At the end of summer, the grass in the forest should still be green, but here, there was only withered yellow and gray, without a trace of life, as if this half-dead state was the only explanation for this place.
The portal behind her flickered with a faint light, and then gradually disappeared, as if it was suppressed by something, and the scene of the temple on the other side of the door disappeared. Sylvia exhaled softly. She knew that she could only rely on herself now.
After walking for a while, the soft soil under his feet felt like it was sinking. It felt like it was between mud and a swamp, but it didn't feel too wet, and there wasn't even a trace of water vapor.
The terrain was slightly undulating. This was the landscape of ordinary woodlands, but when she looked up, she could see that although the trees around her were tall, they were very different from the trees in other places. Sylvia couldn't feel the existence of life, but they still had green leaves and tall bodies, unlike the withered tree trunks that Sylvia had imagined.
"Crack."
The crisp sound of breaking twigs did not echo at all. Sylner suddenly found that she had come to a place like a watershed.
Behind her was the forest, but in front of her was … a strange desert.
This was a desert in the woodlands, within her field of vision. It wasn't big, but it wasn't small either.
To the elves, such a terrifying landscape meant death and extinction. The elves who lived in the forest had never liked a landscape like the desert that gave them headaches or even fear. In the desert, despair and illusions could be seen everywhere, luring those who did not have a firm will to death.
Resolutely, Sylvia did not stop. She stepped into the area where the desert was, leaving a series of clear footprints and long traces of the priest's robe in the smooth desert. A faint light appeared on Sylvia's body. The priest instinctively reacted to the unknown environment, but she did not stop as if she was facing a formidable enemy. Instead, she walked straight forward as if she knew her fate.
In front of her, there was a small protrusion in the middle of the desert, as if it was a conspicuous sign.
※ ※ ※
"I don't have much interest in the Undead Council. Let Leoric do whatever he wants."
St. Augustine, the first-generation elder of the Undead Council, the former supreme and only leader of the Undead Legion, and the mentor of the three most powerful undead in the world, did not seem to have any interest in the upcoming major change on the continent. He was leisurely "living" in a mansion in the southern territory of the Empire of Saint Reims.
He was "living" because his behavior at the moment was no different from that of an ordinary person. In a courtyard that did not look luxurious, Augustine held a small copper watering can in his hand and was leisurely watering the flowers in front of him.
The decoration of the house was a little too simple. For someone who stood at the top of the world, the four words "basic necessities" were far from the scope of his consideration. There was only an unusually simple flat bed in the clean house, and there was not even a desk or a chair. The place he lived was inversely proportional to the strength of his heart. This seemed to be a very common point for most strong people.
At this moment, Eccleston was visiting this residence respectfully, no different from a student.
"That fellow has taken his first step, but he is still far from being able to fight against Cridier."
Augustine shook his head and reached out to touch the flowers in front of him, sighing softly.
An ordinary courtyard, an extraordinary person.
Chris's expression was a little indifferent, and he did not have much reaction to his mentor's words. He just lowered his head like a statue, respectful and obedient.
"When he comes, you know what to do."
"Mentor, do we really need —"
"After so many years, it's time to test the results."
Augustine seemed to know what Chris was asking, and answered truthfully without waiting for him to finish.
"Yes, Mentor."
The necromancer in a gray robe turned and left, leaving his ordinary person standing quietly in front of his flowerbed, leisurely watering it.
"Life is so beautiful, why do we have to destroy to obtain a sense of accomplishment?"
This sigh was very meaningful.
※ ※ ※
Sylvia looked at the scene in front of her, and her footsteps became faster and faster.
She did not look back, but she could feel the faintly discernible aura around her — the aura of the undead.
This aura was completely different from the undead she saw on the battlefield. It did not have that kind of hostility and brutality, and seemed to only be left with sorrow and melancholy.
This was somewhat similar to the traditional culture of the elves. Most of the artistic achievements of this ancient race, including murals, sculptures, poems, and dances, were mainly about praising tragedies. In the culture of the elves, there was not much hope and desire. The yearning for a better life was far less than the lamentation of the past.
