Chapter 758: Serrynia, Bellwood Grove
Beneath the gentle glow of moonlight, the forest shimmered with silver-lit hues. The air was thick with translucent, thread-like branches that, when touched, revealed fleeting phantom images of memories. A soft breeze stirred the air, and crystal wind chimes hanging from the boughs chimed with the melodies most beloved by the departed.
This was the sacred grave of the Silver Moon Elves.
When an Elf’s life force waned to its final breath, they would willingly surrender their flesh to the Sacred Tree within Bellwood Grove, while their spiritual soul ascended to Goddess Sahanee of the Moonlight.
It was also one of the few places directly connected to the heart of the Spirit Saint Tree—Vilanthar Sanctum.
Queen Catherine and her loyal followers stood at the edge of the grove, preparing to advance toward the Sacred Tree. Their goal: Conquer Vilanthar Sanctum, and reclaim Serrynia’s throne from the corrupt hands that had seized it.
Catherine wielded her Scepter, manipulating the Sacred Tree’s branches to form a veil of secrecy—a hidden frontline position for her forces.
Now, clad in silver light armor and crowned with a regal headdress, she sat upright upon a pure-white Unicorn, her gaze sweeping over her soldiers with regal composure.
Her personal guard numbered over a thousand—known as the “Silver Moon Followers”—a disciplined, elite army of professional warriors. They were Catherine’s most trusted subordinates, the very core of her sacred coup.
Each Elf wore light armor, carried longbows, silver swords, or staves, riding graceful, sentient creatures like horses and deer. Their eyes, when meeting Catherine’s, brimmed with reverence, unwavering loyalty, and deep admiration.
To them, the Queen was gentle and kind, yet firm and resolute. They believed wholeheartedly that Catherine would secure victory in the coming war, restore the lost honor of their people, and lead Serrynia into a glorious future.
“We will achieve victory,” Catherine said, lifting her chin toward the towering Giant Tree in the distance. She touched the crescent pendant at her chest. “By the name of Catherine the Moonwalker, I swear before the Great Guardian of Life, Goddess Sahanee of the Moonlight—Serrynia shall be reborn.”
At that moment, Half-Elf Ria hurried forward, her voice low and grave. “Your Majesty, the Relief Forces of the Lute Players’ Alliance have arrived. But they were ambushed by an unknown enemy en route—suffered heavy losses.”
Catherine’s face darkened instantly. Her brow furrowed. “What? Bring them in—now.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
The branches of the grove slowly parted, like living flesh, revealing a path. A hundred-strong force emerged—mostly Humans, with a few Half-Elves, halflings, and dwarves among them.
Most were severely injured, their breaths shallow, their bodies wracked with pain, gasping and moaning.
Catherine raised her Scepter and chanted an ancient Elven incantation. The translucent threads glowed faintly, pulsing with pure energy that wrapped around the wounded, healing them with gentle light.
At the head of the Lute Players stood a woman in her forties—lean and gaunt, draped in a tattered emerald cloak. A long wooden bow rested across her back, and her abdomen was soaked in blood, a clear mark of arrow wounds.
“You are… Mellisandra Holloway?” Catherine’s tone held surprise.
Mellisandra Holloway—Legendary Ranger, known as the “Whisper of the Night Wind.” Over a decade ago, she had single-handedly infiltrated a heavily guarded palace, assassinating a Faith-Dark Deity’s king, and became a legend.
Now… the famed Ranger was wounded beyond recognition.
“It is I, Your Majesty,” the woman said, pulling back her hood. Her face was pale, her eyes sharp with urgency. “The enemy… they were like evil green dragons—dangerous, cunning, relentless.”
“They disguised themselves as your own guards. When we lowered our guard, they struck without mercy. Over a hundred of our people fell at the edge of Elvenwood Forest.”
“Despicable,” Ria muttered coldly. Then she pressed, “How did you manage to escape?”
“I killed over fifty of them,” Mellisandra replied. “Then I opened a passage to the Astral Plane—broke free from their pursuit.”
