Round 17: Reinforcement

Vatan City, Tower of Seven Sins.
The regular meeting of the Supreme Council was far less lively than the battles in the Sleeping Forest. Several mages took turns giving long and tedious reports on the progress of construct technology research, the situation in overseas colonies, the development of textbooks for the mage academy, and other similar topics. The six mages seated in the seven chairs opposite them seemed utterly exhausted from listening. Aside from Kiskein, however, they all managed to stay alert—after all, it was rare for someone of his age to still have such strong sleeping abilities, as he occasionally let out soft snoring sounds.

“That’s enough for today!” Singer announced the end of the meeting. Soon, the council chamber was empty. It seemed that even the six supreme mages, along with the other council members, were tired from the entire afternoon of meetings.

“Is there any latest report from Yatu?” Quentin had been resentful ever since he wasn’t assigned a hunting mission. As a newcomer to the ranks of supreme mages who had been in the council for less than six years, he was eager to prove his strength, both militarily and politically.

“Dagulath’s last report said they boarded ‘Tower No. 8’ and headed straight for the Sleeping Forest. By now, they should have arrived,” Aresa said, putting down a report and habitually pushing up her glasses. It seemed Dagulath’s habit of pushing up his glasses originated here. “Yatu hasn’t sent any reports yet. Given his temperament, he’ll surely wait until the mission is completely finished before submitting a detailed report.”

“Did he really use ‘Tower No. 8’? Is that necessary to chase after a small group of rogue elves? It seems Yatu has encountered a tough opponent!” Quentin’s words, like his expression, were full of sarcasm.

“‘Tower No. 8’ is still in the experimental stage. Although significant progress has been made, isn’t it a bit too early to deploy it in actual combat?” Kond asked in a high-pitched voice.

“That’s exactly the opportunity to properly assess its performance in real combat,” said the mage with a pointed head that resembled a small mountain, surrounded by hair that looked like weeds around its summit. Both his head shape and hairstyle were extremely strange.

“Mage Tanolanti, have you given orders to the mages sent to build ‘Tower No. 8’ in Vilke Town? As you said, the data from this real-world test could be very important,” Singer spoke up, clearly also very concerned about the situation of ‘Tower No. 8’.

“Of course, Supreme Mage Singer.”

“What exactly is this mysterious creature we’re hunting? That’s what really matters!” Kond stroked his goat beard, his eyes darting around uncertainly. “In terms of individual combat skills, I think no one here is stronger than Yatu. Or rather, Yatu isn’t weaker than anyone else. Yet he can’t capture it easily—that’s truly puzzling!”

“Elves are cunning, and they can run faster than on the battlefield,” Quentin said dismissively. Though reluctant to admit it, he knew he would have little chance of winning if he faced Yatu.

“Once Yatu returns, everything will be clear,” Singh ended the discussion, and a brief silence fell over the room.
“Oh, um, oh…” Kiskain woke up, wiping saliva from the corner of his mouth: “So, um, let’s start the meeting now. Um, first of all, about… the people…”
The silence continued.
The construct tower approached the forest with its massive stone and earth claws. Trees were knocked down one after another, including the one Joelis had just been looking at.
What is this?!
Joelis had never seen such a huge mobile construct machine—or castle. Magic beams swayed back and forth; when they illuminated her, Joelis felt as though she were being watched, as if this six-legged moving tower-city was a living being.
“Right here! Prepare to secure it!” Yatu shouted, clearly excited by the strike that had just destroyed the tree man.
The construct tower raised its stone foot and plunged it deep into the ground. Under its terrifying force, the land undulated like waves—by the time all six stone and earth pseudopods had merged with the earth, many trees around had already fallen.
“What is this thing?” The elven warriors who had come from deep in the forest stared in shock at the dark blue construct tower standing like a fortress on the hill.
“Whatever it is—get ready to fight!” Joelis nocked an arrow: “We just lost Huen! Go tell the other tree men coming here to be very careful—the enemy’s weapons are extremely powerful!”
“Damn those bugs!” Yatu quickly pressed a few buttons on the control panel, with the others following suit.
The outer walls of the construct tower kept disassembling and reassembling. More construct components moved rapidly, combining with those already embedded in the stone and earth claws to spread across the soil surface. The lifted dust formed raised tendrils, forming a large net. Soon, metal columns like giant spears emerged from the ground, creating a metal forest around the main body of the construct tower—of course, aside from the smooth, straight trunks, there was nothing else.
A construct forest project? Joelis dodged a spike that shot up from the ground, not believing Agus could be this kind. “Spread out! Be careful of these things!”
She instinctively sensed danger, like an animal trapped in a trap.
The roots of the construct thorn forest became brighter—instantly glowing hot, like glowing tombstones.
“Get away from here!” Joelis shouted.
A white dot flashed on one of the construct spikes before jumping to another. Pale lightning connected the two spikes like wires, as if they were electrodes at either end of a circuit.
The night elf archer, trying to pass between the two spikes, became part of this chain of light. His agile body froze suddenly; after a brief but violent convulsion, he turned into a charred, carbonized human shape.

