Chapter 39
Chapter 39
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 39
Chapter Title: The Holy Spirit Tree
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“Uh… y-yes, that’s right. What the hell is this? Magic?”
“These are letters I’ve never seen in my life… Are they even letters?”
Piot and Stelmann hurriedly asked.
The moment they entered the village, a mysterious string of text and numbers suddenly appeared in the upper left corner of their vision, shocking and bewildering the two men.
But since everyone else showed no particular reaction, they wondered for a moment if they were seeing things.
Then, the elf warrior they had just met that day accurately wrote on the ground the very string of text—or whatever it was, letters or sentence or picture, they still weren’t sure—that they were seeing.
“I don’t know either. It’s not in the script of us elves. In our tribe, only I and the Elder can see it. And only here.”
Priel turned her body slightly and pointed to one side. Everyone’s eyes widened in surprise.
Until just moments ago, clouds had obscured the moon, so they hadn’t noticed, but now that the clouds had passed and moonlight bathed the clearing, its full view was revealed.
“Wow!”
“Holy…”
Under the moonlight and starlight of the night sky, a massive tree stood in the center of the clearing, exuding an overwhelming presence.
Its circumference seemed at least fifty meters, and its height at least a hundred, making the ancient giant tree breathtakingly mystical and awe-inspiring.
“This is…”
Piot murmured unconsciously as he looked up at the tree, and Sion spoke.
“It’s the Tree of the Holy Spirit. Every elf village of any significant size has one.”
This tree was the most important and decisive factor that distinguished elves from humans in terms of physical form, spirit, ecology, and more.
“By the way, you said these letters appear when you approach the Tree of the Holy Spirit?”
At Sion’s question, Priel turned back toward the group and nodded.
“Yes. It seems the traveler can see it too. And since you called it letters, I guess you know what it is?”
“Well, for now…”
Sion trailed off.
Of course he knew what it was.
‘Level at a time like this?’
He recalled his conversation with the wasteland dragon, Dercios.
Through that talk, he had suspected this world might be a game, but for ‘level’ to pop up out of nowhere?
Could this place really be inside a game?
Moreover, the level floating in the upper left of his vision was:
[LEVEL 99]
Shocked and bewildered, but true to his century of experience as an old monster, Sion quickly composed himself.
‘Nothing’s changed. Just do what needs to be done.’
“More importantly, from what you said, it seems you’ve only started seeing these letters recently. Am I right?”
“Yes. Less than a month ago. I checked while guiding you all here, just in case.”
“I see. Then, what about the thing that appears behind those letters… No, it’d be better to discuss this with the Elder. You said the Elder can see them too.”
“…Very well.”
She seemed to have more to say, but perhaps mindful of the others who couldn’t see the ‘level,’ Priel acquiesced.
“Then, does the Elder only meet travelers who know your language and customs? Or…”
Priel’s gaze shifted to Piot and Stelmann.
It was a question of whether the two who had noticed the ‘level’ wished to meet the elves’ highest elder.
‘Sharp one.’
A glint of appreciation entered Sion’s eyes as he looked at Priel. For an elf, typically lacking in social graces by human standards, this was no small feat. A remarkably unique elf.
‘In that case?’
He needed to slightly revise the plan he had formed upon entering the dukedom and deciding first to seek out the elves.
‘Piot, Stelmann, and Priel…’
Sion finished his calculations in an instant and spoke.
“Piot Sion Kilburn, the rightful heir bearing Sion’s blood, has reason and qualification to meet the Elder. But the mercenary captain might be a bit tricky. For Captain Stelmann Jansdrik, forging ties with the North Mountain tribe should suffice. Don’t you think?”
“I’ll follow your intent. Then I’ll go prepare my men.”
“Do that.”
As always, Stelmann gave a straightforward reply and turned away.
“Sir Yonas. How about moving with the mercenary captain? As you know well, it’s best to strictly follow the elves’ directives.”
“Under…stood, sir.”
Yonas, who had almost blurted out “Yes, sir!” switched to a less natural phrasing and followed behind Stelmann.
“No, I… I’ll go with Uncle too.”
Sirban wanted to see the elves’ highest elder, whom he had only heard about, but at Yonas’s fierce glare, he made a crestfallen face dripping with disappointment and reluctantly turned away.
“Then this way.”
Priel guided Sion and Piot toward the Tree of the Holy Spirit.
The Tree of the Holy Spirit wasn’t a single trunk grown from one tree. It was formed of five or six massive trunks twisted together like serpents, soaring upward.
And in the gaps between those trunks was a door. Sion followed Priel inside.
“Elder. Under Sion’s guarantee, a traveler who knows courtesy has brought a new Sion. He brings gifts and asks only for conversation with you in return. Though it’s late, I’ve brought him.”
Perhaps out of consideration for Sion and Piot, Priel spoke not in elvish, but in the human tongue.
At that, a figure lying on a wooden bed covered with enormous leaves the size of a human torso sat up.
