Chapter 102: Embers Slumber and the Elves

Darkness was the only perception.

Copperbeard’s heavy breaths echoed in the silence, each inhale carrying the stench of rust and thick mud, each exhale tearing through his entire body with searing pain. His lone remaining right eye had barely adjusted to the absolute darkness within the pipe; the mechanical ocular implant had been utterly destroyed in the explosion, leaving only a hollow socket, tightly packed with rough cloth, still oozing warm blood and tissue fluid. His left mechanical arm was leaden with weight, its internal structure severely damaged, emitting ominous sizzling currents, now nothing but cold, dead metal.

He leaned against the cold, damp pipe wall, thickly coated in slimy moss, his companion dragged in with his last strength lying before him.

Lin Mo lay atop thick black sludge, a pure star-dust crystal on his chest emitting the only light—faint yet steadfast—a milky glow barely outlining his charred body. The glow seemed alive, pulsing gently, resisting the dark purple radiance of the rotting claw mark that throbbed relentlessly on his right arm. The mark, like a living thing, pulsed with each beat, causing the emerald aura surrounding it—originating from the withered twig in Lingna’s arms—to ripple violently, as if engaged in silent struggle.

Lingna’s small body curled beside Lin Mo, her face as pale as paper, her breath so faint it was nearly imperceptible. At the tip of the withered World Tree twig in her arms, a barely visible hint of green glowed like a candle in the wind, stubbornly enduring, radiating a calm, resilient life force that repelled the approaching insect swarms and temporarily suppressed the most violent corruption of the rotting claw mark.

Wrench lay farther away, his body charred black, one arm twisted into a grotesque angle, dried blood caked around his mouth and nose, utterly unconscious.

Copperbeard’s gaze struggled across his companions, finally settling on himself. The wound torn open by Ellie’s claws pierced deep to bone, edges curled and blackened; purple-black corruption energy, like a parasitic leech, had its erosion greatly slowed under the dual suppression of the star-dust’s glow and the lingering embers of the twig on Lin Mo’s body, yet the agony and weakness surged like icy tides, crashing against his consciousness. The new dragon-claw wound on his back burned just as fiercely.

“Huh… huh…” He gasped heavily, trying to gather even a sliver of strength. This place was temporarily safe—the insect swarms trailing behind had been repelled by the twig’s aura and the star-dust’s scent, lingering in the distant dark, their hissing whispers raising the hairs on his neck. But safety was fleeting. No food. No clean water. His companions were gravely wounded, near death. He himself was drained, spent. He had to do something.

He struggled, using his still-intact right hand to painfully unfasten a tattered water pouch at his waist—empty. He fumbled through his torn pockets, finding only a few charred fragments of compressed meat jerky, baked black in the furnace explosion. Not enough to fill a tooth gap.

Despair, like the ever-present darkness of the pipe, tried once more to swallow him whole.

Just then, the pipe wall he leaned against seemed… different? The texture wasn’t solely cold metal and slimy moss—his fingertips had brushed against something… carved? He snapped his focus, gritting through the pain, shifting his body to peer closer under the faint star-dust glow.

On the rusted, gray-moss-covered metal wall, where his back had pressed moments before, layers of grime had been scraped away, revealing faint, fluid, intricate lines beneath. The lines intertwined, forming a corner of some ancient, mysterious pattern. His rough fingers trembled as he rubbed away more grime.

A massive emblem emerged—vines and thorns entwining around the image of a colossal tree! Though rusted, the lines remained startlingly clear, radiating an elegance and resilience foreign to the wasteland. More astonishing still—the center of the emblem, at the roots of the tree, emitted an extremely faint yet unnervingly steady golden glow! It was this light that, when he entered this area, had drawn him like a beacon in the dark!

“Elves…” A spark of disbelief blazed in Copperbeard’s single eye as he whispered hoarsely. He recalled Ellie’s final gesture pointing here, before the fortress ruins; he remembered Liyana’s descriptions of ancient Elven glyphs! This was no natural formation—it was a… ruin? A hidden Elven artifact buried deep beneath the earth?

His heart pounded. Ignoring his wounds, he strained with all his strength to pull away from the wall, exposing more of the emblem to the star-dust light. As more grime was wiped away, the golden glow brightened slightly, and an indescribable, gentle, life-filled aura spread quietly through the cramped space, easing its oppressive weight. Even the pulsing rotting claw mark on Lin Mo’s arm seemed to calm a fraction beneath the golden radiance.

Hope, like the emblem itself, stubbornly pierced through the abyss of despair with a sliver of light.

Copperbeard leaned against the pipe, gasping violently, his single eye fixed on the warm-glowing Elven emblem. Where was the entrance? Was this emblem merely a marker—or a gateway? His companions couldn’t wait much longer. Lingna’s breath grew fainter. The star-dust glow on Lin Mo’s chest dimmed slowly but steadily. The emerald light at the twig’s tip flickered, on the verge of extinction.

He had to find a way into this Elven ruin! Otherwise, they would all become forgotten bones in this dark underground.

Deep in the dark pipe, the insect swarm’s hissing drew closer again. Time was running out.