Chapter 255

Negril stretched his neck, slowly, slowly, took the sapling from Ange's hands, slowly, slowly, placed it on Ange's head, and sneered at the War Tree with a defiant glance.

The sapling, staring at the hundred-meter-tall giant before it, was also excited, waving its leaves: Push—grow—push—grow—

The War Tree stared in disbelief at its own body: its bark cracked and hardened into a shell, with vertical hollow channels inside, and fine sprouts curled from its crown like green tendrils, enveloping the canopy.

Instantly, the War Tree felt its body temperature plummet; just moments ago on the verge of heatstroke, it now experienced a rapid upward draft through the hollow channels due to temperature differential, carrying away its heat in a chimney effect.

Simultaneously, the hardened shell blocked the sun's heat and prevented water evaporation from its surface, cooling the entire War Tree.

The tender green curls, like a fluffy cap on its head, shielded it from the harsh sunlight, helping it adapt to the desert climate.

As soon as these two changes were complete, the War Tree, moments ago on the verge of withering under the sun, instantly felt comfortable.

But none of this mattered anymore—the War Tree, overcome with emotion, turned toward the sapling that caused it all, drove its roots deep into the ground, braced its arms against the earth, and leaned its trunk forward, its deep voice rumbling: "Treefolk Gorr, pays homage to the God of Life."

Negril, emboldened, flapped his wings upward, seized a leaf of the sapling with his tiny claw, and shouted: "Who was it that just said they'd wage war against us?!"

The moment Negril's claw touched the sapling, the War Tree had already grown anxious, instinctively wanting to stop it; now, faced with Negril's accusation, it hurriedly denied: "No no, not me."

Negril gloated: I'll show you who's boss.

But when he turned his head, he panicked immediately: the little angel, the little zombie, Lisa, Anna, Shiludi, Auberni… all glared at him with murderous intent; had Ange not been nearby, they would've already torn him apart.

He'd forgotten: the sapling wasn't just the Treefolk's god—it was everyone's little darling.

Negril chuckled awkwardly and quickly changed the subject, calling out loudly to Treefolk Gorr: "Who are you? Why are you here? Who sent you?"

Treefolk Gorr's deep voice replied: "I am Treefolk Gorr, a War Tree, sent by the elves. They said someone here had hired…"

Here, Gorr's gaze fell upon the sapling, as if struck by a revelation—he immediately corrected himself, his deep voice rising: "I came of my own will! I wish to serve the God of Life—that is my lifelong pursuit and dream!"

"..." Everyone exchanged glances. This War Tree didn't seem nearly as honest and simple as the legends claimed.

Treefolk Gorr took root in Meishencheng, right beside the World Tree; due to his greater size and sturdiness, he immediately became the highest point in Meishencheng.

Lisa didn't hesitate—she immediately sent workers to build a platform atop his crown, to serve as a watchtower.

"Use soft wood for the frame, anchored at the knotted areas, tied securely, or it'll rub through my bark." Upon learning of the platform's construction, Gorr not only didn't refuse—he enthusiastically offered advice.

"Why refuse? You build a watchtower, you'll station someone to keep watch, right? Perfect—now I'll have someone to chat with."

"Gorr fears boredom most. In the forest, it's lively—so many animals to talk to. Here, it's too hot, too barren. The elves said there'd be war, so I came."

"Oh oh oh, no no no—I came to serve the God of Life! That's my lifelong pursuit and dream!"

Negril realized this Treefolk was a complete chatterbox, utterly without principle or consistency—he could deny and reverse his own words mere moments after speaking. He'd clearly been tricked by the elves, yet insisted he came solely to serve the sapling, despite having never known of its existence before arriving.

Yet Gorr changed his story without blinking.

"Why are we called War Treefolk? Because the God of Life granted us the mission of war and protection—not feeble Treeherders who tend plants for a living. War is our destiny! Destroy the enemy!"

