Chapter 51: Abyss and the Vacuum
Abyss didn’t stop chanting. Interrupting the spell could cause a dangerous backlash, releasing the uncontrolled mana he had gathered.
He remained calm, his gaze fixed on the darkness before him.
The Druids, chanting softly, their voices a low murmur, began sensing the mana flow around the sacred tree. Abyss had successfully drained most of the surrounding mana, making their task easier.
Abyss had instructed them to observe carefully. Rebecca would signal him to stop after half an hour, preventing any potential harm from the prolonged mana vacuum. He continued chanting, his focus unwavering, ignoring the encroaching darkness.
After a few minutes, a faint light appeared in the darkness, a tiny, flickering spark, like a firefly, its light weak and unsteady, pulsing rhythmically, like a heartbeat.
What was that?
The sacred tree’s mana flowed into Abyss’s body, channeled through his magic core, then released high into the atmosphere. This process seemed to be affecting him…
The light grew stronger, larger, gradually taking on the form of a young woman, her back turned towards him.
Her form was translucent, ethereal, like a figure from a distant memory, or a dream.
The image solidified, becoming clearer, the only thing visible in the darkness.
A naked girl, her slender body facing away from him, her long gray hair, similar to his own, cascading down her back, partially obscuring her bare shoulders. And she had four ears: two pointed elven ears and two cat-like ears on top of her head. She sat with her knees drawn to her chest, her posture fetal.
She remained motionless, her body curled up, as if lifeless, but not at peace.
Abyss sensed a faint pulse, a life force emanating from her, resonating with his own, a powerful connection to nature, a sense of life and death intertwined, a delicate balance.
Agnes…
He recognized her.
But why was she here? She was dead.
He had always been the one influencing the dead, not the other way around. He was the King of the Dead. This shouldn’t be possible. Was it the sacred tree’s magic? But where was she influencing it from? Its mana source was the planet itself. Where was Agnes?
She didn’t move, but her presence, the life force emanating from her, felt as if she were about to turn around, to face him.
…
While Abyss was lost in this vision, the Druids, their eyes closed, their skin sensitive to the faintest magical fluctuations, sensed the mana flowing through the sacred tree’s roots, up its trunk, and out through its branches and leaves. The reduced mana density made it easier to perceive.
Initially, they found nothing unusual. But as they focused, three Druids sensed something amiss, a subtle difference in the mana flowing through a few of the roots.
The purified mana should have been as clear and pure as morning dew, but this mana felt different, tainted by another force, a subtle energy pulsing rhythmically, flowing upwards from the roots, entering their bodies through their skin.
It was a calming, comforting sensation, a feeling of euphoria, although they couldn’t explain its effects. It was like pouring warm water over their skin on a cold winter night, a pleasant tingling sensation spreading through their bodies, reaching their magic cores, then traveling up their spines, before dissipating.
Something was being drawn from them.
They opened their eyes, their gazes meeting—they were sitting close to each other. The energy seemed to be emanating from a specific direction.
The other Druids, still oblivious, continued their meditation, their senses focused on the mana flow.
The three Druids who had sensed the anomaly gestured towards Arcaiste, who had been waiting patiently.
Arcaiste nodded, approaching them and sitting down, his senses now attuned to the mana flow. As the most powerful Druid present, he hadn’t participated in the initial observation, waiting for others to identify any anomalies before joining them.
The calming energy within the mana flowed into him, but his melancholic expression remained unchanged.
…
The mages watching from outside the clearing noticed nothing unusual, their whispers continuing.
“Do you think they’ll find the problem?”
“I’m not sure.”
“I doubt it, unless they can find Agnes’s grave.”
“By the Nine Gods, that Dark Elf wine must have addled your brain. No one knows where she’s buried. And how would they even resurrect her? She was incredibly powerful. Any necromancer would be a mere apprentice compared to her.”
“What do you think, friend?”
“Let’s sneak in and take a look. They haven’t completely forbidden us from entering,” one of the mages suggested, scratching his back, his curiosity getting the better of him.
“Aren’t you afraid of that human boy? He’s dangerous.”
“Do you think we’re safe out here? Come on, let’s talk to the apprentice guarding the entrance. He’ll let us in.”
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