The small knife, carved from black bone, lightly grazed the rough bark, leaving inconspicuous patterns on these lush, towering trees, before blood was sared upon them, infusing them with the power of spirit and blood. The blood was applied three tis to each marking, in this repetitive cycle...
Richard was performing the ritual incantations from mory, using the bone knife in his hand to carve runes symbolizing abyssal power on forest tree trunks, and then saring his own blood onto the runes. Subsequently, he looked up to see Dumon doing the sa nearby.
He walked over as if to greet the other.
"These symbols are weak on their own," Dumon said as he saw Richard approaching, speaking offhandedly, "but if we have enough of them, they will have a significant impact on Silantis."
"It’s still not enough... Far from enough..." Richard muttered indistinctly, his fingers idly twirling the bone knife in his hand.
"Relying solely on the influence of these markings is indeed insufficient, but once the process begins, it accelerates. When Silantis ’rembers’ that day, it will be ti to harvest the fruits," Dumon said with a smile, his confidence in the future evident. "Those ’missionaries’ may not be reliable, but at least this ti, the information they provided proved useful."
Richard did not speak, only slowly raised his head, gazing intently at the large tree where Dumon had just made his marks as if admiring the scenery—so earnestly that Dumon also involuntarily raised his head, looking curiously at the tree canopy above.
"What are you looking at? Is there sothing up ther..."
Richard suddenly raised his arm, in a posture and angle impossible for a human joint—nearly bending his right arm into three segnts, he maneuvered his hand into Dumon’s blind spot and plunged the bone knife rcilessly into the latter’s chest.
But the small knife used for the ritual could not kill a man; the strike only pierced skin and flesh.
The searing pain that abruptly emanated from his chest left Dumon montarily blank, but he quickly recovered, swatting Richard’s arm away forcefully. One hand pressed against the injured spot as he swiftly stepped back.
In an instant, dark chains appeared and an ugly, ferocious Abyssal Hound materialized behind Dumon. But before the hound could react, the death crow on Richard’s shoulder suddenly dived down. A pair of skeletal wings, like shackles, extended and distorted, covering the hound in an instant. Accompanied by the grating sound of struggling, colliding, and rubbing bones, the two demons entangled with each other, making it hard to separate them.
"Have you gone mad?!" Dumon’s eyes widened in shock as he stared at the expressionless Richard standing not far away, "You want to kill ?!"
"I don’t," Richard shook his head, glancing at the Abyssal Hound temporarily controlled by the death crow, a trace of indescribable disgust crossing his face, yet he spoke to Dumon seriously, "I just want to help you."
"Help ?" Dumon was taken aback, looking at Richard opposite him as if he were a lunatic, yet imnse confusion arose within him—because the ritual knife could not kill a person. Richard’s sudden attack had at best only wounded him, leaving him montarily uncertain how to react, but one thing was sure: sothing was off with Richard!
Nevertheless, Richard nodded earnestly: "Yes, help you. Your body is empty; I want to stuff it with cotton. This will make you better."
"...Cotton?" Dumon repeated the word blankly and instinctively, unclear of its aning, "What kind of madness are you talking about..."
He suddenly stopped.
The spot on his chest where he had been stabbed felt itchy.
This slight itch quickly turned into an unavoidable odd sensation, as if sothing was growing there, writhing.
Instinctively, he reached to scratch the itchy spot, then, disregarding the clearly disturbed state of Richard across from him, looked down at his wound.
The bleeding had stopped, and on his clothes stained with blood, he could faintly see white, cotton-like material—this fluff was gradually increasing as if it were transforming from the blood.
After a mont of hesitation, Dumon pulled open his collar to see the small wound healing, and amidst the contracting flesh and blood, cotton was slowly burrowing into his body.
The entangled death crow and Abyssal Hound gradually ceased their struggle; the dull and simple-minded demons did not understand hatred and anger, their actions dictated by the emotions and cognitions of those symbiotic with them. As the skeletal wings slowly retracted, the two demons returned behind their respective masters.
Dumon raised his head, his expression subtly watching the Richard standing opposite of him—he rembered that their relationship had always been strained, especially so in recent tis. Though not deeply resentful, occasional friction occurred.
