Chapter 27: Escape

  Ethan’s first impression of elves had come from dwarves. After staying with them for days, he realized dwarves were skilled not just in engineering and forging, but perhaps in literature too—their mockery and sarcasm had captured elven nature perfectly: rigid, arrogant, and utterly lifeless.

  Elves took great pride in their identity and ancient culture. The sacred glow of their tens of thousands of years of history weighed so heavily on them that every move they made was cautious, afraid to offend their legacy. Daily prayers and rituals alone took up much of their time. Though Elder Kelan had promised to find a way to draw the power from Ethan’s body, even in the little free time they had left each day, any new idea or plan first required a meeting to debate whether it violated their “glorious traditions” or “the gods’ teachings.” At this pace, Ethan might indeed end up spending his whole life here.

  But Ethan didn’t care—he knew what to do.

  At first, he’d worried the elves would lock him up somehow. To his surprise, they let him move freely. Perhaps they thought a human would be flattered to be part of their “great cause” and submit willingly; perhaps they were certain he wouldn’t dare misbehave. But the biggest reason was their so-called “ancient elven restraint method,” passed down for tens of thousands of years: making him swear an oath in the name of his faith.

  When Ethan replied that he had no gods to believe in, the elves were shocked. Many whispered among themselves, lamenting how far humans had fallen into chaos.

  Later, a few learned elves stepped forward, explaining that due to their chaotic living conditions, humans now worshipped “ideals derived from life”—such as justice, fairness, money, skill, or hard work. The elves sighed, then agreed to let Ethan swear by whatever he truly believed in. Elder Kelan spoke solemnly: “Swear by what you believe in, what guides your life. Fear of being abandoned by it will keep you true to your word. Violence is beneath our noble race; we will never use it unless forced. The gods taught us: ‘Restraining the mind is better than restraining the body.’ Thus, we use this civilized, effective method of binding.”

  Ethan had planned to mumble a casual promise to fob them off. But seeing how serious the elves were, he felt a twinge of guilt. He frowned, wracking his brain for something he truly believed in.

  Watching his effort, Elder Kelan encouraged him: “Think hard. It is what you trust most—the truest truth in your life, the faith that drives you.”

  Ethan did think hard. Finally, he concluded: “I believe that if you don’t eat, you’ll get hungry. And if you’re hungry for too long, you’ll die.” It was, without a doubt, his most unshakable belief.

  The elves stirred again, but after a heated discussion, they agreed this counted as a faith. Guided by the elves, Ethan took a bizarre oath in their ritual: “In the name of food, I swear I will not escape here, and I will not…” The elves nodded in unison—this human was now bound.

  Ethan didn’t like lying. He preferred to face things head-on, even if it meant charging straight into a problem. But he wasn’t stubborn—if a direct approach failed, a little detour never hurt.

  The elves had never looked at him as an equal, let alone trusted him. He could feel their gaze, like humans looking at livestock—unashamedly seeing him as an inferior being. Of course, their “elegant” pride kept them from showing hostility; their tone was always gentle, their expressions unchanged. But this calm indifference revealed a deeper, inherent contempt.

  Ethan wasn’t too angry about the disdain—but it did make him swear that oath more loudly and firmly.

  Over the past few days, he’d lived quietly in the elves’ settlement, playing the “simple vessel” they wanted him to be.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The forest’s heart was nothing like the dead silence he’d felt on Whispering Woods’ outskirts—it teemed with life. Strange insects and flowers bloomed everywhere; majestic unicorns roamed freely; tiny, butterfly-like sprites flitted between blossoms. There was no trace of human craftsmanship here: the elves’ treehouses grew naturally from twisted branches, and their utensils were cleverly made from insect shells and plant parts.

  To some, this might be a fairyland harmonized with nature. But Ethan was eager to achieve his goal and leave.

  A month ago, he’d been jostling with crowds in the capital’s busy streets. Now, he’d faced zombies, giant tree-creatures, and been dragged into a nonsensical ritual—tied to “duties” of light and darkness. It was like being thrown from real life into a confusing myth. His horizons had broadened, but more than anything, he wanted to return to his own life.

  Among the rigid elves, only the maiden Luya showed a hint of vitality. She seemed curious about the outside world, often coming to ask Ethan strange questions about human habits and society. Every time she heard his answers, her eyes would widen in shock—unable to believe humans killed animals just to wear their fur, fought and killed each other, or toiled like oxen to support people they didn’t even know. After her shock, she’d usually shake her head at Ethan, dropping a disgusted “Barbaric. Lowly.” as if he’d personally committed all these crimes.

  Though she spoke to him with disdain, her emotions were the only ones in this dull place—far more endearing than the other elves’ gentle but rigid indifference.

  At first, Ethan had directly asked her about the Sunwell and the World Tree Leaves. But she’d immediately grow guarded: “Humans aren’t allowed to know that.” Elder Kelan had probably warned her. But with a little roundabout questioning, Ethan could get almost any answer he wanted. Elves had simple relationships; they never played such tricks. Even though Luya was nearly a hundred years old, she was utterly naive. Thanks to her, Ethan didn’t need to sneak around to gather information—he learned everything he needed to know without raising suspicion.

  Now that he had all the information，it was time to act.

  The weather was perfect—no clouds in the sky. Tonight was a full moon; even with the thick ancient tree branches, the forest floor would be bright with moonlight. A perfect chance.

  Ethan stood on the tall treehouse, watching the sunset fade from the forest canopy as the full moon rose on the other side. Below, the elves were returning—this was their third and final prayer at the Sunwell each day. After that, they would retreat to their treehouses to rest. They never cut down trees or made fuel; sunset signaled the end of their day, and they would wait in their homes for dawn.

  The forest’s unicorns were also heading to their nests. These intelligent creatures weren’t raised by elves—like the elves themselves, they were guardians of the forest, dating back to ancient times. And like the elves, they never ventured out at night.

  Ethan went back into the treehouse, sat cross-legged, and began to meditate.

  It was his first time meditating since entering Whispering Woods. He needed to tune his body and mind to their peak. Elves and unicorns slept, but the deadwood guardians didn’t. From Luya, he’d learned there were at least a few hundred more of those giants in the forest—excluding the ones the robed man had destroyed.

  Closing his eyes, Ethan quickly slipped into the detached state of his usual meditation. He lost all awareness of the outside world; his mind went blank, and all his focus turned inward. His senses sharpened dramatically—he could feel every organ throbbing, working in harmony. Blood was pumped from his heart, carrying energy to every tiny corner of his body.

  Then, he felt something unprecedented: a scorching yet non-burning power welling up naturally from every bone, every muscle, every drop of blood. It circulated with his blood, warming every part of his body. The clear, detailed sense of his body’s inner workings was drowned out by this chaotic, mighty force—all his body parts seemed to merge into one.

  With his eyes closed, he could “see” his body glowing with brilliant golden light—as if the sun itself was inside him.

  Slowly, the sensation faded, and calm returned. Ethan opened his eyes, letting out a long breath. His body was filled with unprecedented strength—like a steady river, not turbulent but mighty, flowing through his limbs.

  This was a strange new feeling. Was it the result of mastering meditation? Or was it from the Sunwell? Elder Kelan had said his “impure human body” couldn’t wield such power. Was that a lie… or did Kelan not know?

  But there was no time to wonder. This was undoubtedly a stroke of luck, giving him a better chance of success. Ethan slipped quietly out of the treehouse. The forest was empty under the moonlight, only the chorus of insects rising and falling.

  He climbed down carefully, then crept toward the Sunwell. Never before had his footsteps felt so loud—as if they could shake the entire forest.