Chapter 46: The Stone Muse (6)

Walking through the Darkwood carried a perpetual undercurrent of menace.

Although Simon’s group had ventured into the woods in broad daylight, the thick miasma in the air obscured the sunlight and reduced the illumination to something akin to twilight. The vegetation around them seemed bleached of color, leaving trees black and grey. The purple fog prevented them from seeing far, even with Belzemine’s Lantern of Revealing spell illuminating their path.

Most of their group handled the tainted air rather well thanks to the Brands of Gluttony granting them poison immunity and their other abilities. One of Leonard’s Dreadnought Perks apparently protected him from passive environmental damage, an experienced dark mage like Duchar felt completely at home, and Belzemine had spent long enough in Castle Frightwall to grow used to ambient miasma. Only Lorimor had no particular protection beyond the brand, but Belzemine simply cast healing spells on him when his throat began to itch from inhaling too much miasma.

Simon had decided to leave Cassandra behind in Whispermire for her safety, since bringing a potentially compatible host to a demon’s doorstep like he did with Eole in Telluria was bound to lead to disaster. Meredith had also stayed behind to look after her while also gathering information on both Odette and Silk.

Simon had no idea what the Cobweb was doing in the region. Those criminals could be here for any number of reasons. The Darkwood had much to offer them: monster parts, elven artifacts to resell on the black market, and maybe even exotic materials they could only find here. They might also be investigating the local Zodiac miasma crystal, since they had already obtained one somehow.

Moreover, Silk should be on the other side of the Dragonsea around this time. Either his actions had caused the Cobweb to change its plans, or its agents could somehow travel across great distances in a very short period of time. Either was possible considering how little he knew about the organization.

Whatever the case, their presence was bad news for Simon’s own plans, and Odette’s mere association with them meant the mayor was much shadier than she let on. The Prince of Spiders had already tricked him once, and Simon wouldn’t give him another chance to do so.

At least Odette had provided a rather accurate map of the Darkwood’s explored areas and paths, though she warned them that those regularly changed at the whims of its demonic residents. The group had decided not to waste time and left at dawn to investigate while the sun was up, since it would likely take them more than a day to reach the local manatree.

Simon was using Fiendmask to disguise his Overlord Class armor as a black version of the Templar armor without any heraldry, since he had the suspicion that bearing the Church of the Light’s insignia would only invite hostility from the locals. Duchar had also put on his Class outfit, his turban and clothes having turned pitch black, and a ghoulish skeletal mask covering the upper part of his face. He regularly stopped to pick mushrooms, plants, and other samples.

“I hope Your Highness will forgive my curiosity,” Duchar apologized for the delays his collecting caused. Simon had insisted they didn’t use ‘His Majesty’ in the open until they ascertained how much the Muse knew about him. “I have not encountered such a potent wellspring of the Dark since Castle Frightwall.”

“I assume a place like this must be a rare occurrence,” Simon guessed as Leonard cut down foliage blocking their way.

“Dead, rotting manatrees do usually attract dangerous creatures, but this one actually seems to be both alive and producing miasma rather than normal mana,” Duchar confirmed. “It may be a unique phenomenon.”

“An unnatural phenomenon,” Belzemine said. It was rare for the elf to speak her mind like this, so Simon assumed seeing an elven forest like this rattled her to her core.

“It is the Muse’s breath upon our skin,” Lorimor ranted with feverish eyes. His behavior had only worsened since they entered the Darkwood. “Her body is old and spent, but soon she will shed it for a younger, newer vessel worthy of her, yes!”

Simon wasn’t sure what to make of the cultist’s rantings. Only Simon was born under the auspices of the Minotaur among their current group and thus he alone should make for a compatible vessel, if his theory about the signs was correct. His Indomitable Crown Perk should protect him from any mental influence, but he couldn’t say the same for Lorimor. Simon would have to trigger his brands and execute him if he tried to betray the team.

Nonetheless, the fact that this ‘Muse’ was looking for individuals with a Minotaur sign suggested she was a Zodiac Fiend seeking a host or something close to that. He was starting to wonder if the local dryad had been possessed by it until the demon’s will overrode her own. It would probably explain the manatree’s state.

“Could a dryad transfer herself into a new vessel?” Simon asked his companions. “Whether a being of flesh or another tree?”

“No,” Belzemine replied flatly.

“In theory, no, since a dryad is the will of a manatree and thus bound to it until death,” Duchar replied with more caution. “But the Dark is a pathway to many abilities that some would consider… impossible.”

“It is not impossible!” Lorimor ranted with religious zeal, his screams echoing into the surrounding woods. “Her will shall be done, you shall see, you shall all see!”

Leonard, who had been walking at the vanguard, suddenly raised his sword and shield. “Trouble, Your Highness.”

Simon raised his morningstar and his other allies’ readied their spells as lights glowed inside the miasma. Four shining orbs of greenish fire, about as bright as torches, floated out of the foliage towards the group, nebulous images of skulls flaring at their core. Simon sensed no hostility from them, especially once they spotted him.

“Lord of the Dark…” they whispered with awe and reverence in a language alien to human ears. “Wreathed in shadows… breathing fear…”

Duchar immediately identified the creatures. “Those are witchlights, or will-o’-the-wisps, as some call them. Beautiful undead creatures that feed on fear and misery.”

Leonard prepared to cut them down, but Simon stopped him with a wave of his hand. The four wisps soon danced around him like courtiers around a king. His Unquestionable Ruler Perk had likely put them under his influence.

“I come at the Muse’s invitation,” Simon said, his Perk translating his words. “Show me the way to her.”

