Chapter 360: Holy, Holy Mother

The capital of the wood elves in the Bloodwoods was not grand at all. It couldn’t be, for it never stayed in one place for too long. The only thing notable about it was that it was a true building, and presently surrounded by an army well-prepared for war. It looked like a longhouse placed atop a thick branch, supported by curling branches. It had only two entrances, one on each side. Within its largely empty halls, four stood with a rigid posture and alert red eyes.

A man entered into the doorless entryway of the hall, landing gracefully. He brushed his hands off and stepped toward the waiting four. With golden blonde hair and eyes wholly red, each of them looked greatly alike. One had to study their faces closely for differences, but even then they were remarkably uniform. All save one, that is—there was one female in their number.

“We greet the Supreme Myriarch,” the four waiting elves said in tandem as he moved to them.

“At ease,” he commanded them at once, and they lowered their hands back behind their back. “I received word that there was a heavy engagement with the Holy Army of the Wind in the south. Batbayar—that was your station. Report details of this force.”

“Sir,” Batbayar began, stepping out of rank and file from the other three. “This group entered from the south at the first quarter of dawn. They numbered three hundred and eleven. Nine of them were spellcasters of probable high ranking. Three were confirmed as A-rank. One was confirmed as S-rank. Others cast no spells, but observation of their magic quantity from myself and my juniors suggests they may be B-rank or higher. Three hundred others were identified as warriors the humans call snow elves. One among their number—one who gave orders—resembled the leader of the invasion against us years ago.”

The Supreme Myriarch clenched his fist at the last part, then nodded. “Report what happened.”

Batbayar did not hesitate a second in responding, “We attempted to intercept, but they managed to reach a forbidden area before they could be stopped. Though we made heavy use of arrow and spell rain, all attacks were intercepted by a ward. My Tumen was diverted by a high-ranking spell of flame, and personal intervention from a monstrous warrior caused the formation to collapse. My personal attempt to intercept their force with an S-rank spell was met with a counter of the same rank. They sustained no casualties, and the interception was a complete failure.”





The myriarchs looked briefly shocked at the news that not even one of their foes had died, but their military discipline kept their surprise from leaking into their posture. They looked at Batbayar not with disdain, but with sympathy. Their camaraderie was undeniable from their gaze alone.

“What forbidden area, myriarch?” the Supreme Myriarch questioned.

“They sheltered in the entrance to the holy land of the centaurs, sir.” Batbayar stared unflinchingly. “From scout observation, that was their target from the beginning.”

Stress seemed to overwhelm their supreme leader for a moment, and he caressed the ridge of his nose before remembering his place.

“I haven’t wanted to do this… but it must be. I have three Tumens locked in dealing with the anomaly in the northern forest. With four Tumens, we lack the manpower for a total screen of all exits from the centaur’s holy land.” He looked to the myriarch to his left. “Myriarch Otgon. You are to take your Army of the Roots and head to all known exits from the centaur’s holy land. Take whatever measures necessary to block them off.”

“Yes, Supreme Myriarch,” the man in question pounded his fist against his heart.

“Respectfully, sir, I believe another course of action should be taken.” Batbayar, too, made the same gesture of fist upon heart. “We cannot risk provoking the centaurs to action while dealing with the forest-wide changes. It may be a message from the old gods.”

“There are no gods in these woods. If there were, they’ve long abandoned us,” the female myriarch butted in. “Even if it were, the roots expanding has been a blessing. We can walk upon the ground without fear of centaurs.”

“Silence, Altan,” the Supreme Myriarch commanded. “Religion is a personal matter. We all struggle in the same woods, so beliefs are to be kept private. You are to flog yourself twice in private for speaking out of turn in a military meeting.” He turned his gaze to the next. “Batbayar. For your failure to intercept foes, you are to flog yourself twenty times while those that were injured in the battle watch. For my failure to properly allocate troops to the south, I will flog myself twenty-two times before you, my myriarchs. Let this pain remind us to never make this mistake again. Such is our responsibility as leaders, and the price of power.”

