Translator: CinderTL
A wave of intense confusion and absurdity washed over Galvis.
"Why is Tula's statue placed here? Alongside these true deities? This is... sacrilege!"
The thought had barely crossed his mind when a thunderclap seemed to explode in his mind.
A crucial detail he had overlooked suddenly surfaced.
He whirled around, his gaze sweeping across the wooden statues lining the room—each representing a core deity of the elven pantheon.
Lebeiras Innori, present.
Lebeiras Nerifien, present.
Shuni, present.
Didri, also present.
And...
One, two, three...
He counted again and again, his heart pounding faster, an icy chill racing down his spine.
"No... something's wrong! One is missing!"
Though these statues encompassed many important deities of elven faith, one was conspicuously absent: the supreme being revered by all elves as their creator and guardian.
The text continues in the next section.
The one said to have existed since the dawn of creation, the one who governed the fate of the elven race, the mysteries of magic, and the very springs of life...
At this thought, Galvis's head snapped up, his eyes locking onto Tula's face, which still bore that flawless, compassionate, and gentle smile. His body lurched backward uncontrollably.
He only managed to stop when his back slammed hard against the cold, unyielding stone wall.
A bone-chilling cold, like the frost rising from the depths of winter, instantly engulfed him.
The missing statue, the one entity uniquely qualified to stand at the forefront of all divine effigies, to receive the highest worship of the elven race, was none other than...
The Great God of the Elven Race.
Out of supreme reverence for this supreme deity, even when the elves erected statues in the most sacred halls of the Eversong Forest, they never dared to depict His specific features.
All representations of Him, whether paintings or sculptures, had their faces artfully obscured by a hazy radiance or swirling mists, a testament to the fact that mortal eyes could not gaze upon the true visage of a god.
Every image and statue Galvis had ever seen followed this convention.
But the scene before him...
Galvis felt as if his throat were choked with ashes, dry and burning.
He forced down the violent pounding in his chest, swallowed several times, and finally, in a voice hoarse and almost unrecognizable, looked at Tula, who stood motionless, and uttered the name with difficulty.
"Cor... Corellon Lariel?"
His words seemed pathetically weak in the vast, silent chamber and were immediately swallowed by the boundless stillness.
After a moment, the suffocating silence was shattered by a clear, deliberate clapping.
Clap... clap... clap...
Tula remained in his place, slowly lowering his gently clapping hands. The flawless smile on his face remained unchanged, perhaps even deepening slightly.
"As expected of a favored one of Lady Shuni."
His voice was gentle, yet carried a condescending tone of admiration.
"In terms of insight, you are indeed superior to..."
As he spoke, he gracefully stepped toward a dark corner of the room, unlit by the lamps.
Only then did Galvis realize that another wooden statue stood in the shadows.
It depicted a female elf.
Her posture was elegant, her beauty breathtaking, yet she carried a cold, almost regal aloofness, utterly different from Aethel's.
In her hand, she held a half-formed spindle, as if woven from light and shadow, her gaze deep, as if gazing upon the threads of fate that mortals could not comprehend.
The statue exuded an ancient and powerful aura, yet it also seemed to carry an indescribable darkness, a texture that felt out of place in this sacred space.
Tula's words echoed in the silence, reaching Galvis's ears with perfect clarity:
"...The one chosen by Lolth is far more cunning."
"Lolth..."
The moment Galvis heard the name, his pupils contracted sharply.
To ordinary people, this name might mean nothing.
But as a well-read bard, well-versed in ancient legends and the genealogies of the gods, Galvis knew this name intimately.
For this deity, once known as Lolth, had, after eons of time and betrayal, now adopted a more renowned, and far more terrifying, title:
Spider Queen Lolth.
Thanks to the identity of "Rudolph" and the long-standing friendship between Durga and Duergar, Roland and his companions found their situation greatly improved among the drow elves.
Though the initial wariness and distance hadn't completely vanished, at least the cold steel of weapons was no longer pointed at them.
At that moment, the camp was filled with a tense, bustling atmosphere, like the calm before a mountain storm.
Drow warriors busied themselves polishing their poisoned blades, checking the mechanisms of their hand crossbows, and quietly exchanging tactical orders.
All activity revolved around the impending raid on the Eversong Forest above.
With nothing else to do, Roland and his group were happy to enjoy the leisure, wandering through this underground city, so different from the surface world, its every corner filled with darkness and strangeness.
"Is this... the Spider Queen Lolth?"
Standing in the central area of the drow camp, Roland gazed at the wooden statue, its form flickering in the dim, fungal light, and raised an eyebrow.