“Gah—!” She clutched her stomach, spitting blood.
Catherine stepped forward, examining the wound. Her expression froze.
The flesh around the injury was rapidly turning black—corrupted, rotting. A foul, unnatural aura radiated from it.
“Drow toxin… and some unknown dark curse?” The Elf’s brow furrowed. “Clever. And vile. They’re definitely tied to those fallen ones.”
“Mellisandra, remain calm. I will purge the toxin and lift the curse.”
Catherine raised her Scepter, chanting again. A soft, radiant light bathed the Ranger. Black smoke erupted from the wound, hissing and crackling.
But then—something unnatural happened.
The smoke coalesced into a monstrous, grinning face, emitting a twisted, mocking laugh.
“Found you…”
Ria’s expression shifted instantly. Her hand flew to her sword hilt, voice tense. “No, Your Majesty—this was no accident! They let these allies escape! They’re using them to locate us!”
“Quick! Full alert!”
In an instant, every Silver Moon Follower drew their silver swords, nocked their arrows, forming a wall of steel and resolve around Catherine, eyes scanning the shadows.
Mellisandra looked up at the Queen, voice thick with guilt. “Forgive us, Your Majesty. We never meant to drag you into this.”
“This is not your fault,” Catherine said softly. “I am grateful you sent help at all.”
Mellisandra wiped blood from her lips, removed her longbow, and fixed her gaze on the horizon. “Your Majesty… give me a chance to redeem myself through service.”
“Granted,” Catherine said, solemn and resolute.
The air grew thick with tension.
Then—came a sound.
Low. Rasping. Chilling. A shiver ran down every spine.
“Catherine, Your Majesty,” a voice echoed from the darkness. “You could have lived in luxury, in a grand palace, enjoying peace and comfort… Why, then, do you defy fate? Why rebel?”
A male Elf stepped from the shadows, draped in a long white robe, staff of mithril in hand. His face was elegant, like any other Elf—but his eyes gleamed with a sinister light.
As he emerged, over a hundred Elf archers notched their arrows. Dozens of Druids, Mages, and Priests gathered power, their spells ready, aimed at the intruder.
“Seryan Elder,” Catherine bit her lip, voice cold. “Should I stand by and watch my people dragged into the Abyss—become the spoils of a spider queen?”
“You wouldn’t even call me Uncle,” Seryan sighed, shaking his head. “Little Catherine… you don’t understand. You’re a flower from a greenhouse. How can you grasp the wisdom of the Elders?”
“Without our tireless efforts, Serrynia would have been carved up by warring powers long ago. This is your final chance. Return to the court. Disband your guard. We can still talk.”
“The Elders aren’t opposed to replacing a Queen who obeys,” he added. “You are no longer needed.”
“You are beyond reason,” Catherine said, her face like ice. “I have nothing to say to you. You are—beyond redemption.”
She raised her Elven Scepter. “Attack! For Serrynia!”
An instant later, a storm of silver-glittering arrows rained down like a tempest. Fireballs, ice blades, thunderbolts erupted from the sky—crackling, roaring, a maelstrom of elemental fury.
But Seryan stood unmoved. His expression dark.
“Foolish. Then we shall show no mercy.”
He raised his mithril Scepter. A wave of black light surged outward, forming a massive, opaque sphere that enveloped him. All arrows, all spells—deflected, absorbed, crushed against the dark barrier.
He smirked.
“Sword of the Sanctum—attack! Cut down these traitors who conspire with foreign enemies!”
The sound of metal grinding, heavy, synchronized footsteps echoed.
From the darkness, thousands of armored Elves emerged—each clad in battle-ready gear, wielding longswords and great shields. They encircled Catherine and her forces.
But something was wrong.
Their skin—pale and flawless—was cracked with black fissures, as if about to shatter.
“Desecrators! You have no right to bear that name!” Catherine roared in fury.