“Guide thee, Lord O’ Dark, we shall… to the hangman tree and the ring of stones…” The witchlights glowed bright and illuminated a previously unseen trail. “Follow us…”

Simon and the others warily followed the lights until they reached a clearing at the center of a blackened groove. A circle of monolithic menhirs carved with ancient elvish runes and covered in vegetation surrounded a mighty, blackened adder tree about as tall and thick as a small house. Rotting human carcasses and skeletons dangled from its branches.

The witchlights danced around its trunk, causing its bark to stir. The tree uprooted itself with a rumble, flailing its way out of the dirt, a fanged, crooked face forming on its surface.

A treant.

A very corrupted treant.

“It has been many moons since Carrock the Treant saw an elf venture through these woods,” the creature said in elvish upon noticing Belzemine, who looked quite uncomfortable at its gaze, before turning its attention on Lorimor. “And this paltry slave shadowing your steps… Lorimor, was it? Did you bring the child you promised?”

“I have failed the Muse…” Lorimor replied in elvish, his voice heavy with grief, as if failing to sacrifice his own son to a demon was the highest of sins. “But I bring an honored guest! A great figure of the shadows!”

“I see…” The treant’s crimson eyes squinted at Simon. “There is something about you. I feel I owe you my service and obedience, though I have sworn you no oath of fealty.”

“I am a scion of the Dark,” Simon replied. The local creatures all appeared to fall under his sway, including the treant, which meant they couldn’t be above level twenty-eight. Which made sense, since the imperial army would have already firebombed the area if it contained anything too dangerous. “I came at the Muse’s invitation.”

“The Muse? Ah, yes, our lady lived up to that title long ago,” the treant whispered in nostalgia. “Once she inspired many artists and granted them locks of her hair as tokens of her favor. Elven poets and human minstrels would travel from all across the realm to sing her praise and share her bed. None would leave her side, for they all fell in love with her beautiful forest.”

Simon glanced at the twisted trees surrounding them. ‘Beautiful’ wasn’t the term that came to mind for this place. “What happened?”

“The Lord of Dark came to twist and corrupt her,” Carrock replied with a hint of regret, “for it was Mardok’s greatest pleasure to befoul the pure and beautiful into something perverse.”

Belzemine visibly flinched and looked down at the ground with a haunted gaze. Simon could tell the treant’s words had dug up some frightful memory. He hesitantly put a hand on her shoulder to comfort her, but she hardly reacted.

“But the times have changed, and there is joy to be found in darkness,” the treant said with a crooked, nefarious smile. “Step into the ring of stones, Scion of the Dark, and I shall transport you to Lady Leanan’s side.”

Simon wasn’t about to trust an ancient corrupted tree at his word and so consulted his party first. “Does he speak the truth?”

“Yes, he does!” Lorimor insisted. “This path I once took to meet with her embrace!”

“These stones form a Fairy Ring once created by elven Druids,” Belzemine explained in Endymian. “It will teleport people within it to another place connected by the manatree’s roots once triggered.”

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“In short, straight into the lion’s jaws,” Leonard said immediately, stabbing the ground with his sword. “Allow me to go first and clear the path, Your Highness.”

“No, it is better if we all face what awaits us, even if it’s a trap,” Simon replied. He had no wish to see Leonard perish and bring back the dark news to his sister like he did two reigns ago. “But let’s be ready to fight on a moment’s notice, just in case. Buff up.”

“Allow me, Your Highness,” Belzemine said as her Class outfit changed from the Pyromancer’s clothes to a heavy white mantle with a fur cloak and beret. A wooden staff materialized in her hand, which she immediately pointed at Simon. “Aegis.”

Simon immediately sensed her magic flow into him. Two intertwined barriers, one shielding him from physical attacks and the other from magical ones, briefly flashed into existence before becoming invisible. His senses sharpened as if the world itself slowed down around him. He felt refreshed, and a golden halo began to float above his head.

Hasten, Rampart, Barrier, Regen, and Aureole status applied for ten minutes.

Hasten: Your AGI is doubled.

Rampart: Physical damage taken is halved.

Barrier: Magical damage taken is halved.

Regen: Your wounds shall passively heal on their own.

Aureole: Your halo will absorb one Instadeath attempt and grant you a burst of healing when in critical health.

Right, Belzemine was a level 78 Healer. She was actually a much better supporter than an offensive spellcaster, which was saying something. None of the monsters they faced had been strong enough to warrant such a powerful buff, and Frea had kept her busy the one time it could have made a difference against Alphonse’s party.

“Aegis… it is a Tier 8 Prayer, correct?” Duchar guessed. “A most potent spell. Some say it is the best buff in the world.”

Tier 8? Simon thought. His Overlord Class seemed to unlock a new spellcasting Tier every ten levels, which would mean he would only cast Tier 8 spells after reaching level 80. Since Belzemine could do it at level 78, this suggested spellcasting-focused Classes advanced in those faster than an all-rounder like the Overlord did.

“Beware not to expend too much mana,” Simon warned Belzemine. Such a spell, while exceptionally powerful, had to cost a lot of energy. “We only have so many manaliths.”

“Your Highness need not fear for me,” Belzemine insisted. “I have learned to harvest miasma during my time in Castle Frightwall as if it were mana. This place regenerates my reserves quicker than I can expend them casting spells.”

Which was probably one of the scariest sentences in the world one could hear when confronting a centuries-old archmage. No wonder the empire never attempted to conquer Illusea if all elves enjoyed such benefits on their home turf.