Game of the World Tree

【WHY IS SHE SO SKILLED?】

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Little Salty Cat's cheerful greeting left no doubt as to who she was.

However, the Sky Knight, Tonglu, looked distinctly unsettled.

He found it almost impossible to associate the warm, cheerful petite elven girl before him with the so‑called evil and chaotic Chosen Ones the High Pontiff had described.

He was not alone in his reaction either. Aside from the High Pontiff himself, the other dwarven warriors in their party also wore expressions of surprise.

"Elves? The aid High Pontiff actually summoned were elves?"

"Wasn't it supposed to be a powerful warriors?"

It was not that the dwarves looked down on elves, but the longstanding perception among most races was that the elves were weak in combat.

Only the higher ranks of each race, such as the High Pontiff Greycloak, knew enough about them to truly value the aid of these Chosen Ones.

Given that dwarves were naturally outspoken and quick‑tempered, it was no surprise that they voiced their thoughts aloud in that moment.

Tonglu himself did not underestimate elves. As a legendary-rank expert and a high‑ranking figure among the dwarves, he was well aware that the Elvenkind was no longer as it once was.

Even so, he had not expected the gentle and seemingly daintly Little Salty Cat whom he had met in Sandstorm City when she had warmly welcomed him to be part of the Chosen Legion of the Goddess of Life, feared as a living warmongers by both the orcs and the Dark City-State Alliance.

Wait… if this lass was truly a Chosen One… then…

A realization flickered in his mind. Almost without thinking, Tonglu glanced past her and sure enough, several familiar faces met his gaze.

He was good at remembering people. Even though they were elves, their humanoid features made them easy to identify, and many of these newly arrived elves were the very ones who had welcomed him before, leaving a strong and favorable impression.

But this time was different. The warmth and easy smiles he remembered were gone. Their eyes now held a piercing sharpness, and their posture radiated a quiet, dangerous tension akin to blades on the verge of leaving their sheaths.

In that moment, they resembled warriors hungry for battle.

Even as the thought formed within Tonglu's mind, the elves stirred into motion. Their sharp gazes swept the area, quickly fixing on the demon horde in the distance.

The instant they spotted their prey, their expressions immediately shifted. Their eyes lit with anticipation and their lips curled with the thrill of the hunt as a dangerous, almost predatory glint flashed in their gaze.

"Look! The demons are over there!"

"Go! Take them down!"

"Artifact repair vouchers, here I come!"

Their excited shouts rang out in a jumble of languages, some in flowing Elvish Tonglu could not understand, others in the common continental speech. To them, it hardly mattered. Whatever the tongue, the eagerness in their voices was unmistakable.

Although he could not comprehend every term they used, Tonglu had no trouble recognizing their fierce fighting spirit from their expressions.

Weapons were drawn, holy light flared, and the elves surged forward. Some roared loudly, while others remained silent, but all shot toward the demons like streaks of light.

The battle erupted instantly.

Even Little Salty Cat, who had been speaking amicably with him only seconds earlier, now had eyes sharp with determination.

"We'll talk later. For now, let's begin the fight!" she called.

She quickly layered four or five defensive enchantments upon herself, then led a force of well‑armed, battle‑ready elves straight toward the fray—almost as if afraid of being left behind.

The sight of the elves joining the battle instantly lifted dwarven morale.

However, Tonglu, drawing on years of battle-hardened instinct, frowned as he watched the elves break from the dwarven defensive line and rush headlong toward the enemy.

"Elves! Hold formation! Do not let the demons isolate and overwhelm you!" he barked.

Roughly two hundred elves had been summoned in this first wave. Most were at least Silver-rank, their combat ability on par with the veteran dwarves who had pushed deep into the sealed lands. But against the ceaseless flood of demons, their numbers were still far too few.

The sound strategy would have been to form a tight defensive line, steadily wearing down the enemy through attrition.

Yet his warning went unheeded.

The moment their eyes fell on the demon horde, the elves surged forward without hesitation, their faces alight with confidence.

Chants rose in measured rhythms, mingling with the thrum of magic. Flashes of color burst into being as layer upon layer of enchantments settled over their bodies. Then steel and spell collided with the front ranks of the demonic swarm.

At the tip of the charge was Little Salty Cat, racing ahead with reckless speed. In the blink of an eye, she was swallowed by the mass of enemies, vanishing from sight.

Tonglu's eyes narrowed, his body tensing as he prepared to break through the chaos and pull the elven lass out. Yet before he could take a single step—

Boom!

A surge of immense magical power rippled out from the front lines, rolling through the battlefield like a shockwave.

To his astonishment, a golden‑crimson pillar of light erupted from deep within the demon horde. A split‑second later, it burst outward with a deafening roar, expanding into a blazing fireball that consumed everything in its path.

The explosion swelled to a radius of six or seven meters. Its brilliance seared the eyes, forcing even seasoned warriors to shield their faces, while the ear‑splitting blast made eardrums ache and heads ring.

A rolling thunderclap followed as the entire cavern shook violently, dust and fragments of stone cascading from the high ceiling.

