Game of the World Tree

【THE ORACLE AND EMISSARY】

—

Desert of Death, Sandstorm City

The primordial elf, Thranduil, sat comfortably inside a dwarven-owned tavern, the warm aroma of fruit wine drifting through the air as he clinked glasses with a few enthusiastic female players.

Ever since the Divine Matriarch had appointed him to oversee affairs in the Desert of Death, Thranduil found his daily life becoming increasingly pleasant, even bordering on indulgent.

This was primarily thanks to the remarkable efficiency and tireless energy of the Chosen Ones. Whenever any troublesome matter arose, all he had to do was assign it to them.

These battle-hungry warriors were usually not the brightest, but as long as the task system was used effectively, there was rarely any need for him to personally handle the matters himself.

The Chosen Ones could take care of all the hard and dirty work in his stead.

Although the workload seemed substantial, it was actually far easier for him than his previous duties.

But here, in the relative isolation of the Desert of Death, his responsibilities had simplified considerably. All he needed to do was make clever use of the task system to assign objectives to the Chosen Ones. Once dispatched, they handled any problem and other local disturbances on their own.

Moreover, each of them worked tirelessly without complaint.

As long as the rewards were sufficient and he raised 'favorability' high enough, they would willingly dive into a cesspit if ordered to.

Truly, they were the most ideal labor force.

Sipping fruit wine offered by the Chosen Ones, nodding along to the performance of a bard in the tavern, and occasionally chatting with the beautiful and spirited female players beside him—sometimes even receiving small gifts from them—Thranduil only needed to show minimal affection in return.

Sometimes, even a simple smile was enough to provoke excited screams from his admirers.

His current life was, in short, remarkably pleasant.

Though the environment of Sandstorm City hardly suited his elven aesthetics, Thranduil still found his time here quite comfortable.

And despite the harsh conditions, many enthusiastic Chosen Ones had joined the effort to improve the city's surroundings at his "sincere" urging.

Currently, some Druid players had already begun planting trees and flowers throughout the streets and open spaces of Sandstorm City.

Oh, and then there were the newly created fairies brought into being by the Divine Matriarch.

Those little creatures were quite suited for environmental restoration. Lately, Thranduil had been considering whether he could lure a few of them over from the Dark Mountains.

Every addition would help. Since he was now permanently stationed here in Sandstorm City, he figured it would only be proper to beautify the place.

Or so he told himself.

At that very moment, Thranduil was reclining in comfort, thoroughly enjoying his afternoon. He was being pampered by two cheerful female Chosen Ones who insisted that their massage techniques had been passed down through generations. With fruit wine in one hand and his limbs expertly relaxed, he had nearly forgotten he was supposed to be overseeing anything at all.

Suddenly, a solemn and commanding voice echoed clearly within his mind, filled with divine weight:

"Life there's quite comfortable, no?"

"Indeed… very comfortable," Thranduil answered instinctively, nodding with a smile still lingering on his face.

Then his expression stiffened.

He realized almost immediately that the voice had not come from anyone nearby. It had sounded directly within his consciousness, resonating with an unmistakable sacred presence.

And that presence could only belong to one being.

Startled, Thranduil stood up at once.

"Moth—ahem—Your Grace!"

He cleared his throat twice, looking a little embarrassed.

Being the first primordial elf and a elven royalty, he naturally had the privilege of hearing the voice of the Goddess directly.

However, it had been quite some time since the Goddess had issued him a direct oracle. Even his earlier assignment to the Desert of Death had been relayed through another cleric. So for a moment, he had failed to react appropriately.

After a brief pause, the voice in his consciousness spoke again:

"Thranduil, I have a task for you…"

༺⟐༻

Meanwhile, the new announcement once again captured the attention of the player base.

When they saw that the rewards also included Silver-rank clasd advancement slots and Divine Artifact Repair Vouchers, excitement surged to a new peak.

And for good reason.

Although the Labyrinth Dungeon 2.0 had increased the number of bosses and improved loot drops, competition among the hundreds of thousands of players across the server remained intense.

Especially regarding the Artifact Repair Vouchers, which only dropped after defeating Old Azzie.

As veteran players from the era of traditional MMORPGs put it, the drop rate for those vouchers was even lower than that of rare refinement stones in some older games.

So, with a new potential source of such coveted items now announced, it naturally became the center of everyone's attention.

Moreover, the official site noted that the new update would offer generous RNG, which was especially good news for players with poor luck.

At the same time, far across the continent, deep within the rugged expanse of the southern mountain range, the Dwarven Kingdom also received a divine message from their patron deity.

In a grand temple carved directly into the heart of a mountain, the air was thick with sacred energy. Soft, golden light radiated from a towering three-meter-tall statue of the Dwarven God of Forging, illuminating the ancient stone walls etched with runes. The statue's eyes glowed faintly, as if watching over all who entered, while a steady pulse of divine power resonated through the chamber like the echo of a distant anvil strike.

