Translator: CinderTL
"Tsk!"
A flicker of joy crossed Durga's eyes as he recognized the drow elder as the Duerden from his memories. He looked the elder up and down for a moment before curling his lip.
"You've gotten even uglier with age..."
"You bastard!" Duerden immediately raised his wooden staff, shouting. "And you, you short-arsed dwarf, dare to criticize me?"
"Who are you calling short-arsed?"
"You!"
The tense atmosphere, created by Viconia and the drow elves she led, was shattered by this sudden argument.
Roland's group remained calm. Both he and the accompanying grey dwarves were long accustomed to Durga's boisterous ways.
But the drow elves...
Viconia's usually composed expression finally cracked. Her eyes widened, her lips parted slightly, and disbelief etched itself across her face. She couldn't comprehend how this elder, always so dignified and composed, could suddenly behave like a common street brawler.
"Ahem... ahem..."
Sensing the astonished gazes of Viconia and the others, Duerden cleared his throat forcefully, abruptly cutting short his argument with Durga. He straightened his robes and spoke in a low voice, "Go on, Durga. What brings you here? And... how have you lived so long? I've never heard of grey dwarves having such long lifespans as elves."
"Hey! Don't give me that look!"
Noticing the disdain in Duerden's eyes, Durga casually stood on tiptoe, slung an arm around the drow elder's shoulders, and gestured toward the silent Roland. "Rudolph has something he needs to discuss with you."
"Rudolph?"
At the mention of that name, the disdain in Duerden's eyes vanished, replaced by a flicker of excitement. He shrugged off Durga's arm, his narrow, crimson eyes darting across the group before finally settling on Roland. "Is... is that Rudolph?"
"You recognize him?"
"Don't take me for a fool, Durga!"
Staring at the only human in the party of grey dwarves and drow, Duerden took a deep breath, suppressed the tremor in his heart, and asked with a hint of confusion, "But I remember Rudolph... he didn't seem quite so... delicate, did he?"
"Hey, old friend!"
Durga immediately turned and called out to Roland. "The old man's complimenting your looks! It's a rare sight to see this vain creature praise someone!"
"You... never mind," Duerden said, shaking his head in resignation. He leaned on his staff and walked up to Roland, bowing slightly. "Mr. Rudolph, welcome. Is there anything I can do for you?"
"You're too kind, Elder Duerden," Roland replied, returning the bow. Having learned from his previous interactions with Durga, he didn't bother with explanations. He simply stated his request in a soft voice.
As Roland spoke, a peculiar expression crossed Duerden's face. He turned to look at Durga behind him. "You little runt, did you cast some kind of tracking spell on me?"
"Get off it, Duerden! I told you..."
Perhaps the reunion with his old friend had relaxed the Gray Dwarf Leader's guard. Durga no longer seemed as reserved as when he first arrived. He casually sat down on a flat stone, stretched his limbs, and said, "Stop being so self-important."
"Elder Duerden..."
Seeing the two about to argue again, Roland rubbed his temples in frustration and cut to the chase.
"What do you mean?"
"Mr. Rudolph..."
Hearing Roland's question, Duerden immediately composed himself.
He slowly raised his hand and pointed to the cave ceiling.
"Those surface elf settlements are directly above us now."
"Old man, you're not joking, are you?"
Though he had long anticipated that finding the drow would lead them to the surface elves whose fates were intertwined with theirs, Durgan found it hard to believe that their first attempt would succeed so smoothly.
"How can you be so certain?"
"It's simple..."
Ignoring Durgan's skepticism, Duerden turned and gestured, guiding Roland to a massive, gnarled root system.
As he gently stroked the twisted roots, a fanatic gleam suddenly ignited in his normally calm eyes.
"Mr. Rudolph, look..."
"After the Abyssal Eye incident, the violent crustal movements caused drastic environmental shifts. The surface elves were forced to abandon their ancestral territories and migrate here."
"When they were forced from their homeland, they wouldn't abandon their lifeline—the World Tree."
"The World Tree?"
Roland's ears perked up at the unfamiliar term.
"That is the foundation upon which the surface elves build their entire existence," Duerden explained.
"It is far more than an ordinary plant. Legend has it that at the dawn of creation, the first rays of sunlight nurtured this ancient tree. Its branches and leaves connect to the magical currents of the heavens, while its roots delve deep into the life spring of the earth.
"Everything about the surface elves—their magic, their civilization, even their very essence—is inextricably linked to this ancient tree. It is both their source of strength and the final resting place of their souls."
"You mean..." Roland's gaze returned to the massive, intertwined roots before him, a startling hypothesis forming in his mind.
"What we're seeing now is the... root system of the World Tree?"
As the words left his mouth, he stepped forward, his eyes narrowing in intense observation.
He hadn't noticed it before, but now, with his full attention, he perceived a faint, luminous glow shimmering across the surface of the seemingly ancient roots.
A remarkably gentle, indescribable energy fluctuation rippled outward like the breath of a slumbering giant.
This energy carried the warmth of positive energy, yet was also ancient and pure, as if it were the most primal form of life itself.
Coupled with its extremely subtle fluctuations, which almost blended seamlessly with the environment, it was no wonder Roland had remained completely unaware of it earlier.
"That's correct," Duerden nodded gently, confirming Roland's suspicion.
"Where the World Tree takes root, that is where the pointy-eared ones choose to dwell. However..."
At this, the drow elder's lips curled into an undisguised smirk.
"Even with the resurgence of the magic element and the supreme blessing of the Ancient Elven Tree, those arrogant fools have still failed to regain their vaunted spellcasting abilities."
"I suspect their despicable Great God, Corellon, has abandoned them completely."
Roland showed little interest in Duerden's mockery of the surface elves. He was more concerned with achieving the purpose of his journey.
"So," Roland asked directly, "how should we proceed to the surface elves' current settlement?"
Duerden withdrew his hand from caressing the roots and turned to Roland.
"They now reside in a place called the 'Eversong Forest.' If you approach from the surface, you'll inevitably be blocked by the ancient barrier they've erected."
"That barrier was laid during an era when mana had not yet fully faded. Despite the passage of time, its power remains formidable, capable of repelling any unwelcome guests. However..."
His tone shifted, and he tapped the ground with his staff, a sly glint in his eyes.
"...entering from below is another matter entirely."
"To protect the World Tree, the foundation of their existence, their barrier naturally enshrouds the entire ancient tree, including its vast root system that extends deep into the earth. This makes it much easier for us to approach the core area from below."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Roland and Durga, before continuing.
"Mr. Rudolph, you've arrived at the perfect time. We..."
He gestured to the drow behind him.
"...are preparing to launch a surprise attack on those arrogant long-ears, to truly claim this source of life as our own. The tunnel leading to their heartland is about to break through."
"Mr. Rudolph, if you're willing to wait a little longer, you can join us in entering the Eversong Forest when the time comes."
(End of the Chapter)
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