As Gorr spoke, Negril realized: even among Treefolk, there was a hierarchy. Gorr clearly looked down on Treeherders.

"Why am I the only one? A single War Tree's strength is enough to turn the tide of battle… well, the others refused to come because they thought this place was too hot."

Here, Gorr couldn't help but complain: "It's too hot here. I traveled only at night, rested during the day, and took over a month to get here. By day, I had to drive my roots deep, or I couldn't draw water—my bark cracked from dryness."

"Now it's much better. The God of Life granted me the ability to adapt to the desert climate. Look at these hollow channels—they draw air up from my roots and expel it from the crown, carrying away heat. Even under the sun now, I feel no discomfort. The God of Life—eternal god."

Negril asked curiously: "Why don't you reject the sapling at all? It's not a manifestation of the God of Life—it's not even the same as that old tree."

"Same thing," said Treefolk Gorr, unconcerned. "Little God of Life, old God of Life—can't there be two Gods of Life?"

After hearing Gorr's answer, Negril suddenly realized: the worshippers of the World Tree weren't exclusivist. Even the elves were the same—they didn't reject other faiths, unlike the Church of Light, which branded all non-believers as heretics.

Of course, while the elves didn't reject other beliefs, they looked down on all other beings—more exclusivist than the Church of Light.

With this talkative War Tree, Negril easily extracted every piece of information he wanted—including the current plight of the elves.

They remained in exile; the green mist still shrouded the World Tree, preventing the elves from approaching—meaning the World Tree had not forgiven them.

After asking about what interested him, Negril no longer wished to chat—but Treefolk Gorr's enthusiasm remained undimmed, holding Negril back.

Negril couldn't escape, and hurriedly said: "I'll find you someone witty to chat with."

"Witty? Wonderful! I love talking to witty people. The elves are so boring—they never talk. Not even as good as that horse."

Horse? Negril frowned. Why mention a horse? Was there a horse in the elf forest? Had this Treefolk left because no one in the forest would talk to him?

Though puzzled, Negril still summoned Lightning, who remained in the Abyss of Rest. From kilometers away, Lightning shouted excitedly: "Whoa, Chatty Gorr! What are you doing here? Didn't the elves chop you up for firewood yet?"

"Huh? Stinky Horse? How are you here? I just remembered you—how did your horns grow back? Didn't anyone cut them off? People out here are so nice."

Now Negril understood: "that horse" was Lightning. These two were clearly old acquaintances—after a brief greeting, they began hurling insults at each other.

Negril watched for a while, saw they weren't fighting—Gorr even lowered an arm, trying to lift Lightning up to the platform for easier bickering.

But Lightning refused the offer, circling the giant tree in midair, flying up to the platform himself.

"They seem familiar—no fighting. Good." Negril left, relieved. But after a moment, he suddenly thought of something.

Lightning and Gorr were old friends. One was a foul-mouthed brat, the other a chatterbox—neither acted like a normal unicorn or treefolk. Could it be their friendship caused this?

If so, now that they were reunited again, would their bad habits keep evolving?

Lightning was already a headache. If the foul-mouth got worse…

The consequences were too terrifying to imagine. He fled.

The next day, the elves came calling. Astrolia, eyes closed, smiled: "Lord Negril, are you satisfied with the elves' compensation?"

"Satisfied, satisfied!" Negril beamed. The elves, with their vast wealth, truly knew how to make amends—every gesture brimmed with sincerity.

The elves had essentially rebuilt Meishencheng, transforming the barren desert city into a garden city, raising its livability index by countless times.

Previously, wealthy visitors who came for beauty treatments despised Meishencheng's environment and left immediately after their procedures. Now, many were considering settling here permanently—more and more people had been consulting Lisa about residency.

Meishencheng's transformation carried another meaning: the elves were declaring to the world that Meishencheng was under their protection.

