Chapter 419: Act 172 – Interlacing
This is the fifth day since the wolf disaster, and the world remains dark.
At the Green Tower, torrential rain is pouring down. The light pillars representing the fire seeds have been extinguished from near and far, plunging the world into absolute darkness. Only occasional purple lightning rends the heavy gloom, illuminating the rainwater in a silver hue.
The wolf pack has broken through the last barrier surrounding the Green Tower. The snow-white winter wolves and the plague-ridden wolves, whose fur is rotting, have crossed the line of defense made up of the bodies of Druids and treants, appearing before the residents of the Green Tower for the first time.
The wolf pack sweeps across the undulating land like a flood. Their sharp claws rise and fall, treading on a ground indistinguishable between mud and blood, sending splashes through the rain curtain.
Soon, a row of pale faces appeared in the pouring rain—men and women, some of whom were very young, just boys, their expressions filled with mixed fear and unease.
Rainwater slides down their faces, from their foreheads, noses, eyelids, or cheeks. They slightly open their mouths but dare not even breathe, their hands instinctively tightening around their weapons.
The Druid Elder stands behind this ‘army,’ holding an oak staff, his face serious; in his eyes, these young people are the last strength of the Green Tower, the seeds that the Sky Ring has left for the future.
But in the face of life and death, even seeds must be thrown into the defense battle. The Druids have established the last line of defense in the Equinox Hall at the lowest level of the Green Tower, attempting to prevent the wolf disaster from entering the town.
Everyone listens to the sound of the wolves’ footsteps, which are denser than the raindrops; it seems as though a horrifying army is advancing, making one feel that the fire seed of the Green Tower is trembling in the wind and rain.
Perhaps the next moment is eternity.
Thousands are consumed by darkness; the dead are merely a number, but these numbers once contained lively faces—they were husbands, sons, friends, or lovers, but they have all lost their color.
The first group of winter wolves emerged from the darkness. Their strength here has been reduced to the lowest limits, nearly suppressed to a level comparable to black iron, but their terrifying numbers still provoke anxiety.
This is precisely where the wolf disaster feels most hopeless; no matter how brave or skilled one may be, they ultimately exhaust their strength and fall under endless attacks.
The wolf pack might have paid ten times, or even a hundred times, the cost compared to the Druids and treants—their bodies dissolve in the rain, becoming black sewage seeping underground—but more of their kind rush over these corpses, an unending flood in the darkness.
And then the wolves and humans collide.
They crash into a wall of thorns formed by intertwined vines, the wolves behind showing no concern for their fallen companions—the first winter wolf crashes into the thorn wall, sharp thorns piercing its fur, its dark blood staining its snow-white pelt. It is overwhelmed by the following wolves, flattened, its eyeballs bursting and protruding from their sockets. The second and third winter wolves follow suit, the dying magic wolf emits a terrible howl, but more wolves simply leap onto the thorn wall using their companions’ bodies, the downed winter wolf is turned into mush in an instant by the sharp claws.
The silver tide soon sweeps over the low wall, crashing into the lines of the treant warriors, their formation collapsing under massive force. Many are dragged down by countless wolf jaws, screams rising and falling.
“An unprecedented magical tide.”
William, clad in a silver robe, stands on the square outside the hall leading to the Green Tower. Rainwater connects into a line across the sky, splashing outward as if it has crashed into an invisible wall just a foot away from his body, transforming into a mist.
To others, this invisible wall forms a nearly perfect spherical shape around the legendary wizard, the area beneath it so dry that surrounding water cannot permeate and must instead flow around, creating small streams.
But the old man obviously pays no attention to it; he holds a silver staff, which has six stone runes circling its head. If Brendel were here, he would recognize this staff as the ancient sacred relic—the Gleaming Mithril, inherited from the past city lords of Kanaiqi, and it can be considered one of William’s symbolic identities today.
He holds the staff and casually conjures several bolts of lightning to strike down a few winter wolves trying to breach the treant’s defense line, pondering for a moment before saying.
“Hmph, Haru said in the council—this magical tide is merely a routine matter. But how did the Silverspark Council warn him back then? When the astrologers were observing the constellation of the Duskgazer Dragon, they had already noticed a few constellations teetering, yet he dismissed it entirely.”
An elder beside William raised his white eyebrows and huffed through his nose. This elder was also surrounded by a spherical transparent wall, just not as exaggerated as that of the legendary wizard.
“So you came here for this?” William turned around.
