Chapter 55

Curious and greedy as humans were, there was no way no one had ever tried to enter that hollow. Yet even when I sharpened my vision with internal energy, I saw no trace of weapons ever scarring the tree. By all logic, it had to be unimaginably hard.

“Yes. Even mithril weapons can’t leave a scratch. They say its hardness rivals Hakonan—the so-called divine metal. And magic is useless against it too. In the end, the Crimson Empire had to step in and formally declare that no one was to use force against the tree anymore.”

John explained all this with his usual smile. If the Empire had issued a proclamation, then nations must have openly attempted to uncover the tree’s secrets before giving up. Still, if even mithril couldn’t harm it, that meant its strength was extraordinary.

As far as I knew, Hakonan was only a step below orichalcum. According to the knowledge ingrained in my head, dwarves forged it by combining orichalcum and mithril. Hakonan carried a faint flow of mana and surpassed mithril in toughness. For John to claim this tree matched that strength—it was something beyond common sense.

“And there are other legends too—”

“That’s enough.”

I cut him off before he could continue.

“Yes.”

John obeyed without protest, simply closing his mouth. No sign of resentment on his face or in his aura. Why did he follow my words so easily? Liking strong people was one thing, but this level of obedience was odd. Still, for now my attention remained on the tree.

If its strength truly rivaled Hakonan, proven or not, then the Giant Tree would be invaluable.

“Please, enjoy your meal!”

The polite voice came loud, almost like a shout. A rich, savory aroma reached my nose.

“Mmm~ smells great. Let’s eat, shall we?”

John, standing beside me, had caught the scent too and spoke with wonder. Clearly the mayor’s men had gone out of their way to prepare something this appetizing in the open air. A silent message, asking us to do well.

I wondered what the food would be like, and nodded before heading over.

“Yes.”

John’s cheerful voice carried from behind me. If I wanted, I could use the Mental Discipline Technique to brighten my emotions and act as lively as he did, but I didn’t feel like it. The mention of discipline made me think of the Death Knights. They were probably doing fine in my subspace. Maybe I should summon them out one of these days, just to see how they were holding up.

Lunch was set up so that each carriage’s group had its own space. I walked toward the massive tree, where the black mage sat alone, eating in silence. He took a few bites, then drank water, then repeated the cycle.

“Oh. Look at all this food!”

John’s voice, full of wonder, rang out again. Just as he said, there were more than five different dishes. By normal standards that wasn’t much, but for an outdoor meal on a subjugation mission, it was impressive. Judging by how quickly it was served, they must have prepared it ahead of time and only reheated it here.

Soup, bread, meat, vegetables—all laid out. A jug of water sat beside a cask of vodka. A hint to ease nerves with alcohol, perhaps? But glancing around, no one seemed particularly nervous. They hadn’t faced a minotaur yet, so reality hadn’t sunk in.

The soup I tasted was excellent, better than what most inns served. John stuffed his cheeks full, chewing with a smile that made the sight ridiculous yet oddly amusing.

Still, my mind kept drifting back to that massive tree. Its strength especially intrigued me. I dipped bread into the soup. Delicious.

By the time lunch ended, John suddenly shared another legend about the great tree. Like many others, it was a story of love. Unsurprisingly, the protagonist was an elf—so perhaps there really was some link between elves and the Giant Tree. According to John, a pendant was said to be buried somewhere within the tree.

The tale went that a female elf, stricken with sorrow, came to the tree and wept. A human knight found her there and offered comfort. Touched by his kindness, the elf gave him her pendant, which supposedly freed its wearer from every disease in the world. But the knight cared nothing for the pendant. He had fallen for her beauty instead.

He confessed his feelings, but the elf rejected him for reasons unknown. The knight swore he would return to the tree every full moon, waiting for her, and gave back the pendant—saying that if she ever accepted it again, he would take it as her recognition of him. Then he left.

True to his word, the knight returned every full moon. For a year. Five years. Twenty. Forty. On the forty-fourth year’s first full moon, he came once again—and found her. The elf was there, but lifeless and cold.

No one knew why she had come to the tree to die. The knight, devastated, dug a deep hole beside her and buried the pendant there. Interpretations of his actions varied—men and women in particular saw different meanings in it.

That was the end of John’s story.

I found more than a few ridiculous parts in the tale, but legends often were like that, so I let it pass. Still, if that pendant’s powers were real and it truly existed, then it was an incredible treasure.

“Moved, weren’t you?”

John was clearly talking about the story he’d just told. I let his words pass and turned my gaze to the black mage already seated inside the carriage. They lifted their head slightly, as if they’d felt my stare.

I sat down, fixed my eyes on where the black mage’s should be beneath the hood, and spoke through silent transmission. The entire time, they kept running their hand over that staff. Even during lunch, I remembered them holding it in one hand, never letting go.

[How old do I look to you?]

My lips didn’t move. The words flowed directly into their mind—Voice Transmission.

The black mage raised their head higher, revealing the line of their nose. They froze completely, no words, no movements. Even their restless hand stopped fidgeting with the staff. Was it because of the Voice Transmission?

“Hyah!”

The coachman’s shout cut through the air. From inside, the sound was muted—good insulation. The carriage jolted harder as it picked up speed.

[No mana. No mana fluctuations at all, yet you did it somehow. Curious.]

The black mage’s reply wasn’t in my ears but directly in my head. Definitely Telepathy, a 4th-class spell. More mental discipline than magic itself. I ignored his comment and pushed my thought again.

[Don’t repeat yourself twice.]

[So be it. So be it… unbelievable. Over a hundred years.]

Not bad. He’d guessed right. I was one hundred and six. Surprising, considering how carefully I’d sealed my presence. They themself seemed shaken; I felt their aura tremble. Amusing.

I leaned back against the carriage wall, watching their hand slowly resume stroking the staff. That staff carried dimensional mana, tucked so deeply inside it was almost imperceptible. Once unleashed, it would flood outward, crippling weaker bodies with its oppressive weight. Depending on the opponent, it could make them nearly unbeatable.

Silence fell again, broken only by the occasional snort of the horses and the creak of wheels. The black mage said nothing more, just kept switching the staff between hands, stroking it like a nervous habit. John, meanwhile, had his face pressed to the window, chirping about how beautiful everything looked.

“Whoa, whoa~”

The coachman’s voice broke the calm, reining in the horses. Outside, the sky had turned crimson with sunset. Too early to rest for the night.

“The horses are tired. We’ll stop for a short break. My apologies.”

The driver spoke politely from the front.

“Understood.”

John leaned out and answered for us, cheerful as ever. I wondered if there’d been any need for a reply, but the black mage’s voice cut through before I could dwell on it.

“Where did you… Where did you come from?”

The question caught me off guard. Where had I come from? The Demon Realm. The desert. The slums. The Human Realm. Too many places to name. If they asked because of the dimensional aura clinging to me… then maybe…

“You know well enough yourself. So why ask?”