“Cough, cough! A new Sion and a courteous traveler? Then I must meet them at once. It’s been so long…”
An elderly elf with long, pointed ears that otherwise resembled an eighty-year-old human paused mid-sentence.
From his deeply wrinkled eyes, blue light flickered in pupils fixed on Sion.
“So you’re the elder of this generation. Long time no see, Bael.”
Sion called the name of his comrade-in-arms from ages past.
The young elf warrior who had accepted his proposal and come here with tribes that lost their homes.
Time had aged his eternally youthful, vibrant elf friend into a withered old tree, but Sion recognized him.
“Jang…?”
And the elf over a century old likewise recognized his unchanged friend from youth and called his name.
“Yes. It’s me.”
At Sion’s reply, a wistful light gleamed in Bael’s previously dull eyes.
Memories, sinking into the depths due to the limits of his aging brain, slowly resurfaced as if summoned by their elderly master.
The risen memories soon reassembled into what were called recollections.
Thus, most unusually, a long smile curved the lips of the old elf.
“Jang Sion, my comrade.”
Creaking joints moving, Bael walked over and embraced Sion tightly.
“Truly, it’s been ages, friend.”
Sion too smiled and patted the bony back of his old friend.
The two exchanged greetings after decades and parted.
“Fifty years?”
“The last time was when Theo took up the Sion name, so about that long. Hard to believe, though. I had my suspicions. Hah…”
Bael was glad to see Sion again, but his reaction wasn’t overly dramatic.
He had long suspected Sion’s secret to some degree.
From the Demon Dragon War onward, they had been together; he followed Sion’s proposal to the dukedom, and even until eldest son Theo became the new duke—he would have been blind not to notice.
“Then you’ve fully returned?”
“Probably.”
Sion and Bael conversed in elvish. Thus, Piot stood by blankly, unable to understand, but Priel was different.
Her eyes wide, she alternated stares between the revered Elder Bael and Sion.
Thanks only to respect for the highest elder and elven patience, she didn’t interrupt, but she stared at Sion in disbelief, her lips twitching repeatedly.
Bael glanced at Piot standing behind Sion and said.
“That young man is your descendant, Jang?”
“Mm. Maria’s grandson.”
“I see.”
Bael knew all of Sion’s children, especially youngest daughter Maria, whom he saw often.
Young Maria had oddly trailed after Bael, and though elves rarely showed emotion, Bael hadn’t pushed away his friend’s daughter and often played with her.
“He resembles her a lot. But that young man doesn’t know who you are yet, does he?”
“That’s right.”
“Bringing him to meet me means you plan to tell him now.”
“I hadn’t intended to at first, but I’ve changed my mind. He can see those letters too. I hear you and this one can as well.”
“Mm. As expected, you can see them too, Jang.”
Bael nodded gravely and turned to Priel.
“Priel. This is Duke Jang Sion.”
“Yes. I gathered from the conversation.”
Answering, Priel looked at Sion and placed her lightly clenched fist over her left breast like a knight, bowing her head slightly.
“Priel of the North Mountain greets Jang Sion, eternal friend to all elves.”
Sion mirrored Priel’s posture exactly.
“I am Jang Sion. Forgive me for not revealing my identity from the start due to circumstances, Priel.”
“I understand.”
Priel’s gaze turned to Piot.
Elves weren’t stupid, merely reserved and somewhat rigid in emotion.
The previous duke’s suspicious death, and the Sion family founder arriving with a new heir after decades.
It didn’t take much thought to sense something was afoot.
“Um… excuse me, but could I ask what you’re talking about?”
After a stream of incomprehensible elvish and sensing attention focused on him, Piot cautiously asked.
“You don’t know, do you.”
“Wait.”
Sion raised a hand to stop Priel.
“This is something I should say.”
“Understood.”
Sion spoke to the puzzled Piot.
“Look closely.”
“Huh!?”
Sion suddenly drew his dagger and held it to his face, startling Piot.
But as his beard was shaved away, revealing his bare face, the startle turned to shock.
From the first day they met until now, Sion had felt oddly familiar.
Despite their close ages, he felt like he was dealing with a father or elder brother figure, occasionally intimidated, yet countered by the comfort of having father or brother nearby.
The sternness and the inexplicable wistfulness when stared at could be uncomfortable at times.
But he chalked it up to concern for him, leaving home to seek opportunity by visiting distant southern kin, so it was fine.
With knowledge and experience vast enough to wonder what he didn’t know, he taught like a master, and the learning was all too welcome.
Yes. He had simply thought of him as a comfortable person who matched him perfectly.
But the moment the beard covering half his face vanished, revealing it fully, Piot realized the source of that comfort.
Sir Sailun—no, uncertain now if that was even his true name—the man before him resembled his father in youth and his grandmother, seen only in portraits, far too closely.
And if there had been a mirror, Piot would have thought he resembled himself most of all.
“Sir… Sir Sailun…?”
“Sailun is one of my wife’s middle names. My name is Jang Sion. I am your grandmother’s father and your great-grandfather.”
(To be continued)