Chapter 70: Mythic Resonance

The puppet controlled by the Soul-Stealing Sprite lost all ability for independent thought; the only notion left in its mind was to obey its master’s command. When he approached the ash grove, he completely forgot that this was the forbidden ground where the tribe’s sacred tree took root—a place none could enter without the chief’s permission.

The Asa youth, his eyes vacant, walked straight into the grove, quickly attracting the attention of the sentries who rushed forward to block him, loudly demanding to know why he trespassed upon the forbidden ground. Discovering the intruder ignored them and continued deeper among the trees, the sentry realized the situation was dire and hastily blew his whistle, summoning his comrades who guarded the sacred tree. Though their numbers were half what they usually were, their response was swift; within two minutes, six Asa militiamen hurried over. By then, the whistle-blower had already pinned the trespasser to the ground, while the man continued his senseless struggle.

“What’s going on?” The patrol captain approached.

“This guy’s lost his mind! He didn’t say a word, just barged into the grove. Help me hold him down!” the sentry said urgently.

“He seems a bit out of sorts—could he be drunk?”

“Who knows!”

“Hey? Look at his back… what is that?”

At last, someone noticed the strange object attached to the trespasser’s back and called the others over to inspect it. The six Asa militiamen gathered around the Soul-Stealing Sprite’s puppet, their attention fixed on the pale, diminutive skull affixed to his spine. Sensing the evil aura emanating from the skull, their scalps prickled in unison.

“Heh heh… Die, all of you!” The Soul-Stealing Sprite, hidden in the treetops, grinned viciously, a cruel gleam flickering in his eyes. At that very moment, the fairy skull attached to the puppet’s back suddenly exploded with a loud bang, unleashing a ball of fire. Caught unawares, the surrounding Asa militiamen were instantly engulfed by the flames, reduced in a blink to six charred corpses.

“What fools!” Chaniquay looked at the bodies, shaking his head in disdain. He pushed off from the branches, leaping with force, and, shrouded by the “Powder of Disappearance,” unfurled his wings and glided close to the treetops, his gaze sweeping the area. Soon, he spotted the massive ancient tree standing at the center of the clearing.

“Yggdrasil—I’ve found you!” The Soul-Stealing Sprite suppressed his elation, folded his wings, landed upon an ash tree, and burrowed into its thick crown to hide. With only half a minute of magic left in the “Powder of Disappearance,” he quickly unrolled a scroll and began to read the spell recorded upon it with utmost concentration.

“Hyóla!”

As the Sprite uttered the activation word, the inscription on the scroll seemed to come alive, transforming into a tiny golden vortex of magical energy, which detached from the scroll and whirled before him. Chaniquay tossed aside the now-useless scroll, leaned close to the golden vortex, and whispered concisely, describing what he had seen—most importantly, the exact location of the sacred tree, Yggdrasil.

The small vortex absorbed every word spoken by the Soul-Stealing Sprite into its eye, then turned into a stream of golden air and shot off into the sky, vanishing beyond his sight in an instant.

“Heh heh~ My work is done. Now, time to enjoy the show.” The Sprite withdrew deep into the foliage, his gaze fixed on the village outskirts, anticipation and schadenfreude flickering across his features.

...

At the very moment Chaniquay infiltrated the ash grove, Joan was leaning against the transplanted black oak beside “Old White,” sitting beneath its shade and leisurely reviewing his spellbook. The sudden explosion from the grove’s edge caught his attention; without hesitation, he put away his spellbook and quickly climbed the black oak, peering from above toward the direction of the blast, vaguely glimpsing a burst of fire.

“A fire, perhaps?” Joan speculated. Yet, after waiting for a long time, no one appeared, and he realized that the Asa guards who should be patrolling the grove had all mysteriously vanished.

The eerie atmosphere in the woods sent a chill through Joan; sensing that something serious was about to happen, he hurriedly took out a length of copper wire and cast “Sending” to warn Conti.

He methodically completed the spellcasting ritual, but the copper wire did not resonate with magic as usual. Stunned, he recalled that “Sending” had a maximum range of just over a hundred feet, and Conti’s current location was clearly far beyond that, making the spell’s failure unsurprising.

Suppressing his frustration, Joan was about to climb down and seek Conti in person when suddenly his left palm grew hot—the “Tear of God” appeared of its own accord, sending a message into his mind.

...

Divine Sense: Mythical Creature of Tier 1 detected!

...

Tier 1 Mythical Creature?!

