Chapter 281 Chapter 279 Reflection
The Witch King’s mother—the Supreme Witch, was naturally the wife of the first generation elven king, possessing an ageless beauty. It is said that her age is even longer than the history of the founding of the empire; when Sigma was still a savage, she was already the Witch King’s mother.
However, it is still longer than the history of the dark elves.
This is because she herself was one of the main culprits behind the civil war among the high elves. In order to support her son’s ascension to the throne, she truly exhausted herself; fearing her son was not cruel enough, she secretly poisoned and killed the Witch King’s wife.
Ultimately, under her web of conspiracies, a full-blown civil war broke out among the high elves, resulting in a mountain of corpses and a sea of blood, leading to a complete rift and mutual hatred between the two factions of elves.
The eye in the sky glanced at the Witch King, then looked toward the distant dragon ship, where the high elves were crowding around the Osuan Guardian on the dragon ship’s deck, celebrating.
Anyone could tell that the Witch King lost again, but not as badly as before.
“My son, you have lost again,” the Supreme Witch’s voice came to the Witch King’s side. “This time I have helped you a bit and did not conspire against you from behind.”
Her voice was quite unique, carrying a strong allure. Even the black guards beside the Witch King, seasoned in battle, found it hard to remain composed upon hearing it.
The Witch King felt no turmoil in his heart; he knew this was a blessing given by one of the Four Dark Gods, sought after for its extreme stimulation and lust. He had long been aware that his mother was the actual master of the cult that worshipped the pleasures of lust.
Moreover, his mother was indeed very beautiful. All elves who had seen her insisted that the Supreme Witch was the most beautiful among them.
He adjusted the copper mask on his face.
He contemplated whether to compromise with his mother, to turn a blind eye to her collusion with the demon race, bringing her back from her place of exile to deal with the Osuan Guardians together.
After all, she was his own mother. At the same time, she was a master of magic, having created “dark magic,” far surpassing his own magical prowess.
After dealing with the Osuan Guardians, he could exile her back to the barren wasteland.
It is worth mentioning that the Supreme Witch was personally kicked to the bitterly cold land of exile by the Witch King.
To be honest, the Witch King felt that his mother was more harmful than ten Osuan Guardians.
But what could he say? Those brash young Osuan Guardians were indeed too troublesome, as if they were his nemesis; no matter the situation, encountering them resulted in failure.
Could it be because he resembled his father too closely?
Even if he looked similar, he was a counterfeit, as he was the only living child of his father. The audacity of him to claim reincarnation of his father was utterly laughable.
The Witch King made up his mind. No matter how dangerous the Supreme Witch might be, he would first deal with the annoying Osuan Guardians and their leader.
The Witch King nodded at the giant eye in the sky.
The giant eye focused on the distant Osuan Guardian holding the Fiery Sword, faithfully relaying what it saw to the magical mirror before the Supreme Witch. The silver-armored Osuan Guardian nearly filled the entire magical mirror.
The Supreme Witch cupped her chin, biting her finger, her face slightly flushed as she gazed dreamily at the Osuan Guardian, saying, “Darling, it’s so good to see that you’re alright.”
The Osuan Guardian in the magical mirror received a silver bow from his subordinate, drew back the string, and shot an arrow, instantly darkening the mirror.
“How shy, just like when we first met,” the Supreme Witch said, cupping her face, remembering the first time she met the first generation elven king long, long ago…
…
…
A group of knights surrounding the corpse of the war hydra were arguing.
At the center of the dispute was George, who sported horns.
Most of them demanded to slay this abomination, the mother of all beasts.
A portion of the knights defended George, many of whom had formerly served under him.
Both sides argued heatedly, waiting for King Richard to make a judgment.
George sat on the corpse of the war hydra, feeling exhausted, his back no longer straight, slumped over with his hands resting on his knees. His armor was filthy, covered in the acidic liquid and blood of the war hydra.
The usually clean George found himself so tired that he lacked even the strength to clean himself.
The surrounding people were noisy, and he couldn’t hear clearly nor did he want to.
Their anger, shouts, and curses were understandable; the mother of beasts had killed so many, leaving corpses strewn everywhere.
Now that the mother of beasts was dead, their anger and resentment naturally fell on him, since he had horns on his head, making him half-beast.
At that time, George had helped the horned child, partly out of kindness, but also because he felt an inexplicable connection whenever he saw the horned child.
Now, George finally understood. It was because he sensed something wrong with himself.
Each time he easily stood out from his peers, people would admire, envy, hate, or ignore him. Yet, only with Gregory did young George feel a different kind of emotion.
Initially, he thought it was because he wasn’t good enough. George worked hard to do everything right, gradually everyone got used to his brilliance, even those who resented him inevitably laid back.
Losing to him was nothing to be ashamed of.
But with Gregory, George rarely received sincere praise from him; Gregory always looked at him with a worried expression.
One day, the scribe of the chapel told George that he had broken the historical record and easily surpassed all documented geniuses.
At first, George thought the scribe was mistaken because he didn’t find it difficult at all; it was not even a third of the challenging description in the books.
In his pride, George felt puzzled.
Could it be that it was so easy to surpass humanity that he might not be a purely human himself?
Corrupted by magic, mutants weren’t rare at all. George had witnessed many mutants with his own eyes.
Was he rescuing the horned child out of a “shared suffering” mentality?
When he insisted on saving Yima, how much of it was born from fear? Fear that he himself might be a mutant, treated with prejudice by others, denied by society.
“Look at you, like a drenched chicken, waiting to be slaughtered, sitting here foolishly, just waiting for others to decide your fate?”
Yima, looking tidy and clean, descended slowly from the sky with a tree branch axe-gun, picked up a clean, damp towel, and vigorously wiped it across George’s body, saying:
“Here, wipe yourself properly.”
George finally snapped back to reality, folding the towel with both hands, vigorously wiping his dark face, revealing his fair complexion. He said:
“Yima, I just thought of something. When I saved you, though the reason was framed as righteousness—not judging someone based on their inherent attributes, especially since she’s also a victim.”
The suffering this victim endured was even greater than you could imagine.
George continued, “But I realized I wasn’t as good as I thought.”
“Oh? Finally admitting the key role your courage played in that situation?”
“No, I’m afraid. What if one day, I also face unjust condemnation due to others’ prejudices,” George said, “You’re like this, and the horned child is too.”
Yima looked at George curiously: “Oh.”
“Yima, don’t you feel disappointed?”
“How strange, why would I be disappointed? Just because your motives aren’t that foolish?” Yima said: “Anyway, I know you fought hard to protect me; as for whether you were tempted by me or for some strange reason, what does it matter? I’ve noticed you have a potential for being an artistic youth, which is such a big deal.”
After saying that, Yima pointed to the arguing knights around them, then pointed to the King Richard flying down from the sky.
“I think the events to come are more important,” Yima said, “Approximately guns blazing, alright? You better not foolishly drop your weapon to prove your innocence.”
George said: “Okay.”
“At least you have some sense.”
