Round 24: Entanglement

No, my true identity is a Mechanic Space Warrior, and to this day, not a single person has figured it out.
“You still asked, but don’t expect me to tell you. I’m skeptical of all older beings.” Forty-Seven lay back in the chair. Strangely, the wicker chair held his weight without collapsing.
“Hehe… Why? Years can grant people more knowledge and tolerance. They could be good friends.”
Agus’s archmage, the brass dragon in the desert, and this old elf before him—none of them left a good impression. The demons and devils in the Blood Battle, on the other hand, seemed endearing, though no matter how many years they lived, they remained as impulsive and irritable as a bull in heat.
Besides, under normal circumstances, they didn’t live long, soon becoming fertilizer for the Blood Battle battlefield, though no plants ever grew there.
Forty-Seven said nothing, extinguishing the flame at his fingertips, looking utterly bored as if waiting for dawn.
“You’ve been to the Blood Battle, right…” Uther suddenly changed the subject, but it always revolved around Forty-Seven’s experiences. “I’ve been there too, when I was young…”
“Stop trying to get close to me. You won’t get anything from me, neither Alphens nor you…” Forty-Seven interrupted Uther.
Uther fell silent awkwardly for a moment before continuing, “The Dark Elves are mainly composed of three tribes: the Priestly Eldrith tribe, the Warrior Zalidan tribe, and the Druidic Uther tribe. Of course, the Priestly tribe also has many warriors and druids. The names of the tribes are simply based on their leaders’ names…”
“I’m not interested in this…” Now, Forty-Seven only wanted to get to Agus as soon as possible, where there were people and things he needed to retrieve.
“But I’m interested in you!” Uther issued a warning for constantly interrupting him. “Due to the conflict with the Mage Kingdom of Agus, we don’t plan to free Mr. Frees anytime soon. The Northern Merchant Guild he represents does most of its trade with Agus. Moreover, all the goods Frees brought this time are magical metals needed to build those so-called construct weapons…”
This caught Forty-Seven’s attention. He was right—Frees was indeed connected to Agus.
“You mean, if I don’t help you, I’ll be imprisoned here too?” Forty-Seven’s tone turned icy.
“If that were the case, I wouldn’t have allowed you to enter my tribe at all. Even if I can’t kill you, when you enter the Sleeping Forest, I can trap you there forever…”
Forty-Seven stood up abruptly. The temperature in the room seemed to rise suddenly, though no visible flame appeared. Clearly, his hostility was growing. “If that’s the case, I’ll burn to ashes the forest you’re so proud of. Or do you think I can’t do that?”

“Hehe, I never meant to threaten you at all…” Uther quickly reverted to his kind expression from before. “There’s just one more thing I want to remind you about—be cautious of the Alphens from the Eldrith tribe. I say this not because she holds any hostility toward you, but simply because…”
At that moment, Kastor knocked on the door, and another female Night Elf stood outside. The two exchanged a few brief words in Elvish. Uther stood up. “It’s been a pleasant conversation today, Mr. Forty-Seven. May the Moon Goddess bless your journey until you reach your destination!”
Uther and the Elf who came to see him left quickly, just as swiftly as they had arrived.
Forty-Seven was somewhat puzzled. He really had no interest in the conflict between Agus and the Night Elves—except, of course, for the war itself. If given the chance, he would be happy to crush Agus’s army as revenge for having his core taken away. But right now, there were more important things to deal with.
“What did they say?” Forty-Seven stretched his arms, though he hardly ever slept.
“I only heard that it was a friend of Elder Uther who came from afar to visit him. I don’t know the details…” Kastor sat down, clearly tired. “What else did Elder Uther say to you?”
“Just words of thanks. I’m sorry, but I didn’t receive any rewards to share with you.” Kastor was indeed a young and naive Elf.
“Oh, really…”
As night fell, the Night Elf village fell completely silent. The glowing plants and animals must have either fallen asleep or gone off to play elsewhere. The entire settlement was eerily quiet and peaceful. Forty-Seven arrived at the entrance of the village, ready to leave. He didn’t need a guide or any special equipment. As for direction—just keep going straight.
Forty-Seven glanced back at the sleeping village in the forest, thinking that maybe one day he would miss this place. But it was nice to be free from those two annoying paladins…
Forty-Seven stepped outside the village. Though he saw no Night Elf sentinels, he could sense that the Sons of the Night were hiding around the village, watching him. Perhaps they hadn’t received Uther’s orders, or maybe they had—and that’s why no one stopped him. But it didn’t matter.
Forty-Seven tried to walk along the wider paths. The sound of flowing water reached his ears, soothing as if it were right beside him. But as he followed the sound, it gradually faded away, never becoming visible.
It was unclear whether the moonlight was shining through the forest or if the forest’s light reflected upward to the sky. The moon above the Sleeping Forest was brighter than anywhere else, just as the sun was fiercer in the bustling desert. And no matter where you went, as long as you remained within the boundaries of the Sleeping Forest, that full moon would always hang above your head, perfectly aligned, as if following you.
Forty-Seven suddenly stopped in his tracks.

He turned half a circle, then waved his hand—the beast-shaped armor on his left arm seemed to slip off, splitting and reassembling itself, with the triangular, spiky scales on the beast’s head unfolding into a massive chain whip covered in edges and spikes.
The flaming chain whip swept through the quiet, dark forest with a howling sound; the hot wind scorched the grass leaves into curls, as if hitting red-hot iron, only to emit silver light instead.
Forty-Seven stepped back. The recoil of the sacred energy pierced through the physical body he had acquired through bloody battles, bringing him feelings of pain, anger, frustration, and other unstable negative emotions—feelings he could neither improve nor avoid… It was like the two-meter-diameter exhaust port on Death Star or Achilles’ heel. Worst of all, some opponents would deliberately target such weaknesses to trouble him!
Under Forty-Seven’s immense control, the swinging chain whip crashed down, creating an ugly, terrifying pit in the beautiful grass.
The opponent retreated to avoid the strike, but the subsequent horizontal slash from the serrated greatsword forced him to back further. The sword emitting white light precisely targeted the point where the greatsword was most likely to lose balance. Even the most experienced warriors skilled in two-handed swords would become disadvantaged due to the sudden loss of control—either by forcing a stop that risked stalling and twisting their wrists, or by losing balance and exposing their vulnerable vital points to their opponent.
But Forty-Seven didn’t rely on skillful techniques to wield the greatsword. His elbow and wrist joints rotated freely, not only stopping the greatsword’s momentum but also slashing from an angle beyond human reach—of course, Forty-Seven wasn’t human either.
He longed so much for blood—letting the serrated blade cut into flesh, tearing through paper-thin skin and muscles, breaking fragile bones, and crushing internal organs into messes scattered everywhere…
The opponent’s sword rested against the upward-swinging greatsword, not to block it, but to use its momentum to bounce upward and flip over Forty-Seven’s head.
The blade cut into the tree trunk, sending showers of burning debris flying as Forty-Seven dragged it along.
“Enough! Calm down, Steel Warrior!”
The man stepped back several times and lowered his sword. “We can talk!”
“Talk?” Forty-Seven’s voice was hoarse from smoking. “I’m tired of these damned holy warriors… Maybe you can talk to my sword.”
“Please, I apologize for my earlier misjudgment…” the other said kindly, extending his hand amiably—