My world-tree system-Chapter 76 - 75: Unexpected encounter

Foster struggled back to his feet, desperately clutching his hand to his wound. The blood flowed slowly, hot and thick, soaking his clothes, tracing a scarlet trail on the cold stones of the ground. Each step became more painful, each movement drew a muffled groan from him, but he couldn’t give up now.

His fingers trembled, his legs wobbled. He staggered forward, one arm clutching his wound, the other stretched out in front of him, desperate to lean against the cold wall of the tomb. The corridor seemed endless, lit by the flickering flames of the torches, which cast twisted, menacing shadows around him.

- Help... me...," he murmured in a barely audible breath.

But only the echo of his faint voice answered, slowly fading into the dark depths of the tomb.

He stumbled suddenly, collapsing against the cold wall. His forehead hit the stone hard, leaving a bloody trail. He felt dizzy and his vision blurred further. He struggled, mustering the last of his strength to keep from sinking completely.

"Get up, Foster, get up..." he ordered himself mentally, trying to regain some semblance of lucidity.

He struggled to his feet, his legs shaking like a newborn’s, his face covered in blood, his eyes almost completely closed by bruises and swelling.

The world around him had become a tangle of blurred, indistinct shapes.

- Kassandra... Köflik... he murmured, his voice barely audible. Someone... please...

Images of his missing companions flashed through his tormented mind: Köflik’s determined gaze, Kassandra’s protective smile, the panicked faces of the others who had been devoured before his eyes. His throat knotted painfully. They had all fallen, and now he was alone, lost, powerless.

No.

He refused to believe that there was no hope. If he was still alive, it was for a reason.

He drew in a deep breath, mustering the last of his strength to take another step forward. His fingers caressed the wall, looking for any support he could find to keep him going. Each step cost him a superhuman effort. His vision blurred further with each step, flashes of memories running through his mind, sometimes causing him to stagger.

He thought he heard a voice in the distance, but it was only the distorted echo of his own suffering. His mind was slowly derailing, carried away by fatigue and pain. But he moved on.

- Someone..." he murmured faintly, his voice broken by exhaustion. Is anyone there?

The heavy silence of the tomb was his only answer, oppressive, implacable.

But Foster kept walking, or rather dragging himself, one hand still pressed to his gaping wound, the other leaning against the icy wall to keep from collapsing. He didn’t know how much time had passed, how many steps he’d managed to take, but suddenly a figure appeared in front of him.

It stood in the shadows of the corridor, motionless and indistinct. Foster stopped abruptly, holding his breath with difficulty, struggling to make out the familiar form clearly.

His heart missed a beat. He recognized that silhouette... that long, unmistakable beard, that solid, reassuring stature...

- Köflik...? he breathed in a voice choked with hope and pain. Is it really you?

The figure didn’t move immediately, remaining frozen in the darkness, like a spectral apparition from a dream. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

- Please... Köflik..." Foster murmured, his voice almost pleading. Please help me...

The oppressive silence settled again, before the figure took a step forward, then another, approaching gently, slowly...

- Answer me... Foster begged in a broken voice.

He wanted to believe. He had to believe.

Foster stretched out a trembling hand towards the figure, but no sooner had he made this desperate gesture than the last of his strength suddenly deserted him. His body staggered, then toppled forward, unconscious even before he touched the cold, damp floor of the tomb.

The void swallowed him whole.

He didn’t know how long he remained in this soothing darkness, but slowly, very slowly, he began to emerge from the limbo of his mind. A strange sensation, soft and comforting, surrounded him, like a distant whisper.

Foster slowly tried to emerge from the cottony fog that enveloped his mind. A dull pain still radiated from his side, a cruel reminder of the severity of his recent injuries. As he regained consciousness, he instinctively tried to put a hand to his wound, but a cold, metallic sound immediately echoed through the darkness.

He opened his eyes abruptly, his heart suddenly racing. He looked down at his hands, discovering to his horror that they were firmly chained to the edges of a rudimentary stone bed. The manacles were forged from a dark, almost black material that seemed to absorb the surrounding light.

He immediately tried to release his mana, but nothing happened. His power seemed extinguished, totally neutralized by these mysterious restraints. Panic began to rise within him.

- What’s all this?" he murmured, his voice cracking with worry.

The answer came immediately, in the form of heavy footsteps echoing in the adjacent corridor. A few seconds later, the massive figure of a dwarf appeared at the narrow, low entrance to the room.

He was a stocky man with a thick, dark, neatly braided beard. A deep scar marked his left cheek, and his piercing eyes scanned Foster warily. He carried an imposing axe strapped firmly to his back, as well as dark leather armor inlaid with metal, covered with runes whose meaning Foster didn’t know.

The dwarf approached slowly, inspecting the wounded elf as a predator would its prey.

- So, finally awake, elf? he said in a gruff voice, but without any warmth. I hope you appreciate our little handcuffs. They’re specially designed to neutralize the powers of intruders like you.

Foster frowned, trying to figure out what was going on.

- Where am I? Why am I tied up?" he asked warily, tugging vainly at his chains.

The dwarf crossed his arms, a hard expression on his face.

- You’re in the depths of the dwarf kingdom of Eldorim, stranger. We found you unconscious in one of our sacred tunnels. An intrusion we don’t take lightly, you see?

Foster swallowed hard, feeling the tension rising dangerously.

- Listen, I’m not your enemy," he explained quickly. I’m injured, I need help...

The dwarf let out a dry, disdainful laugh.

