My world-tree system-Chapter 33 - 32: Experience

Giovanni knelt down in front of Foster, his eyes full of determination. The experiment was risky, but he had wanted it. He had demanded it. Foster remained hesitant.

- Are you sure about this?’ he demanded one last time, a gleam of doubt crossing his eyes.

- Absolutely,’ Giovanni answered straightforwardly. I refuse to be a burden, Foster. If your blood can make Lïanna change... maybe it can make me stronger too.

Foster sighed, then nodded. Without further ado, he raised his index finger to his lips and sank his teeth in, letting a drop of blood trickle out. Yet this single drop seemed to vibrate with unfathomable power. With a slow but precise movement, he placed it on Giovanni’s tongue.

At first, nothing happened.

Giovanni squinted slightly, waiting for a reaction that did not come immediately. He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly his body tensed violently. His breath caught.

Then the pain exploded.

Giovanni collapsed to the ground, his body wracked by uncontrollable spasms. A hoarse cry escaped him as his back arched violently. Every cell, every fibre of his being seemed to be being torn apart, remodelled, recreated.

- Giovanni!’ cried Foster, leaning towards him.

But Giovanni no longer responded. His eyes bulged with the intensity of his suffering. His body was sweating profusely, burning from the inside out as if every ounce of his blood were on fire.His bones cracked, his muscles twisted under the effect of an invisible force.

Foster could only watch, unable to soothe his pain.

It wasn’t a simple healing. It wasn’t a simple recovery. It was a complete reconstruction.

The hours passed, interminably.

Giovanni convulsed to the point of total exhaustion. His body seemed to oscillate between agony and unconsciousness, but he did not die. At one point, his breath stabilised, even though his face was crusted with latent pain.

Foster observed the first visible change.

Giovanni was not exactly the same.

His ears had lengthened slightly, taking on the characteristic shape of woodland elves, but they were more pronounced, more robust. His pupils had lost a little of their sparkle, taking on a deeper glow, as if nature itself had left its mark. His skin had taken on a slightly paler, almost pearly hue, but it was not yet that of the elves of the World Tree.

It was only the beginning.

Foster spent the night watching over Giovanni, who fell into a heavy sleep. When morning came, Giovanni finally opened his eyes.

- You’re alive,’ Foster said, relieved.

Giovanni blinked, then sat up slowly. He ran a hand over his face, as if rediscovering his own body.

- I... I feel everything differently,’ he murmured. My body... is the same and completely different at the same time.

- It wasn’t enough,’ says Foster. We’ll have to do it again.

Giovanni clenches his fists.

- So we’ll do it again.

The following days were a repetition of the process. Every morning, Foster let a drop of his blood run into Giovanni’s mouth. Every day, Giovanni went through unbearable pain. Every night he fell asleep, his body gradually changing.

By the end of the sixth day, he was no longer a woodland elf.

His hair, once a dull brown, had taken on a brighter hue, oscillating between green and chestnut depending on the light. His skin had definitely changed, taking on the pearly hue typical of beings linked to the World Tree. His eyes, meanwhile, had completely lost their former sparkle. They now shone with a mysterious light, imbued with instinctive wisdom.

But as Giovanni adjusted to his new body, he felt something strange.

A presence. A pressure.

He looked up at Foster, and for the first time felt something he’d never felt before.

A dominance.

It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but he knew it was there. An intangible force linking his existence to Foster’s. Foster hadn’t said anything, and perhaps didn’t even realise it. But Giovanni knew.

He had become an elf of the World Tree. And a World Tree elf was bound to her creator.

Without a word, he lowered his head, realising at that moment that he could never be totally independent again.

From Foster’s point of view, however, everything was different now that a translucent screen had appeared.

[Number of World Elves created: 2]

[Requirement: Create your own people to have a chance of surviving the invasion]

[Quests: Turn 50 Woodland Elves into World Tree Elves]

[2/50]

[Reward: ???????]

- AHAHAHHAHAH

Foster was the happiest, the last time the system reward was question marks, his power had taken a huge leap forward.

