Chapter 124: The Rampaging Treant

Joan rolled hurriedly on the spot, narrowly evading the worg’s bite. Struggling to his feet, he faced Zalf, who rode the worg advancing upon him. Clutching his lightning dagger tightly with both hands, he staggered backward until his back struck a tree trunk.

The earth goblin knight looked down contemptuously at the young mage, now cornered with no escape. His gaze quickly shifted to the flickering dagger in Joan’s hand. Extending his right hand clad in an iron gauntlet, he spoke in a tone almost bordering on charity: “Tell me the incantation to activate this magic dagger, and I’ll spare your life.”

Joan ignored Zalf’s demand, freeing his right hand to swiftly cast a spell. He released an oily slick on the ground between himself and Zalf.

Zalf sneered coldly as he watched the spell take effect. Suddenly, he jerked the reins, and the worg beneath him howled, leaping forward like a dark cloud sweeping over the slick terrain, lunging fiercely at Joan.

Without hesitation, Joan hurled the lightning dagger like a dart, ducking behind a large tree and hastily rummaging through his satchel.

Zalf swung his sword mid-air to deflect the flying blade, urging the worg forward in pursuit. He saw the one-eyed young mage leaning against the tree, panting heavily, his pale, handsome face drenched in sweat. In his hands, he gripped a small, tender branch seemingly just broken off a tree, looking utterly terrified and unbalanced.

“Little brat, you think you can block my sword with that twig? Then let’s see you try!” Zalf sneered, raising his broad sword high and bringing it down with full force toward the boy’s head.

The sword’s flash was like lightning, forcing Joan’s eyes shut. He pinned all his hopes on the branch in his hand, silently reciting the incantation taught by Ilminsul.

“Ahya!”

The Elvish word for “transformation” awakened the dormant power of “Ilminsul’s Branch.” The tender green twig fused with Joan, bursting forth with dazzling radiance that forced Zalf to halt his attack and shield his eyes from the blinding golden light.

As the magical glow faded, Zalf was stunned to find the boy had vanished into thin air, replaced by a towering half-man, half-tree colossus. Its towering form stretched over twenty feet tall, covered in rough bark, with limbs long and robust, appearing as if countless roots and branches had intertwined.

Before Zalf could recover from his shock, Joan, now transformed into a “treant,” unleashed his fury upon him. He swung immense hands with all his might, slapping Zalf off the worg’s back. Seizing the moment, he stomped repeatedly, crushing the earth goblin knight into a bloody pulp.

The worg roared and leapt, desperately biting the treant with its sharp fangs. But the rough, sturdy bark skin rendered the wolf’s teeth ineffective. Joan barely felt a thing. He grabbed the worg’s tail and with a powerful swing flung the beast high into the air, tracing an arc before slamming it hard onto the ground. With a thunderous crash, the wolf’s skull shattered, its brain matter splattering everywhere.

Joan dropped the bloodied carcass and let out a victorious roar toward the night sky. Spreading his thick root-like legs wide, he strode into a clearing, flailing his arms to strike down the pack of worg riders attacking Gray and Jamie. With a single palm strike, he crushed goblin and worg alike into bloody messes, blood splattering and agonized screams filling the air.

Like a tempest sweeping the battlefield, Joan in treant form wreaked havoc. When the two-minute limit of his transformation ended, he reverted to human form. The forest clearing was devoid of any living worg riders. Blood stained the ground, shattered limbs strewn about. After the brutal battle, all twenty-one earth goblin combatants and their worgs, including Zalf, lay dead, over half slain personally by Joan in his treant guise.

Though Joan had taken many bruises and cuts during the transformation, his bark-like skin had made him impervious to pain and bleeding. Now back in human form, his body ached. Summoning the “Tears of the Gods,” he soaked his water flask to brew a healing potion, drinking half and using the rest to cleanse his wounds, finally staunching the bleeding.

While Joan tended to his injuries, Gray and Jamie freed Tom and the Dindal brothers from the entangling nets. The three had witnessed Joan’s monstrous treant transformation and devastating charge, their eyes now filled with newfound reverence. Dick half-joked, “Joan, with magic that powerful, why wait so long to use it? You gave us quite the scare.”

Joan shook his head with a wry smile. “It’s not a spell I control myself… I can only maintain the treant form for two minutes each day. After that, I revert. The story of 'Ilminsul’s Branch' is long and complicated—I don’t feel like explaining it now.”

Tom surveyed the camp and brought both good and bad news. The good: Wes had not sustained serious injuries in the attack and remained unconscious but stable. The bad: all their mounts had been shot dead by the goblin bandits; from now on, they’d have to travel on foot.

Despite their wounds and exhaustion from a sleepless night, the group agreed that lingering here was too dangerous. They urgently needed to reach the military encampment for reinforcements and decided to set off immediately.

Jamie led the way at the front, with the Dindal brothers close behind, slicing through vines and branches blocking their path. Gray carried the unconscious Wes in the middle of the line, while Joan and Tom brought up the rear.

For two days, they trudged through dense forest, frequently attacked and without rest. Spirits were low, their weary bodies moving solely by willpower. The atmosphere was heavy and silent; no one felt like speaking.

Joan was the weakest among them. At first, he managed to keep pace thanks to the magic of his exercise belt, but as the sun dipped westward, his strength waned and his steps faltered. Gray noticed and, with sympathy, lifted him onto his other shoulder.

Joan gratefully thanked his towering friend. His body was failing him, and he had no choice but to accept Gray’s help, resting briefly on his shoulder. Gray’s stamina seemed endless; carrying both Joan and Wes, he still marched swiftly without any sign of fatigue.

They pressed onward until the sun neared the horizon before pausing to rest. Roger unrolled the map and studied it for a long while, then delivered some grim news to the group: “At this pace, the earliest we’ll reach the military camp is by tomorrow dusk.”

“Too bad we lost all our horses… Honestly, I envy the goblins right now,” Dick said with a bitter smile. “If only we could tame wolves or bears as mounts, life would be so much easier.”