- That’s not for me to judge, elf. I’m Gundar, captain of the royal guard. My role is simple: to bring you before our king. He alone will decide what to do with you.

Foster’s face contorted slightly, a deep concern washing over him.

- In front of the king? But I’ve done nothing wrong!" he exclaimed in panic.

Gundar shrugged his shoulders impassively, moving a little closer to the bed.

- We’ll see about that, kid. The king will know exactly what your true intentions are. If you’re telling the truth, you might stand a chance. If not...

The dwarf deliberately left his sentence hanging, his implacable gaze hard on Foster. The latter felt a cold sweat run down his back. He was no longer in control.

- Prepare yourself, elf," Gundar finally declared, turning slowly to leave the room. Your interrogation will soon take place. I hope for your sake you’ll be convincing...

Foster remained alone in the dark room, chained.

Several interminable hours passed, marked only by the heavy silence of the cell and the distant echo of the regular drip somewhere in the depths of the Eldorim kingdom. Foster, exhausted and weakened by his wounds, sat against the cold wall of his prison, his wrists aching from the heavy black stone cuffs. He had tried to find a way to escape, but each attempt had proved futile, his powers completely neutralized.

Suddenly, the metallic creak of the cell door broke the oppressive silence. Foster immediately straightened his head, trying to make out something in the darkness. But no sooner had he looked up than a thick dark cloth blindfold was suddenly placed over his eyes, instantly removing any possibility of reference.

- Get up, elf," commanded a husky voice he immediately recognized: that of Captain Gundar.

Without waiting for his reply, two strong hands grabbed him roughly by the arms, lifting him without delicacy. Foster staggered back, unsettled by the pain of his wounds and the absence of vision. He was dragged unceremoniously through endless corridors, his feet stumbling over the uneven stones of the floor.

After a long, chaotic journey, marked by the muffled murmurs and grunts of his guards, they finally came to a halt. Foster felt the temperature change slightly, the air becoming drier, and the echo of their footsteps told him they had entered a vast hall.

He was forced abruptly to his knees, the pain of his wounds rekindled by this abrupt gesture. He heard heavy, solemn footsteps, then sudden silence, almost palpable, charged with tension.

Finally, a deep, powerful voice rang out, filling the room with a tone of unmistakable authority:

- Remove the blindfold.

The dark cloth was torn away without delicacy, briefly blinding Foster, who squinted, trying to adjust to the sudden light.

When he regained clear vision, he was stunned to discover a vast stone hall, lit by huge torches fixed at regular intervals to the carved walls. Around him, several dwarf guards in gleaming armor held their battle-axes steady, their wary gazes fixed on the elf.

But it was the individual in front of him that instantly captured his attention.

Seated on an imposing throne carved directly into the rock was an elderly but robust dwarf, with a long white beard, carefully braided and adorned with small gold rings engraved with ancient runes. He wore a silver crown encrusted with sapphires, which seemed too heavy for his massive head yet perfectly suited to his imposing stature. His piercing eyes stared at Foster with chilling severity, scrutinizing every inch of his being as if he could read directly into his soul.

Foster understood at once: he was facing the dwarf king himself.

The sovereign bowed slightly forward, his large hands resting firmly on the armrests of his throne.

- I am Thorgrim Poing-de-Fer, ruler of the kingdom of Eldorim," he declared in a deep, steel-hard voice. . And you, stranger, are accused of violating the sanctuary of our ancestors, disturbing the sacred balance of our underground, and possibly being complicit in the dark forces that threaten us. What do you have to say for yourself?

Foster immediately opened his mouth to reply, but Thorgrim struck the armrest of his throne violently, causing the whole room to tremble.

- Silence!" he thundered, his eyes burning with restrained anger. I haven’t given you permission to speak yet, elf! Your people have often looked down on us, and now you dare to violate our sacred lands! How dare you!

Foster had question marks dancing above his head, he wasn’t even aware of their existence before today... But King Thorgrim continued without giving him a chance:

- I know your tricks and lies, elf! You’re certainly not here by chance. You seek to harm us, to weaken us... and I will tolerate no deception in my kingdom!

The dwarf guards instinctively tightened their grip on their weapons, ready to carry out their sovereign’s order without the slightest hesitation. Foster sensed that his situation was becoming critical. He had to react, now, before all was lost.

Faintly but clearly, he muttered a single word:

- Kaizen.

Silence fell instantly on the room, heavy, oppressive. All eyes suddenly focused on Foster, incredulous. King Thorgrim himself turned as pale as stone, his eyes widening in shock and horror at the mention of the cursed name.

- What did you say...?" murmured Thorgrim, his voice barely audible as it trembled.

Foster slowly raised his head, courageously staring into the king’s eyes despite his weakness and wounds.

- I said ’Kaizen’," he repeated in a clear but exhausted voice. If you know that name, then you know I’m not your enemy.

The king remained silent, his face closed, as if immersed in a painful memory. Around them, the dwarf guards exchanged worried glances, visibly upset by the mention of this long-forgotten name.

Finally, Thorgrim stood up slowly, eyebrows furrowed, jaw set.

- How do you know that name, stranger?" he said, his voice calmer, but with a deep sense of gravity.

Foster breathed in slowly, sensing that he’d finally hit a nerve. This was his chance. He had to speak carefully.

- I’ve had a long history with them, if you can call it that," he murmured, holding the king’s gaze firmly.

Thorgrim remained motionless for a moment, his stony face betraying no emotion. Then, slowly, he nodded, seeming to make an important decision.

- Speak up! We’re listening.