Chapter 28: Kill Her

  The Sunwell was just ahead. Moonlight glinted on the water, and in its reflection, Ethan saw two dark shapes—he knew they were the World Tree Leaves.

  The Sunwell’s divine power could awe any creature, striking fear into their very souls long before they reached the forest’s edge. Even if someone braved that pressure to enter, the hundreds of deadwood guardians on the outskirts would attack without mercy. So the elves had let their guard down. Besides, in their “great culture,” the Sunwell and World Tree Leaves were inherently inseparable—they had never even thought of removing the leaves from the well.

  What Ethan cared about, though, was another effect of the Sunwell: under its influence, no one except elves could use magic in the forest. That was why the robed man had only dared to enter during the eclipse. His sword had been left on the meadow outside the forest, and now he couldn’t even use magic—he was completely empty-handed.

  But he couldn’t wait for another annular eclipse. He’d heard the next one would be in 130 years. Tonight’s chance was as good as it got—at the very least, the robed man had destroyed over a hundred deadwood guardians, and they hadn’t been replaced yet.

  The vast area that had once been scorched earth was now covered in saplings as tall as a man, with ferns sprouting from the ground. A few days earlier, Ethan had watched Elder Kelan dip the two remaining World Tree Leaves into the Sunwell and sprinkle the water over the earth; new shoots and grass had burst forth from the charred soil in a rush. Luya had told him the burned areas and deadwood guardians would fully recover in a month.

  By the bright moonlight, Ethan could see countless deadwood guardian saplings among the young trees—thin, twisted branches with no leaves, as if starved. But in a month, they would grow into giants five or six men tall, capable of crushing a human into pulp like a rat.

  As he drew closer to the Sunwell, he realized almost all the saplings around it were deadwood guardians. Thinking of what this place had looked like before the fire, he shuddered—suddenly, he felt a strange respect for the robed man. If not for that fire, sneaking over here at night would have gotten him crushed into pulp or torn to pieces.

  Ethan reached into the well and picked up one leaf. He knew it was a treasure, but he only needed one. Carrying extra would just be trouble.

  In the moonlight, he couldn’t see its soul-stirring green hue, but he could feel it—a faint vitality seemed to emanate from the leaf. He could tell it wasn’t a real leaf: it had no veins. The entire blade and its stem were a single, seamless piece. Holding this so-called “divine relic,” he felt an inexplicable excitement—his fingers trembled slightly.

  “What are you doing?”

  A voice as clear and bright as moonlight rang out behind him.

  Ethan spun around like a leopard jabbed with an icicle, pouncing forward before the speaker could react. He pinned them to the ground and clamped a hand around their throat.

  Silver hair spread across the earth, catching the moonlight, enhancing her ethereal beauty—it was the elven maiden Luya.

  Kill her.

  The thought flashed in Ethan’s mind instantly. The tension made even his thoughts reek of blood.

  Her pale neck was in his grip—soft, slender, delicate. A little more force, and he could snap it like a twig.

  Her treehouse was near the path he’d taken earlier. She must have heard him and followed out of curiosity. Her naivety had made her careless; she hadn’t thought to alert the other elves. And Ethan, distracted by the World Tree Leaf, hadn’t noticed her approaching at all.

  No matter what, he couldn’t let the other elves find out. Elder Kelan had said their “noble” race despised violence and would only use it as a last resort—but this was far beyond a “last resort.” These two World Tree Leaves were their only remaining relics, and he still held the Sunwell’s power in his body.

  Ethan had seen the elves practice archery. Every one of them could shoot an arrow through two apples from a hundred meters away. If he alerted them, even if he were as agile as a leopard, he’d be turned into a hedgehog before he reached the forest’s edge.

  She has to die.

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  Ethan used his other hand to pin her thin wrists to the ground, his legs trapping hers, his body pressing down on hers. She struggled fiercely—her strength was surprisingly great for her slender frame, but she couldn’t move an inch.

  In the moonlight, her face paled with pain, which mixed with anger to give her otherworldly features a vivid, haunting beauty.

  Their bodies were pressed tight—he could feel her warmth.

  Through his hand on her throat, he could feel her gasping for air, futilely trying to break free. Even through her chest, he could sense her heartbeat speeding up. He knew that soon, it would race, spasm, and stop forever.

  Her beautiful face twisted; her heartbeat neared its limit. Suddenly, Ethan felt an overwhelming urge to let go.

  Don’t let go! The moment she could breathe, she’d scream—loud enough to wake every elf.

  Her thin body convulsed violently, almost breaking free of his hold—then went limp, like a machine that had snapped its most vital spring.

  Ethan jumped off her as if struck by lightning.