In addition, there were material compensations: millions of magic crystals, rare herbs, timber, and minerals—totaling a value exceeding a hundred million.

The elves handed it all over without blinking. How could Negril not be satisfied?

Ange was even more satisfied—the elves had gathered sixty thousand kinds of plant seeds for him…

"Then…" Astrolia smiled.

Seeing her forced smile, Negril was even more pleased. This elf hadn't known how to smile when she first arrived—she'd glowered constantly, as if everyone owed her millions.

Look—now she could smile. Her heart must be overflowing with joy.

"I can speak to the World Tree," said Negril, "but our satisfaction doesn't mean the God of Life will forgive you. I cannot sway the God of Life's will. Do you understand?"

Astrolia's expression darkened. She nodded, defeated.

Of course they knew—the God of Life's will could not be swayed by others. But if Negril pleaded on their behalf, perhaps they could regain a little.

She drew forth her staff, slammed it into the ground. A surge of magic rippled, and an oval ring of light appeared before her.

"A teleportation gate?!" Negril's heart leapt—he stared at Astrolia in disbelief, up and down.

Astrolia stood motionless, as if she hadn't just cast a teleportation gate—as if it were a trivial spell.

Negril said nothing, stepped into the portal. Astrolia followed. The oval ring vanished.

Shiludi sprinted out of a nearby house, her face still smeared with green face mask. She barely caught the moment the portal disappeared. She didn't care if it ruined her mask—she shouted excitedly: "Teleportation gate? The lost teleportation gate?"

The magic of teleportation gates had been lost for years. As a space mage, she'd never mastered this space spell.

Half an hour later, the teleportation gate reopened. Negril flew back, found Ange, and reported: "Ange, I spoke to the World Tree. We forgive the elves."

"Hmm." Ange replied, not sure if he'd even heard. He was fully absorbed in arranging the seeds the elves had given him—anything he found uninteresting, he forgot the moment he heard it.

Negril was used to it. He continued: "The World Tree lifted the green mist, but it hasn't forgiven the elves. It refuses to let them return to live on its branches. It no longer gives them life fruits—the fruits now contain new substances. The elves get diarrhea if they eat them, but other animals are fine."

"This is serious. Without life fruits, the elves' lifespan will shorten drastically. Their natural lifespan is only two hundred years—they're not even considered long-lived."

"Hmm." Ange replied, still fiddling with his seeds.

"So that's the situation. The elves went through all this trouble, yet still got no forgiveness from the World Tree. They've got a lot of headaches ahead." Negril gloated.

"Hmm." Ange replied again. After a pause, he suddenly lifted his head toward a direction, then bolted off—vanished into the night.

The little angel and little zombie, playing nearby, hurried after him.

Negril paused, then flapped his wings and chased after them. After a while, he realized Ange and the others had vanished—he gave up chasing, and instead projected himself onto Ange.

Once projected onto Ange, he felt a blur of speed—Ange was running at full force, nearly matching Lightning's velocity.

Soon, they reached the Fallen Dragon Lake. There, Luo Ge was locked in fierce combat with three Black Knights. The clash of weapons rang in a continuous roar.

Luo Ge, as Emperor of the Black Knights, was no weakling—though his martial skill fell short of Anthony's, he was still formidable. But his three opponents were equally strong: two were Dukes, and one was another Black Knight Emperor, equal in rank to Luo Ge.

Fighting one Emperor and two Dukes alone, Luo Ge was barely holding on. Seeing Ange arrive, he shouted desperately: "My lord, save me!"

Since Ange wasn't wearing his straw hat, the Black Knight Emperor frowned: "Hmph. A golden skeleton? You summon a golden skeleton to save you? You shame the Black Knights. Tear it apart."

The last words were directed at the two Dukes. The two Black Knight Dukes immediately abandoned Luo Ge and turned toward Ange, their blurred faces twisted with cruelty. A golden skeleton? To dismantle it would take only seconds.