CHAPTER 368: RESURRECTION

The sky over the Elven settlement burned crimson, torn asunder by chaos and the screams of battle. Shattered towers, blazing gardens, and trembling groves all bore witness to the merciless onslaught led by Aron and Selene, flanked by the monstrous, nightmarish Labyrinth creatures now rampaging through sacred lands once thought untouchable.

Now, at the heart of the ancient grove where the Divine Tree stretched toward the heavens—its colossal bark etched with primordial runes, its roots embedded in the world’s very soul—Kael Dragonyx hovered high in the sky, his eyes like molten gold as his wings, vast and draconic, spread against the twilight. His scaled arms crackled with dark purple lightning, each breath he took exuding the corruptive aura of Chaos magic.

Beneath him, Aron and Selene floated with wicked grins, their clothes torn and stained from the battles they have both triumphed over and got trampled upon, but their eyes filled with anticipation. The Seed of the Divine Tree—glowing like a second sun in the tree’s cradle—was within reach.

"It’s time," Kael growled, raising a clawed hand laced with dark runes. "We take it now... and burn this forest down to its roots."

But just before they could ascend further—

A sudden gust of wind, ancient and laced with untamed nature mana, swept across the grove. The earth trembled as if in protest. Time itself seemed to hiccup.

And then, they emerged.

From behind the broken gate of the Council Grove, nine Ancient Elves walked forth in solemn procession. Each of them now bore robes of silverleaf, skin etched with veins of light, and eyes that glowed with the stillness of centuries. And among them, stepping forward with clenched fists, was Velyrian, his expression grave, his chest heaving.

Kael narrowed his eyes. "So the cowards finally decide to crawl out of hiding."

But none of them replied. Instead, the Ancient Elves formed a wide circle in the air around the Divine Tree, their hands beginning to move in perfect synchronicity—fingers tracing invisible runes, their mouths whispering syllables that hurt the ear to hear.

The very atmosphere cracked. Mana thickened. The Labyrinth creatures writhed in confusion and fear. Even the Chaos twins paused, uncertain.

Velyrian’s voice finally broke the silence. "You should have stayed buried beneath the sea of your ignorance, Kael. What you face now... is no longer mortal."

A wave of brilliant white light surged from the Ancient Elves, followed by a deep chime—like the ringing of a divine bell at the edge of time. The seed pulsed once... then twice... and then—

a rift opened in the heart of the grove.

Within it, a silhouette stood—kneeling at first—then slowly rising.

The figure’s long silver hair cascaded down like living moonlight. His royal green armor shimmered, now merged with bark and root, pulsating with the essence of the Divine Tree itself. His eyes opened—not the soft green of before, but brilliant golden orbs—sunlight trapped in ancient rage.

The King of Elves had returned.

A divine wind burst forth from him, tearing through the grove like a hurricane. The skies responded. The Divine Tree quaked with joy.

Kael Dragonyx’s gaze darkened. "...Impossible."

But Velyrian answered coldly, "You took him from us. So we gave him back to the land. Now the land gives him back to you... as judgment."

The King floated upward, eyes fixed on Kael.

"You who desecrate the sacred... prepare to be unmade."

And with that, the grove erupted into blinding light—light so divine that even Chaos shrieked.

----

Meanwhile, a couple of minutes back in time...

The wind carried a charred stench—of homes burned, roots scorched, and blood spilled across the once-pristine meadows of Elvenkind.

Commander Maeralyn stood frozen at the crest of a hill overlooking her hometown—Velarion, the inner sanctuary of the Elven settlement. Her hood flapped wildly as her cloak danced in the storm of ash and wind, but she did not blink. Not even once.

Her limpid yellow eyes, always calm in council and steady in war, were now wide—stricken.

What she saw wasn’t just devastation.

It was defilement.

Where the golden bloom of mana flowers once hummed in harmony, grotesque Labyrinth creatures now prowled. With sinewy limbs, twitching mandibles, and skin that looked more like living void than flesh, they fed on anything that breathed, Men, Women, Children, and even Babies. And in the center of it all—tall, proud spires of the Elven citadel lay fractured, cracked open like bones under a celestial hammer.

Her heartbeat thundered in her chest—but then it changed.

A sudden pang shot through her, like a knife of light buried in her ribs.