  She lay motionless. The lively struggle had vanished from her face; the moonlight made her already pale skin look deathly white.

  Ethan suddenly felt sick.

  No. She can’t be dead. Maybe just unconscious. He took a deep breath to steady himself.

  To be safe, I should go back and make sure…

  Ethan shook his head hard. No need. She’d be out cold for a while. She looked so thin—her constitution couldn’t be good. Besides, she might already be…

  He picked up the World Tree Leaf from the ground and ran toward the forest’s edge.

  But he’d barely left the clearing when Luya’s voice rang out behind him, far but clear: “Everyone, come quickly! The human stole a World Tree Leaf!” Her constitution was far stronger than he’d thought.

  Ethan cursed bitterly, his heart heavy, and ran faster.

  From deep in the forest came the neighing of unicorns; the elves’ settlement erupted in noise. In the silent woods, every sound carried far—including the thud of his running feet.

  His leg muscles burned with exertion; he ran so fast he could barely keep his balance. Ethan sprinted through the trees. He’d reached the forest’s outskirts—only a little over a kilometer left to escape.

  A deadwood guardian loomed ahead, lifting its massive foot to stomp him. Ethan didn’t dodge, didn’t stop, didn’t change his pace. He kept his head down and charged straight toward the giant branch that would turn him into pulp. He didn’t dare slow down—he could hear the hoofbeats behind him.

  Thud.

  The wind from the guardian’s stomp hit his back; clods of dirt pelted him. He was just faster than the wooden giant’s reaction—he darted past right before the foot came down.

  But Ethan felt no relief. The moonlight was bright, and he could see a line of deadwood guardians ahead. The hoofbeats grew louder behind him—no matter how fast he ran, two legs couldn’t outrun four.

  One of the guardians ahead slowly raised its branch-like hand, bent down, and swatted at him.

  Perfect.

  Ethan dropped to his knees, propped his hands on the ground, and rolled—slamming to a halt just as the giant palm struck. It hit the earth right in front of him; a few small twigs brushed his face, leaving a stinging burn.

  The hoofbeats were almost at his back. Ethan didn’t look around. He lunged forward, grabbing the guardian’s palm. The guardian lifted its hand—and Ethan with it. Several other guardians closed in, swinging their giant palms at him in mid-air.

  Ethan scrambled up the guardian’s arm, climbing onto its shoulder. There was a series of dull crunches—the guardian’s hand was smashed to splinters by its companions, broken branches flying everywhere.

  He had no time to catch his breath before more giant palms swatted at him from all sides. Ethan didn’t hesitate—he jumped off the guardian’s back. There was a cacophony of cracks: the guardian’s head was smashed to pieces by its fellows.

  He landed, past the guardians—but the delay let several unicorns circle ahead of him. The intelligent creatures knew he was fleeing and had cut off his escape.

  If I delay any longer, the elves will surround me. Ethan charged straight at the unicorns. They lowered their heads, their sharp horns aimed at him.

  No time to dodge. Ethan focused all his concentration. The clarity he felt during meditation returned—he could sense every muscle in his body, could even track the leading unicorn’s charge with perfect precision.

  He kept running. The moment he was about to collide with the unicorn, he reached out and pressed a hand to its forehead, leaping upward with all his strength. He tensed his waist, using the unicorn’s momentum to flip forward in a perfect somersault.

  He was mid-air, his face barely half a meter from the horn, when the unicorn’s horn suddenly burst into bright white light.

  Ethan screamed. He still cleared the unicorns, but he crashed hard to the ground. After a searing white flash, everything went black.

  He couldn’t see a thing, but he scrambled up and ran forward. But he’d taken only a few steps before he felt himself stumble into a cage of wood—and then he was lifted into the air.

  Elder Kelan had led the elves to catch up. From a distance, he’d watched Ethan run like a headless chicken into a deadwood guardian’s open palm—then get lifted up. The guardian’s other hand closed in; Kelan knew it would crush him into pulp.

  The human still holds the Sunwell’s power. He can’t die here.

  Kelan ran as fast as he could. The deadwood guardians had no sense—they only attacked intruders. He had to save Ethan quickly.

  Ethan strained against the crushing force from both sides. The muscles in his shoulders and chest bulged, ready to burst; the skin on his thighs stretched tight from the power coiled beneath. But somehow, he was slowly prying the guardian’s branch-hands apart.

  Then, the pressure spiked—an overwhelming force far exceeded his muscles’ limits. His arms and legs snapped back. The branches pressed against his body, squeezing hard. All the air was forced from his lungs; he couldn’t even scream.

  Kelan watched as several more deadwood guardians gathered around, their hands reaching for the thing in the first guardian’s grip. They pressed and squeezed, like children fighting over a new toy, eager to get their turn.