CHAPTER 269: CHAPTER 269 - THE SCHEME UNVEILED!

The night was suffocatingly still.

Ash drifted through the air like gray snow, settling over bodies, weapons, and the blood-soaked roots of the forest. The silver light of the moon barely pierced through the haze — just enough to glint off drawn blades and trembling hands.

Two groups faced one another across the scarred clearing: elves and dark elves, shoulder to shoulder for the first time in seven millennia, and opposite them — the cultists, their grins stretching too wide, their eyes gleaming with madness.

Sylthara’s breath came sharp and uneven. Her eyes, burning with fury and pain, locked onto the gray-tattooed cultist leader. The veins on her neck stood out as she trembled, unable to contain the storm inside her.

"You... you bastard!" she shouted, voice breaking with rage. "You were behind my mother’s death!"

Before anyone could react, she surged forward — but Luca caught her wrist mid-motion, pulling her back against his chest. She struggled, her mana flaring faintly, but his grip didn’t waver.

"Stop it," Luca said firmly, his voice cutting through the tension. His crimson eyes glowed faintly under the moonlight. "He’s trying to make us angry — to make us take the wrong step. That’s what he wants."

Sylthara froze, trembling in his hold, her eyes still locked on the smirking cultist leader.

"JIjijeijiejeiji, hahHAhahhahhehiah!"

The man’s laughter cracked through the silence, manic and discordant. He threw his head back, reveling in the rising tension, his tattoos pulsing faintly with crimson light.

When his gaze finally settled again, it was on the Elf Queen.

"Ohhh... are you trying to find that old geezer?" he drawled mockingly. "Hahahaha! That pathetic fool took the first opportunity we gave him — the first knife to kill that bitch!"

The laughter that followed was jagged and cruel.

"But don’t worry," he continued, his grin stretching wider, "that fool’s already been taken care of... by us."

A collective gasp rippled through the elves. Several soldiers shifted uncertainly, shock and anger flaring across their faces. Even Elowen’s expression cracked — disbelief flashing through her eyes.

The Elf Queen’s jaw tightened; her teeth ground together audibly as her golden aura flickered with barely contained wrath.

Luca’s gaze moved between them — from Sylthara’s trembling form to the Queen’s burning eyes, then back to the cultist.

He’s playing with everyone, he realized, his hands clenching. Trying to pit us against each other again. The Mother Tree’s safe for now... so he’s turning to chaos.

Beside him, Sylthara’s voice broke the silence again — quieter this time, trembling but sharp with pain.

"Why..." she whispered. "Why did you do it? Why did you have to kill her?"

The man’s grin widened — as if her tears were the sweetest thing he had ever seen.

"Jijeejijeieje..." he chuckled, licking his lips, his voice thick with mockery. "You fools haven’t realized it yet, have you?"

He spread his arms wide, as though addressing them all — the elves, the dark elves, the world itself.

"You — the dark elves — are the key

to destroying that old scrap of wood you call ’Mother.’ Hahahahaha!"

Gasps rippled through both sides.

Even the cultists behind him began to laugh — an unholy chorus echoing through the broken forest.

"The bloodline of every dark elf queen," the leader continued, "carries the purest form of corruption in existence. Kill the vessels, and the corruption returns to the roots. The Mother Tree dies slowly — beautifully — from within!"

His voice rose into twisted glee as his words sank in.

The elves — light and dark alike — froze. Disbelief and horror rippled through their ranks. Even the night air seemed to recoil.

Luca’s eyes widened as realization hit him like a blade.

If what he is saying is true... I witnessed it myself ,the dark elves acted as the vessels for corruption... then destroying them... means feeding that corruption back to the tree itself.

His gaze snapped toward Sylthara.

She had gone pale, her eyes wide and shimmering as the truth settled like ice in her chest.

"So that’s why you killed my mother," she whispered hoarsely, her voice breaking. "The Dark Elf Queen... so that you can damage the mother tree."

The cultist laughed again, louder this time, his dagger glinting faintly in the moonlight.

"Tch tch," he said, clicking his tongue mockingly. "We didn’t dirty our hands with filth. There was someone far more eager to cleanse it."

He tilted his head — and slowly, his crimson eyes slid toward the Elf Queen.

A crooked grin stretched across his face.

"We merely offered a deal."

The clearing went dead silent.

Even the flames seemed to still, their flicker swallowed by the weight of those words.

And as the implication sank in, every eye — elf, dark elf, and human alike — turned toward the Elf Queen.

The forest was silent — unnaturally so.

Even the embers that still smoldered on the ground seemed to dim as the air grew heavier.

The Elf Queen’s eyes narrowed, her tone cold and trembling with restrained fury.

"Elder Faelorin..." she whispered, the name leaving her lips like venom.