When the glare finally subsided and shapes began to re‑emerge from the haze, the dwarves found themselves staring in stunned silence.

The blast had gouged a massive crater into the stone floor.

All around it, gold‑and‑crimson lines branched like a spider's web, the solidified traces of rock that had been melted and reshaped by searing heat.

Every demon within the blast zone had been utterly annihilated.

Not even ash remained.

"By the Dwarven God's beard… what kind of spell is that?" a dwarven warrior breathed, his voice tinged with awe and disbelief as he stared at the smoldering crater.

"It is an Explosion spell," the High Pontiff replied, his gaze sharp and alight with interest.

"And its strength is on the level of a seventh‑circle spell. More than that, I can sense the blessing of holy power woven into it. Such a combination suggests it was enhanced by a divine artifact."

Seventh‑circle…

Tonglu's expression froze.

It was not that he had never seen seventh‑circle magic before. Rather, if his judgment was correct, this spell had been cast by none other than that petite elven girl named Little Salty Cat.

Seventh‑circle magic corresponded to the lower Golden‑rank. So for a Silver‑rank spellcaster to release magic of such magnitude, she would need a potent external source of strength to bolster her abilities.

Could it be the staff in her hands, which seemed every bit the divine artifact it appeared to be?

…Wait.

Where was that lass now?

A spell of such destructive magnitude, cast at such close range by a mere Silver‑rank mage… the backlash alone should have been devastating.

Tonglu's expression changed, and he immediately rushed forward. But he had only taken a single step when a familiar figure climbed out of the crater.

It was Little Salty Cat.

She was entirely unscathed, though her hair and clothes were slightly disordered. Her face was pale from the effort, yet her eyes gleamed with unmistakable pride.

"Hehe… just as I thought, I can completely ignore the need for precision if I just cast it at point‑blank range. And this divine artifact's immunity to high‑level fire magic is absolutely flawless…" she said with a self‑satisfied grin

A flash of light glimmered in her hand, and she retrieved a potion from her spatial ring, before drinking it down in large gulps.

Seeing this, Tonglu opened his mouth but in the end said nothing.

Around them, the other elves wasted no time showering her with praise.

"Magnificent as always, Sister Cat!"

"Incredible. As expected of our guildmaster!"

"That potion… isn't it one of those high‑grade elixirs sold by the human caravans? If I remember right, each one goes for over a thousand gold coins…"

"Heh, being rich sure has its privileges, eh boss?"

"So this is what it means to be filthy rich."

Their flattery words flowed easily, but they did not stay still for even a moment.

Seizing the opening carved out by Little Salty Cat's devastating spell, the other elves moved in unison. With a burst of speed, each elves surged forward, slipping past the dwarven formation and plunging straight into the demon horde.

A chaotic battle ensued.

Brilliant attack spells and dazzling combat skills crashed into the demon horde, throwing them into instant disarray.

As the battle unfolded, Tonglu began to notice something different about these elves.

They were too skilled… and far too ruthless.

He saw a grim‑faced elven rouge—a hunter with assassin specialization—slip like a phantom between the demons. Each strike of the dagger in his hand, glinting with a cold, dark light, struck a vital point without fail. Wherever he passed, death followed, like the hand of the Grim Reaper himself.

He alse saw an afro red‑haired elven guardian—a warrior with defensive specialization—charging through the demons in full heavy armor, laughing maniacally as he swung his massive sword. Each impact shattered the demons he struck, as if crushing eggs beneath a hammer.

This guardian knew exactly which demon types to target, focusing only on the weaker ones, and every blow landed with unerring precision, as though by reflex.

He saw a black‑haired elven Archdruid chant a spell, summoning writhing, thorn‑covered vines that entangled every demon within range. This was no easy feat. Demons possessed immense strength and carried an innate corruptive force, usually able to break free of control magic with ease. Yet this druid's bindings were perfectly timed, leaving the demons struggling helplessly, their strength useless. Such flawless control was far beyond the reach of ordinary casters.

And these were only the most outstanding and powerful among the summoned elves.

Even those who were less individually impressive astonished Tonglu just as much.

Every one of them fought with uncanny familiarity against the demons, moving with smooth, confident precision.

Their performance felt overwhelming—no, it truly was overwhelming.

Just as the elven noble Thranduil had said, the corruption of the Abyss seemed to have no effect on them. If anything, their presence seemed to push back against the demon's corruption.

It was not a matter of raw strength, but of technique.

Even the weakest elf among them faced demons with complete composure, never falling into the confusion or panic common to most races.

Of course, this was aided by the fact that the demon forces here were relatively weak, with few of them even reaching Silver-rank.

Without the ability to corrupt elven souls, and against opponents whose average strength was already at Silver‑rank, these demons stood little chance.

Under such conditions, it was only natural that the demons were being relentlessly driven back.

Even with their clear advantage in rank and strength, these elves were simply just far too skillful.

Fast, precise, ruthless and most of all, utterly efficient.

Before them, the demons had no power to fight back at all.

Every movement of the demons was a flaw in the eyes of the elves. It was as if a father were disciplining his son, or a master striking his apprentice.

