"Your Majesty may not know this, but the Elf Race isn’t as united and harmonious as you might imagine. Different philosophies, different living environments, and even different interpretations of ’Nature’ and ’Life’ have created profound rifts and disagreements..."
Oldes’s calm voice drifted through the sun-drenched, verdant forest. Leaning on his staff, he trod across the soft, thick grass, occasionally stepping over boulders and decaying logs that blocked the path.
Beside him, Chen Yu floated along on a peculiar Stone Sword, keeping pace with him and listening intently to his meandering explanation.
The cool autumn breeze seemed to dissolve in the sunlight, transforming into nutrients that nourished the forest. Even as the season turned, the surrounding flowers, grasses, and vines remained delightfully verdant, painting a picture of vibrant life.
This was the Root-Whisper Forest, under the control of the tree spirit lord, Violet. It was one of the few places in the West Swamp that remained verdant even through the harsh winters. For the Slime Kingdom, it was no exaggeration to call it the kingdom’s breadbasket.
To meet the Kingdom’s ever-growing demand for food, the Grimlins in the forest, aided by Slime agriculturalists and Beetles, had successfully expanded the scale of their Swelling Stem and mushroom fields.
With the Goblin Army no longer a threat, it was difficult for common wild monsters to get past the tall, sturdy Oakman guardians on the forest’s perimeter and wreak havoc within.
Now, the Grimlins and the Slime agriculturalists were in the midst of their first great autumn harvest.
They scurried and bounced about the forest fields, working together to pull up ripe Swelling Stems and pick plump mushrooms, carefully loading their haul onto the waiting pack-animal carts.
Every little face beamed with the joy and satisfaction of a bountiful harvest.
The skeleton farmer, Old Bloom, was resting on a large rock at the edge of a field. Though he couldn’t feel the heat, he fanned himself with his straw hat out of habit, as if doing so could wave away the weariness in his very soul.
"Hm?"
He suddenly glimpsed two figures—Chen Yu and Oldes—emerging from the shadows of the trees deep down the forest path.
The soulfire in Old Bloom’s eye sockets flared. He quickly stood, patting non-existent dust from his bones, and hurried over to greet them.
"Greetings, Your Majesty," Bloom said. "And this is..."
"Oldes," the old man supplied kindly, a gentle smile on his face. His eyes held none of the disgust or fear commonly directed at Undead Creatures.
"Oh, right! Mr. Oldes, of course!" Old Bloom said, realization dawning. He quickly stepped aside and gestured for them to pass.
"Alright, little ones! Uncle Bloom is taking our guests back for a bit. Keep up the good work!" Old Bloom grabbed the Hayfork leaning against the rock, strode smartly to the front, and called out to the fields in a booming voice.
"Got it, Uncle!" chorused a few Grimlins, their squeaky voices strained. They were trying to pull up a Swelling Stem bigger than they were, their little faces flushed red with effort.
In the fields, the multicolored Slime agriculturalists grew even more excited upon seeing their King inspecting the harvest in person. They bounced more joyfully and worked with even greater vigor, their Gel bodies practically glowing in the sun.
As he led Chen Yu and Oldes along the paths between the fields and back onto a trail where the light softened and shadows danced, a refreshing coolness filtered through the dense canopy. Even the soulfire in Old Bloom’s eye sockets seemed to flicker with leisurely contentment.
He walked ahead, leading the way and chattering on, his voice remarkably clear in the quiet forest.
"Miss Ithilien knew you were coming, Your Majesty. She’s already set up a reception on the lawn. I hear there’ll be plenty of freshly picked cherry tomatoes—so bright and red, they’re a joy just to look at. Oh, those were my favorite when I was alive..."
"And that Dwarf friend of yours and the young Elf arrived some time ago..."
"Oh, and Miss Ithilien often says you should have come to see this sooner, Your Majesty. It seems Fardorn is about to advance to the Gold tier."
Seeing Oldes about to ask a question upon hearing the name "Fardorn," Chen Yu explained simply, "It’s the name of a Silver Oak Tree, the Guardian of the Root-Whisper Forest."
"A Silver Oak Tree? Fardorn..." Oldes repeated under his breath, his brow furrowed as if he were searching his memory.
Suddenly, his eyes widened slightly as he muttered, "’A Silverleaf Oak? A descendant of the Holy Oak?’"
’That’s strange.’
’From what I understand, while the Silverleaf Oaks are direct descendants of the Holy Oak and have a noble bloodline, they typically only reach the Silver tier at maturity.’
’The path to breaking through to the Gold tier—to become a true War Ancient Tree or an even High Tier Ancient Tree form—along with the key knowledge for that advancement, has always been jealously guarded by the Ancient Tree Council.’
’That organization, composed of ancient Elves and conservative Elf Druids, currently controls the Elven kingdoms and city-states. Due to ideological differences, their relationship with the Forest Sages’ Association is quite poor.’
’So how did this Tree-man here break through that barrier?’
Just as he was lost in thought, a faint rumbling began to vibrate through the ground beneath his feet, as if some colossal being were approaching from the depths of the forest.
A moment later, the sound grew louder, and a massive silhouette radiating a soft, silver glow appeared at the end of the path.
Fardorn emerged slowly from beneath the shade of the trees.
Its frame was far taller and sturdier than an ordinary oak; its main trunk would take several people to encircle with their arms.
The most striking feature was the color of the leaves in its crown—a brilliant silver, as if woven from moonlight and Mithril. In the mottled sunlight filtering through the woods, every single leaf seemed to glow, scattering specks of silver light and transforming the surroundings into a fantastical wonderland.