The Supreme Myriarch stepped away to retrieve a flog. As he walked, Batbayar closed his eyes. A face flashed in his mind… an elven face with blonde hair and red eyes, standing just beside the man that resembled the leader of the human invasion years past.

Ganbaatar… what have you brought to your home? Ruin? Or… something else?

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The caverns that their party entered were massive and complex… but that worked to their advantage, Argrave supposed. There were many entrances and exits to this place, each and all leading to holy ground of the centaurs. Maybe in the distant past he would have been able to direct their party through this place by memory. No longer—things were familiar, but only that and nothing more. Anneliese’s Starsparrow was an able scout even in the dark, however.

“Her Highness…” Moriatran mused as she scouted ahead. Despite his age, he seemed the least exhausted of all of them—that befuddled Argrave, but he supposed it was enchantments. “Her ascension is powerful. An impressive display.”

“Impressive only because she uses it better than anyone else could,” Argrave nodded, missing no chance to brag about Anneliese. He saw her ears grow a little red as she sent her Starsparrow ahead and smiled broadly as he watched her work.

“Castro was saying that you intended to ascend to A-rank,” Moriatran followed up, staring at him cautiously. At that, Artur and Vasilisa both paid a little more attention. “Did you lie?”

“I’ll do it here, probably in a few days,” Argrave said, then looked at Ganbaatar. “I had intended to reach the place in question through a different path at the edge of the woods, but given the troubles I’m forced to do it at a rather dangerous location.”

The wood elf closed his eyes as Argrave spoke and shook his head but said nothing. Neither did Moriatran, for that matter. Argrave couldn’t get a grasp of the S-rank Magister’s personality, whether it had been in Heroes of Berendar or here in this reality. He was Castro’s ‘rival,’ but the Tower Master ignored the proclamation and paid him little mind. One might expect a person who proclaimed themselves another’s rival while being ignored to be boisterous and obnoxious, or perhaps arrogant and sarcastic like Rowe. The old man was neither, thus far—he was quiet, speaking only when he had direct questions or answers while offering no opinions whatsoever.

And Artur… his defense of their party had been so stalwart Argrave still couldn’t erase that scene from his mind. What was the man’s game? Argrave couldn’t say. He’d been nothing but generous. Intuition dictated that spelt trouble. Then again, perhaps he was being unduly prejudiced.

“Artur,” Argrave called out. “You used up all of your magic reserves, more or less. Are you fine with that?”

“Did Your Majesty wish to be crushed? My apologies,” said the Magister with a facetious smile from atop his mantle.

“I was more worried that your enchantments might not have magic to draw on.” Argrave shook his head.

“I’ve… enough,” Artur said simply. “And others to protect me, besides.”

Argrave nodded stiffly. Spotting a flash of gold move in his vision, he realized what it was and said at once, “Find anything?”

“I did,” Anneliese confirmed, her Starsparrow returned. “A path. Heavily patrolled, however. Argrave, that place…” she trailed off, awe in her voice.

“I know. Quite the sight, don’t you think?” He put his hand on her shoulder. “As for the patrols, let my pups do their work.”

As though called, the Brumesingers descended down Argrave’s body, scampering out across the floor. They let out their eerie chiming, then vanished into the mist they conjured. Everyone watched with surprise—most of them didn’t even know Argrave had the pets on him. They had become so omnipresent that he forgot sometimes, himself, almost like they were an extension of his body by this point.

“I’ll lead,” Argrave called out. “Moriatran—you’re needed for illusions. None of the centaurs are above B-rank, so nothing too grand, please.”

“Hold on—illusions?” Mina cut in as Moriatran readied himself. “Your Majesty… you don’t think of me for this?”

“You’re C-rank, aren’t you?” Argrave narrowed his eyes.

“B-rank, for illusion magic at least,” Mina shook her head. “Even for C-rank, I doubt they’d send people capable of seeing past my illusions on common patrols,” Mina shook her head. “And my spells are fine-tuned, custom made. I swear to you, I can handle this.”

