Chapter 103: The Hidden Currents of the High Council

“Sakavi! Wake up—!”

The voice boomed like an ancient tree collapsing, brimming with unmasked mischief.

“If you keep snoring among your piles of gold, that fiery ugly beast Malgash will storm into your den and whip your ass raw!”

Before the words faded, a deep, rasping laugh—belonging to a Thorn Lu —rumbled through the chamber: “Hahahaha—!”

Sakavi’s molten-gold vertical pupils slowly opened amid the fresh, clean air. For a moment he was dazed, then his pupils sharply contracted, fixing on the colossal shadow towering before him, nearly brushing the ceiling, entwined with ancient thorn-vines and emerald radiance.

“...Vilanser?”

A low, smoky, sleep-roughened rumble rolled from his throat, thick with genuine shock.

His pupils cleared instantly, sweeping over the massive Thorn Lu ’s body, as if searching the air for more clues; his tone now carried clear confusion and a lingering trace of wariness:

“The stench of the Abyss... hasn’t cleared yet, has it? How did you break through the demon brats’ lines?”

“Of course, thanks to my good son—he’s already twisted off that Abyss Lord’s head. Look, I brought it for you today.”

A large, grotesque head, still wreathed in wisps of black smoke and the acrid stench of sulfur, thudded onto the ground before Sakavi. It was Malgash’s head.

The lone remaining eye froze in stunned rage and disbelief; the severed neck vertebrae jagged and uneven, dark purple Abyss blood still oozing slowly into the stone cracks, emitting a faint “hiss” of corrosion. The twisted horns and bony protrusions still radiated an unsettling aura of pressure.

“Now, believe me? And your miserable life? Saved by my son. Morax, that half-baked fool, could barely summon a lich dragon—and even that’s hardly different from your bony carcass.”

“Vilanser, you’ve truly given me a surprise. I thought this war would drag on for years—how did you convince the Night Elves to join?”

“Time... is a fascinating blacksmith.”

The Thorn Lu ’s deep voice echoed through the cave, resonating like ancient bedrock.

“When I was still a sapling, just sprouting my third new branch, I had to bow my leaves and respectfully address everyone as ‘elder.’” Her thorned vines brushed lightly against the ground, as if caressing the passage of time. “Now, after nearly eight hundred rings...”

She lifted her head slightly; her massive antlers, entwined with starlight and ancient vines, cast mottled shadows in the cave’s dim glow.

“Even within the Night Elves’ vast, forest-like lineage, there are countless young shoots—‘younger branches’ who’ve only just sprouted and stretched out.” Her voice held no boast, only the quiet depth of still water. “Now, asking them to do something... is indeed much easier.”

“Living long... hah. A fine deal.” Sakavi exhaled two streams of sulfurous smoke laced with sparks, his massive tail impatiently sweeping across the stone pile, sending up a clatter.

“Endless debts to repay, ledgers of old grudges impossible to tally.” His molten-gold pupils glanced sidelong at the Thorn Lu , his tone laced with his usual arrogance and a faint, almost self-mocking sneer.

“Unlike me? When trouble comes, I sharpen my own claws, kindle my own flames, and when the sky falls...” He bared his dagger-like dragon fangs, “I have to hold it up with my own body.”

“Don’t try to fool me with empty words.”

Vilanser’s voice plunged abruptly, like ancient roots gripping bedrock. The ground before her hooves trembled slightly; the black smoke clinging to Malgash’s head was cleansed away by an invisible natural force.

“I’ve already had those incompetent children of mine ‘clean up’ that necrotic realm you dumped on me—full of wailing bones, where even the soil rotted.”

“Just purifying the core, saturated with negative energy, cost me three Dawn Jewels preserved for a thousand years.” Her tone remained steady. “Just now, I once again saved your pitiful life from the Abyss.”

“Debts must be settled properly.”

She leaned forward slightly; the faint glow from her antlers illuminated Sakavi’s scales.

“First debt: payment for clearing the necrotic realm. I want half of it—the purified land and its newborn spirit veins. They’re useful to me.”

“Second debt: the cost of today’s rescue.” Vilanser’s gaze seemed to pierce through the rock walls, gazing toward the distant city walls. “And your wolfman, Gisk, has been stuck at the legendary threshold for years, hasn’t he? I’ve used the purification of thorns and starlight to help him cross that final barrier—he’s now a true legendary ranger.”

She paused, letting silence settle in the air.

“Of course... the price for this second debt is separate.”

“The entire necrotic realm is yours.”

“This time... you truly brought reinforcements.” Sakavi’s dragon pupils reflected the faint glow from Vilanser’s antlers. “Without those creatures hiding in the forests, the mud, the shadows you brought...”

Sakavi hesitated, a low chuckle rumbling in his throat—indiscernible whether self-mocking or relieved. “I’d likely have had to roll up my few possessions and flee to some rift in the Star Realm.”

He lifted one foreclaw, its tip tracing an invisible line in the air, as if tallying a list of enemies.

“Over the years, my mouth and claws have annoyed plenty of ‘heroes’ and ‘righteous folk.’” His tone was flat, yet carried the weariness of countless conflicts. “Owing you this one... isn’t a loss.”