The cult leader’s grin widened. His shadow twisted in the dim moonlight, eyes glinting with vile amusement.

"Spot on!" he cackled. "That sanctimonious bastard wanted her gone more than anyone. We simply gave him the courage he lacked. In exchange, we promised him freedom when the forest burned. Hah! Foolish to the end!"

The Queen’s jaw clenched, her knuckles white. The soft rustle of her robes echoed as her hands trembled.

Beside her, Elowen stepped forward, her voice shaking with barely contained rage.

"Lies! You expect us to believe your poison?!" she snapped. "Corruption, trees, mana—how could you possibly know such things?"

The cultist tilted his head, his grin splitting unnaturally wide, eyes glowing faintly red beneath his hood.

"Oh, you’ll see."

He snapped his fingers.

"Bring that vermin."

The words crawled through the air like rot.

Two cultists emerged from the shadows, dragging something behind them — a frail figure, barely clinging to life.

A young dark elf woman.

Her skin was pale beneath the streaks of dirt and blood, her lips quivering faintly with each shallow breath. Her eyes — once luminous — were empty, hollowed of all light.

Sylthara froze. Every muscle in her body locked in place. Her fingers twitched, then curled into fists so tight they shook. Her lips parted, but no sound came out — only a strangled breath, trembling between fury and grief.

The cult leader’s laughter broke the silence.

"Caught her trying to run. She’s been quite... useful. You should thank her — she’s helped us understand your ’blessed’ connection to the Tree better than any scripture could."

Every elf tensed as the remaining dark elves raged.

Aurelia’s face twisted, her amethyst eyes blazing. Her hand tightened on her spear until her knuckles turned white.

Lilliane covered her mouth, trembling in horror.

Even the Elf Queen’s poise faltered, her expression darkening with something deeper — disgust, sorrow, and wrath.

Sylthara’s body began to shake violently. Her golden eyes brimmed with tears that refused to fall. Her voice cracked as she screamed,

"You monsters! I’ll kill you all!"

She took a step forward, magic crackling around her fingertips — but before she could move again, Luca caught her arm.

His grip was strong, grounding her as he shook his head, his crimson eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight. But there was something else, which Sylthara hadn’t seen before.

But Aurelia couldn’t hold back any longer.

With a roar that tore through the forest, she thrust her spear forward, mana flaring like molten light.

The cult leader didn’t flinch.

He simply grabbed the dying dark elf girl — and threw her forward.

The strike hit before anyone could react.

There was a flash of red — a sickening sound — and the girl’s body crumpled to the ground.

The world stopped.

Sylthara’s scream split the night, raw and broken.

Even the trees seemed to shudder.

Her magic burst outward in a surge of darkness and light — chaotic, unstable — as she fell to her knees beside the girl’s body, trembling hands reaching toward her but never daring to touch.

The cult leader tilted his head, that same vile grin plastered across his face.

"Did you feel that?" he asked mockingly, turning toward the Elf Queen.

The Queen’s eyes widened, her breath catching.

Her gaze shifted skyward — toward the distant glow where the Mother Tree’s presence pulsed faintly through the forest.

"There was... a change," she whispered, her voice hollow. "The Mother Tree’s mana—it just faltered."

The cultist’s laughter rang out, echoing through the clearing like the sound of breaking bones.

"Exactly! The darkness you fear lies within you all. Kill your queens, spill your bloodlines, and the Tree will wither on its own! You—"

He didn’t finish.

Everything stopped.

The air trembled — and then split.

A blur of black light flashed through the space between heartbeats.

His eyes widened.

He looked down — disbelief flooding his face.

A line of red stretched across his chest.

Then another.

The next sound was wet and final — a blade cutting through flesh.

His body split cleanly in half. Blood sprayed across the dirt like ink.

The cultists froze, eyes wide with sudden horror.

The elves too — unable to comprehend how or when it happened.

And there — standing in the drifting mist of blood — was Luca.

His body trembled, breath ragged, blood dripping from his lips as he coughed once.

But his back was straight, his gaze steady — burning with cold, quiet fury.

A black saber hung at his side, its edge gleaming darkly under the moonlight.

Around him, a sparrow-sized fish-bird fluttered, its feathers glowing faintly in the gloom — circling him like a halo of judgment.

Luca’s eyes met the corpse of the cult leader. His voice came out low, hoarse — but it carried across the field like a death knell.

"Enough games."

He raised his sword, eyes burning red as blood dripped from the blade.

"For every innocent your hands defiled... may silence be your only prayer." he exhaled slowly, rage trembling beneath the surface, "—And enough stalling of time."

The forest went silent.

Even the moon seemed to recoil.

And in that cold, still moment — every cultist felt it:

A predator’s presence.

The stillness before slaughter.