Chapter 269: Prepared for Battle

The elder’s orders were swiftly issued, and the elves’ famed efficiency revealed itself in full.

In Liaheim, power was concentrated solely in the elders. Beneath them were the elven wardens, rangers, and ordinary citizens—equal in principle, save for their roles.

All other activities in the city came to a halt. The elves turned their focus to a singular task: preparing for the impending arrival of the World-Eater.

The truth was made known to every elf—their perception of the living roots had been twisted, as had their understanding of the dwarves.

When the rangers realized their long-held beliefs were false, the spell of distortion shattered. Only then did they truly see the truth: the perimeter of the Forest of Origin had already been thoroughly infiltrated by the living roots. It was riddled with holes like a sieve.

The roots, nourished by the abundant vitality of the plants growing in the forest’s periphery, had already begun creeping deeper toward the forest’s heart.

Fortunately, Wang Yu and Avia had detected the devil’s insidious power and warned the elves of this imperceptible corruption.

A roar split the air. A pillar of searing flame erupted from the wand of an elven spellcaster, sweeping through a trench carved by one of the war-trees.

Beneath the overturned earth, grotesque, sinewy roots writhed like living tendrils of flesh. The flames clung to them, reducing them to ash as they convulsed in agony.

“I never would’ve believed it,” the spellcaster muttered, glancing at the charred remnants. “Devils… I always thought them relics of ancient records. Yet here they are in Liaheim, and they’ve nearly ensnared us all. Their power is truly terrifying.”

The memory of having once perceived those roots as utterly normal sent a chill down his spine. He shook his head, still murmuring to his companion.

He was not alone in the fight. Numerous ranger teams had been deployed across the outskirts of the forest to purge the invasive roots before the World-Eater awakened—roots that could severely disrupt their defense.

Another ranger grunted in agreement, hacking at a root that burst from the soil and was attempting to drag him underground. With a practiced kick, he sent the severed pieces tumbling into a burning pit.

“Can you imagine? The entire elven city, all of us, ensnared by a distorted reality—and no one even sensed the devil’s influence. It’s horrifying.”

“Who uncovered the truth?” another ranger asked as he approached, concerned. “The elders already sent us to inspect these roots, didn’t they?”

“We saw nothing amiss because our minds were already warped,” the spellcaster replied. “Whoever asked the right question back then must have noticed something.”

“I believe it was Madam Moira, the herbalist,” he added after a moment’s thought. “She passed the information to the elders, saying it came from two of her human disciples.”

“We owe them a great debt,” another ranger said gravely. “If history is any guide, when devils succeed in their schemes, the results are always catastrophic. Liaheim would’ve fared no better.”

“Let the elders express our gratitude,” the spellcaster said, turning back to his task. “For now, we have to focus on the World-Eater—by clearing these roots.”

With that, he incinerated the last of the roots in his trench, waited for his mana to replenish, then moved on to the next war-tree excavation site.

A distant roar shattered the quiet. Rocks flew into the air. Smoke burst from the forest floor and lingered, heavy and still.

The roots, sensing their destruction was imminent, released the monstrous byproducts they had been cultivating—creatures once used to hunt prey and extract vitality.

Feral war-trees, twisted by madness, howled as they charged. Flower-headed monstrosities bared tooth-ringed maws. Vine-traps shot out barbed tongues to snare prey. Previously concealed beneath the elves’ distorted perceptions, these horrors now revealed themselves in a vicious assault against the purging rangers.

But their advantage was gone. Those earlier attacks had only succeeded because the rangers were few and unsuspecting.

But now, all of Liaheim stood ready. A full half of all elven rangers had been assigned to root-clearing duty. Second only to the winged folk in physical prowess, the elves were a terrifying opponent when gathered in force.

Arrows glowing with verdant light struck the flower-headed creatures with uncanny precision. Though they penetrated only mere inches into their targets’ bodies, the power infused within them annihilated the plant-based lifeforms in an instant.

The rangers’ curved blades cleaved through darting tongues with fluid ease. With a flick of the wrist, a ranger pinned a trap-vine to a tree with a slim, curved dagger in a clean kill.

Then came a roar of impact. A sane war-tree, empowered by druidic magic, landed a devastating blow on a berserk one. The corrupted war-tree crashed to the ground, the forest floor splitting beneath its weight.

The rangers acted quickly, tossing alchemical explosives into its exposed canopy. The sane war-tree withdrew just as a deafening blast erupted, blowing the corrupted one’s core to shreds. Flames roared through its remains.

It was a brutal tactic—hardly the elegant, nature-bound style one associated with elves.