Maeralyn gasped, clutching her chest tightly. Her knees buckled, and she knelt in the scorched grass.

"...What... is this feeling...?"

She had felt fear before. She had even tasted despair. But this was different.

It felt like a wound on her soul. Something was unraveling deep in the world’s essence, like an ancient tether being cut.

But then—she saw them.

A horde of Labyrinth creatures creeping across the hill like a black tide, grotesque and formless—rising like demons of an unfinished nightmare. One of them snapped its head in her direction, scenting her presence.

And then another.

Then all of them.

With screeches that sounded like broken hymns and chittering jaws soaked in gore, they surged toward her—an army of corruption made flesh.

But Maeralyn did not run.

Not this time.

Her hand, shaking with fury and grief, unsheathed the blade on her back—a glowing long sword with Elven runes etched from tip to pommel. As it slid out, it sang. A high-pitched note of vengeance and sorrow.

She narrowed her eyes.

"You should have stayed in your hole," she muttered coldly.

Then her body erupted in a pulse of Ancient Arcane Light. Glowing circuits of runic magic flared across her armor, cascading in violet-blue waves. Her long braid whipped behind her as wind surged in a spiral around her boots.

With a single step, she vanished into their midst.

The first creature had its face sliced off before it realized she had moved. Another was cleaved vertically from skull to pelvis in one clean arc.

Every swing of her sword was like lightning trapped in steel.

"FOR VELARION!!" she roared, eyes burning with fury.

She didn’t fight like a warrior.

She fought like a force of nature.

RUMBLE!! RUMBLE!!!

The sky above cracked with her rage as thunder rumbled over the clouds. The wind itself bent to her wrath. With a gesture of her palm, she summoned arcane circles mid-air—each one bursting with torrents of divine flame and chained lightning. The creatures screamed, stumbled, melted—some turned to ash entirely.

Minutes passed. Dozens died.

And then—silence.

Maeralyn stood among piles of steaming corpses, her chest heaving. Blood—both her own and theirs—soaked her armor. Her braid was loose, her lip torn. But her eyes were sharp.

Her heart still burned.

And that was when she felt it—a tremor in the very ground beneath her.

Her eyes snapped to the west. She turned slowly.

And she saw them.

The Ancient Elves, guardians of old—hooded, tall, and exuding incomprehensible mana—had emerged from their hidden council chamber, flanked by the prodigy of prophecy, Velyrian. They stood in a wide circle before the Sacred Glade.

But it was what they were doing that froze Maeralyn.

’Isn’t that the forbidden magic Arcana Veritus!? Why are they changing that? Who are they planning to resurrect?’ Maeralyn thought with a shocked look on her face.

She watched, stunned, as their bodies arched backward, eyes aglow, as their voices wove into a single, ancient chant—the Arcana Veritus. Their palms moved in synchronized reverence, drawing crimson and golden sigils in the air.

The Divine Tree behind them began to pulse—its roots lifting subtly, its branches spreading like wings.

And then... it happened.

A crack like thunder split the earth. A blinding pillar of emerald and silver light erupted from the sacred grove—and within it, a figure emerged.

Tall. Regal. Radiant.

His long platinum hair shimmered like strands of moonlight. His antlered crown, made of ancient bark and star-metal, returned to its rightful place.

His eyes—golden and infinite—opened slowly, scanning the battlefield.

Maeralyn dropped her sword.

Her lips trembled.

"...F-Father...?"

The resurrected King of the Elves stood alive once more, encased in power channeled directly from the Divine Tree. But this time—he was not merely a king.

He was a vessel of wrath, infused with the vengeance of the forest, the will of the Ancients, and the love of a dying race.

And as he turned toward the sky, where Kael Dragonyx and the Chaos Twins hovered, attempting to ascend toward the Seed—

Although she didn’t hear everything that was said by both the Ancient Elves, Velyrian, Kael Dragonyx along with Aron and Selene and her father, she still hear the last statement her fatter made inwhich his voice was like ancient thunder.

"Children of Chaos... you shall go no further."

Maeralyn collapsed to her knees, tears streaming down her cheeks—conflicted, overwhelmed, and shaking from the battle.

Her father had returned.

But why did he return through resurrection?

Did he died?