Joan’s leg, which had been reaching toward the ground, snapped back as he sat bewildered on the branch.

After living in Powhatan village for so long, he was certain that aside from “Old White,” there were no other mythical creatures here. But now, the “Tear of God” had just sensed a Tier 1 mythical creature—what on earth was that?

After a moment’s confusion, Joan gradually understood. The “Tear of God” never erred in its detection, which meant that another mythical creature had just arrived at Powhatan village. Its current detection radius, centered on Joan, spanned a mile, covering nearly the entire village. The closer the mythical creature, the stronger the sense. Judging by the intensity, Joan reckoned it was not far away, perhaps even within sight, yet he scanned the surroundings and saw nothing suspicious.

Alone in the silent woods, Joan was gripped by a nameless fear; every hair on his body stood on end. So far, he knew nothing about the creature lurking in the darkness, but judging by its stealthy infiltration of Powhatan, it could not have benevolent intentions. Driven by a sense of impending crisis, Joan abandoned the idea of leaving the ash grove immediately, deciding instead to remain hidden in the tree and observe what would happen next.

...

To lead five hundred ogres on a long march through the dense forest without making a sound—such a feat is nothing short of miraculous! Across the world of Vares, only the “Wise King” Shrek and his loyal band of warriors could hope to accomplish such a thing.

Shrek’s army had set out from the Deepwood Vale, traveling by day and night for four days, stealthily approaching the outskirts of Powhatan village just as “Snake-Hand” Shaman had hoped.

The reason this expeditionary force, with five hundred fully armed ogre warriors at its core, could maintain such secrecy and avoid alarming the sentinels of the Algonquin tribe was not only thanks to the discipline Shrek himself had imposed—and rigidly enforced: no quarrels or noise during the march, no fires, no hunting, only subsisting on carried rations—but also due to two other crucial factors. First, the overt activity of the “Withered Legion” led by “Snake-Hand” Shaman had drawn most of the Algonquins’ attention, making them lax against hidden threats. Second, the gnome alchemists who served King Shrek had played a vital role; every ogre warrior was coated from head to toe in gnome-brewed “Chameleon Oil,” a wondrous alchemical concoction that automatically changed its color to blend with the environment. Ogre skin and armor became mottled and multicolored, providing excellent camouflage for marching through the forest—so much so that even sharp-eyed hawks would struggle to spot them, let alone Asa sentries stationed miles away in their watchtowers.

After four days of forced march, King Shrek’s warriors had drawn within three miles of Powhatan village. Realizing that further advance might alert the sentinels, Shrek ordered a halt and had his troops camp on the shaded side of a hill. He himself, riding a fierce giant bear clad in heavy plate armor, ascended the ridge and, through a monocular, surveyed the activity in Powhatan village.

The Algonquin valley, where Powhatan was located, was a basin encircled by mountains, with only two passes—north and south—providing access. Its defensible terrain and the village’s perimeter walls left a deep impression on the ogre lord. Based on his years of campaign experience, Shrek knew that his force alone, under normal conditions, could never hope to storm such a well-defended settlement. Fortunately, he was not acting alone. That morning, he received word from Shaman that the chief and his wife of the Algonquin tribe had walked into their carefully laid trap, leading their main force deep into the woods in pursuit of the Withered Legion.

Shrek did not fully trust his northern ally and was initially skeptical of Shaman’s intelligence, but after confirming through his monocular, he found it true: Powhatan village was indeed under-defended, at its weakest moment.

“If the king wishes to attack, now is the best time,” Cassio, who accompanied Shrek in his reconnaissance, reached the same conclusion.

The ogre lord remained calm, set aside the monocular, and sat on the ground with composure. “Shrek desires not to seize the village, but the Fountain of Wisdom buried beneath the roots of the ancient tree. To attack before confirming the tree’s exact location would be unwise.”

“Brilliant, Your Majesty!” The court bard offered timely flattery, his gaze once more drifting to the Algonquin valley as he murmured, “That little sprite called Chaniquay had better not disappoint the king.”

Shrek’s patience was rewarded. When the sun rose above the treetops, a golden current spiraled up from the valley where Powhatan village stood, swiftly flying toward the ridge where Shrek and Cassio waited. In less than ten minutes, it entered their view.

“It’s Second Circle ‘Swift Wind,’ a spell used for long-distance communication.” Cassio, using Arcane Sight, identified the magic within the tiny golden whirlwind, his face lighting up with excitement. “Your Majesty, it must be the latest intelligence from the Soul-Stealing Sprite!”