Beneath the imposing figure knelt an elder dwarf. He was adorned in heavy ceremonial robes woven with silver thread, and a tall, jewel-studded crown rested atop his graying hair. His forehead touched the cold stone floor, arms outstretched in solemn devotion as he offered a silent, fervent prayer.

His voice trembled with reverence, carried only by the breath of the temple's sanctified stillness.

"Praise be to You, The Great Dwarven Almighty God of Forging. Your oracle is our guiding light…"

Gradually, the divine radiance on the statue faded.

The elderly dwarf slowly rose to his feet.

After a brief moment of contemplation, he turned to the dwarven guard stationed at the temple entrance and gave a command:

"Go summon Tonglu."

"Yes, Your Holiness!"

The dwarf soldier responded respectfully.

This elderly dwarf was none other than the current Pontiff of the National Church of the Dwarven Kingdom, appointed by the Dwarves and the God of Forging himself, Dorft.

As the highest-ranking cleric of their patron deity in Seigües, he was also addressed with the honorific "Your Holiness."

The guard soon returned, bringing with him a stocky, well-built middle-aged dwarf with a thick beard and naturally curly black hair.

The warrior radiated a formidable aura. His armor was dented and battle-worn, clearly having endured numerous intense fights.

He stepped forward and respectfully bowed before the elderly dwarf.

"Your Holiness, you summoned me?"

The Pontiff looked at him and replied in a solemn tone:

"Tonglu, His Highness has just issued an oracle. The opportunity to seal away that 'Fallen One' has arrived!"

"You are currently the strongest warrior in our entire Kingdom and possess a swift golden griffin. I now order you to travel immediately to Sandstorm City in the Desert of Death and seek assistance from the Elves."

The dwarven warrior paused, clearly surprised.

"The Desert of Death? Sandstorm City? You want me to find Elves there? Isn't that orc territory?"

The Pontiff nodded and said:

"It was, but no longer. You've spent the past several months battling at the Sealing Grounds, so you're unaware of recent developments throughout the continent. The Desert of Death has now been conquered by the Elves who worship the Goddess of Life and Nature."

"The Goddess of Life and Nature? Do you mean Her Grace Eve, the one from last year's rumors about the Underground war?"

The Dwarven warrior seemed to recall.

"Yes," the Pontiff confirmed with a nod.

"I understand. I will depart at once."

Tonglu gave a firm, serious reply.

༺⟐༻

As the sun rose and fell, two days had passed since the recent announcement.

Although the new update had not yet been formally implemented, interest in the battlefield summons had not subsided. On the contrary, anticipation had only intensified as time went on.

This was mainly due to accelerated player engagement and discussion.

Over 300,000 players were not online daily.

With such large numbers, it was common for players to log in every few days in the real world, which translated to even longer gaps in-game.

If a player remained offline in the game for several in-game days, the system would automatically reclaim control of their character for safety reasons.

Otherwise, with how realistic the life simulation system was, any player who remained offline for ten to fifteen in-game days would have already starved to death.

Because of this, each time a wave of players calmed down after seeing the update, a new batch of returning players would log in, excitedly discover the patch notes, and reignite the buzz.

This cycle repeated itself continuously.

As a result, the hype around the battlefield summons persisted.

However, Elven Kingdom offered an enormous degree of freedom and a wide variety of content.

As an unprecedented open-world MMO masterpiece, the game had no limits—only what players could imagine.

There was never a shortage of things to do. As long as players were willing, endless opportunities were available.

Thus, those who had initially been excited about the upcoming battlefield summons often moved on to other activities after a day or two.

Of course, this didn't mean they had forgotten about the update.

Observing player behavior closely, one would notice that after the announcement, many players began to operate in more localized areas, particularly near the Chosen City.

Their goal was simple: to take advantage of the city's convenient transportation network and be ready to join the battlefield summons the moment it went live.

There were also rumors—allegedly spread by certain female Chosen Ones—that the actual battlefield summons might begin in Sandstorm City, located in the Desert of Death.

However, few players believed it.

Yet, two days after the update announcement, the Dwarven Kingdom's emissary Tonglu, the legendary dwarven warrior known as the "Sky Knight" and rider of a golden griffin arrived in the heart of the Desert of Death.

༺⟐༻

Roughly one hundred kilometers south of Sandstorm City, in the Desert of Death…

A heavily loaded merchant caravan was slowly making its way forward.

Suddenly, a loud and piercing cry rang out from the sky, a sound that was both like a lion's roar and an eagle's screech. The horses in the caravan panicked and neighed in alarm.

A wagon door creaked open, and two fully armored elven warriors leapt out, scanning the surroundings cautiously.