But then again, the dwarves had long been their allies, and Liaheim lay near the dwarven kingdom. It stood to reason they’d benefit from access to quality alchemical weaponry.

Besides, not all elven knights were rangers. Though they were famed for agility, elves were stronger than most other races of equal rank.

If they were to wield greatswords in a whirlwind charge, there’d be blood and carnage aplenty.

In the heart of the forest, formation specialists moved under the protection of the wardens, checking mana nodes that powered the vast magical matrix veiling Liaheim.

As mana was channeled into these nodes, elven magicians tuned the enchantment, reinforcing the living array. With each pulse of power, its force grew stronger.

A deep, resonant hum echoed across Liaheim—a signal that the veil had shifted. The great camouflage array had been configured for a state of war.

In peacetime, the maze-like formation served only to conceal and augment the city.

But when true danger loomed and its circuits locked together, the full destructive capability of the array was unleashed.

Above Liaheim, lines of glowing light wove across the sky—mana circuits, now fully active. They shimmered with cold brilliance, a deadly elegance writ large across the heavens.

“Incredible,” murmured the young woman seated beside the window of Moira’s treehouse. “This formation’s scale, its precision—it may even surpass the hybrid matrices Aleisterre installed in its palace.

“If the maze-lock weren’t designed for concealment and support, it would boast even greater destructive power. But the fact that we can see these mana circuits without any physical medium—that alone is staggering.”

Avia analyzed the magical phenomena visible all across Liaheim. Her remarkable grasp on magical theory made it clear just how impressive was such a feat.

“After all, this is Liaheim,” Moira said, a touch of wistfulness in her tone. “One of the three great elven cities. I was awestruck when I first arrived too. But if the World Tree still stood, if the high elves still reigned… that, I think, would’ve been the true golden age.”

Moira understood the strength of the elven race. The threat of the World-Eater was theirs to face—and rightly so. If the elves were to fail, no one else would stand a chance. And so, Moira and Wang Yu continued with their own preparations.

A faint crackle, a hiss…

“Done. I’ve finished handling the lava crystal.”

There was a light, crisp tinkle as something delicate shattered. It came from the crystal that Wang Yu had dipped into solvent with the power of the Chariot.

Wang Yu withdrew the crystal from a solution, its black surface fractured with a lattice of glowing red fissures.

Unlike Moira’s failed attempt, which had reduced her crystal to gray rubble, Wang Yu’s result was a controlled success. The structure held—fractured, yes—but the energy within would now seep forth in a steady, usable flow.

“Let me see…”

“Flawless,” she muttered. “Each segment evenly spaced, perfectly stable. It’ll release energy smoothly without collapse.”

She clicked her tongue and exchanged a glance with Avia. Both women shared a quiet, knowing smile.

“So, this finishes the ‘first step,’ doesn’t it?” Wang Yu asked, watching her place the crystal into a vial.

At some point, Moira had told him and Avia about what she had been doing for the greater half of the month. She had added over a hundred different ingredients into the stardew: the very first step in making a Wish Elixir. The complete procedure would be akin to walking “a short path.”

She nodded. “Yes. The first step only. This basal solution is still far inferior to the original recipe. I had to use substitutes—after all, I don’t have the stockpile, the legendary herbs, that that grandmaster herbalist did. This will only make the later stages more difficult.”

The stardew had turned pitch-black after being processed with a series of ingredients. As she dropped the crystal into the stardew, its colors shifted again, the darkness giving way to iridescence—a liquefied starfield.

“Honestly, I could blame age,” she said, “but the truth is, without your help, I’d never have even made it this far. And this quality—this stability—would have been far out of my reach.”

She placed the vial before them, a quiet pride in her gesture.

“Madam Moira, what’s the second step? Can we help with that too?” Avia leaned in, her eyes alit with curiosity.

Unlike Rudolf’s pathological obsession, her thirst for knowledge had always been pure and scholarly—driven by wonder, not greed.

“The next step,” Moira said, “is to forge a link between this base and the void. In essence, this base must become a wizard.”

She smiled faintly at their startled expressions. “It sounds strange, I know. But this stardew already possesses a kind of innate talent for wizardry, you see.”

She held nothing back, revealing their next task without hesitation.

“How extraordinary.” Avia’s eyes sparkled with wonder. This peculiar and unfamiliar substance ignited a flame in her heart—the fervor of an alchemist drawn to the unknown.

“So how exactly does one turn this thing into a wizard?” Wang Yu voiced the question that had been on his mind.

Moira sighed. “That would be the hardest part for me. Only after this step can the potion truly form a ‘wish’ upon the void. Without it, this base is little more than a charm for good fortune.”

