Chapter 247: Life Diversion

The night was destined to be restless. Many elves were startled from their slumber, their senses, far keener than those of humans, alerting them to an inexplicable, watchful gaze.

But when they sat up in bed and peered into the darkness toward the source of their unease, they found only empty windowsills and the bright, cloudless starry sky beyond.

Drowsiness left them with little inclination to dwell on such trifles, and most simply fell back into a deep sleep.

A few elves with the experience of rangers stepped out cautiously to patrol the perimeter of their homes, but finding nothing, they returned to their rooms, drifting off again with lingering traces of doubt.

The twisted wood-spirit, acting with a brazenness that somehow remained unseen, wandered near the elven dwellings. Occasionally, it would fix its gaze upon an elf who caught its interest, yet this ugly, distorted thing made no move beyond mere observation.

"Scritch, scritch, scritch..."

The dense root system attached beneath the deformed head scraped against the ground as the wood-spirit floated along, emitting a faint sound. Gradually, it drifted away from the elven quarters, gliding through the air from one platform on the Great Tree to the next.

No one noticed the wooden head flying overhead; it moved like a phantom, its purpose known to none.

The roots touched the ground again with a soft noise. The twisted spirit had arrived at a new area inhabited by living beings—a cluster of houses prepared by the elves of Liaheim for the other races.

Without any attempt to conceal its presence, it passed directly by the posts guarded by elven sentries and entered the housing complex.

Pausing for a moment, it seemed to notice something that piqued its interest, turned its head, and floated toward that very spot.

It was a detached wooden cottage with a yard, much like the one where Wang Yu and his companions resided. The curtains were drawn from within, hiding the interior from view, but the twisted spirit had already sensed the vibrant life force pulsing inside.

Just as it had done with the elven homes, the head flew to the window and pressed itself firmly against the glass. The impact made a loud thud; the glass did not shatter, but the sound was far sharper than before.

"Ah!? Who's there!"

A robust, demanding voice echoed from within, followed by the heavy thud of feet hitting the floor and the rustle of bedding. The occupant had been jolted awake by the sound of the head striking the glass.

"Thump, thump, thump..."

Footsteps hurried toward the window. The master of the house approached the glass, which was still creaking under the pressure of the head being forced against it, his face a mask of anger and confusion.

"Whoosh!"

The curtains were yanked open by a large, hairy, green hand, revealing the occupant: a tall, muscular adult orc. A jagged scar ran across his exposed chest, covering his entire upper torso—the mark of a veteran of many battles.

"Huh! What is that?"

The orc’s gruff voice was laced with surprise and bewilderment. The head pressed tight against the glass, fixing its hideous, distorted visage upon him, was enough to startle even a warrior who had seen so much.

"Gack, gack, crack!"

Under the sustained pressure, the glass finally shattered. The head lunged into the room, its trajectory aimed directly at the orc.

"Ugh!"

The orc’s reflexes were swift. He frowned and thrust his hand out, catching the wooden head in mid-air. His internal energy surged; he was no weakling, but a low-ranking formal knight, and combined with his orcish constitution, the head’s speed seemed sluggish to him.

"Liaheim has things like this? How disgusting, and twisted."

The orc held the captured head before his eyes. Looking at that grotesque, repulsive face, even a creature as thick-skinned as an orc felt a wave of nausea.

"Pat-pat, scritch-scritch..."

The head made a sound, drawing the orc’s attention. The fine roots dangling beneath it began to lash out at the hand holding it, creeping up his arm and spreading their tendrils.

"What are you trying to do..."

The orc’s expression darkened. With his free hand, he grabbed the roots winding around his arm and gave a sharp, violent tug, snapping the itchy things from his flesh.

"Drip, drip..."

A viscous fluid trickled down the orc’s arm, falling onto the floor. A strange, slightly fishy scent began to permeate the room.

"The smell of blood? This thing... is it dangerous?"

The orc’s nose twitched. His race’s unique sensitivity to scents and blood allowed him to identify the liquid oozing from the severed roots: a mixture of blood and sap.

He could not fathom what this was—a hybrid of plant and beast? Having come to Liaheim to procure goods, he had never heard of such things here, and he didn't believe the elves would create something so twisted and ugly.