“Oh? Suddenly so generous?”

Vilanser’s voice took on a playful edge, like ancient trees swaying in the wind. Her gaze swept over the mountain of experimental equipment piled behind Sakavi, as if seeing through the rock to the battlefield outside—where the foul-smelling demon carcasses and twisted weapons lay scattered.

“The ‘loot’ you’ve gathered this time... mountains of demon remains, weapons soaked in Abyssal filth-fire, and those jingling trinkets drenched in demonic energy,” her tone remained calm, yet each word struck true.

“Ordinary merchants wouldn’t dare touch them—even glancing at them would require three days of purification at a temple. Even if some foolhardy soul dared buy them, they’d treat you like a gullible fool and crush your price to nothing.”

The Thorn Lu took a slight step forward; the emerald light swirling around her hooves illuminated a stretch of wall.

“Need me to ‘dispose’ of these hot potatoes for you?” Vilanser’s voice lowered, carrying the reassuring, seasoned confidence of a seasoned broker.

“At fair market value—no deception. I guarantee every piece of Abyssal iron, every vial of demon gland, is exchanged for its exact weight in pure, clean gold coins—or any other ‘hard currency’ you desire.”

“You... have such connections?”

His voice stretched out, heavy with suspicion and renewed appraisal; sulfurous smoke drifted slowly from his nostrils.

“I thought in these past few centuries, you’d become no different from ancient trees in the deep mountains—roots sunk deep, leaves too lazy to reach out.”

“Turns out, Vilanser... beneath your old roots, the web of business dealings is denser, deeper than your own growth rings.”

“Hahahaha! I’ll take that as a compliment! Thorn Lu have been allies of the Night Elves for generations—we still have our standing.”

“Back then, because of my poor talent, my mother was far stronger, and my children grew faster than me—I never had a chance to shine. But I still have plenty of friends, most of whom are still alive.”

…………

Three hours later, in the depths of Agrik Castle’s council hall, the air hung thick as mud.

The candles on the long table flickered uneasily, casting elongated, twisted shadows of the seated figures onto the cold stone walls. Vilanser’s return was like a stone dropped into a deep pool—the ripples had become silent undercurrents, utterly upending the hidden balance beneath.

The newly ascended legendary figures, Sharut and Gisk, sat prominently. Their bodies still radiated the sharp, newly forged-blade aura of their recent breakthroughs, standing starkly apart from the polished, sluggish aura of the veteran elites around them.

More crucially, they were native sons—their bloodlines and battlefield exploits woven into a network, commanding legions of loyal officers and soldiers. Their seats represented the undeniable rise of local power.

And Vilanser herself, though silent throughout, hung like a sword above every heart. Behind her, the two departed demigods, and the Night Elf Kingdom backing her, formed an invisible, crushing weight. No one dared treat her as an ordinary Thorn Lu .

On the other side, Morax’s silver scales gleamed coldly in the candlelight. Behind him stood the dragon-beasts who had fought in this war—still circling beyond the city walls, and at least two legendary dragons who openly supported him. This was overwhelming force capable of tipping—or overturning—the entire scene.

In contrast, Sakavi—the one who should have been the absolute core—seemed caught in an invisible vortex. The black dragon’s massive form reposed upon the Wang Zuo, yet the sulfurous silence that blanketed the hall spoke of a deeper predicament.

His authority remained, but the pillars supporting his power had quietly fractured. New elites rose, powerful allies aligned with others, foreign forces intervened deeply... He still sat on the throne, but the foundation beneath it was, through the silent calculations and intersecting glances of all present, feeling more unsteady than ever.

The voice from the Wang Zuo broke the silence, deliberately raised, authoritative and unquestionable, echoing through the stone hall.

“The Abyssal crisis has been quelled thanks to your bloody, desperate battles. Agrik still stands because of your blood.”

His gaze settled on the head of the leftmost row.

“Sharut. Vilanser.” He paused, letting the weight of their names sink into every ear. “You two were the key to this war. Sharut commanded and coordinated; Vilanser brought the reinforcements that broke the deadlock. Your merits are the highest.”

“Sharut,” his voice rose, like a proclamation, “By the name of the Duke, I declare: the entire Soro Archipelago is now your fief. It is our forward naval base.”

He then turned to the other side.

“Aquilong. Vex. You held the muddy frontlines of the Salt Marshes with great difficulty—I won’t forget how you stalled the demons’ advance. The Ironhoof Plateau along the Bohe Riverbanks is now your fief.”

His gaze swept over every silent or expectant face along the table.

“The deeds of all others will be verified and recorded by the scribe. Rewards will not be forgotten.”

Finally, his body leaned forward slightly, his voice suddenly deepening.

“But remember: driving the demons out is not our end. To claim wider lands, richer valleys, more strategic passes—you must seize them with your swords, burn them with your fire!”

His foreclaw slammed heavily onto the thick oak table before him.

“Every inch of scorched earth, every nest, every fortress the demons held—take it! Kill every vermin squatting upon it, and that land—and all it holds—becomes your territory!”