This was a race that was peaceful and immersed in the glory of their past.
The yellow sand on the ground did not stop Sylvia's footprints. After she walked for a short distance, those footprints were gently brushed away by something, as if there was a gentle hand wiping away the shallow footprints, leaving no trace.
It was still night, and the ground gradually became foggy. It looked like white smoke, but it was unknown where it came from. It floated low on the ground, and the height did not exceed Sylvia's knees.
All kinds of figures could be vaguely seen from the smoke that surrounded Sylvia. The figures seemed to be luring Sylvia to go other ways, and from time to time, there would be a hand made of smoke reaching out and gently brushing past Sylvia's body …
If ordinary people were in this situation, they would have been scared out of their wits, but in front of Sylvia, whose body was emitting a faint light, these things did not seem to move her.
The blessing of the Moon Goddess gave her unimaginable power and position. The barrier around her did not stop these ghost-like smoke, so Sylvia did not care whether they would harm her or not. Occasionally, she would see one or two skeleton-like faces, and Sylvia would gently pray, doing her best for these dead souls that could not rest in peace.
Her footsteps stopped, and in front of her was the center of the desert.
The smoke dissipated, and a flag came into view in front of Sylvia.
The intricate and elegant flag fluttered in the wind. Unlike the squarish flag of the humans, the flag of the elves was not made of ordinary cloth. Instead, it was made of an abnormally light silk material. It was as light as a scarf and weightless.
When the flag with some tassels and a simple and unadorned aura unfurled, Sylvia suddenly understood what this symbol meant.
Sylner had been living out of the sight of her parents since she was a child, so she didn't know much about her identity as a High Elf. It seemed that her parents didn't want her to remember that part of history. They never allowed her to read the history of the High Elves. They only warned her to understand her identity and not to cause unnecessary trouble.
All kinds of memories flashed through her mind, and Sylvia suddenly remembered that she seemed to have seen this symbol in the temple … After thinking for a long time, she suddenly remembered that this was the symbol on the ring on her mother's finger!
Unlike humans, elves had long lifespans, but in terms of memory, most of their childhood memories were similar to that of humans. Most of them were forgotten, and only a few deep memories were left. The reason why Sylvia could remember the origin of this symbol was because when she was young, she had curiously hugged her mother's finger and tried to recall the origin of this ring.
The answer she got was her mother's silence and a single tear.
This was why Sylvia had such a deep impression. She had never seen her mother cry again, and from that day onwards, the ring disappeared from her mother's finger.
"This is … the Elegy of the High Elves?"
A mournful song rang out in the surroundings, and Sylvia looked around like an illusion. This faint voice sounded strangely eerie in this small desert forest. Suddenly, countless figures appeared in the smoke, and figures dressed in armor or priest robes appeared before Sylvia.
The Elven Army, the generation with the broken bloodline of the High Elves.
Just like the 'nobles' of humans, the High Elves were arrogant, but not without reason … Their arrogance was built on their duty, and they would charge at the forefront of the battle. Just like the most basic intelligence of the nobles — to protect their own people, in times of war, ordinary Elves would often die behind the High Elves.
A great war would often cause countless High Elven families with deep bloodlines to lose their bloodline, but that didn't stop them from stepping onto the battlefield.
Now, Sylvia could tell that these undead were an army that had sacrificed themselves many years ago … And she had a faint feeling that this army had a very close relationship with her.
Gently reaching out, Sylvia's slightly tender hand touched the flag that had stood here for thousands of years.
It was cold to the touch, and the wooden flagpole should have long since been eroded away by the wind. However, everything, including the flag, seemed to have not changed at all since the battle.
The change happened the moment Sylvia reached out her hand.
As if a switch had been triggered, a sudden gust of wind blew towards Sylvia's position, but it didn't carry the sand on the ground. The sudden gust of wind blew away the white smoke on the ground, and it continued to surround Sylvia like a wall surrounding her.
In less than a few seconds, the gust of wind disappeared, and a figure appeared in front of Sylvia, standing beside the flag.
Shawei.