The creature’s behavior filled him with an instinctive sense of threat. Its sudden intrusion and surveillance made the orc feel that it harbored malice.

"Should I kill it? Or lock it up and show the elves tomorrow?"

The orc hesitated. He didn't know how to handle this unknown object. It struggled in his grip, but the force was negligible; he didn't believe it posed any real threat to him.

He wondered if it was a failed experiment by some elven druid. He had seen young druids make mistakes while cultivating their nature-partners, resulting in strange, misshapen plants.

But he had never seen anything as twisted, deformed, and genuinely sickening as the wooden head in his hand.

"Forget it. I have nowhere to keep this. If it’s some druid’s work, then sorry—you shouldn't have made such a disgusting thing and let it run loose."

The orc shook his head, abandoning a line of thought he wasn't suited for. He tightened his grip. Under the increasing pressure, the head began to deform, emitting a teeth-grinding creak.

"Gack-creak, eeee-yah!"

At first, the sound was the normal groan of wood under heavy stress.

But as the head was crushed completely, the sound turned into a sharp, piercing shriek, like the wail of a dying soul. It wasn't loud, but it felt as if something were stabbing into the orc’s brain, an indescribable agony.

"So disgusting."

"Gack!"

The orc frowned deeply and exerted a final, violent burst of strength, crushing the wooden head into a pile of mangled splinters. A mixture of blood and sap oozed between his fingers, dripping onto the floor.

"..."

Looking with disgust at the residue on his palms, the orc shook his hands vigorously, flinging the mess onto the floor before returning to his bed to sleep.

The orc was not a fastidious creature. Having survived the battlefield, he could sleep through anything, let alone a little filth. Dismissing the weak, repulsive spirit, he drifted into a heavy slumber.

Yet, he failed to notice the changes occurring within him. As he crushed the head into a pile of viscous sludge, a faint green glow seeped from his palms into his body—a common yet peculiar energy: life force.

Life force possesses no inherent, direct lethality, which is why most creatures cannot perceive it; only druids and certain magical beasts can see this abstract existence.

The orc, naturally, remained unaware of the life force entering his system. He felt no surge of magic or void energy, so he remained unguarded. But the danger had already taken root.

"Hoo, hoo, hoo..."

The sleeping orc’s breathing suddenly grew rapid, as if he were exhausted from strenuous exercise and gasping for oxygen.

"Cough, cough..."

The orc coughed twice, the thick, rattling sound in his throat suggesting he had something like phlegm lodged inside.

"Hrrk!"

The sound of labored, obstructed breathing echoed through the room. The orc’s expression grew increasingly contorted. Breathing became a struggle; veins bulged on his forehead, and his green skin flushed with a deep, unnatural red.

"Urgh..."

His limbs began to twitch involuntarily, as if trying to grasp at something. He reached for his chest, his fingers curling and uncurling weakly, only to slide off his body, devoid of strength.

The orc grew weaker and weaker, yet despite the agony, he remained deeply asleep, his brow furrowed, showing no sign of waking.

"Creak, creak..."

The sound of wood twisting and warping echoed, while something inside the orc’s body writhed and surged, pressing against his muscles and skin, causing grotesque, shifting lumps to bulge across his frame.

"Click, click, click..."

The sound persisted, not from the orc’s body, but from the debris scattered across the floor—the remnants of the skull he had crushed moments before.

Those wooden fragments, which should have been devoid of life, began to stir. The shattered pieces crawled across the floor, drawing toward one another, adhering and knitting themselves back together, bit by bit.

Meanwhile, the abnormalities on the orc’s body began to subside; his coughing ceased, his labored breathing stilled, and his expression lost its agony.

His eyelids slackened as the contents within withered, revealing eyes that grew increasingly sunken, the pupils dilated and webbed with blood. Along with the cough, his heartbeat and breath faded into silence.

The orc was dead.

"Swish, swish, swish..."

The sound of roots rubbing together emanated from within the corpse as the orc’s body began to shrink, his moisture and internal muscles being devoured and absorbed by an unseen force.

His once tall, burly frame grew gaunt and withered, until the internal matter was almost entirely eroded, leaving only the outer skeleton and the skin clinging to it.