She paused, then continued, “I must cast the potion into the void itself, allow it to linger there until it forges a connection… and only then retrieve it.

“But as you both know, the void is… unpredictable. Distorted. Once something falls into it, there’s no guarantee of return. I have no idea how that old grandmaster managed this step. To be honest, I’ve even wondered if a god lent him aid.”

There was a trace of helplessness in her voice. The potion, so painstakingly prepared, might very well stall on merely the second step.

“I do have a void-stabilizing spellstone,” she said after a moment. “A gift from a wizard client, in payment for a custom elixir. It can open a small, temporarily stable fissure in the void… but that’s the limit of what I can accomplish.”

She shook her head, her voice tinged with wistfulness. “If I were younger—if I had reached this stage in my prime—I’d have scoured the continent for a way forward. But now…” She trailed off. “Now it’s too late.”

Wang Yu and Avia exchanged a glance. They had read the biography of Samuel, the God of Knowledge. And judging by Moira’s account, it was certainly possible that the original maker of the Wish Elixir had received divine assistance.

Their expressions diverged—Wang Yu thoughtful, the girl quietly mournful.

“To think this can’t be completed… it’s such a shame,” Avia murmured. “If only my wizardry were strong enough… But even if I were a grand wizard, I wouldn’t be able to interact with anything that’s already fallen into the void.”

She hesitated. As a scholar, she understood the true value of the base they had created—an alchemical masterpiece, formed from countless materials, fused with the accumulated knowledge of a master herbalist. And yet, she would not see its final transformation. That alone filled her with profound regret.

“Madam Moira, if you can create a sufficiently stable rift in the Void,” Wang Yu said suddenly, “perhaps I could give it a try.”

His words cut through the silence, startling both women. He pointed to himself as he spoke—as if what he suggested were completely ordinary.

They stared at him.

Wang Yu was thinking back to certain experiences he’d had in the past. Yule had dragged him into the Void from the Grand Library. Then, he had crashed through the material realm Roland had forged inside the void and fell freely into abyssal chaos.

Yet nothing had happened to him.

He had once assumed it was due to Roland’s influence—that since wizardry could affect him, the void, which was its source, must affect him too.

But later, he changed his mind. At the time, Roland’s constructs had been completely shattered—which meant he had fallen into raw void, naked and unprotected, and still emerged unharmed.

Thinking back, had void energy ever affected him directly? No. All the wizardry that had worked on him had first altered the material world, which then in turn affected him. Even Avia’s latent ability and his own Bloodsurge worked this way—one created matter to patch his wounds, the other likely induced hormonal surges or electrical overstimulation to push his body past its limits.

That was why Wang Yu had begun to suspect that pure void energy simply had no effect on him at all. He hadn’t had a chance to test this theory since leaving Aleisterre, but this seemed like the perfect opportunity.

“You?”

Moira blinked at him in surprise. She clearly had no idea what he was talking about. But after a moment’s pause, she relaxed. After all, this young man had already surprised her enough. One more miracle wouldn’t hurt.

“All right,” she said. “Suppose I agree—what exactly do you intend to do? Simply place the potion in the void and wait for it to change before retrieving it?”

Wang Yu nodded. Though it sounded simple, the task was anything but.

“In theory, yes,” Moira said slowly. “But how do you plan to interact with something fully inside the void?”

She was genuinely curious.

“Hold it in my hand,” Wang Yu said, entirely serious. “Push it into the rift. Then pull it back out.”

Moira stared at him. Was he mad? Even a wizard laden with protective techniques, could barely maintain coherence while touching the void—and even then only briefly, and never while holding anything as volatile as a potion. If a knight like Wang Yu were to reach into a void fissure, his hand would surely be twisted into some grotesque mutation, or destroyed entirely.

But… then again. If anyone could manage it, perhaps it would be Wang Yu. And if Wang Yu were to fail, then she, at her advanced age, would never see the second step completed.

She glanced at Avia, who was nodding calmly.

So be it. They would give it a try.

“Be careful. Don’t get hurt,” Moira said softly, pressing the base potion into his hands.

From her locked cabinet, she withdrew the spellstone that opened a temporary fissure in the void. She seated herself beside Avia, while Wang Yu stood opposite, holding the bottle of liquid stardew in his palm.

The spellstone activated. A narrow tear about thirty centimeters long opened in the air above the table. Suppressed by the stone’s stabilizing power, the aura of the void didn’t leak out. Beyond the fissure lay the formless, churning darkness of the endless abyss.

Wang Yu, potion in hand, slowly reached toward the rift. His hand passed through…

And he felt nothing. Nothing at all.

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