Chapter 31
Chapter 31
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 31
Chapter Title: The Race Supreme in Physiognomy (1)
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My whole body ached.
My eyelids burned so fiercely that it felt like opening my eyes would plunge me into hell.
It was a backlash incomparable to the previous one.
I slightly moved my arm.
Rustle—
"....?"
What was that sound?
Something was touching my body.
It was soft and moist.
I moved my other arm again.
Rustle—
A fragrance crept stealthily into my nostrils.
It was a thick floral scent.
I tried to sense something with my Spiritual Eyes, but soon gave up.
My head throbbed as if I had a hangover.
"...."
I couldn't even make a sound.
Murmurs from nearby drilled into my ears.
But they only made my head ring.
I couldn't make out what they were saying clearly.
My body was in such a state of utter ruin—beyond total wreckage—that I could believe someone calling me a critical patient.
I desperately felt the need to train this body.
Given what the necromancers had done, it was clear this wasn't the end, and I couldn't afford to pass out every time.
The problem was my eyes.
Spitting blood after unleashing Retaliatory Curse was only natural.
But shedding bloody tears twice in a row gnawed at me.
The backlash lingered longest in my eyes as well...
Feeling the surroundings suddenly grow noisier, I drifted back into sleep.
Beneath the World Tree, its branches spread wide.
The holiest place for the elves.
Chris lay atop a bed of neatly piled grass and flowers there.
"It's already the third day."
Parmon, who had been gazing worriedly at Chris, uncrossed his arms.
His eyes turned to the elves bustling about.
"I don't know the details, but we need to put care into the food."
He had closely observed the actions Chris took when praying for something.
When praying for the happiness of the living and the dead, Chris always prepared food with such devotion.
Parmon, rubbing the calluses hardened on his hands, paused his fingers.
An image surfaced in his mind: the altar Chris had made.
Candles lit on either side of the food offerings.
Chris sitting before it, earnestly praying to the gods.
"We should light candles too. Place one on each side of the food."
One elf, hearing Parmon's words, placed candles atop the offering with utmost reverence.
It wasn't just that elf.
Every elf there moved with reverence.
They had seen it with their own eyes.
Chris vomiting blood as he took into his body the unidentified entity from the World Tree.
And they had seen him annihilate the wicked being that dared mimic the World Tree.
Chris was a human who had sacrificed his body for the elves' divine World Tree.
"Is this correct?"
"No, that's not it."
The response came not from Parmon, but from Closel standing beside him.
"From what I remember, red foods went on the right. I don't know why, but fruits should have only the top cut off."
"If it helps Chris, we don't need a reason."
The elves, hearing Closel, drew daggers and began slicing the tops off fruits.
Following instructions, red flesh went to the right, white flesh to the left.
With so many hands, the food piled up quickly after just a few rounds.
Parmon nodded in satisfaction.
The altar resembled the one Chris had made, quite faithfully.
"Rosel, do you remember what came next?"
"We need to place alcohol on the table."
"Ah, yes, that was it."
An elf who had been listening from afar dashed off, then returned.
In his hand was a glass bottle sloshing with clear liquid.
"Ho, to see such precious liquor."
It was the finest vintage, brewed by elven methods alone.
Called "Whisper of the Trees," it was a treasure that would make any drinker drool.
Its transparent hue marked it as the absolute best.
The elf who brought it carefully lifted the bottle.
"Where should we place this liquor?"
Parmon's hand, stroking his calluses, stopped again.
He was rummaging through his memories.
Chris's actions at the cemetery in Astor territory, and at the shrine.
Parmon nodded twice.
"The alcohol must be offered in a special way. Chris always used this method."
"A special method, you say?"
"The more people offering, the better, he said. I'll demonstrate first, so everyone follow along. Do you have cups?"
Parmon's request for cups from the elf was reverent as well.
Chris had always said it.
Everything depended on sincerity and posture.
Only then would prayers reach their proper destination.
"Ahem."
Clearing his throat, Parmon straightened his posture and stood before the altar.
Pour—
The liquor sloshed into the cup.
Parmon's brow furrowed slightly.
He couldn't recall the direction.
"Rosel, was it left? Or right, maybe?"
"Direction doesn't matter, he said."
"Ah, now I remember."
Parmon closed his eyes, pouring his heart into it.
May Chris's body heal clean as new.
May happiness come to this young man who took on all sorrows to console the dead.
May the malice in curses not taint him.
The cup slowly circled.
One round.
Two rounds.
Only after the devoted motion ended did the cup rest on the table.
Standing straight, Parmon turned to Closel.
"There was a bow, wasn't there?"
"He always did it after pouring the liquor."
Parmon fell into thought.
It was some bizarre action he couldn't quite grasp.
Kneeling with knees together, bowing the head.
To a knight, it might seem shameful.
But when Chris did it—the bow—it seemed irrelevant.
It looked endlessly humble and sacred.
That reverent gesture was likely a key element of the ritual.
"We should do it."
"I agree. Chris's rituals have a mystical air, so the bow must hold meaning."
Parmon was confident.
He was a Sword Master, after all.
Even high-difficulty sword techniques he could mimic at a glance; this was nothing.
Parmon addressed the elves.
"This is called a bow. It's one of the steps Chris always performed with devotion. I'll demonstrate again, so everyone try it."
Parmon's demonstration was a perfect bow.
Elegant motion, overflowing dignity.
The knightly spirit infused in it drew admiration.
After one bow and rising, Parmon paused.
Chris's bows varied in number, but usually twice.
Basic sword forms were used most, after all.
Two bows as the base would be the most common.
Parmon bowed once more.
Pouring in his wish for Chris's swift recovery.
"Then we step back."
Parmon and Closel's eyes met with pride.
This progression would earn even Chris's approval.
They had replicated his actions faithfully.
Even if they weren't shamans, it should have some effect, right?
An elf who watched Parmon's demonstration spoke.
"Is this a prayer to the World Tree?"
"If you pray, it might reach the World Tree. That's why we set the altar facing it. With Chris in between, the effect should be greater, no?"
The elf nodded in agreement.
It was quite persuasive.
The World Tree would surely hear.
Their prayers seemed to pass through Chris to it.
"Chris performs such mystical rituals."
Parmon replied solemnly.
"In this ritual, the heart is most important."
Many elves had gathered around.
Even small sincerities, amassed, would be immense.
"But if everyone pours liquor, we'll run short."
Cups weren't just one or two.
The table lacked space for them all.
Then, an elf with a beautiful face stepped forward.
"You said the heart matters, so how about offering the flowers we nurtured?"
"Ho...!"
"Good idea."
Affirmations erupted from all around.
Flowers raised with utmost care—their devotion would rival any.
All the elves thought so.
"Let's do it right away. Space is tight, so bring a moderate amount each."
A procession of elves returned, each snapping a single flower.
The line stretching to the altar seemed endless.
As flowers piled and space filled, the rest went around Chris.
Thus, one by one they proceeded, and by the time a flower field bloomed near Chris...
A slight movement occurred.
Rustle—
".....Hm?"
"...Chris?"
Silence fell as all mouths shut.
It was definitely Chris moving.
Soon, Chris's other arm twitched.
Rustle—
The elves' eyes widened, shining brightly.
"It... it's working!"
"Chris's ritual is bringing him back!"
"Quick, gather more flowers!"