Chapter 75: The Soul-Thief’s Plot

Including the “Creeping Horror” and the “Treefolk,” nearly all awakened plants share a fear of fire. Fanned by the wind, the flames spread swiftly and grew ever fiercer; the entire ash forest now faced the terrible threat of being reduced to ashes.

Yggdrasil sensed this new crisis and, through telepathy, urged all awakened trees and their human allies around it to hold on a little longer, to buy it time to cast a spell to extinguish the fire.

Joanne, too, received the telepathic message from “Old White,” and guessed that it was preparing to cast the seventh-circle divine spell “Control Weather,” summoning a torrential rain to douse the forest fire. This spell was a complicated one, requiring at least ten minutes of ritual casting, during which Old White would need to remain utterly focused—the slightest distraction would mean failure, and all would be lost.

Yet with alchemical bombs constantly being hurled and Shrek’s forces launching attacks, holding out for ten minutes was anything but an easy task. Joanne noticed that most of the awakened plants around him—his own Black Oak host included—were already ablaze, forced to lash at each other with their branches in a clumsy attempt to beat out the flames. Inefficient as this method was, they had no better option.

The situation in the woods was rapidly deteriorating. For a fleeting moment, the thought of abandoning the tree and fleeing flashed through Joanne’s mind. But after a brief, intense inner struggle, he suppressed the urge to escape. Gritting his teeth, he told himself, “No matter what, I have to at least hold out until Old White finishes casting. Otherwise, I’ll have failed the entire Conti family.”

Under Shrek’s command, the ogre horde tightened their encirclement, swinging their clubs to fell the awakened trees trapped by the raging fire, pressing ever closer to Yggdrasil. Taking a spear coated with blazing resin from a guard, Shrek raised it high, ready to hurl the flaming weapon at Yggdrasil—when suddenly, the rapid drumbeat of hooves sounded behind him, followed by the whistle of arrows slicing through the air.

Shrek’s face darkened. Forgetting his throw, he turned to look—a squad of Asa cavalry had caught up. The riders on horseback drew their bows and loosed a rain of arrows at the ogres gathered in the forest clearing.

“Damn it!” Shrek cursed, discarding the spear and grabbing his shield to fend off the arrow storm.

By now, the cavalry was less than ten paces away. They holstered their bows and drew swords, charging the nearest ogres. At the head of the riders, Magni kept his eyes fixed on Shrek. Spurring his horse to full gallop, he raised his battle-axe in both hands and brought it crashing down toward the ogre lord’s head.

Shrek blocked with his club. Axe and club met with a shower of sparks and a clang that echoed through the woods.

Shrek staggered back two steps before regaining his footing. His gaze toward Magni showed a hint of admiration.

“You’re the strongest human I’ve ever met, but in the end, you’re still just a human.”

“And you’re the slyest ogre I’ve ever seen, but in the end—you’re still just an ogre,” Magni retorted, mimicking Shrek’s tone.

Shrek burst out laughing, then swung his club with renewed ferocity at Magni.

This time, with the momentum of his charge spent, Magni found himself outmatched in sheer strength. When his axe met the club, his wrists went numb, and he swayed in the saddle, nearly thrown from his mount.

Conti, riding her razorclaw raptor right behind her brother, saw Magni in peril. She hastily recited a divine incantation and flung a ball of fire to prevent Shrek from following up his attack.

Magni wasted none of the respite his sister had bought him. He leapt from his saddle, and the holy symbol on his chest glowed with golden light as he blessed himself with several spells to enhance his combat prowess. With a roar, he entered his “Rage,” becoming like a man-shaped beast—his eyes bloodshot and feral—brandishing his axe and charging Shrek once more.

The divine spells greatly augmented Magni’s abilities, and in his berserk state, he fought with no fear of pain, his fighting spirit blazing. In a head-on clash with the legendary ogre lord Shrek, he held his ground.

Fearing she might hit her brother, Conti dared not cast more offensive spells. After watching the battle for a moment, she suddenly remembered Joanne was still somewhere in the woods. She looked around anxiously, but in the chaotic, thunderous chaos of battle, there was no sign of him.

…

The timely arrival of the Powhatan siblings gave Joanne a secret sigh of relief. With the ogre bandits now beset from front and rear by the Asa cavalry and the awakened trees, they could barely defend themselves; surely they no longer had the strength to interfere with Yggdrasil’s spellcasting.

Yet as if the goddess of fate wished to toy with him, just as Joanne was about to relax his taut nerves, a hot surge filled his palm. The “Tear of the Divine” pulsed with a mental wave more powerful than ever before.

…

Mythic Sense: Detected Level 1 Mythic Creature—“Soulthief Sprite”!

…

Joanne started. The stronger the mythic sense, the closer the target. If the distance closed enough for his eyes to see, the information would become even more detailed—not just “mythic creature,” but the specific species. Joanne had never heard of a “Soulthief Sprite,” but from the ominous name, he suspected it was nothing good; most likely some kind of evil fae.

Such a powerful reaction meant the Soulthief Sprite was close—very close. But where exactly was it hiding?

Curious and apprehensive, Joanne stood atop the Black Oak, scanning his surroundings. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of a shadow and his heart skipped a beat.

It looked like an oversized bat, gliding low under the canopy, its approach masked by the shade. Silent as a ghost, it passed over both warring factions and finally settled in the crown of Yggdrasil.

“So that’s the Soulthief Sprite? Creeping up to Old White like that—what is it after…” Joanne stared at the shadow, a wave of intense foreboding rising within him. After a moment’s thought, he directed his “Archmage’s Hand” to approach the crown of Yggdrasil, dagger in tow.

The Soulthief Sprite was more alert than Joanne had anticipated. Perhaps it caught a glint of the blade, for it suddenly turned, scanning in his direction. Joanne froze, quickly retracting the Archmage’s Hand and hiding the dagger in the foliage.

The sprite glanced about suspiciously. Only after a long while did it seem reassured that no danger lurked nearby. The flash it had glimpsed must have been a trick of nerves, it decided, and it turned away, pulling a gourd-shaped bronze vial from its belt and carefully unscrewing the cap.

About twenty yards from the ancient tree Yggdrasil, Joanne crouched in the Black Oak, watching the sprite’s every move. He guided the Archmage’s Hand stealthily toward its back again—this time without gripping a metal weapon, hoping not to alert his adversary.