Fine, blood-slicked tendrils poked out from the orc’s gaping mouth, swaying as they probed the air. Upon closer inspection, one would realize these were not tentacles, but the same plant-like roots connected to the skull, now thickened and stained crimson by gore, mimicking the appearance of flesh.

After swaying for a moment, the roots crawled out from the orc’s throat. Deprived of the substance that had filled its hollowed frame, the corpse collapsed entirely, looking horrific and bizarre.

These thickened roots intertwined, weaving together like a knitted garment, gradually forming a humanoid shape. Because the total volume was small, the figure was only the size of a child, and it possessed no head.

The headless wooden body leaped from the bed, walked a few paces, crouched, and scooped up the object on the floor, placing it upon its neckless shoulders.

The twisted head, previously crushed by the orc, was now restored. Though it remained unsettling, its deformed eyes and compressed features appeared, strangely, more human than before.

It was unclear what had granted it this restoration, but combined with the orc’s hollowed-out husk, it felt as though the head had usurped and devoured the orc’s very life force.

"Gurgle..."

The mouth on the wooden head moved, emitting an ambiguous sound—whether an attempt at speech or merely the friction of wood, it was impossible to tell.

"Pat, pat."

A small portion of the roots forming its body split off, lashing the head firmly to the torso to prevent it from falling.

The head then swiveled, peering out the window. It sensed more of what it required. Its wooden feet struck the floor with a rhythmic thud as it stepped out into the night.

Wandering through the cluster of dwellings inhabited by the alien races, it remained ignored by the magical arrays designed to monitor small creatures, just as it had been when it was only a head. The proliferating roots of the Life Tree did not react to it, allowing this unknown entity, which had just slain an orc, to roam freely.

It prowled among the houses as if selecting goods. Whether by intent or chance, it avoided dwellings where lights still burned or where nocturnal races resided, as if it possessed an innate knowledge of what lay within.

Stopping beside one house, it paused. The presence of a small creature inside, curled on a bed but brimming with vitality, caught its attention. It stood outside the wall, staring intently.

"Click-clack, click-clack."

The hands, woven from tangled roots, brushed against the wooden surface. At its touch, things beneath the house began to stir—the branches of the great tree upon which this platform rested. For some reason, the branches obeyed its influence.

The moving boughs scraped away the soil beneath the cabin, revealing a pit that led inside. The twisted wood-spirit moved toward the hole, stooping to enter.

Yet, in the next instant, cracks in space tore open around the spirit’s sides and above its head. From these fissures, the tips of various blades emerged, aimed directly at it, before launching with violent force.

"Boom, crash, clang!"

In a chaotic, deafening din, a barrage of metal weapons erupted from the spatial tears, piercing the seemingly sluggish wood-spirit and driving deep into the ground with relentless momentum.

The fissures flickered, continuously spewing axes, longswords, lances, and scimitars, raining a relentless assault upon the entity.

In a mere ten seconds, the surrounding ground was reduced to a pockmarked ruin, and the wood-spirit, including its head, was shredded into unrecognizable debris by the dense, colliding weapons.

A jet-black cat appeared atop the roof—Aen, the "cat" with formidable spatial magic, and the owner of the house the spirit had sought to enter.

Watching the shredded remains with cold indifference, the black cat flicked its paws. Two enchanted longswords, wreathed in flame, shot from new spatial tears and plunged into the ground below.

A roaring inferno ignited in an instant, engulfing the area and the pulverized remains of the wood-spirit.

The massive commotion startled the entire settlement and the elven guards. Lights flickered on house by house as residents rushed out, desperate to understand the disturbance.

The raging fire guided the arriving elven guards. They hurried to the scene, pausing when they saw the black cat perched on the roof, its bright eyes reflecting the flames. They recognized the famous cat, Aen.

Aen raised a paw, pointing toward a direction. The guards exchanged glances and sprinted off; the house of the slain orc lay in that direction.

Bursting into the orc’s dwelling, they stared at the hollowed-out corpse, reduced to nothing but skin and bone. The guards’ faces turned grim. One elf murmured under his breath:

"Is this... Life Siphon?"