Tonglu had guarded the Sealed Lands for over a decade, making him one of the dwarves most familiar with demonkind. Yet even he knew that, if he were of the same rank as these elves and similarly unaffected by the Abyss, he still could not hope to match their deadly precision and ruthless efficiency in battle.

How did they become so experienced in combat?

The question lodged itself in his mind, leaving him deeply baffled.

What he could not possibly know was that these so‑called Chosen Ones had already spent countless hours fighting demons as part of their daily routine—whether it be battling through the twisting corridors of the Demon Lord's Labyrinth or scouring the Shattered Divine Kingdom Dungeon for loots.

So by now, most players already knew every habit, every quirk, and every flaw of these demons. Hell, some could even name a demon's weak points faster than its species, and could strike with the kind of accuracy that came only from long, relentless practice.

Moreover, unlike the other races in Seigües, the players could return after dying, over and over, each time carrying hard‑won knowledge from the last fight. Over time, countless veterans among them had compiled meticulous strategies and detailed guides for defeating every variety of demons.

Therefore, although they had only been in contact with demons for no more than three years in total, their accumulated combat experience might well exceed Tonglu's own. In fact, the players at this point probably knew demon weaknesses even better than the demons themselves, making them the natural nemesis of demonkind.

Once the elves joined the battle, the demon horde began diminishing at a pace visible to the naked eye.

Seeing this, the dwarves' morale soared.

"The demons' formation is breaking!"

"Assist our elven allies—attack!"

They matched the elves' advance and plunged into the fight.

Tonglu's own spirits rose at the sight of the battle turning in their favor, yet he resisted the urge to charge into the fray. He was the strongest warrior present, and more than that, he carried the sacred duty of guarding the holy statue of the Goddess of Life.

The greater his admiration for the elven Chosen Ones' power, the more cautious he became.

Demons were nothing if not cunning. Given enough time, they would inevitably identify the source as to where these elves came from and will surely focus all their fury on destroying the statue.

The sacred relic still shone with steady brilliance, its light a beacon that continued to draw more Chosen Ones into the Sealed Lands in a constant stream. If this summoning ritual persisted, the balance of the battle could shift entirely in their favor.

For the first time since the fighting began, Tonglu felt a genuine sense of hope. With the Chosen Ones at their side, they might actually have the strength to reclaim the initiative and push the enemy back.

But just as that hopeful thought began to take root, the battlefield trembled with a new sound. From every direction came a chorus of roars—deep, wild, and resonating with a terrible, primal force.

The moment the sound reached his ears, Tonglu's face hardened.

"Demon Kings…" he muttered, his face growing concerned.

The Sealed Lands harbored their own Demon Kings, and these were far more dangerous to dwarves than most of their kind. After being twisted by the corruption of the evil god Barolte, they carried a unique form of taint capable of eroding one's sanity with alarming ease.

Worse still, the very air of this place was saturated with Abyssal corruption, suppressing Tonglu's Legendary domain and sharply curtailing his combat prowess.

Under normal circumstances, a Gold‑rank foe would be no more than a challenge to crush beneath his might. Here, however, that same opponent became a grueling test. The corrupted environment sapped his advantage, turning what would have been a swift victory into a dangerous struggle.

As a newly ascended Legendary-rank expert, Tonglu knew his limits well.

One Demon King he could face head‑on, perhaps even two. Three would push him dangerously close to his threshold. Four or more, especially under the oppressive influence of the Sealed Lands, would leave him no choice but to retreat to preserve his life.

Nor did he harbor any illusions about the Chosen Ones' ability to prevail against such enemies. Based on their performance so far, their strength ranged from peak Iron‑rank to peak lower Silver‑rank. Against the lesser demons, they could tear through such foes without pause. Against weaker Greater Demons, their coordination might allowed them to hold their ground. Against stronger Greater Demons, they could at best force a stalemate.

But against a Demon King…

Well, there was simply no hope.

The Gold‑rank marked a decisive boundary.

No matter how talented a Silver‑rank expert might be, without extraordinary external aid they could not overcome a healthy Gold‑rank opponent. The only real path to victory would be for these Chosen Ones to ascend to Gold rank themselves, or for a stronger force to take the field on their behalf.

Thankfully, Demon Kings in the Sealed Lands were not a common sight. At most, one or two might appear at any given time—and those, Tonglu could still keep at bay on his own.

But when several massive, twisted shapes emerged from his view, Tonglu's breath caught in his chest and his expression hardened to stone.

Seven Demon Kings had come.

And one among them radiated a presence so heavy and oppressive that it seemed to bend the very air around it.

This…

This was overwhelming force—far beyond what either he or the Chosen Ones could hope to contend with.

The moment they appeared, the tide of battle immediately shifted.

Waves of both Greater and Lesser Demons surged forth, their numbers swelling with unnatural speed as if drawn by the will of their monarchs. The oppressive aura rolling off those Demon Kings was enough to send shivers crawling down the spine of even the most seasoned dwarven warriors.

From the depths of the demons' rear lines, a deep, rasping voice cut through the chaos, dripping with malice and command.

"Destroy that statue!"

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