Chapter 246: The Twisted Woodling

The deep, fathomless dark slowly consumed the last vestiges of twilight that clung to the sky. Above, a scattering of stars emerged, their distant light adorning the velvet canopy of night.

From beyond the horizon, the magical moon rose in stately silence, casting its ever-shifting hues upon the labyrinthine enchantments guarding the outer reaches of Liaheim. Through the veil that shielded the city from the world, the gentle, filtered moonlight illuminated the tranquil city of the elves.

Nightfall in Liaheim was quite unlike that in Aleisterre. Here, the soft bioluminescence of glowplants bathed the city in soothing amber radiance. It was gentle to the eye, neither harsh nor dim, and lent a peaceful calm to the environment.

In symbiosis with flora, this city exuded a serenity all its own, much like the elves themselves: poised, composed, and remote. Compared to the clamorous bustle of the human realms, Liaheim was a pure land, an oasis of stillness.

Wang Yu and Avia walked the winding path back from Elder Moira’s dwelling. The girl carried a cloth pouch in her hand, the small wooden boxes within clinking softly with each step.

“Twinflower, azure moss, whistlecap mushrooms… and a few other magic plants. All of them seem relatively easy to cultivate. Madam Moira went easy on two complete novices like us.”

Avia listed the herbs aloud as they walked. They corresponded to the seeds and cuttings tucked within her pouch, which Moira had entrusted to them for their first cultivation assignment.

“She’s a fine teacher,” Wang Yu agreed. “Keeps it concise—practical techniques first, a dash of core herbalism theory now and then, and just enough extra tidbits to pique your curiosity. She makes things real easy to understand. Though that saying of hers—‘Every great herbalist must also be a master of magical flora’—sounds suspiciously like something your aunt would say…”

Wang Yu spoke with a touch of humor, the admiration in his voice was unmistakable. After just six hours of lessons, Wang Yu found his grasp of herbalism notably expanded. More importantly, he had discovered a direction worth pursuing.

Somehow, the experience reminded him of those legendary university professors whose courses all but guaranteed a pass as long as you just showed up and took notes. It was a craft, truly. And yet, Moira went beyond even that. She had imparted them a bounty of additional, wide-ranging knowledge.

Avia laughed lightly. “You’re right. That really does sound like Aunt Lilya. Maybe all masters are just a little bit eccentric.”

Mention of her aunt stirred memories of those quiet days in the forest cottage, days of studying by lamplight with Wang Yu. Days filled with comfort and joy.

“There’s still so much herbal lore to memorize,”

Wang Yu sighed, patting the towering stack of books on his back. Moira had declared them essential reading. Despite his innate edge in practical herbalism, he knew there was still a stark gap in theoretical knowledge between him and Avia.

“Don’t worry. I believe in you!” she said warmly, giving his shoulder a gentle pat.

Wang Yu smiled wryly. “Honestly, I’m surprised things went so smoothly. There were a few bumps, sure—but the results were better than we could have hoped. Especially this strange slab of stone… I reforged it using the power of the Chariot. Just from its tactile feel alone, this might end up being the sturdiest weapon I’ve ever owned.”

As he spoke, he took a shard of stone from his coat pocket—the remnant of a cube that Moira had casually given him as payment for a month’s assistance with raw materials. He turned it over in his hand, its texture unfamiliar.

“So, about that man, Yaslan. Just what kind of being is he, really?”

Avia understood what he was getting at. They had found Moira in the first place only thanks to the help of that unnaturally beautiful bard.

The information he had provided fit their needs with uncanny precision—and the outcome, too, had been perfect.

He was no ordinary minstrel. Of that much, she was sure.

“Does it matter?” Wang Yu shrugged. “He meant us no harm. No need to overthink it. I’m sure we’ll meet him again. And besides… someone’s got to spread our story.”

He let the question go. In a world teeming with hidden powers, what good was it to pry into every mystery? It was best to let them be—unless they gave you reason not to.

“That’s true.”

Avia nodded, accepting the logic. Together, they returned to the residence the elves had arranged for them. Elder Gewen’s emblem allowed them to pass through the checkpoint with ease, the forewarned guards already being aware of their arrival.

The dwelling was a quaint wooden house with a courtyard, not unlike their old place on Redmaple Street. Smaller, perhaps, but with a larger garden.

At once, Avia channeled her magic. Responding to her command, the soil churned. Earth magic stirred, uprooting the weeds and lesser flora that had grown wild in the courtyard.

Wang Yu followed close behind. With keen knowledge of each plant’s needs, he buried the seeds at a proper depth.

“Whew. Not bad,” he muttered, surveying their freshly tilled miniature herb farm. “With daily irrigation using mana-enriched water, these should sprout in about a month.”