The Sword of the Sanctum—the once sacred guardians of the Sacred Tree’s roots—had once been warriors etched with ancient purification runes, their blades capable of severing corruption itself.
Now, their honor was defiled. Their names twisted. And Catherine’s heart ached with betrayal.
“Why do you rebel, Catherine?” Seryan sneered. “Face reality. We are Serrynia’s masters. You are nothing.”
“Annihilate them!”
“Eradicate the rebels! For Serrynia!”
The dark Elves charged forward, a wave of black arrows raining down upon the frontline. Each arrow was poisoned with Drow venom. One puncture to the flesh—within seconds, the victim would bleed from every orifice, their body bursting open.
Only a warrior of Mellisandra’s caliber could endure it, barely.
“Watch out! The arrows are poisoned!”
Within moments, over a dozen Elves collapsed, coughing up black-red blood, writhing in agony.
“Cowardly!” Catherine raised her Scepter high. Silver light flared, forming a great shield in the sky—deflecting the deadly rain.
“Your Majesty!”
Mellisandra darted across the battlefield, her arrows flying with deadly precision. One after another, they pierced through the shield, felling several fallen soldiers in an instant.
“Kill them! Now!”
“Supreme Mother God watches us!”
The black-armored Elves surged forward—like a flood—charging with brutal force.
“Disgraceful cultists,” Ria spat, charging forward. She swung her silver sword in a wide arc. A shimmering, twilight blade erupted—spanning dozens of meters.
“Swoosh—”
The lead enemy was severed at the waist. Even their great shields split cleanly in two—perfect, even cuts.
“The Dawnblade! That’s trouble—take her down first!”
A fallen Mage raised his staff, chanting a vile incantation, summoning dark energy.
But before he could act, Mellisandra leapt onto a rock, soared high into the air, and fired a barrage of arrows in mid-flight.
“Swoosh! Swoosh! Swoosh!”
Each arrow sang through the air—piercing the heads of several Mages. They fell dead before they could blink.
The remaining Mages reacted—only to find her already vanished, slipping into the Spirit Realm.
Catherine cast a Divine Spell, bathing her allies in Moonlight Blessing. Her voice rang cold and final.
“To the fallen ones—no mercy.”
The battlefield descended into chaos. Silver Moon Followers clashed with the corrupted Sword of the Sanctum. Kin fought kin—brothers against sisters, friends against friends.
The Silver Moon Elves fought with unmatched loyalty, their gear superior, their combat mastery refined. Even against Sacred Fedran’s elite, they could hold their ground.
But their enemies were unnatural.
The “Sword of the Sanctum” soldiers were frenzied, unmoved by blade or pain. Even when severed, they continued to advance.
And after they fell… the horror deepened.
Their corpses cracked open along the black fissures. From within, grotesque, half-human, half-spider abominations emerged—oozing with slime, writhing with unnatural life.
The Silver Moon Elves recoiled in horror. Some gagged. Some turned pale. A deep spiritual revulsion surged through them.
“What… what is that?! It’s born from the corpse?!”
“Death to it!”
“Ugly! Disgusting!”
Catherine stared, her eyes blazing silver.
“Half-Spider Humans… They’ve gone this far?”
Her voice was ice.
“Unforgivable!”
She raised her Scepter. Silver beams of light rained from the heavens, incinerating the twisted horrors into ash.
But the numbers grew—ten thousand, then twenty. The fallen forces outnumbered the rebels by a staggering margin.
Even with the Silver Moon Followers and the Lute Players, the tide was turning.
Only the presence of Ria and Mellisandra—legendary warriors of unmatched strength—kept the line from breaking.
Just as despair threatened to consume them—
A roar erupted from the distance.
A thunderous, overwhelming roar, echoing across the battlefield, shaking the very air. Scorching winds howled, a wave of terrifying, oppressive aura.
“Roar—!”
All eyes turned skyward.
A massive golden figure descended from the heavens—emanating a faint, divine radiance.
(End of Chapter)
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