Chapter 91
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Chapter 91: The Adventurer’s Approach
In the moment when the dark elf was consumed by rage, a dazzling silver flame ignited in Midi’s eyes. He bent his knees slightly and suddenly pushed off. With a sharp crack, the stone pavement dented under his foot, leaving a shallow imprint.
Using the explosive recoil, Midi shot forward like an arrow. The Black Sky sword tore through the air with a metallic screech, its blade trailing a comet-like arc as it unleashed a shockwave!
Overwhelming killing intent flooded the battlefield, dousing Mason’s fury like icy water. The dark elf snapped back to awareness, instinctively aiming his dual pistols at Midi’s forehead—now mere inches away.
But he never got the chance to fire.
Midi’s blade struck one pistol with surgical precision, slamming it into the other. The impact ripped both weapons from Mason’s grasp, sending them spinning through the air before they shattered midflight.
Yet in this crisis, Mason grew eerily calm. His Focus sharpened to a razor’s edge.
With a violent jerk of his wrist, hidden mechanisms clicked. Two fresh pistols snapped from his sleeves, their barrels locking onto Midi’s brow—
Sleeve guns. A gambit to exploit an opponent’s momentary complacency after gaining advantage.
But facing a Hand of Nightmare-caliber foe? Midi hadn’t relaxed an iota. He wouldn’t ease up until the dark elf stopped breathing.
As Mason’s hidden guns appeared, Midi surged forward again!
The Black Sky sword whirled in a spiraling slash, churning the air into a vortex. Before Mason could blink, both pistols and arms were sucked into the maelstrom—reduced to shredded meat and twisted metal.
Blood rained. Flesh fragments glittered. Time seemed to freeze for Mason, his brain lagging behind the agony of lost limbs.
Then time accelerated. Midi’s fist hammered Mason’s gut like a siege ram, the dull thud echoing through the chamber.
Mason choked, hot blood geysering from his mouth. The blow launched him backward like a snapped kite, smashing him against the tree palace wall thirty meters away.
"Still alive?" Silver flames flickered in Midi’s eyes as he charged to deliver the coup de grâce.
Two spear-length blades stabbed from nowhere, forcing him to halt.
The creature loomed three meters tall—glossy black abdomen, eight sword-edged legs, glittering compound eyes, and mandibles hissing like saws.
A sword spider. But no ordinary one. This was a "Sword King," high-level and cunning.
"Damn." Midi grimaced. Another of the dark elf’s summons, far deadlier than that berserk fire meteor element. For a roaming gunslinger, this Mason wielded more summons than most Summoners. Probably every bauble on him sealed some nightmare.
The Sword King’s four front legs attacked from cardinal directions. Its rear limbs slashed air, ripping open a chaos-tinged rift.
The spider vanished like smoke, reappearing instantly beside its dying master.
Not just a sword spider—it blended dimensional travel into its skills. What noble-born dark elf commanded such a dual-Attribute terror?
Even the Blood Blade Thieves Guild wouldn’t harbor this caliber of expert. The thought flickered through Midi’s mind.
The spider scooped Mason’s limp form onto its back with surprising gentleness. Another spatial tear, and they vanished from the tree palace, fleeing across water toward the underground space’s exit.
Midi let them go.
Battles served victory, and victory served purpose. His objective remained.
Wiping gore from the Black Sky sword, he sheathed it and turned toward the tree palace’s heart—where the seed of the Tree of Life awaited.
At some point, the seed that Midi had sliced in half had automatically repaired itself, returning to its original form.
The Elves watched Midi with complex gazes filled with unease, fear, suspicion, vigilance, and hidden anger.
This reaction was inevitable. To these gardeners of Dawn Garden, both Mason and Midi were mere invaders seeking to steal the seed of Tree of Life. This brutal battle meant nothing to them—just thieves fighting thieves, ending with a stronger plunderer taking over without changing their plight.
Their only hope was that this ordinary-looking youth wouldn’t prove as ruthless as the dark elf.
The elven elder stepped forward expressionlessly, gesturing for Midi to proceed.
Yet a sharp glint flashed in Midi’s eyes, making the elder shiver.
"This isn’t Tree of Life’s seed." Midi’s lips curved coldly. "It’s the Tree of Life’s heart, isn’t it? You tricked that dark elf while plotting to kill him. Worthy gardeners of Dawn Garden indeed—clever schemes and cunning tactics!"
The elder’s face paled instantly. Surrounding Elves showed undisguised shock and terror.
Every part of Tree of Life held potent healing properties. In Belmar Duchy, Dawn Garden’s elders led by Celia often sold supreme potions made from its leaves, coveted by adventurers and nobility alike for healing severe injuries and extending lifespans.
But extremes reverse themselves. If a single leaf could heal mortal wounds, what might the Tree of Life’s heart do?
This wasn’t medicine—it was poison.
Midi easily imagined the dark elf’s fate upon touching the heart—flooded with overwhelming vitality until his body burst. Even if forcing captive Elves to retrieve it, they’d charge him for mutual destruction. No marksmanship could stop enemies wielding infinite vitality.
Healers could kill as surely as blades—this situation proved it.
Midi had noticed something odd during the battle—gardeners who prized the seed above their lives hadn’t tried protecting it, instead waiting for someone to trigger it.
A clear conspiracy.
When Midi cleaved the "seed," the Elves’ shock without anger confirmed his suspicions. He regretted not realizing sooner, avoiding this confrontation.
Now everything lay exposed.
Under Midi’s piercing stare, the elven elder’s mind churned. His failed deception surely invited lethal retaliation. Their doom seemed certain—this youth would brutally extract the seed’s location before slaughtering them all.
Was this their fate?
Then Midi spoke.
"The weak struggling against the strong is understandable. But never again." His sharp gaze swept the crowd. "Relax—I’ve no taste for torture. Adventurers have our own methods."
Adventurers’ methods?
Elves exchanged confused glances. Midi wanted the seed yet refused interrogation? Contradictory!
As if answering, Crow Robin flapped from Midi’s pack, perching on his shoulder with raucous cries.
"Find the weakest life aura," Midi ordered.
The heart’s overwhelming vitality had fooled the dark elf. But true seeds conserve energy for germination, absorbing surrounding life force instead of radiating it—making them invisible in this vibrant environment.
Within minutes, Robin found a life-barren zone far from the tree palace’s center—a dead stump amidst flourishing growth.
Midi reached inside, retrieving a magic-suppressing pouch of exquisite craftsmanship, its surface etched with intricate magic arrays. Within lay a pebble-sized gray seed with nine breathing pores, devouring surrounding vitality like a bottomless pit.
"This is Tree of Life’s seed."
Midi exhaled deeply. His earlier calm had been bluffing, testing reactions. Now victory was secure.
"So, adventurer," the elder finally asked calmly, "what becomes of us gardeners?"
