Chapter 272: Mother's Spoiling, Helping Hand from Foreign Races

Why, why am I unable to continue the assault? What is happening? What force has taken hold of me?

Standing near the crystal spire, the elven mage stared in disbelief at his own hands, which were now beyond his control, forcing the tower to cease its fire. He could not fathom what had transpired.

In a single heartbeat, the elven mage found himself utterly unable to launch another attack against the World Eater that had plummeted into the Forest of Origins.

No matter how he struggled to regain command of his limbs, the moment he attempted an act of aggression—or even sought to assist in the offensive—his body would revolt. It would defy his very consciousness, even going so far as to dismantle anything that might pose a threat to the World Eater.

Boom!

After his eleventh attempt to seize control, his body acted without hesitation, plunging his staff directly into the spire’s control core.

Though a body without a soul cannot channel magic, the mana crystal atop the staff resonated violently with the energy-saturated core of the spire.

Manic magic surged in every direction; the fire elements within the crystal ignited a localized explosion, swallowing the elven mage in a roar of flame.

When the smoke and embers cleared, the mage stood revealed, shielded by a layer of protective magic, his expression grave and heavy.

He had survived through his own spellcasting and defensive artifacts, but...

Click, clack, crack, bang!

The stone base of the charging crystal shattered as the core was destroyed by the blast. The vines wrapped around it withered and peeled away. Deprived of its power source, the crystal dimmed rapidly, falling from the sky to land listlessly upon the forest floor.

A spire of terrifying power had been undone, inexplicably, by the very hand meant to command it.

Similar scenes unfolded one after another. Those mages who attempted to maintain the assault on the World Eater found their bodies rebelling, each one destroying their own crystal spire in a variety of ways after failing to regain control.

How can this be...

The elven commander watched the feed from the Mage’s Eye in utter disbelief. Within the array of War-Ents carrying alchemical cannons, druids were systematically smashing the weapons mounted on their shoulders.

Simultaneously, the sight of mages in the spire clusters inexplicably sabotaging their own towers left the commander bewildered. Had these elves all gone mad at the exact same moment?

What are you doing! Continue the...

The commander roared through the communication spell, but the word attack died in his throat. He found himself physically unable to issue the order to continue the offensive.

His eyes widened, reflecting his profound shock. His mind raced, using the anomaly within his own body to deduce the fate of his troops.

Some force is forcibly preventing us from attacking the World Eater. What is this? Sorcery? Witchcraft? The power of demons? No, that’s impossible—I would sense the fluctuations of such powers, and on such a scale? This force that stops us must be coming from within ourselves!

The commander found his own conclusion impossible to accept, yet he could not deny the truth: it was their own bodies refusing to strike the World Eater, creating a rift between soul and flesh, leaving the soul unable to command the body as it once had.

Creak, creak, rumble!

The fallen World Eater began to stir. Its terrifying regenerative ability was laid bare; though it had been little more than a pile of tattered rope upon impact, the life force surging within its internal Life Pool had mended every wound within three minutes. Countless limbs began to flail, clawing at the earth, driving the giant worm-like carcass to surge through the Forest of Origins.

This cannot continue. But what can be done? Fortunately, the Labyrinth Lock operates automatically. Given the World Eater’s previous defensive performance, even with its horrific regeneration, it should never breach the outer layers of the Lock.

The commander thought frantically for a way to turn the tide, but the resistance from his own body was too absolute; he could not conceive of a way to strike the beast.

He could not even issue the order to attack, so how could he employ other methods? Fortunately, some things were different from the crystal spires; they required no operator and would strike automatically upon detecting an intruder.

The Labyrinth Lock was such a thing—a massive, living spell-array covering the elven capital of Lyliaheim, equipped with fully autonomous defensive functions.

As long as the World Eater neared the perimeter, the Lock would identify it as an enemy and unleash a barrage of devastating magic, even without a pilot.

The destructive power of that force would be enough to tear the World Eater into shreds, overwhelming its regeneration and extinguishing its life.

The commander, still observing through the Mage’s Eye, adjusted his phrasing, attempting to convey an order in an oblique manner.

But it was useless. As long as malice toward the World Eater lingered in his heart, his body would forcibly resist, ignoring the commands of his soul and consciousness, perhaps even taking extreme measures to stop him.

Suppressing the killing intent within, the commander managed to stop his hand from smashing the communication array. But a moment later, his eyes snapped wide with horror and disbelief.

