Farhad silently followed Elf Lord from behind, passing through the twisting corridors and ascending pathways. The glow of the bioluminescent lights illuminated the mysterious and magical surroundings. Along the way, not even the sound of their footsteps could be heard; it was as if they had never passed through.
Finally, after a long journey, they reached a balcony at the highest point of the Tree of Life. From there, a vast view of the sprawling plains unfolded. The Whispering woods stretched out into the distance, and thanks to the elves' remarkable vision, even the mansion above the waterfall was visible, where the elves were hard at work.
Breaking the silence at last, Elf Lord asked, "Why have you come here, Farhad?"
Farhad replied calmly with his usual answer, "To visit a friend."
Elf Lord smirked mockingly and said, "And you expect me to believe that from the greatest assassin of Pars?"
Before he had even finished his sentence, he suddenly turned, summoned the Blade of Wind, and wielded it like a sword. The sharp gusts of wind ruffled Farhad's hair.
Yet Farhad remained calm and said, "There's no need for such precautions, my lord. I'm not the man I used to be."
Elf Lord burst into loud, contemptuous laughter. "You're right, you're no longer the man you used to be. But the weapon hidden in your instrument remains the same!"
Farhad took hold of his instrument. Elf Lord's expression grew more serious, preparing for the first strike. But to his surprise, Farhad placed the instrument on the ground.
Elf Lord stared at him in astonishment.
Farhad spoke in a calm tone, "I told you, I'm here to visit a friend. Let's not waste our time with pointless clashes."
Still distrustful, Elf Lord made the Blade of Wind vanish and said, "Very well. If you're not here to kill someone, then speak the truth."
Farhad gave a faint smile, reached into his collar, and said, "This journal… I must deliver it to my friend."
Surprised, Elf Lord asked, "A journal? What's in it that's worth such a journey?"
Farhad remained silent for a moment and then said, "It concerns the last attempt to open the gates of Asryndor. Back then, a group from all over the world gathered to uncover its buried secrets, but they returned empty-handed. One of the group members was a dwarven mage seeking to confirm the ancient connection between the dwarves and the elves."
He continued, "It's said that in the past, an underground passage beneath the mountains connected the two lands. This legend was discovered on the eastern walls inside the tomb of an ancient dwarven king."
Elf Lord, gazing intently, asked, "Are you saying Asryndor was merely a communication passage?"
Farhad replied, "Not exactly. But now that the Dark order has infiltrated the heart of Asryndor, we must cleanse it."
Angrily, Elf Lord said, "So you're suggesting that the elves are collaborating with the rebels?"
Farhad corrected him, "No, that's not what I mean. It's said that Asryndor was a passage, so naturally, there would be entrances on both sides. I traveled to find the entrance at Drak'thul but failed. That's why I decided to use this journal to gather more information about the entrance to Asryndor."
He added, "Elves do not betray their kin. But monsters don't appear in Asryndor on their own. Someone has undoubtedly found the entrance and brought the creatures inside. Perhaps their goal is even to corrupt Siralda from within."
Elf Lord, stunned, said, "Then Harold Golden Shrine's arrival…"
Farhad laughed and said, "Haha! No, that was purely coincidental. He didn't know I had failed to find the entrance to Drak'thul. Rest assured, everything was entirely by chance!"
Elf Lord gave him a suspicious look and then said, "Follow me. I'll take you to your friend."
Inside the treehouse,
Harold watched as the elf children disappeared into the distance. Suddenly, an intense headache shook him to his core, throwing him against the corner of the room. The pain was so sudden and deep that it robbed him of his strength to stand. His vision blurred, the ground beneath him spun, and his steps faltered. His face contorted, as though he had bitten into an unripe persimmon.
With great effort, he dragged himself to the bed and collapsed onto it. Placing a hand over his eyes, he took a deep breath and muttered,
"This damn headache… Why can't I get rid of it?"
He tried to rise again, but this time, a wave of intense nausea accompanied his pain. Fits of coughing forced him back to the ground. He groaned,
"What… what have these elves done to me?"
His gaze turned to the Scythes of Life and Death resting on a large cushion in the corner of the room. He muttered angrily,
"Damn it!"
At that moment, a faint, mysterious voice echoed through the room:
"That's right, get up…"
Harold shouted,
"Who's there?!"
A shadow slid across the damp walls of the room. A vague image of something unknown appeared, and a piercing, eerie laugh filled the space.
Harold rushed to his belongings, grabbing his magic staff. The mana gem atop the staff glowed as he murmured a spell of illumination. A blinding light filled the room.
The shadow spoke:
"That's right, light can banish darkness… but if you think about it, isn't light the very reason darkness exists?"
It continued,
"No matter what magic you cast, as long as there's light, shadows will remain alive!"
Harold attempted to cast another spell, but the headache shattered his concentration. The incomplete magic froze Harold's hand and part of the wall.
The shadow laughed,
"Hahaha! Is that it? Is this your power, Golden Shrine? You'll never escape this fate! You'll never defeat the Dark order!"
Harold roared in anger, but another voice echoed in the room. A cold, hateful voice, as though it emanated from the deepest dungeon of the world:
"Do you want to defeat them?"
Harold and that shadow froze in fear. The voice continued,
"Do you want to destroy the darkness? Then you must become a part of it! Come to me, Harold. I'm waiting for you behind the gates of hell."
Harold clutched his head with both hands and screamed with all his might. At that moment, the Scythes of Life and Death began to glow. The runes etched into the holy blade activated, issuing a new command:
[Go to Asryndor!]
Harold stared at the inscription. Seething with rage, he grabbed the scythes and hurled them at the shadow. The blades plunged into the darkness, eliciting a piercing wail. Chains wrapped around Harold's hands, rooting him in place.
With his last ounce of strength, Harold raised his arms and roared. The shadow detached itself from the wall, transforming into the shape of a terrified, bald man.
Harold seized him by the neck and slammed him hard onto the ground. The sound of the man's neck breaking shattered the silence of the room. But that wasn't enough for Harold. He raised his fist and delivered heavy punches. Left, right, left, right… until half the man's face was mangled.
His final blow was so powerful it broke through the floor of the treehouse, sending both of them crashing below. Harold stared at the corpse, grabbed one of the scythes, and prepared to mutilate it, but at that moment, a powerful spell was hurled toward him…