Alaric led the group to Oakwood's outskirts. The battlefield lay uncleared—dried corpses scattered everywhere, the air thick with the stench of blood and ash.
Elara covered her mouth, visibly shaken. Even Eldar and Kael frowned at the gruesome scene.
The Gloomy Withered Willow stood eerily at the village entrance, its cracked black trunk now dotted with silver-green leaves that shone with a cold light—a stark contrast to the death surrounding it.
Before Alaric could speak, chaos erupted from the town. Villagers fled in panic, screaming as silver-green leaves floated through the air, chasing them like blades. Those touched withered instantly into dried husks.
Alaric spotted Thor helping the old chief escape, even deflecting leaves with his small fists. Good thing I found Eldar, he thought. I couldn't have handled this alone.
As leaves pursued the crowd beyond the town, Alaric played his part—stumbling away, feigning terror. Elara and Kael scoffed at his retreat. Coward.
They didn't know his real plan: he couldn't risk being seen as ordinary by Thor or the chief, nor could he afford attention. He needed to watch from the shadows—ensure the willow didn't harm Thor, but also make sure Eldar's group survived without winning too easily. If Eldar noticed Thor's talent, everything would be ruined.
A stalemate is best, he thought, hiding behind rocks, his hand tight around the hilt of the Northrend Meteor-Iron Thunderblade.
On the field, Kael moved first. His silver sword gleamed with energy as he cut down several leaves. But when he neared the willow, it released a dark green mist—Withering Spirit Fog—that enveloped the area.
Kael's movements slowed as if stuck in mud. A pulling force traveled up his blade, numbing his arm. He strained, face flushed.
Elara stepped forward, but Eldar stopped her. "The fog is corrosive. Stay back." The elder unleashed a golden sword energy that severed the connection between the fog and Kael's blade, pulling him to safety. "Fall back. I'll handle this."
Eldar drew his sword, the pressure of his Spirit-Forging cultivation spreading out. A golden blade of light shot toward the willow. The willow thickened the fog, dispersing the attack like ripples in water.
Alaric watched, tense. So this is Spirit-Forging power. Glad I didn't challenge it directly.
Eldar shifted tactics. The golden energy scattered into a cloud of blades that shot upward, forming a pillar before exploding into thousands of projectiles aimed at the willow.
The willow retaliated—every leaf detaching, transforming into a storm of dark-edged blades that tore through the air with a sharp screech.
The collision lit up the sky, explosions ringing out. Alaric's heart raced. If I had to face this, I'd need a thunder trap and one clean strike with the Thunderblade. Otherwise—run.
The battle intensified. Eldar's energy bombarded the willow, its protective glow flickering under the assault. Villagers cheered, thinking victory was near.
But Alaric felt uneasy. It's holding back.
As Eldar gathered power for a final strike—merging with his sword into a massive blade of light—the willow condensed its energy into a small, dark orb. Space warped faintly around it.
A low, scornful voice echoed in Alaric's mind: "You call this 'eliminating evil'?"
The orb met Eldar's strike.
Silence.
Then—detonation.
The shockwave threw villagers to the ground. Alaric, shielded by rocks, felt the pressure in his chest.
Eldar was thrown backward, crashing hard. Blood soaked his silver robes.
Elara and Kael rushed to him, but he gasped, "Go! Now!"
The willow's branches stirred, new leaves sprouting. The three cultivators fled.
In the shadows, Alaric drew the Northrend Meteor-Iron Thunderblade. Lightning flickered along its pale gold length as he aimed at the willow.
"Now."
✅ SYSTEM:
Faction Points: 250
New Objective: Eliminate the weakened [Gloomy Withered Willow]. Protect [Thor] and secure Oakwood territory.
Note: Target energy signature depleted. Engagement window: 86 seconds.