The image of Lyliaheim appeared in the observation feed. It seemed unchanged, yet it revealed a terrifying truth: the massive, living array that shielded the capital had been deactivated from within.

Only the elven elders, stationed in the Eden Plains at the summit of the World Tree, possessed the authority to deactivate the Lock.

Could the elders, too, have been affected by this power?

A sense of defeat and dread washed over the commander. As a master tactician, he knew all too well what an internal collapse meant for the war.

...

High atop the World Tree, in the Eden Plains, an elder watched in horror as his body, beyond his control, moved to shut down the Lock’s core. He was deactivating the very array that could deal a lethal blow to the World Eater, along with the entire charged Labyrinth Lock.

I should have realized it sooner. Beyond our understanding of the dwarves and the root systems, another perception of ours has been twisted. Our unconditional... trust... in the state of the World Tree... that was... a mistake.

The existence that links all elves in Lyliaheim... is only... our... mother, the World Tree... These demons, through the World Tree... have projected the power to twist perception across all of... Lyliaheim.

The elder muttered to himself, his speech fragmented by the struggle against his own limbs.

Having realized the truth about the demons and their influence, the elder finally identified the other twisted perception: their attitude toward the World Tree.

To the elves, the World Tree was their mother—respect, worship, and reliance were natural emotions. But toward a mother, there is one more necessity.

Concern. This perception, often overlooked due to the tree’s sheer scale and power, had been exploited by the demons to hide every suspicion the elves harbored about the tree’s condition.

Nine truths and one lie—a masterful deception. Hidden beneath two layers of twisted perception was the true killing blow: the demons’ power had granted the elves of Lyliaheim unconditional trust in the World Tree.

When the tree showed signs of distress, the elves only suspected external factors, never considering the possibility that...

Their mother, the World Tree, had long ago been twisted and altered from within by the power of the demons.

By utilizing the link between the World Tree and the elves, the demons were able to exert their corrupting influence on every elf in Lyliaheim.

And when the will of this mother was twisted, her connection to her children was used by her—in her corrupted, doting state—to prevent them from "killing one another."

I beg you, wake up... ah, that thing... is the enemy... ah!

Veins bulged and the elder’s face contorted, but despite his desperate struggle, he could not stop his body from slowly and firmly deactivating the Lock.

No matter how he cried out, his "mother"—already difficult to communicate with and now influenced by the demons’ corruption—offered no response.

Click...

Under the elder’s despairing gaze, his body finally shut down the Labyrinth Lock.

The giant living array that had shrouded Lyliaheim vanished under the command of the highest authority, leaving the city naked and exposed before the World Eater as it rampaged through the Forest of Origins.

The massive carcass crushed everything in its path, charging toward the defenseless capital. Countless limbs clawed at the earth, propelling the giant worm forward, casting soil and stone into the sky under its immense weight.

From the myriad eyes upon the worm’s body, a thick, yellow, turbid liquid began to gather, dripping from the edges of its lids. These tears were saturated with the power of corruption.

The yellow sludge seeped into the ground, touching the root network connected to the World Tree. Instantly, every root it contacted withered, snapped, and was drained of its life force by the corrosive power.

This corruption traveled along the roots, reaching the World Tree itself.

Upon touching the tree’s roots, the yellow liquid did not remain unchanged as it had with the forest flora; instead, it gradually lost its color and viscosity, turning clear like water. The corruption was being purified.

Just as Holo had once told Wang Yu, sufficient life force could halt the spread of this corruption. The World Tree’s vitality was enough to temporarily satisfy the endless greed of the rot—but only temporarily.

The roots touched by the yellow liquid began to show signs of drying and atrophy, though they did not perish as completely as the other plants in the Forest of Origins.

The Tree of Life possesses a vitality of immense magnitude, yet the life force contained within its branches is ultimately finite; the ravenous, corrupting drain has left the Tree of Life wounded.

A wave of agony swept through the souls of every elf at that moment, a sensation felt by their mother, the Tree of Life, transmitted through the bond they shared, forcing the elves to suffer her pain as their own.

Yet, even so, despite the merciless ravages inflicted by the World Eater, the "mother" whom Moira once described as overly doting upon her children still refused to strike back at her "rebellious son."

"Why! Move, make me move! Do something!"

This was surely the silent roar echoing in the hearts of all the elves.

They could only watch helplessly as the World Eater surged out of the Primordial Forest, its gargantuan frame crushing the outer structures of Liahim into ruin.