The white light that jumped back and forth between the spikes instantly formed a deadly web of electricity and fire. The electric flames pursued any living thing in the metal thicket, sparing not even a mouse; those trapped between multiple spikes were annihilated by the concentrated lightning, leaving only shattered black remnants and wisps of acrid smoke.

Jorice barely escaped. Looking around, she saw very few Night Elves who could flee. It was an almost impenetrable defense.

The constructs dimmed again, and there was no sign of life left in the metal thicket.

“Damn it—” Jorice was furious but helpless, left only to wait for the Treefolk and Elf Druids to arrive as soon as possible.

“Pathetically weak,” Yatu vented for a while before growing somewhat disinterested.

“Amazing!” Daguras excitedly manipulated the controls, forgetting even to act coquettishly.

“Hmph, this is nothing!” Yatu stopped Daguras’ recklessness with another fierce glare. “There’s no need to waste time on these insignificant little creatures. Prepare for the next move!”

The terrifying constructs. Moriel stroked the uneven stripes on the control panel, silent.

The control room began to rise—as the entire construct tower was ascending. Combining and transforming, the rising base supports acted like the pillars of a Galin Tower, lifting the main tower above the ground. Of course, there had never been a feline immortal named Galin in this world.

Compared to the trees in the surrounding forest, the construct tower stood out like a giant among birds. The black, smoking corpses on the ground now appeared merely as small black clumps. The lighting beams from the base of the tower projected onto the ground, creating large circular patches of light that swept back and forth. The crystals surrounding the tower flickered in sequence, distorting space under their magical influence. The entire tower was completely shielded by a transparent barrier. Once people inside adapted to the distorted perspective caused by the barrier, they could even clearly see birds circling back to their nests deep in the forest or the spots on the Tanorico goats grazing among the weeds in the plains if they looked closely.

Now, there were no blind spots in the control room. Even the floor seemed to fade away—though not really disappear. The operators inside now felt as if they were standing high in the air, with a clear view in all directions, encompassing the entire area. A sense of utter control arose, as if they were at the pinnacle of the world.

“There! There! I found it!” Daguras suddenly pointed at a spot in the forest and shouted.

Her face wore a smile typical of a child indulging in the pleasure of burning small insects with a magnifying glass—innocent yet cruel. “For justice and love! The Light of Agus!”

A column of incandescent light, no less powerful than any ninth-level magic, burst forth from the top of the tower once again. The beam pierced the dim sky and plunged into the forest at a steep angle.

Paagu, another Treefolk rushing over at full speed, pushed aside the tree branches blocking his view just in time to see a flood of white light rushing toward him.

Pagu only managed to roll to the side in time; several large trees were snapped like kindling by his impact. He would never have done such a thing unless it were a matter of life and death. Wherever the white light covered, everything flammable immediately caught fire. The leaves of the trees turned into tiny balls of fire under the intense beams, which then merged together and spread across the entire crown, descending to the roots, even affecting the bushes and moss on the ground.

