Chapter 26: What’s It to Me?

  Ethan didn’t believe in heaven, hell, or any such places.

  When he was seven or eight, obsessed with the fantastic worlds old adventurers described, he’d thought heaven and hell—often mentioned by others—were just as real: new realms to explore and discover. So when the village’s old priest gave sermons, Ethan would pester him out of pure curiosity.

  At first, the priest had been delighted to see a child take such interest in theology. But Ethan had bombarded him with questions, probing like he was studying an animal’s habits, until the priest had no answers left. When he’d asked why God only ate but never defecated, or why the male and female gods had lived in heaven for so long without having more little gods—wondering if they’d been castrated like the village pigs—the adults nearby had chased him away.

  He’d never seen any proof that heaven or hell existed, either. No one had visited them like the old adventurers had visited distant lands, then returned to describe them in detail. So when he woke up, his first thought was: I’m still alive.

  He pressed a hand to his abdomen. It was intact. His muscles still taut beneath his skin, his organs still in their rightful places—normal, even better than normal. He felt more energetic than he ever had.

  Was it a dream? But the memory of being blown away by the robed man, spitting blood as he fell into the spring—there was no hint of illusion. It connected seamlessly with all his other memories, no foggy confusion like in a dream.

  Ethan climbed to his feet. It was a strange place—part tree hollow, part house. Twisted branches and vines wove together to form walls; the branches had grown around gaps to make windows and a door. Vines stretched from the walls on either side, tangling in the air to form something like a bed. A few oddly shaped trees served as tables and stools.

  This must be an elf’s home. Ethan recognized the strange structure—back in his hometown, dwarves had told him countless stories about elves.

  Elves lived in remote forests. Though they looked similar to humans, they weren’t “subhumans” like orcs. Like dwarves, they had their own unique culture and way of life.

  It seemed dwarves and elves shared some distant kinship—but dwarves despised their “cousins,” often using elves as a joke to mock others. From what they’d said, elves were rigid, arrogant fools—lifeless wooden dolls with no passion.

  Footsteps sounded outside the wooden house. Two elves walked in.

  One was male, with black hair; the other female, with silver. At least outwardly, they were nothing like “wooden dolls.” By human standards, both were extraordinarily handsome—tall, with pointed ears protruding from their shoulder-length hair, giving them an elegant aura. It was hard to believe they were related to stocky, burly dwarves.

  The male elf spoke in a calm, steady voice: “Greetings, human. Allow me to introduce myself first. I am an elder of the most noble and pure elven race on this continent. You may call me Kelan, as humans do.”

  Like dwarves, elves couldn’t be judged by their looks. Ethan had met dwarves younger than him with full beards—this elf, who looked like a young man, was an elder. He might even be hundreds of years old.

  Elder Kelan gestured to the elven maiden beside him: “This is Luya.” Ethan suddenly realized—she was the nude elf maiden he’d seen in the spring. Now she looked at him with a hint of emotion, something he wouldn’t have expected from an elf.

  Kelan sat on a wooden stool, his eyes calm as still water as he looked at Ethan. “You are the first human to enter the heart of this forest in five hundred years. We have never welcomed lowly humans—but we saw you risk your life to help us fight that servant of darkness. And for other reasons, we brought you here, to a place once forbidden to humans.”

  Ethan listened silently. A fortunate misunderstanding.

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  “Regrettably, even though it was the servant of darkness who started it, you did disrupt an important ritual of ours—and allowed him to escape with a World Tree Leaf.”

  So those were indeed World Tree Leaves. Ethan thought. Only one was taken—so at least two remain. There’s still a chance. He kept his expression neutral. He could tell begging wouldn’t get him the leaves. Better to hide his purpose, find out more first. He probed: “How many leaves are left on the World Tree?”

  Elf maiden Luya turned her head away. Though her face showed no expression, the gesture spoke volumes—contempt, disdain. Elder Kelan’s tone and demeanor remained unchanged, still calm and gentle: “There is no World Tree. The World Tree Leaves are not true leaves—they are relics left by Mafa, the God of All Things.”

  That tree was planted by someone named Fama… the leaves have great power. Ethan recalled Chris’s “expert translation” and grimaced, mentally throwing a punch at her imaginary face.

