Chapter 51: An Unexpected Revelation

A Dangerous Journey

Wenger didn’t know Peach had come along with Viyi. Vick had noticed, thinking it normal for Miss Wenger to bring a familiar, and said nothing. Now unconscious, he couldn’t tell her. Even if she knew, she wouldn’t have realized the little creature she’d lived with so long had other abilities. She’d still worry…

Though the storm outside hadn’t calmed, they had little time to wait. Edward and Aranold’s cabin sat on a hill, overlooking the silent town below. To reach the base of the tree roots, they’d need to detour through the city. Unfamiliar with the area, Wenger followed Edward closely. She gripped her hood with one hand, securing her clothes with the other.

The wind roared fiercely. She’d released her mana early, but the faint magic struggled against the howling gale. The city under the blizzard exuded a serene stillness—not frightening, but steeped in pervasive sorrow. No one was here anymore, hence the silence. Edward wove through the streets, occasionally checking if the girl kept up. Wenger trudged forward, catching sight of his fluttering coat. Her ears were filled with the clamor of the wind.

She felt she’d walked for ages until the buildings grew sparse. Edward stopped before a stone bridge. Snow marked a clear dividing line on the ground. The moment they stepped onto the bridge, all noise ceased, snowflakes frozen in another world. Edward measured the sprawling roots covering the “sky” with his hand, then moved forward. He offered no explanation. As if even extreme weather was commonplace here.

Wenger followed silently for a long time, checking her pocket watch three times. The journey took three hours. They reached the base of the cliff. More precisely, beneath a sheer wall. There was no slope—she had no mood to joke about an eighty-nine-degree incline. From afar, the roots looked pitch-black. Up close, she saw her mistake. Snow, sliced irregularly, clung to the cliff.

The mountain itself was barely visible, overtaken by massive, dark roots. Space was shattered under some force’s influence. Edward smiled at her. “With luck, we’ll be up in half a day.” At the cliff’s base, snow buried their ankles. Her robe was no longer dusted but seemed ready to swallow her slight frame. In the mighty blizzard, they became two slow-moving specks nearing the cliff.

The climb was a pure physical struggle. Though she couldn’t see the entities scattered around, she sensed something amiss. The omnipresent spatial fragments made flying with magic impossible. At times, as they ascended, the blizzard halted abruptly, only for the air to grow scorching, suppressed by some force. The path was cautious, with many close calls, but Edward knew the area well enough. Not perfectly, as the space itself drifted. The city’s blizzard came from the herbs he’d gathered at the tree’s base.

Edward said the place was filled with the lingering laws of a withered, yet undying force. These laws warped space, and to some extent, time. They arduously reached the final “peak.” Wenger felt physically exhausted. Edward, barely spent, pointed to a white flower in the distance—their goal. Aranold had stressed that Wenger must pick it herself, a key part of the ritual.

She approached the cliff alone, leaning forward carefully to reach out. Edward watched the surroundings behind her. But accidents come suddenly. No one could react in time. Space tore apart. Right before her, severing several of her fingers.

Blood gushed, pain like countless needles stabbing her mind from all directions. She didn’t stop. Her mana surged even more fiercely, stirring the stagnant elements. The deathly aura was pushed back by her overwhelming magic. Soil rose from the ground, presenting the proud white flower standing tall in the blizzard. She plucked it whole, warming her frozen knuckles silently, reattaching them.

Green light flowed over her hand, blood nearly staining the flower. Edward clasped her wounded hand in his, and moments later, it was healed. But the pain was real, lingering as phantom agony. Seeing her confusion, he explained it wasn’t an illusion. Spatial cuts could typically be healed quickly with high-tier healing. If not, something lingered in the wound. Here, it could only be the shattered laws.

Wenger noticed a clean, white scar where the cut had been. She didn’t dwell on it—her energy was spent. She realized staying here was far more dangerous than the journey. With the flower in hand, they needed to leave quickly.

In the courtyard, light enveloped the cabin, shielding it from the embers of law as the blizzard howled. Aranold prayed, to whom it was unclear. A faint sound came from within. Vick sat up weakly. Unease gnawed at him, grasping only darkness until he caught a familiar scent. After walking an unknown time, he saw light. An oil lamp hung high.

Sitting up, he searched but didn’t find the expected figure. Then he met Aranold’s gaze as she entered. His first instinct was to draw his sword, but he was too weak, and the “dragon” showed no malice. “Feeling better? Have some water.” She washed a cup, filling it with warm water. Vick didn’t refuse—his broken body was likely troubling others again.

“Have you seen a silver-haired…” “You mean Miss Wenger?” Aranold smiled, studying him as if reading something. “She’s fine. She brought you here. If she’d been later, you might not be up now.” He fell silent. He knew his condition best—so many past suspicions, yet she’d saved him. Without a holy elixir, he shouldn’t have woken…

Aranold ignored the doubt in his eyes, asking her own question. “What’s your relationship with Miss Wenger?” “With Miss Wenger?” So formal—did I misunderstand? She shook her head, saying no more, just waiting. But she explained the ritual’s details, omitting that Wenger had gone to such a dangerous place. If needed, Miss Wenger would tell him herself.