Half of Pagu’s body was on fire. He roared and rolled on the ground, trying to extinguish the flames, but this action ignited more plants, sending up thick clouds of smoke.

“Ugh… the focus isn’t precise! My skills are still not as good as Teacher Yatu’s…” Daguras complained unhappily, zooming in on the towering figure roaring in the flames. “Then let’s fire another shot—”

“Enough! Save your energy. This isn’t for fun!” Yatu slammed his large hand on the control panel. “Our goal is to lure those elf attackers from the plains out! Keep a close eye and scout! Ignore these guys in the forest—they’re no threat. Just let the O’Sullivan kid lead people down to clean them up!”

A hill near the Sleeping Forest on the Tanori Plains.

Moonless nights were becoming increasingly common on the plains—seemingly, the Goddess of Stars and Moon had grown tired of this land due to the endless wars.

Suddenly, a bright light flashed from the forest—Daguras’ intense white light.

The fleeting brilliance, like a meteor, also illuminated the small hill. A black figure crouched there, her form becoming visible in the light. The light seemed to pass through her body, casting a distorted shadow on the grass. As the light disappeared, her figure faded and blurred, quickly merging back into darkness.

There was no sound, only a slight disturbance in the air, as if something had left.

Phylgas moved swiftly through the shadows. She blended in with the darkness, leaving no trace, passing through the overgrown weeds as if they didn’t exist, leaving behind only faint, indistinct traces and a weak, barely noticeable dark red glow.

Hate burned in her dark red eyes. Agus’ attack on the forest reignited her uncontrollable fury. Phylgas could almost hear the dying struggles and cries of the night elves. Though she no longer belonged to the elves, neither in body nor soul, the memories—both the good and the painful—continued to torment her like countless files, forever hurting her. The only thing that could ease this torment was the blood of the Agus people.

Phylgas climbed over a not-too-high cliff, flipped through the air like a cat, and landed, revealing her form. She bowed her head humbly, but her fingers buried deep in the soil and her tightly pressed lips revealed her uncontrollable anxiety.

Pairs of red eyes glowed in the darkness, approaching like wolves choosing their prey, gathering around Phylgas. They sensed his intense anger and echoed their own fury through psychic connection—resulting in a multiplied intensity. A few of the corrupted elves couldn’t even suppress low growls, their faces twisting in terrifying ways.

Yet they still waited, awaiting orders, just like race cars with engines roaring at full speed waiting for the starting gun.

Their master, on the other hand, was quite relaxed.

Forty-Seven had spent two idle days. Though he had once approachedVierk town intending to cause trouble for Morriel, he had temporarily abandoned this tempting idea after weighing the pros and cons.

Now he sat at the foot of a cliff, resting with his arms crossed under his head. The red glow in his eyes had shrunk to the size of a pinhead, barely visible.

Phylgas and the other corrupted elves’ psychic calls filled his mind. If it were an ordinary person, they might have gone mad from such chaotic anger. But Forty-Seven didn’t block the psychic connection with them; instead, he curiously observed their mental fluctuations.

For a long time, Forty-Seven hadn’t truly possessed emotions—merely imitating them. But gradually, apart from the people he had encountered like Morriel, Freys, Milia, Anton, Uther, and others, he began to feel something new in these corrupted elves—something he couldn’t gain just by watching animations.

Guilt, but not remorse; obedience, yet with dignity; madness, yet maintaining elegance. Various seemingly irreconcilable contradictions coexisted in these corrupted elves, giving them a twisted beauty—Forty-Seven had never known that physical changes could bring such significant changes to one’s thoughts.

After all, he was just a combat machine, not a philosopher.

That old bastard Uther said we weren’t allowed to approach the forest. Does he think those tree people can handle it? Let them deal with it themselves. What does it matter to me?

……

Phylgas knelt down respectfully, responding in silence.

The elves won’t be grateful to us. Maybe when the tree people see you, they’ll just stomp you to death.

……

Phylgas still responded in silence.

Very well.

Forty-Seven stood up. “Let’s go! Let’s see what gifts our guests have brought us!”