What’s more, he was finally seeing the way forward not just for himself but for all the Wood Elves.

- Giovanni, I’m going to be busy over the next few days, I’m going to try and find the other Woodland Elves and deal with the rotten root of the nobility who abandoned us.

- I want to come with you!

- And who’s going to take care of Lïanna?

- But?

- Stay here. he ordered.

Giovanni suddenly fell silent, Foster’s arguments were good and the pressure he felt from challenging Foster’s orders was starting to put a lot of mental pressure on him.

- Good. he finally replied.

Foster tightened the strap of his coat and took one last look at the imposing figure of the World Tree. It was still young and fragile, but already vibrant with new energy. The branches rustled softly in the night wind, like a discreet breath of life.

Lïanna was there.

He took a deep breath before turning to Giovanni.

- Hi brother, see you soon.

- Come back in one piece,’ he finally said.

Foster nodded and walked away without another word.

Night covered the forest like a veil of shifting darkness. Yet Foster had no trouble moving forward. His senses were sharper than ever. Every rustle of leaf, every movement in the branches, every tiny disturbance in the ground resonated within him like a wave of information.

He followed the traces, minute but present, that the fleeing people had left behind them. A branch broken by a hurried passage, imprints barely marked in the moss, the remains of a hastily extinguished fire.

There were a lot of them. A group of at least several hundred individuals.

They were scattered at first, but gradually regrouped by instinct.

After several days of tracking, Foster finally saw the first signs of their camp.

Moving silhouettes through the trees.

Weakly lit torches, almost concealed under blankets of vegetation.

They had chosen a protected spot: a steep, wooded valley, easy to defend, but trapping those who settled there in enforced isolation.

Foster moved forward, his heart beating slowly, methodically. They were scared. He could feel it even before he heard their whispers.

He passed the first line of sentries undetected. They were in no condition to watch their backs properly.

It was only when he reached the heart of the camp that he was finally spotted.

An alarm echoed through the tents and makeshift shelters. Warriors appeared, weapons drawn, quickly surrounding him.

Foster didn’t flinch.

He knew them. Some had fought with him. Others had fled even before the battle.

A man stepped forward, more robust and dressed in better clothes than the others.

A nobleman.

His gaze looked Foster up and down, suspicious.

- You’re alive.

There was no joy or relief in his voice. Only cold neutrality.

- Unlike Vollua, yes.

The man clenched his jaw, clearly displeased by the irony in Foster’s voice.

- Why have you come?

Foster swept his gaze over the crowd gathering around them. Faces marked by fear, fatigue and doubt.

Then he spoke, loud and clear.

- Because you’re dying.

A heavy silence fell over the assembly.

- You fled Vollua, but what was the point? You have no home, no land, no strength.

A worried murmur arose among the refugees.

- And you can feel it, can’t you? continues Foster. Your link with the forest is crumbling. Every day, you lose a little more of what makes you woodland elves.

The greetings faded. He was right.

Woodland elves do make it through their forest. Their magic, their strength, their very identity was linked to the great woods of Vollua. But Vollua was dead.

Foster took a step forward, his presence weighing on the assembly.

- But there is another way.

He slowly withdrew a glove, revealing the emerald glow pulsing beneath his skin, just below the surface.

- A new bloodline. A new beginning.

The camp was in turmoil. Some seemed terrified, others fascinated.

- Do you want us to become like you?’ said an elder, suspiciously.

- I want to offer you a choice.

Foster paused, scrutinising each face.

- Those who want to survive... really survive... those who want to regain their strength and protect their future...

His gaze locked onto that of the nobleman in front of him.

- Come with me.

A stony silence fell.

Then came a dry laugh.

- You’re mad!

The nobleman looked at him with contempt.

- What you’re proposing has nothing to do with our culture. We are not... aberrations.

He almost cracked the word.

- So just carry on turning off,’ Foster replied without emotion.

He turned and walked slowly away.

- But don’t come crying to me when you realise you no longer have a future.

He walked to the edge of the camp, feeling the burning stares on his back.

Then the sound of footsteps.