang Yu pondered for a moment. Liaheim was still a foreign land to him, vast and unknown. There were many things he wished to accomplish here—and perhaps now was the right moment to decide what to pursue first.

“Are there any renowned herbalists in Liaheim?” he asked. “I need a teacher.”

Rather than waste time with lofty or impractical wishes, he picked a question that had been weighing on his mind.

The rare herbs he had seen in the Forest of Origin had left a strong impression on him. They convinced him that Liaheim was surely a land rich in resources for an aspiring alchemist. Herbalism had aided him greatly in the past, and he hoped this place would offer the chance to take his skills to the next level.

“A teacher skilled in herbalism? That won’t be a difficult request.”

Yaslan smiled, his tone relaxed.

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