They could only dodge and flee; every attempt to harm the World Eater or halt its advance proved impossible to execute.

Spreading corruption, draining the surrounding life force until only deathly silence remained, the World Eater’s core eye was fixed solely upon the Tree of Life at the heart of the elven capital, Liahim, where a vitality resided that might finally sate its infinite, gnawing hunger.

Its body ground over the architecture of the elven city, pulverizing buildings beneath its mass, along with the elves who were too slow to escape or who, in their stubborn refusal to yield, sought to block the World Eater’s path with their own bodies.

Absurd and inexplicable, the World Eater breached the elven defenses—defenses capable of annihilating multiple legendary warriors—and drove straight toward Liahim, unstoppable, destined to pierce through the city and reach the Tree of Life.

This "rebellious son," under the grief-stricken and desperate gaze of all the elves, was about to complete its dream of matricide.

"Clang! Clang! Boom! Rumble!"

Just as the World Eater surged into the mid-level districts of Liahim, a series of explosions erupted across its hide. The flickering firelight, though lacking the staggering power of alchemical cannons, was overwhelming in its sheer volume.

Narrow spatial rifts tore open above a segment of the World Eater’s body, from which iron swords, short axes, warhammers, and spears erupted in a continuous barrage, unleashing a storm of steel like a machine gun upon the creature’s flesh.

A black cat perched atop a colossal tree, watching the World Eater’s frantic charge, its feline eyes filled with a chilling, distinctly human disgust.

Anne, the black cat master of spatial arts, was pouring out its power without reservation. The various weapons, infused with magic, triggered explosions capable of wounding even Great Knight-level warriors upon every impact with the World Eater’s massive frame.

Anne’s arsenal seemed infinite; after bombarding the creature with over a thousand weapons, the spatial rifts continued to spew forth an endless array of armaments, fueling a chain of devastating explosions. It was hard to imagine such power residing within so small a creature.

The World Eater’s body was shredded by Anne’s torrent of steel, rotting flesh and coarse chitin splattering everywhere, the targeted segment nearly severed in two by the wounds.

Tidal waves of vitality were drawn from its specialized organs, sweeping over the injuries as the World Eater once again demonstrated its absurdly exaggerated regenerative ability.

Concentrating its life force to mend the site, it filled the gaps in its flesh several times faster than it had repaired its entire body before, pushing through Anne’s bombardment to knit its form back together.

Then, it shifted its trajectory, charging toward the black cat; it intended to slaughter the small thing that was costing it so much vitality.

"Shing!"

"Boom!"

As it crushed buildings in its rush toward Anne, a sharp, massive silver blade, accompanied by a blinding thunderbolt from the heavens, slammed into the worm’s body at the exact same moment.

Fifth-Circle Goddess of Wealth Divine Art: Blade of Radiant Silver.

Fifth-Tier Lightning Spell: Thunderous Calibration.

The World Eater’s foremost head was cleaved open by the divine-infused silver blade, split in two and pierced thirty meters deep before stopping, while the blinding lightning from above scorched the massive wound, leaving it crackling with electric arcs and charred black.

Figures began to appear atop the various buildings throughout the elven capital of Liahim.

"Damn it, coming to trade with the elves and running into a monster like this... that last divine art cost me two hundred gold coins... what a headache. What are these elves doing, forcing us outsiders to take action?"

A bald merchant, looking quite portly yet with muscles straining beneath his white robes, stood atop a tree, wringing his hands in agony as he watched the World Eater, its head split open, rapidly regenerate as if nothing had happened.

He was a follower of the Goddess of Wealth. The Goddess of Wealth had lower requirements for casting divine arts than other deities, but they were expensive; an unpious believer could still unleash a true Seventh-Circle divine art, provided they sacrificed enough valuable "currency" to the Goddess.

And the mage who unleashed the lightning was none other than Avia.

At this moment, the girl stood near the Tree of Life alongside Wang Yu. She held her fingers in a targeting gesture, aiming at the World Eater—which had nearly finished repairing its wounds—and gathering the power for another lightning strike.

Floating beside Wang Yu were several massive metallic constructs, resembling giant impact drills. Commanded by Wang Yu’s Chariot Force, they circled his body, roaring as they gradually spun up to speed.

These were among the alchemical creations the elves had prepared to deal with the World Eater. Since the elves could not bring themselves to attack, it was better for outsiders like Wang Yu and his companions to put them to use.

Throughout the elven capital of Liahim, the figures of outsiders appeared. This was the helping hand, arriving from beyond.