  “Could you tell me the full story?” Ethan said. He wanted to understand everything now.

  Elder Kelan fell silent. His serene face remained gentle, but he looked at Ethan openly—not out of calculation, but hesitation, like a noble lord deciding whether to show his family tree to a monkey. Fortunately, he finally spoke.

  “Our elven clan has lived in this forest since ancient times. We are the ancestors of all elves on this continent, messengers who guard the light. For tens of thousands of years, we have guarded two relics left by Mafa with the forest: three World Tree Leaves and the Sunwell. According to the divine prophecy passed down to us, on the far southwestern edge of the continent, there lies an evil entity left behind when the gods created the world. When chaos engulfs the world, its seal will break, and all will perish. Only the divine power of the Sunwell combined with the life force of the World Tree Leaves can destroy this evil.”

  “Though we have no contact with the outside world, other elven clans have always reported to us. We know the world has begun to fall into chaos. The balance once shared by elves, orcs, and nature is gone—all because of humans. You have forgotten your faith in the gods and your reverence for nature. You even built cities near this sacred forest. You destroyed the orcs’ peaceful lives; now the remaining beasts are about to go mad along with the rest of the world. Worst of all, some humans have been drawn fully into darkness, forming a deathly dark force around that evil entity.”

  “We held our ritual during the annular eclipse—an event that only occurs once a century above this forest. At that time, the Sunwell’s constant power shifts. We chose our clan’s most gifted one to absorb this power, preparing to combine it with the World Tree Leaves to fight darkness later. But unfortunately, this is also when the Sunwell loses its power to protect the forest. We don’t know how the servant of darkness learned of this. He seized the chance to disrupt our ritual.”

  “You know the rest. The servant of darkness escaped with one World Tree Leaf. Just as our ritual was about to be completed, you—badly wounded—fell into the Sunwell. The well’s power flowed automatically into your dying body. And since the water was filled with the life force of the World Tree Leaves, that power transformed into healing energy and saved you.”

  “That power was supposed to flow into me,” maiden Luya said, her voice a mix of anger and regret—as if someone had fed her pearls to a pig.

  If I hadn’t fallen in, the robed man would’ve dragged you out—and probably drained you dry like he did that fat official. Ethan stared at her. He thought of her standing nude in the well, and suddenly couldn’t imagine such beauty turning into a hideous mummy.

  “Though the ritual was disrupted, all is not lost. The Sunwell’s power wasn’t exhausted—it remains in your body. Humans have impure bodies and cannot wield such divine power. Only we, with our noble blood blessed by the gods, can merge with it. We must find a way to extract this power, then combine it with the remaining two World Tree Leaves. This is our last hope to fight darkness.”

  Elder Kelan’s tone stayed calm and steady throughout—but it felt like the “elegance” dwarves had mocked: polite to everyone, but unashamedly disdainful of Ethan’s humanity. “Until then, you must stay here. Fighting darkness and death is your duty as a being granted life by the sun. And as a lowly human, you should feel honored to take part in this sacred plan.”

  Ethan’s expression didn’t change—but mentally, he flipped this “superior” elf the crudest gesture a street thug could make. Who do you think you are?

  Kelan’s grand speech had no effect on his thoughts. It was like listening to a bard tell a story.

  He’d never wanted to be involved with light, darkness, or world peace. Those things were too far from his life—like the miners back home, drunk on cheap wine and chasing prostitutes, who heard others prattle about national affairs or morality. They didn’t care if the words were true or not; all they felt was the speaker’s arrogance. They’d spit and say: What’s it to me?

  But he was in trouble now. The relics were sacred—they’d never give them to a “lowly human.” He’d have to bide his time, learn more, and plan carefully. Ethan asked: “How long will it take to extract the power from my body?” If they finished in a few days and kicked him out, things would get tricky.

  “We don’t know. We must search ancient texts for a way. This has never happened before,” Elder Kelan stood up, signaling the end of the conversation. “Human lifespans are short, but do not worry—we will find a way before you grow old and die.”

  Ethan shook his head, answering slowly: “I’m not worried at all.”