A quiet pride welled in him. There was a strange satisfaction to this simple act of planting—as if he were tasting the joy of farming itself.

“I’m going inside to meditate,” Avia said, opening the wooden door. “Do you need anything else?”

“Nope. I should get started on these books.”

“Nope. I should get started on these books.”

Following her in, Wang Yu prepared to tackle another portion of his reading before bed. It almost felt like preparing for college entrance exams again.

The door closed behind them. Silence gradually settled over the little house.

Far into the distance, something rustled. It was a faint sound—something was dragging across the ground. It was barely audible, and too soft to notice unless one were listening for it. And even if someone had heard, it would likely be dismissed as the movement of some harmless woodland creature.

Something drifted through the darkness. It floated, its form hidden by the night, long, fibrous tendrils trailing behind it like the roots of a banyan. These appendages brushed softly against the earth, creating a quiet susurrus as the being moved.

Within the elves’ residential quarter of the elves, the glowplants had dimmed. Under the influence of elven magic, they no longer cast their light. The houses stood in a peaceful gloom, wrapped in the hush of sleep.

The entity floated through this slumbering domain, the entity floated, silently and aimlessly, its rootlike filaments sweeping over stone and wood alike.

None noticed its presence.

The elves had, of course, laid protective arrays throughout this district—spells linked to the Tree of Life’s roots that could sense any magical beast dwelling on the great trees above. These were intended to ward off harmless creatures that might otherwise intrude.

Yet this being had already passed through multiple arrays. Not one had activated. It drifted unnoticed, invisible to the city’s safeguards.

It lingered for a time, circling the homes of the elves. A patrolling sentry—a sentinel of the forest—bounded over the rooftops above, silent and swift, whispering the words of nature as he communed with the ancient trees.

But like the wards, the sentinel detected nothing. He passed overhead, oblivious.

The entity paused—not out of caution, but curiosity. Its body rose slightly, as if to watch the elven scout pass through above.

When the scout was gone, it continued its aimless drifting…

Until something caught its attention. Drawn as if by instinct, it floated toward a particular wooden house. There were no curtains covering up a certain window, and inside lay a sleeping elf.

Tap.

There was a faint rustling. Something stirred outside as it attempted to slip into the bedroom. But it failed. The glass served as a barrier, separating it from the bedroom within. All it could do was press against the window with feeble, powerless bumps.

Tap. Rustle. Tap.

The sound of root-like tendrils dragging along the ground mingled with the soft knocking of its body against the glass. It was turning, slowly rotating its main body, as though adjusting one of its faces toward the windowpane.

Drip.

Inside the room, a young elven girl slept soundly. Her long, delicate ears twitched faintly in rhythm with her breathing.

Then, in a single fleeting moment, a droplet of water slid down the side of a small vial placed by her bedside. It fell into the liquid below with a sound so slight it stirred only the tiny inhabitant within—a glow-frog.

Startled, the creature flared with bioluminescence. Its dappled skin lit up in a soft green glow, casting a gentle light across the girl’s peaceful face—and briefly illuminating the thing that watched her from the other side of the window.

A gaunt and twisted visage was reflected in the pane it pressed against—a face that sent a chill to the bone.

It resembled a human face, but grotesquely deformed. Its features had warped and fused in unnatural ways. The nose and mouth appeared overgrown, devouring the space meant for them and then growing even further beyond that, bulging off to one side in a crooked sprawl.

Its eyes were wrong. One was nothing but a gaping, hollow pit—empty. The other was filled with strange, hair-like filaments that writhed within, as if something vile and itchy were growing inside. All who gazed at it would develop the eerie sensation of something similarly invasive sprouting behind their own eyes.

The creature had no lower body, only a grotesque head. Stitched and knotted together from wood, the head floated in the air, defying natural anatomy. Below its neck extended a mass of tangled, root-like growths that dragged beneath it, twisted and malformed, repulsive in the extreme.

The withered, misshapen head pressed tightly against the glass, its eyes—if they were even that—impossible to read. An invisible gaze locked onto the slumbering elf. A presence, not quite malicious, but not quite benign, either, washed over her like a murky tide.

Creak.

The glass groaned sharply, straining under the growing pressure of the twisted woodling. The sound pierced the quiet of the room and reached the elven girl’s ears.

“Hm?”

She stirred, rubbing her eyes, and slowly sat up in bed, still half-lost in sleep. Her gaze drifted toward the source of the noise, the window.

“There’s nothing there…”

Still dazed, she mumbled softly, then lay back down.

And outside the window, just as she’d said,there was nothing.

The twisted woodling had vanished without a trace.

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