"Actually, I think it would be best if you let us go. Put down the World Tree Leaf, and I swear in the name of Fahma that you may leave here safely." Elder Lloyd suddenly spoke.
"What, are you insane or just foolish?" A faint, hoarse, and eerie voice came from the dark golden skull mask.
"These thorny vines conjured by the Ancient War Tree are meant to deal with dragons. The poison on them is strong enough to make even a dragon suffer—do you really think your constitution is stronger than a dragon's?" Although Lloyd couldn't see the wounds on the necromancer behind him, he could smell the scent of blood in the air.
"Something works for dragons doesn't necessarily work for humans," the necromancer said calmly. "You and I both understand the game—there's no need for verbal probing or testing."
Elder Lloyd chuckled. "Oh, really? With your skills, you could have simply taken the World Tree Leaf and left. There was no need to go through the trouble of taking us hostage…"
"Enough nonsense. Let me remind you—an elf without a tongue can still be a hostage. Or, I can choose another one."
With a casual wave of the necromancer's hand, the smile on Lloyd's face froze. Suddenly, all the white hair on his head drifted down in an eerie cascade. Not just his hair—his beard and eyebrows also fell away completely. Only then did everyone notice the strange dagger in the necromancer's hand. Beyond its long, slender blade, two sharp fangs protruded from the hilt, cold and menacing.
What truly stunned Elder Lloyd was not the necromancer's words, but the sheer killing intent. He couldn't tell whether it came from the eerie dagger, the necromancer himself, or a fusion of both. It wasn't an overt, explosive presence, but something that seeped directly into his bones—a chilling aura that only someone who had slaughtered countless lives could possess. This was not just an ordinary threat; it was the presence of death itself. Someone capable of exuding such killing intent, someone wielding such a weapon, was certainly not the kind of person who relied on mere intimidation.
"You can change as many times as you—oh… oh… oh…" Lloyd started speaking again after only a brief pause, but the necromancer merely moved a single finger. A faint trace of energy surged into Lloyd's body, and at once, the muscles in his throat stiffened. The rest of his words turned into a series of hoarse, bird-like squawks.
His words had not only been directed at the necromancer but also at the other elves. At first, even he hadn't been entirely sure—after all, the poison on the thorns was designed to deal with dragons over ten thousand years ago, and had never been tested on humans. That was why he had probed with his words. But now, the necromancer's reaction had already answered everything.
Glancing around at the other elves, all frozen in helpless indecision, Elder Lloyd felt cold sweat bead on his forehead—this was pure urgency.
"Enough. Get out of my way," the necromancer commanded, dragging the two elven elders toward the exit. The elves outside instinctively parted, allowing him passage.
Lloyd felt as if his blood vessels were about to burst. He could distinctly sense it—the hand gripping his back was trembling slightly. That meant only one thing: the necromancer was not as composed as he appeared. Lloyd was now certain—if the elves could just disregard the safety of the two elders, whether by using the Ancient War Tree or launching an attack, they could absolutely bring down this necromancer. The cost would be lives, of course, but that was still a lesser loss compared to letting the World Tree Leaf be taken away.
The necromancer moved swiftly, dragging the two elders with him as he descended the staircase at the edge of the Ancient War Tree. Behind him, Ayime, freshly freed from the thorny prison, ran to keep up. The gathered elves, though clearly unwilling to let him go, dared not approach, instead keeping a wary distance while shadowing his movements.
As for Ruya, whether she had also been restrained was unclear—throughout the entire ordeal, she had not spoken a single word.
Finally, Elder Lloyd sighed inwardly, a profound sense of helplessness and exhaustion washing over him. He knew that his fellow elves were not fools. Even if they couldn't fully grasp the necromancer's condition, they were certainly capable of weighing the value of the World Tree Leaf against the lives of the two elders. They simply couldn't bring themselves to make the cruel decision to sacrifice not only the two of them but possibly more elves as well.
Making choices purely based on reasons is difficult—the greater the sacrifice, the more inner strength it demands. Those who merely read military strategies and discuss tactics on paper will never truly understand. The kind of decisive, ruthless will needed to sever one's own hand for survival is rare, a trait found in only a handful among hundreds. The elves had always upheld peace and simplicity, a pure and innate kindness. But in a situation like this, that kindness had become nothing more than weakness.