It was because of this that he had decided to have Richard accompany him when he opted for a divided approach to their activities—he did not wish Richard to engage in any ’underhanded moves’ out of his line of sight.
He could never have imagined that this person would do such a thing to him.
After hesitating for quite a while, Dumon finally spoke awkwardly, "You’re actually quite a good person."
Richard smiled, and in that instant, the trivial animosity between him and Dumon dissolved—@#￥% repairing the brotherly bond between them.
"We should go help others," Richard sincerely said, "everyone’s feeling empty inside, they all need cotton."
"Yes, everyone needs cotton..." Dumon was still sowhat uncomfortable with this entirely new self, and his expression beca a bit awkward when he spoke, but he agreed with Richard’s suggestion, "We can start with Shalier’s group—he’s an honest and hardworking person."
"No problem, but we need a plan, those who lack cotton are not rational, they might not even be aware of its importance—just like you were just a mont ago. We need to carefully consider their attitudes..."
"Yes, Rabi also thinks you need a plan..."
"We can discuss it while we walk."
"Then let’s set off." "Let’s set off." "Let’s set off."
Richard and Dumon simultaneously lifted their heads, gazing into the mist-enshrouded forest path, then they took a step forward, heading deep into the misty Dreamscape.
Rabi went hunting.
...
The land covered in ash and black detritus creaked underfoot, giving an illusion that one might sink into it at any mont. The collapsed and broken branches and debris crisscrossed more obstructively than the underbrush and vines in the forest.
Nina and Morris walked with difficulty among these vast remains, which seed to stretch endlessly, and after a good while, they were only moving around the outskirts of this area.
"This place is even harder to walk through than the forest outside," Nina complained, "at least in the forest there are paths worn by wild animals... Here, it’s all ashes that you could sink into with each step."
While talking, she lifted her foot from the ash and black detritus, her dirty shoes causing her to frown.
She steadied herself against a charred branch next to her, took off the shoe on her left foot, and shook out a few stones and black pieces with force.
"And I feel like we’ve just been going in circles around the edge of this scorched earth," she continued, "Is this really going to lead us to the center of the remains?"
"The collapsed tree crowns are blocking the path to Silantis’ main trunk... this is indeed a bit troubleso." Morris frowned, looking at the jagged and charred branches in the distance.
Although called branches, these fallen pieces of debris from the top of the World Tree were better described as ’massive’—even so ’small branches’ by relative size were a hundred ters long with a diater nearly as large as a tower. They lay crisscrossed on the scorched earth, the vast structure they ford was daunting; from a distance, instead of charred dead branches, they resembled... a giant city that had collapsed from the clouds.
Facing such piled-up ’fallen branches and leaves,’ brute force was not a feasible solution; the only way was to find alternative routes, taking various detours, or risk squeezing through the gaps between branches, searching for paths not completely blocked by ash.
"If Miss Fenna were here, she might have charged straight in," the thought of ’brute force’ ca to her, and Nina muttered under her breath, "None of these obstructions would withstand a punch from her."
"Fenna isn’t just about brute strength," Morris, as an elder well-acquainted with Fenna, couldn’t help but interject upon hearing this, "and even she might... well..."
He paused halfway, seemingly hesitant.
After a mont, he shook his head: "Well, perhaps not, she really might be able to."
"I could too..." Nina murmured quietly.
Morris glanced at the girl, appearing to want to say sothing, but just as he was about to speak, a breeze suddenly swept over the ashen land—amidst the dust clouds that erupted, both he and Nina caught sight of a vague shadow that seed to whisk by in the not-too-distant front.
It looked like an elf, lost in the wind?
Nina froze for an instant, then swiftly turned her head: "Mr. Morris, did you just see sothing over there..."
"I saw it," Morris said, cutting Nina off, his expression turning serious, "It looked like an elf."
"It doesn’t look like ’Xilin’..." Nina said uncertainly, "The attire seems more like... more like..."
She hesitated, not daring to jump to a conclusion, but Morris nodded slightly—
"Like a resident of Light Breeze Harbor."
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