Harold immediately sensed the magical flow heading toward him. He dodged swiftly and prepared for battle. The Elf Lord, along with Farhad, was witnessing this terrifying scene.
Farhad tried to explain the situation, but Harold threw one of his sickles toward the Elf Lord. The Elf Lord promptly activated the Wind Shield, but the chain's power was beyond imagination. Even so, there was no sign of a change in Harold's aura.
Farhad anxiously said, "He hasn't entered berserk mode... I think he's hallucinating!"
At that moment, Harold struck a tree trunk with a powerful punch.
Boom!
A cascade of leaves fell from the branches, and the treehouse shook violently.
Harold, with a face full of rage and worry, surveyed his surroundings. He eyed the nearby bushes so cautiously it seemed as if an army of enemies surrounded him.
The Elf Lord raised his hand and summoned one of the royal guards.
"Quarantine this area immediately."
"Yes, my lord!"
Farhad sighed. He didn't know how to help his friend; yet, there was nothing he could do.
Harold was retreating in fear. Every time a dry branch snapped under his feet, he reacted as if he had crushed someone's skull.
What was he seeing that disturbed him so deeply?
Harold was in hell.
A sea of lava flowed beneath his feet, fed by a river of blood. The dead, carried along by the river, reached the lava sea and melted within it.
He gazed at the crimson sky of the land of the dead.
Thousands of corpses, with mournful faces, extended their hands from the lava sea. Their flesh melted, but fresh flesh regrew on their bones each time.
Behind him was a deep chasm from which winged creatures soared upward with piercing screams.
There was no sun in the crimson sky, yet a dim light shone through the dark red hue.
Harold bore no injuries, yet blood gushed from his palm like a boiling spring.
A laughter echoed across that world.
The same voice sneered and said, "It is not yet time for us to meet... Return to the world of the living!"
The ground opened its jaws and swallowed Harold into its darkness.
That was all Harold remembered. However, when he regained consciousness, most of it had faded.
That memory now seemed like a nightmare in the realm of sleep—a surreal world that could never be real.
Drenched in cold sweat, Harold's eyes were dull, and his body appeared shrunken.
It had been five weeks since the incident at the cabin.
During this time, Farhad had returned to Drak'thul, and the knights dispatched by the Luminous empire had sent news of Harold's illness to the capital using a messenger bird.
When Harold opened his eyes, a young knight sat by his bedside.
Clearly in his twenties, the knight had fallen asleep with his eyes closed and a serene expression.
Harold rose quietly. Without making a sound, he stepped lightly out of bed and moved toward the door.
When he opened the door, the roar of a waterfall reached his ears.
The grand waterfall of the Whispering Woods, with a rainbow bridge adorning it, cascaded from a great height into a pool below. The water then flowed into a dark pit, disappearing into the heart of the earth.
The waterfall descended in three tiers, displaying its beauty at each stage. At every level, pools had formed, with mansions built upon them.
Harold approached a curved bridge that spanned one of the pools.
The Elf Lord saw him and walked toward him.
Harold bowed his head respectfully. "Your Excellency."
The Elf Lord asked, "Knight, are you awake?"
Harold gave a pale smile and said, "Yes."
The Elf Lord took out a leather-bound journal and handed it to him.
"What is this?" Harold asked.
The Elf Lord replied, "While you were asleep, one of your friends brought this. He was a traveling bard who said he met you in Vornath. He heard you were heading to Asryndor and asked me to tell you to go to Drak'thul immediately afterward."
Harold took the journal and ran his fingers over it.
"Did he say anything else?"
The Elf Lord hesitated briefly before continuing, "He mentioned that perhaps Asrindor isn't a mythical city but an ancient passageway between the dwarves and us. A very old gateway. He said he couldn't find the entrance to Drak'thul but obtained this journal from a dwarven wizard who once sought to uncover the secrets of Asryndor."
"He said you must use the keys and reach Asrindor. Whatever you're looking for will be there."
"The Dark Order might be in Asryndor."
Harold's expression grew serious.
"I don't think the Dark Order is truly there. It's more likely one of their schemes to expand their influence and plunge Midragon into chaos. They're far away yet disturbingly close. I even doubt they have a real base."
Clenching his fist, he continued with a voice full of anger and sorrow:
"This world has seen too much. Too many people have died because of them. The future is moving toward uncertainty, and the ship of our peace is being caught in the waves of turmoil. We can't let this cycle repeat. I have to stop them, even if it costs me my life."
The Elf Lord looked at Harold and asked, "You've seen her, haven't you?"
Harold was silent for a moment. His obsidian necklace glimmered faintly.
"I saw her before she was killed by the Dark Order. She told me that at the end of this path, my destiny is death, but death is not the end of my destiny."
After a brief pause, Harold added,
"I don't have much time. The temple's secret experiments turned me into something that shouldn't exist. Nothing in this world comes without a price. Fate has given me two choices: either die pursuing the Dark Order or cross the Eastern Walls and lose my life in the unknown lands.""
"As a mutated being, I have limitless potential for growth, but this is both my blessing and my curse. I will grow until my body can no longer bear it, and the excess energy will destroy me. That's why I must leave Midragon before that happens."
The Elf Lord remained silent. Something had ignited within Harold—a profound sincerity, compassion, and despair that didn't align with the image of a killing machine.
The Elf Lord placed a hand on Harold's shoulder. His gaze carried countless unspoken words. Both stood on the bridge for a while, listening to the roar of the waterfall.
Harold stayed another month there. During this time, he strengthened his body. The knights who had come to check on him eventually left.
However, Harold didn't believe they were truly gone.
The temple needed him more as a martyr than as a living knight. He was sure plans were underway and prepared himself for them. He even warned the elves about it, asking them not to interfere.
To stay out of sight, he lived in a house hidden among wild trees. All these actions suggested he was preparing to test the temple.
The temple had vanquished all his friends one by one, luring them to their deaths. Harold knew the Temple of Light was a tree that thrived on blood, and he had nurtured a deep hatred for it over the years.
He was a holy knight who despised his own faith. Knights who hunted monsters often used it as an opportunity to preach, but Harold never did. Yet, he couldn't defy the goddess's commands.
The orders etched directly onto his sword were unquestionable miracles. If he failed to follow them, a fate worse than death awaited him.
Time passed, but there was no sign of the temple. Still, Harold remained vigilant to the end. He knew well that the best time to strike was when one let their guard down.
Finally, the night before his journey to Asryndor arrived. A dark night with no moon in the sky and the sounds of forest creatures echoing.
Harold sat in his room as usual, his eyes closed, assessing the situation. Suddenly, he heard the creak of a branch bending under weight. A faint smile crossed his lips.
"I knew you wouldn't disappoint me..."