"What's going on? Are the other Elves attacking again? Didn't you inform them we're allies?"

"Reporting to the elven lords—it's a griffin!"

The human leader of the caravan replied respectfully.

"A griffin?"

The two elves brightened at the mention and immediately looked up at the sky.

"No good. It's flying too high. We won't be able to bring it down."

"Pity. If I'd brought my giant eagle along, maybe we'd have a chance. I heard from Natsume that griffins make great mounts."

They shook their heads in disappointment.

Naturally, these two elves were players.

Now that the Desert of Death map was fully open to them, it was not uncommon for some to roleplay as mercenaries, protecting caravans that traveled through the region.

In particular, members of the Heart of Nature, which maintained trade relations with various factions, often escorted caravans into player-accessible zones.

This was a necessary precaution.

Unlike the elves of the Elven Forest, caravans from other factions did not benefit from the system's protection.

If players truly wanted to raid them, they could.

And long-distance caravans usually carried valuable goods.

While high-level players might ignore such opportunities in favor of more rewarding challenges, for many new players, raiding caravans remained an extremely lucrative endeavor. These long-distance trade routes often carried valuable goods, and with little risk involved, especially if the merchants lacked proper protection, such raids offered a fast track to wealth.

After being caught off guard once or twice and witnessing elves, of all races, acting as highway robbers, the merchants eventually learned their lesson. The shock of seeing what were supposed to be noble forest dwellers ambushing supply lines left a deep impression.

At first, the idea that elves could undergo faction alignment shifts was met with disbelief and even outrage. It seemed to undermine everything people thought they knew about them. However, as time passed, the absurdity wore off, and what had once felt unnatural gradually became just another part of life in this unpredictable world.

Now, whenever a caravan prepared to travel through high-risk zones such as the Desert of Death or the Dark Mountains, regions where elf players were especially active, hiring elven escorts had become a common precaution.

Because in the end, only elves could effectively deal with other elves, after all.

When the raiders saw that the caravan they were targeting was being protected by elves, they usually gave up on their plans without hesitation.

Meanwhile, the two players assigned to guard duty stood near the front of the caravan, gazing up at the sky whilst sighing in frustration at being unable to capture it.

Just then, the griffin seemed to notice the caravan and began descending toward it.

"Huh? It's flying toward us!"

The two players immediately stood at attention, their relaxed demeanor vanishing in an instant. Their hands instinctively moved toward their weapons, though they did not draw them yet.

As the griffin descended in a broad spiral, the wind kicked up sand all around them. Everyone in the caravan—both players and NPCs—watched with a mix of awe and caution. The creature was majestic, but what truly caught their attention was the small figure perched steadily on its back.

With a loud thump and a cloud of dust, the griffin landed a short distance away. Its wings folded slowly as a stocky dwarf warrior dismounted with practiced ease. He was broad and sturdy, with a thick black beard and armor that looked worn yet battle-ready.

He gave the caravan a sharp glance, then raised his voice in a booming tone that carried across the camp.

"Are you the caravan heading for Sandstorm City? Is that the direction it's in?"

He pointed out toward the desert horizon.

Although he was short, even by dwarven standards—probably not even reaching an elf's thigh—no one laughed or looked down on him. The pressure he radiated was unmistakable. His presence alone silenced idle chatter and stilled wandering eyes.

There was no mistaking it: this dwarf was powerful.

Very powerful.

Every expert among them could sense the overwhelming aura radiating from the dwarf.

It was the unmistakable presence of a high-ranking warrior.

Even the two players grew serious.

After all, ignoring the dwarf for a moment, even the griffin they had just been casually commenting on exuded far more power than the two of them combined.

Both were already Silver-ranked players, yet even during their fight against the new demon bosses in the Demon Lord's Palace, they hadn't felt pressure like this—except when fighting Old Azzie.

They were absolutely certain: they had encountered a high-ranking boss-level NPC.

The caravan members exchanged glances. Their leader stepped forward and nodded.

"Yes, sir dwarf. We are indeed en route to Sandstorm City."

The dwarf warrior was none other than Tonglu, the emissary from the Dwarven Kingdom and a legendary-rank warrior.

He scratched his thick, curly beard and muttered quietly:

"Is that so? Then it seems I'm on the right track."

With that, he turned and prepared to mount the griffin once more.

But then just as he was about to leave, a voice from within the caravan called out, tinged with excitement and curiosity:

"Sir dwarf… may I ask, are you headed to Sandstorm City on official business?"

It was the two players.

Watching the hurried dwarf warrior, they sensed the unmistakable scent of a hidden quest.

Hearing the voice behind him, Tonglu instinctively turned back.

Upon seeing who had spoken, his eyes gleamed slightly:

"Elves?"

〘 PREVIOUS 〙

〘 NEXT 〙

— —