The Will Of The World Tree

Chapter 4 The Hunting Party

Deep within the forest, a hunting party of half-orc mercenaries treaded cautiously through the underbrush.

"Move it! You useless lot!" their leader, Boulder, snarled as he gripped a spiked club carved from beast bone. "If the target slips away, don't expect a single copper from this month's cut!"

After kicking one of his subordinates, Boulder turned around. His vicious expression vanished, replaced by a greedy grin as he peered toward the towering World Tree in the distance. His jagged teeth and scarred visage made him look particularly ghoulish.

"Ha... the Priest was right. If we just camp near the World Tree, we're bound to catch these stupid long-ears!"

Anticipation bubbled in Boulder's chest. Ever since the War of the Gods a millennium ago—when the Mother of Nature, the Elven Great Goddess, fell and the World Tree withered—the Elven race had lost their divine protection. Their power had plummeted.

As the most beautiful and graceful race on the Segas Continent, blessed with immense lifespans, elves had become the most coveted "merchandise" in the slave trade. A young female elf could fetch a fortune in the human kingdom. Even an adult male was a high-end commodity.

The half-orc tribes living on the fringes of the forest had built their wealth on this b****y trade. Boulder was a veteran; he had captured more than ten elves in his career. Even compared to the half-orc royalty, he was considered a wealthy man in his tribe.

One more job, Boulder thought smugly, and I'd propose to Biluo, buy a villa in the City of Chaos, and leave this savage mercenary life behind.

"Boss... target spotted!" a scout hissed excitedly from up ahead. "Two of them! One female—high grade! No... she's a masterpiece!"

Boulder's eyes lit up. He brandished his club. "Idiots, draw your weapons! Surround them! Don't let them see you—anyone who screws this up gets their head smashed!"

Alice and Samir left the Temple of Nature in heavy silence. The elven maiden glanced back at the withered giant tree, her eyes rimmed with red. This was their final pilgrimage. Every time, she prayed for the Mother Goddess to awaken; every time, she found only silence.

Now, even as the Saintess of the Nature Order, she had to face the bitter truth: the Great Goddess was truly gone.

With the Goddess fallen and the royal bloodline extinguished, the Elven Kingdom was shattered. The race was scattered, their once-brilliant "Silver Civilization" reduced to history. Under the constant threat of hunting parties, the survivors lived like shadows.

"I wonder," Alice whispered, "how many of us will be left in a hundred years?"

Samir, the old priest, remained silent. A hundred years? Without the Mother Goddess's protection and with such a dwindling population, would they even last that long?

Suddenly, Samir's expression shifted. His pointed ears twitched. He snapped a branch, sniffed the air, and his face went pale.

"Watch out! Half-orcs!"

Before the words could fully leave his mouth, the surrounding brush erupted. With bloodthirsty howls of excitement, a dozen hulking, hideous figures burst from their hiding spots, encircling the two elves.

An ambush!

Facing the greedy, predatory leers of the half-orcs, Alice's body trembled with fury. They were the infamous hunting parties.

"I'll hold them off!" Samir roared, his voice thick with desperation. "Run!"

He began a rhythmic, chanting incantation. His body swelled and shifted, transforming into a four-meter-tall black bear—the Oak Bear, a powerful Tier-3 magical beast unique to their forest. As a Level 30 Druid, he possessed the strength of the peak Iron-tier.

The mercenaries hesitated for a moment, intimidated by the bear's aura. But before Samir could strike, a massive spiked club whistled through the air, slamming into the bear's chest with a sickening c***k.

With a pained wail, the bear coughed up a spray of blood and tumbled to the ground, reverting into the frail form of the old priest. He lay in a pool of blood, unconscious.

A single blow had neutralized their strongest combatant.

"Aha, weaklings," the half-orcs cheered. The crowd parted to reveal a three-meter-tall mountain of muscle:

Boulder. He retrieved his club, l*****g the blood from its spikes.

Alice stared in disbelief. "How... is this possible?"

Samir was Level 30. To defeat him in one hit meant only one thing: High Iron-tier. Their attacker was likely at the peak of Level 40. A ten-level gap was an insurmountable wall.

Despair washed over her. She looked back at the dying World Tree. "Mother Goddess... is this your punishment for us?"

"Heh... Mother Goddess?" Boulder spat, glancing contemptuously at the distant tree. "Your Mother Tree was burned by the gods a thousand years ago."

Boulder was delighted with himself. He had reached Level 40 just days ago. After I sell this 'masterpiece,' I'll have enough funds to break through to the Silver-tier and become a true power among my people, he thought.

He eyed Alice from head to toe, his gaze lingering. "Top-tier goods! The humans will love you." He stepped closer, his voice a low threat. "Behave, and you'll suffer less...."

Alice's emerald eyes burned with rage. She drew her wand, ready to fight to the death. But before she could move, Boulder blurred forward. With a casual flick, he sent her wand flying.

"So weak. And you dare call yourselves a 'Silver Race'?"

The term "Silver Race" stung. Long ago, under the Goddess's grace, every adult elf was born with at least Silver-tier strength. Back then, they birthed legends and demigods. Now, they couldn't even produce a High Iron-tier warrior to defend their honor.

Alice clenched her fists, her heart freezing into ice. She realized she had no choice left.

She closed her eyes and began to murmur a f*******n incantation. Suppressed magical fluctuations began to ripple outward.

Boulder's face changed. "Damn it! She's trying to reverse her mana flow to kill herself! Stop her!"

A dead elf was just a corpse; only a living one was a treasure.

As Alice spoke the final syllable, she prepared to detonate her very faith. A brilliant, golden radiance began to bloom from her body like a miniature sun.

"Stop her—!" Boulder screamed.

But then, he froze.

A subtle ripple passed through the air. The light surrounding the girl flickered and then hissed out like a punctured balloon. Silence returned to the clearing.

It was as if nothing had happened.

Boulder stared at the bewildered elven girl, his heart slowing down. He let out a harsh laugh. "Useless!"

Alice looked at her hands, trembling. "Why didn't it work? I didn't miss a word... what happened? Mother Goddess... can I not even control my own death?"

Boulder exhaled in relief and jerked his chin toward his men. "Bind her! Carefully!"

But nobody moved.

"What are you waiting for?" Boulder snapped. "Get to work!"

The half-orcs remained frozen, their faces twisted in terror. They weren't looking at Alice; they were looking behind Boulder, backing away slowly.

"What is wrong with your lot?" Boulder's anger flared.

One of the larger half-orcs pointed a shaking finger behind his leader, his voice cracking. "Boss... be... behind you..."

Boulder's heart skipped a beat. A cool breeze, carrying the scent of fresh earth, brushed past his neck. A colossal shadow fell over the entire clearing.

Muttering a curse, Boulder turned around.

His expression petrified.

Standing behind him was a thirty-meter-tall giant Treant, looking down with eyes of cold, judging stone. Its massive form blotted out the sun, and its sheer presence made the very air feel heavy.

Boulder's pupils shrank. His mouth fell open, and his voice came out as a terrified rasp:

"An... an Oak Guardian?"

Basaka's gaze swept over the mercenaries, his voice like grinding tectonic plates—void of all warmth.

"Just now... what did you say?"