Argrave looked at Anneliese for thoughts, and she gave a quiet shrug. With that ringing endorsement, Argrave looked at her and nodded. “Alright. Let’s go, Mina.”

They advanced through the caverns. As Anneliese said, the centaurs patrolled the vast caverns diligently. They were easy to hear, for most were armored in steel. They were easy to see, too, standing at well over ten feet tall. The sheer size of the beasts enabled their party to take smaller, branching paths in the cavern where they could not enter.

But beyond the occasional lucky bout… Mina was hard-pressed to provide illusions thorough enough for their entire party. But regardless of how hard she was pressed, she rose to the task ably. She seemed almost eager to make herself useful. It was a great relief to Argrave, who did not wish to expend his Magisters’ magic supply too much.

After hours of their steady advance, Nikoletta spoke to Argrave in a moment of rest in a low-ceiling cavern where the centaurs could not enter.

“I’m sorry, Argrave,” she said out of the blue.

“What, did you step on my foot or something?” he questioned, thinking nothing of it. “Didn’t even notice.”

“No,” Nikoletta said. “I’m sorry for acting like my father is more important than the kingdom. I know why you did what you did. It’s just…”

Argrave stared at her, but he could think of nothing to say. Just then, Anneliese cut in, saying, “Argrave, something unusual…!”

A horn echoed throughout the cavern, interrupting Anneliese before she could say more. It was loud enough Argrave almost covered his ears… and worse yet, it came from deeper within the cavern.

“What’s going on?” Argrave stepped closer to Anneliese.

“All of them… everyone in the cavern is coming back,” she answered quietly.

Argrave briefly panicked before he remembered they were in a low-ceiling area where the centaurs could not reach. He heard the distant rattle of armor and hooves as the centaurs galloped through the caverns, heading further in.

“An emergency of some kind. We take this as an opportunity,” Argrave decided. “Come. Hurry, everyone.”

Though Grimalt expressed some concern, Argrave knew that an advantage had to be pressed when it was seen. At some point, this arduous advance of theirs would be discovered. From there, things could get very sticky. He needed to take this chance. Argrave led with Orion diligently moving with him.

They raced through the caverns, following Anneliese’s path without much variation. As she said, no more guards patrolled the area. What might’ve taken hours with their old strategy became minutes, and their advance was untroubled by any. True light poured through instead of false light from magic, and they slowed their advance.

“This is it,” Anneliese told Argrave.

Argrave hesitated at the top. Then, mustering some courage, he peeked his head up, peering beyond.

The place ahead was vast. Though contained by a cavern roof, he could not see a cave wall on the opposite side. There was only an endless sheet of ice, meters thick. The ice was oddly translucent, with faults within making it seem like blue crystals. It was a frozen underground lake. Centaurs walked across it in thousands, all heading towards a large gathering place in the center.

One could see the bottom of this frozen lake. The lake floor was a vast grass plain frozen in time. One could see creatures caught mid-stride—horses, herds of cows, pigs… none of the animals of the Bloodwoods, certainly. It looked like a little pocket of grassland, preserved and maintained. But most eye-catching…

There was a gargantuan woman at the bottom of this frozen lake. Argrave couldn’t call her human, but she appeared human. She wore a strange white foreign dress, almost Romanesque. Probably well over seventy feet tall, she rested in serene peace. Notably, she was the only thing in that suspended scene that moved, her chest rising up and down as she breathed in deep sleep. Her hair shone like the sun, dreaded into sixty separate pieces that illuminated the whole cavern from their spot draped across the grassland.

“The Mother’s Steppe,” Anneliese said.

“Yeah,” Argrave nodded. “Sarikiz. The centaurs’ Holy Mother, and once good ally to the elven gods—enough to link their divine realms together, at least partially. But to us… here’s the boot we need to kick in the teeth of a god. And with Gerechtigkeit meddling, weakening the border between realms, we’re going to try out my idea.”