God's Tree-Chapter 197: The Board of Legends

The Adventurers Guild hall was silent, save for the humming sound of ancient magic activating.

At the center of the guild stood a towering monolith—a slab of black rune-stone that had remained dormant for years. Now, it flickered to life. Gold and silver script glowed across its surface, detailing names, deeds, and accomplishments across Morgoth and beyond.

The World Adventurer Scoreboard.

Maintained by layered rune matrices older than most empires, the stone linked to every active guild across the continent. Updated magically, it was a living history of the strongest, most accomplished adventurers alive.

Marene stood beside Argolaith as he gazed up at it, her voice quieter now, almost reverent.

"This is where the world watches."

The first names shimmered across the top:

[Orichalcum Rank – Top 20]

Argolaith's eyes scanned the list idly—until he froze.

#17 – Malakar the Undying Flame.

He blinked.

"Wait… Malakar?"

Marene glanced at him. "You know him?"

Argolaith nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the name. "He's traveling with my friend Kaelred. Last I saw, he was just following us. Quiet. Calculated."

"He's not just following you," she murmured. "He's one of the highest-ranked beings alive. Most people don't even believe the Orichalcum rank is real. But here he is."

Argolaith's heart thudded once in his chest.

He swallowed his surprise and looked lower.

[Mithril Rank – Top 50]

It took only a second to find his name.

#16 – Argolaith.

Title: The Beastbreaker.

Confirmed Feats:

Slaying 40+ Saint Beasts solo in siege defense.

Estimated Rank Growth: Ongoing.

His breath hitched.

He stared for a moment.

Then his thoughts clicked into place:

"Well… I think I'm about to get very popular."

But what he didn't see—what the guild stone didn't show—was that far away, within a soaring crystal observatory atop one of the Seven Floating Spires, a panel of robed figures had just risen from their seats.

The Grand Magic Academy had seen the update.

And someone among them whispered, "…Only eighteen years old?"

The name Argolaith was already being etched into a scroll reserved for the most promising magical recruits.

They didn't care that he didn't have magic yet.

Only that he had survived. Excelled. Commanded the attention of the continent.

And soon, their summons would follow.

Back in the guild, Marene handed him something with both hands.

A new adventurer ID—carved from midnight stone, rimmed in shimmering mithril. A powerful rune pulsed at its center, carved in a looping, ever-shifting script.

"This," she said, "is your new token. It does more than identify you."

He raised an eyebrow.

Marene gestured to the rune. "You can use this to communicate with the guild—anywhere. It also allows you to open a secure channel to speak with other high-ranked adventurers. Most Mithril-ranked use it to share discoveries, or request help on domain-level threats."

Argolaith nodded, slowly slipping the token into an inner pocket of his cloak. "Good to know."

Marene gave him a tired but honest look. "Just don't flash it in places where someone might try to kill you for it."

He smirked. "I'll keep that in mind."

She hesitated as he turned to leave. "Argolaith?"

He stopped.

"…Be careful out there."

His smirk softened into a nod of gratitude.

And then he stepped out into the streets.

The city's market was alive with noise, scent, and motion.

Banners fluttered overhead. Steam curled from open grills and alchemy stalls. Merchants called out prices for enchanted cloth, beastbone charms, shimmering spices, bottled storms, and sigil-forged steel.

But something shifted as he entered.

People noticed him.

Some whispered.

Others moved out of his path, subtle but deliberate.

News had already spread. They had seen his name on the monolith. Felt the shock of his rank.

Eyes lingered on the sword at his back. On the aura of power that clung to his skin like heat.

Still, Argolaith walked casually, stopping at booths to inspect potion ingredients, rare herbs, and strange elixirs with floating runes inside. He bartered for a few things—quiet, efficient, polite.

But even as he moved through the crowd, he felt it.

The weight of attention.

And somewhere out there, he knew, the road to his final tree waited.

The market was alive with motion and scent—incense from rune-burners, sizzling firefruit on hot pans, glimmering banners woven with magic thread.

Argolaith moved through it with ease, his mithril token tucked beneath his cloak, his gaze calm but alert. Merchants offered him rare wares. Children pointed and whispered. Adventurers stepped aside without quite knowing why.

But one figure didn't move.

He stood near a stall selling folded runic maps, dressed in a deep gray traveling cloak with a pale, unreadable mask covering his face. No visible weapons. No flashy armor. Just a gloved hand resting on a polished staff that wasn't quite ordinary.

Argolaith passed him by—but paused as a faint ripple of magic tickled the air.

The figure turned slightly.

"A word, traveler?"

Argolaith glanced back. "About?"

The man's voice was warm, smooth, and just strange enough to make one listen closer.

"Curiosity. Yours and mine. I travel across the continent observing potential… rising stars, if you will."

Argolaith gave a slow nod. "You saw the board."

"I did," the stranger replied. "But unlike others, I'm not interested in your rank." He tilted his head slightly. "Only in what comes next."

Argolaith regarded him for a long moment, then spoke simply.

"I'm going to find my last tree. The fifth one. It's in the lands beyond Morgoth."

The stranger was silent.

Then, softly: "You're serious."

Argolaith nodded. "After I find it… I plan to enroll in the Grand Magic Academy."

The stranger's masked face was unreadable. But something in the way he gripped his staff shifted.

"I see."

A pause.

"Then I wish you luck. And… resilience."

Argolaith studied the man one last time, then gave a polite nod and turned away, walking toward the outer gate at the rear of the city.

The wind was picking up. The plains stretched ahead—vast, cold, and empty. But he didn't flinch.

He was ready.

As he approached the final gate, the guards stared after him in silence, unsure whether to salute or to pray.

He passed beyond the walls.

And did not look back.

Far to the east, inside the crystalline tower of the Grand Magic Academy, the stranger reappeared through a shimmering portal.

The moment he stepped through, the central chamber lit with pulsing runes and humming wards. Dozens of instructors and robed elders stood in circular tiers, discussing new applicants, artifact awakenings, and bloodline tests.

Until the instructor cleared his throat.

"I've just returned from the western outpost near Morgoth."

A few glanced his way, distracted. freeweɓnovel.cѳm

One elder sighed. "Let me guess. Another child trying to prove himself?"

The instructor raised his hand.

"His name is Argolaith. He just claimed Mithril rank—without magic. And he told me his destination is beyond Morgoth. To find his fifth sacred tree."

Silence.

Then shouting.

"What?!"

"Beyond Morgoth?! Is he insane?!"

"That region is cursed, sealed, unmapped!"

Another elder slammed her staff against the floor. "What the hell is wrong with him?! Why would anyone even dare think of going there?!"

The room erupted into panicked muttering, overlapping voices cascading like a crashing storm.

The instructor remained still.

Then, without a word, he raised his hand—and produced the token Argolaith had shown him.

The Mithril seal pulsed once, undeniable.

And carved just below the rune were the verification sigils of four lifeblood threads claimed.

"Eighteen years old," the instructor said quietly. "And still walking forward."

The room fell into stunned silence once more.

For the first time in centuries…

The Academy didn't know whether they should invite him—

Or fear what he might become.