This statue was unlike any other deity's effigy he had seen before.
It depicted a voluptuous female drow, her face beautiful yet tinged with coldness and cruelty.
Most striking was her posture: not standing, but reclining in a languid, dangerous pose on a massive, intricately carved spiderweb throne.
Eight spider legs, as if alive, coiled and extended from behind the throne, seamlessly blending with the folds of the goddess's robes.
In her hand, she toyed with a distorted miniature figurine of an elf, its form twisted as if silently wailing.
Roland's eyes, filled with inquiry and curiosity, met the statue. Unlike the drow around him, whose gazes carried a mixture of awe and fear, his were devoid of such reverence.
"That's correct," the drow nodded slightly, then wrinkled her nose in distaste.
She glanced around to ensure no other drow were nearby before lowering her voice to speak to Roland. "Legend says she wasn't always like this. She was once a companion and lesser goddess to Corellon Larethian, the Great God of Elves."
"But endless ages bred ambition and a thirst for control. She craved Corellon's exclusive favor and authority, even resorting to forbidden means." The Gray Dwarf Leader's voice deepened, tinged with contempt for the ancient deity. "When her conspiracy was exposed, Corellon, in his fury, stripped her of her divine position and radiance. Along with her most fanatical followers, she was eternally banished to the sunless Underdark."
"It was in this fertile ground of despair and darkness that she became utterly twisted and corrupted, ultimately transforming into the form she now takes: Lolth, the Spider Queen revered by the drow."
"So that's how it was..."
After hearing this secret history, which he'd never encountered in ancient texts, Roland nodded thoughtfully.
Just then, a slightly hoarse voice called out from nearby.
"So you're here."
Following the sound, they saw Duerden slowly approaching, leaning on his gnarled wooden staff.
He deliberately ignored Durga, who was on the side, winking and trying to greet him. He walked straight to Roland, bowed respectfully, and then lowered his voice.
"Master Rudolph, everything is prepared. The tunnel to the Everlasting Song Forest has been completed, and the first advance party is about to depart. If you wish, you may accompany them."
He slightly raised his eyes, and a shrewd glint flashed in his crimson irises.
"When my warriors launch their feigned attack on the surface elves' defenses according to plan, drawing their attention, it will be your best opportunity to infiltrate their heartland and find your friend."
"Chaos is the best cover."
Roland responded in a equally solemn tone. "Thank you for your meticulous arrangements and generous assistance, Elder Duerden."
"You are too kind, Mr. Rudolph," Duerden said, quickly waving his hand with genuine sincerity. "Without your past aid, our clan would likely have perished completely in the previous cataclysm. This small convenience today is hardly worth mentioning—consider it a fraction of our efforts to repay even one ten-thousandth of your kindness."
After a few more hushed exchanges about the specific details of their plan, Duerden led Roland through the massive roots coiled at the heart of the camp to a secluded rock face.
A newly carved, pitch-black tunnel mouth gaped before them like the throat of a giant beast.
The atmosphere at the tunnel entrance was deathly tense.
Hundreds of elite drow warriors stood in formation, clad in tight-fitting dark armor. They gripped poison-tipped hand crossbows and razor-sharp scimitars, their faces smeared with grease for camouflage in the dim light. Only their cold, sharp crimson eyes flickered in the gloom.
The air carried the faint scent of weapon oil and a unique pre-battle stillness, a mixture of tension and anticipation.
There was no conversation, only the faint clatter of equipment and the suppressed, almost imperceptible sound of breathing.
Duerden cast Roland a slightly apologetic glance, signaling him to wait a moment, then turned and strode steadily toward the silent warriors.
His gaze swept across each pale, resolute face. He tapped his wooden staff lightly on the ground, its dull thud drawing everyone's attention.
His voice, no longer gentle as when speaking with Roland, now carried a deep, resonant power that echoed in the narrow tunnel entrance.
"Children! Our long wait and endurance have finally come to an end! Exiled and forgotten, we've struggled for survival in this lightless abyss... but today, the gates of destiny will swing open for us!"
His voice rose, and he thrust his arm toward the dark tunnel.
"At the end of this tunnel lies the home stolen by those arrogant, pointed-ears! The very source of their life! Reclaim everything that should be ours, now! Let the Spider Queen Lolth witness our courage and resolve!"
He raised his wooden staff high, his voice like thunder shattering the silence.
"For the glory of the drow, advance!"
At his command, the warriors' eyes ignited with fanatic fervor.
Like water flowing into shadows, they surged into the pitch-black passage in a silent, swift tide, vanishing into the fathomless darkness.
(End of the Chapter)
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