Even if they logically understood that they should act, their hesitation led them to instinctively rationalize their inaction. They told themselves that even if they fought, it might be futile—that sacrificing two elders and many other elves might still not prevent the necromancer from escaping with the World Tree Leaf. And if they did nothing, at least the elders would survive… perhaps, in the future, there would still be a way to reclaim the Leaf.
It wasn't about foolishness—reason had always been merely a tool for emotions.
The elves had always seemed to be plagued by misfortune, forever on the defensive, always suffering losses that left them battered and exhausted. And it was all because of this weakness.
By faithfully following Fahma's teachings, their simple and peaceful culture had preserved their innate kindness, keeping them from being consumed by greed and the endless cycles of war that distorted humanity. But in doing so, they had also lost their strength.
Just as a person's true power does not lie in weapons but in their heart and soul, a race's strength comes from its culture. By deliberately suppressing their instinct for conflict, they had preserved their purity and goodwill—but at the cost of their ability to defend themselves. Even with an indomitable fortress like the Ancient War Tree, they still could not protect the World Tree Leaf.
Perhaps it had come to this point because the World Tree Leaf was no longer meant to remain in elven hands. That was the only thought Elder Lloyd could console himself with now.
There were few obstacles along the way. The necromancer, hidden behind his dark gold skull mask, continued to hold Elder Lloyd and Ruya hostage as he made his way to the edge of the Whispering Forest.
"Don't follow us. Once we're gone, I'll release the elven woman," he said.
Stepping beyond the barrier of the Sunwell, the necromancer seemed to relax slightly. With a rough shove, he let go of Elder Lloyd but still held onto Ruya, dragging her along as he led Ayime further into the distance.
Some elves instinctively moved to pursue, but Elder Lloyd raised a hand to stop them.
"Perhaps… this really is fate," he murmured, a mix of resignation and relief in his voice. "At the very least, we may finally have some peace from now on."
Once the elves were out of sight, the necromancer abruptly released Ruya. Then, without warning, he collapsed to his knees. A choked, guttural sound escaped him before he coughed up a mouthful of blood, splattering from behind his skull mask onto the ground.
Calling it blood was only because of its heavy, metallic scent. In appearance, however, it looked more like a mouthful of thick green paint.
As the strange blood splattered onto the ground and onto the necromancer's robes, something eerie occurred—tiny blades of grass and creeping vines sprouted instantly from the stained fabric and soil. For two or three seconds, they flourished with unnatural vitality, only to wither just as rapidly. Within moments, both the plants and the peculiar blood had crumbled into a layer of fine ash.
Without hesitation, the necromancer took his dagger and slashed his own arm. The blood that oozed from the wound was also green.
A faint aura of crimson and black flickered around the dagger's blade before sinking into his body. Only then did the necromancer finally push himself back to his feet.
"Thank you, little girl. It's been decades since I thanked anyone last time." the necromancer unexpectedly spoke to the woman he had been holding hostage, Ruya.
Ruya didn't respond but simply shook her head. The expression on her face was strange. Ayime, who had been following them, looked on in confusion, trying to understand what was going on. She seemed to grasp part of it, but not entirely.
"Alright, I've done all I can. From here on, it's up to you," the necromancer said, pulling the vibrant green World Tree Leaf from his cloak. He handed it, along with the dagger, to Ayime.
"Y-you... you are..." Ayime stammered, hesitating to take the items. "Maybe it's better if you take it to exchange for Big Brother Asa…"
"No, I've reached my limit," the necromancer replied, shaking his head. Despite his voice still being raspy and unclear, there was a noticeable weakness in it. "That old elf was right. I truly can't bear the poison on those thorns."
"I can't let that kid Inham see my weakness. It would only embolden him to act recklessly." He continued, his gaze growing more intense. "You take this Nick dagger, and tell him I have urgent business in Dehya Valley. If he dares to try anything..." He paused, his voice darkening, "He can expect his head to be severed by this dagger."