Chapter 90
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Chapter 90: The Struggle
The Elves of Dawn Garden led the way while dark elves followed behind, descending through deeper underground passageways.
As they neared the core of Branch of Yggdrasil, the life aura around them intensified until visible green mist swirled lightly through the air. A single breath brought mental clarity and revitalized spirits.
This remained the only untouched area within the Elven Kingdom, spared from destruction by high-level elemental forces. Life energy itself acted as a barrier—once concentrated to saturation, no elemental beings could penetrate, leaving this sanctuary perfectly preserved.
After what felt like ages, light finally appeared at the tunnel’s end.
Emerging into a vast underground space, they saw fresh greenery carpeting the ground. Luminescent vines coiled across the ceiling like human blood vessels, pulsing rhythmically to circulate the dense life energy.
At the center lay a lake of glowing water. Its endless surface shimmered with soft light, scattering reflections like a sky full of stars. A tree palace rose from the lake’s heart—an intricate wooden structure resembling tangled roots, connected to shore by floating lily pads.
"We’re here," the elven elder stated simply.
Both the dark elves familiar with Palace research and Midi, bearing memories of past life, recognized this place: the deepest layer of Branch of Yggdrasil, where roots converged with the tree’s heart.
"Where’s the seed?" the dark elf demanded, voice tight with restrained eagerness.
The elder walked onto the lily bridge toward the tree palace. Chanting archaic words unlike any magic spell, his voice resonated through the wooden halls.
The ground beneath them rippled like sprouting saplings, heaving upward before blossoming open. Crushing waves of life energy flooded the chamber, thick enough to suffocate thought. Within this maelstrom appeared a pulsating seed over three feet long.
"Seed of the Tree of Life!" Mason breathed, ecstasy overwhelming him.
This divine artifact represented nation-building power—an obsession his faction had pursued for generations. As it materialized before him, reason abandoned the dark elf.
Midi struck the instant Mason’s focus wavered.
Ultimate Intent shot from the lake like a needle-thin arrow. Silently piercing water and wooden walls, it targeted Mason’s heart. Volcanic killing intent snapped the dark elf back to awareness too late—he twisted aside with serpentine speed, the attack grazing his shoulder instead.
"Damnation!" Mason snarled, pain contorting his features. The injury hurt but spared vital structures, preserving his battle strength.
Midi never expected to kill a Hand of Nightmare-level foe through ambush. As Demon Swordman, his strength lay in direct confrontation. Water exploded as he burst from the lake, lily pads cracking underfoot while he crashed into the palace.
"You!" Mason hissed, pupils narrowing as he counterattacked.
His dual pistols erupted with a blinding glow, gunshots ringing out in rapid succession, their sharp echoes pounding against eardrums. The dark elf’s eyes shone like twin springs, their glint never fading.
The roaming gunslinger’s state skill—Focus.
This ability resembled the Berserker’s Frenzy but carried no lasting side effects, only temporary weakness afterward. A desperate method to boost battle strength briefly, it stood as the roaming gunslinger’s ultimate trump card.
Yet this technique hadn’t been developed until years after the Forest of Gran’s great fire. By Arad Calendar 985, no gunslinger should’ve known it. But here before Midi stood one who’d nearly perfected Focus.
The bullet storm slowed Midi’s advance, yet his gaze stayed steady, burning with quiet intensity. He’d stalked his prey, trapped the enemy in the cramped tree palace, closed the distance perfectly. But he knew—any adventurer bold enough to target the seed of the Tree of Life, that divine artifact, must possess terrifying power.
When the ambush failed to kill, Midi didn’t falter. When Mason activated Focus, Midi kept charging. He’d done everything right. Now remained only hard clashes of steel and gunpowder.
Channeling Ultimate Intent, Midi tracked every twitch of Mason’s muscles, every shift of gun barrels. Ten steps apart—sword against pistol’s brutal disadvantage. Close quarters amplified a Melee Fighter’s pressure but left no time to dodge. At this range, even Ultimate Intent couldn’t compensate. Predicting trajectories became his only defense, placing his Black Sky sword where bullets would meet steel.
They danced through the tree palace—sparks flying from pistols, sword gleaming with counterstrikes. Magic vibrations shredded wood into snowflake-like splinters as life aura yielded to killing intent. Elves cowered in corners, their elder trembling.
Ten steps. Nine. Eight. Seven…
Then progress halted. As Midi adapted to Mason’s patterns, the dark elf learned Midi’s blocks. Attacks grew intricate—feints layered within stray shots, deadly bullets hiding in scattershot patterns. Midi’s reincarnation-gained Experience strained against human limits. Seven steps became an impassable wall.
When dazzling gunflare reversed their roles, Midi faced the choice: risk everything to advance, or retreat. He did neither.
Ducking a bullet rain, he twisted his longsword and struck sideways. An invisible force slashed across the tree palace, hitting the glowing seed at its heart. The divine artifact exploded like shattered glass.
Elves gaped. Mason’s eyes widened with world-breaking fury. Decades of longing destroyed by one casual strike? Rage flooded the dark elf’s heart—fatal distraction in a battle demanding ice-cold will.
Midi smiled. That hairline crack in Mason’s focus was enough. Against masters, such microscopic flaws determine the outcome.