“Pretty much. If the Loop of Trade Winds has a problem, humanity might lose all territories south of Ampere Seale,” the elder replied. “Moreover, Erluin is still half my homeland.”
“It was originally just an observation, but I didn’t expect it to be worse than imagined. From the looks of the Green Tower, it’s even more severe than the records of the Holy War.” He looked up at the dark sky: “If I weren’t still rational, I might suspect that Lady Martha’s creation codex ‘Tiamat’ has opened a rift.”
“I don’t like such cold jokes,” William replied casually, a flash of lightning illuminating his gaunt face to stark white: “So what do you plan to do, dear Turiman? Eliminate all these monsters and save them?”
He pointed at those Druids.
“Feel free to mock; I don’t have that ability,” Turiman glanced at him, taking a crystal ball from his sleeve: “If they can hold on, everyone will be happy. If they can’t, I will temporarily relocate the Council of Withered Wood to safety.”
“As they say—if there are seeds, the big tree will take root and sprout.”
“Teleportation orb,” William raised his silver eyebrows: “You actually brought this thing.”
“This is called being thoroughly prepared, old friend.”
“You’re mocking me again,” William smiled slightly. He flicked his bony fingers: “I’ve told you, I’m not here for these convoluted matters, purely for an old friend from the past.”
“Still the Lionheart Sword?” Turiman smiled mysteriously: “You know full well that thing isn’t here.”
“No,” William replied: “I’ve also said that what’s important isn’t the sword, it’s the person. Eke doesn’t become Eke because of the Lionheart Sword, but the Lionheart Sword shines because of an old friend.”
“Indeed, the person, but that guy earlier even tricked me into thinking he would pursue the path of a scholar. But was Eke ever a scholar? I’ll confirm the news about the tablet and then go find him to settle the score,” Turiman replied.
William couldn’t help but chuckle.
“You’ve been deceived too?”
“That kid is not an ordinary person; you should be careful; don’t come to me for laughs in the future.” Turiman replied.
William was unfazed. He looked up at the treant’s crumbling defense and calmly stood in the rain, shifting the conversation: “How long do you think they can hold?”
“One hour.”
“And then?”
“The treants and Druids should still have an elite force; the centaurs in the town can still organize a defense unit, but either way, at most a day.”
“A day.” William stared into the pitch-black heavens, where only a few light pillars still stood firm on the distant southern horizon. The thin lips of this legendary wizard moved, his aged eyes lost in thought, as if pondering something.
Turiman did not underestimate; the Druids had almost exhausted all their strength, but even if they let the winter wolves in to fight guerrilla warfare, they could at most manage to hold on for several more hours.
But it was at this moment that William’s eyebrows slightly raised—
He turned around.
Seeing the same surprised expression on Turiman’s face.
At that moment.
The elders of the Withered Wood Council stood guard outside the hall of the Green Tower, where the fire seeds were kept, the situation precarious, and everyone understood this. But until Brendel returned with news, they could only wait.
The sound of the rain drowned out all other noises. The tallest elder among them, looking around, turned back more than once to watch the flickering flame swaying under the chaotic suppression of magical power—though his expression appeared calm, his heart was filled with unease and anxiety.
Timewise, Brendel and Ward, along with Quinelle, should have sent news by now. He couldn’t help but glance at the young girl Funiya, holding his left hand, who had remained silent since Brendel departed.
“Great Elder, time is running out.”
The elder turned back to see a tall Druid elder. He thought for a moment, shook his head, and did not respond, as everyone instinctively directed their gazes toward the southern horizon.
The world was pitch black.
But it was at this moment.
The hunchbacked Great Elder suddenly changed color; in fact, it wasn’t just him; all the great Druids present felt a stir within their hearts at the same moment.
A powerful magical resonance—
They raised their heads.
A golden pillar of light suddenly burst forth from the dark night sky in the south, instantly connecting heaven and earth. Everyone looked up, seeing the light piercing through layers of clouds, reaching the sky’s end.
“What is that?” The Druids stood stunned.
But more astonishing was that in the next second, another golden pillar of light actually rose from the center of the Loop of Trade Winds. This light pillar shone in contrast with the previous one, and at that moment, it looked remarkably familiar to William, standing outside the Equinox Hall—
Another resonance reaction!
“That kid!” Turiman beside him furrowed his brow and exclaimed.
William glanced at him, then without saying a word, stepped forward, and disappeared into the rain curtain just like that.
…(To be continued. For more chapters and to support the author, please log in for proper reading!)
