Mage Legend-Chapter 405: Travel and Travel Beyond Travel - Twelve Holy Land_3

At the top of the gigantic whitewood, the thick branches almost grew perpendicular to the tree itself. They tried to reach out to the arms of another nearby giant tree, but always came up just a little short. However, the elves fulfilled their wish, constructing rope bridges between the tree branches, connecting the entire forest into one seamless whole. Though those gray ropes seemed thin, they could actually bear the weight of even a Storm Giant. Here, the elves not only demonstrated their exquisite craftsmanship but also fully displayed their artistic talents. Each rope bridge used a different weaving method, creating various patterns with the same fine ropes, even forming complex Elven Language scripts. Most of these were blessings and greetings, used to express the most beautiful wishes to all passersby.

By continuously crossing rope bridges and various platforms built upon the gigantic trees, one could reach the peak of the mountain. There stood the largest and oldest tree in the entire forest, named "Isley•Heather." Its enormous canopy overshadowed the entire mountaintop, revealing colors unlike any other tree: during the day, under the sun’s illumination, the leaves turned a pale golden yellow; at night, like the moon in the sky, it became a bright silvery white.

Atop the tree’s largest bough rested a palace, seemingly carved out of sapphire, perfectly integrated with the tree. Magically, as the sun’s angle changed, so did the palace’s colors—from light blue to emerald green, slowly turning to orange, ultimately blending with the setting sun into a vibrant red.

Lynch and Zilvra dared not make a sound, fearing even the slightest disturbance to the scenery. But Soka’s cheerful laughter echoed in their ears. The little angel, like a nimble swallow, skimmed over the water like an arrow, dipping her little hand into the water and leaving a trail of ripples.

The elves, upon seeing the happy little angel, offered sincere praises. Accompanying Soka’s flight, they sang a hymn in Elven Language.

"What are they singing?" Zilvra, standing beside Lynch, whispered.

"A hymn praising the birds of the sky, but it’s very difficult to translate into any other language," Lynch replied. "There are many delicate words whose subtle differences can only be expressed in Elven Language. Forcing a translation would lose most of the charm."

"I understand," Zilvra said, somewhat entranced. "Even if I can’t understand the meaning, I can feel their emotions through it. Although elves and drow once were the same race, the linguistic differences are so vast. Just like the elves’ praises, the Dark Elf Language contains many words of curses and insults, which are also hard to express in other languages."

Lynch looked at Zilvra: "I know that time is unforgettable for you, but try to lock it away in the depths of your memory, so it won’t affect your present thoughts."

"Whoa! I can’t stop!" Little Soka’s voice came from the sky. The little angel was flailing, swiftly darting towards Lynch’s small boat, even as her wings kept flapping incessantly, seemingly unable to slow the force of her descent from high above. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

Lynch extended his Refined Gold prosthetic, opening his fingers wide. Zilvra was just about to warn the mage that crashing into such a solid object at high speed would surely injure the little angel. But in the blink of an eye, Soka was safely sitting in the boat cabin, with no indication of any harm save for her eyes still spinning from dizziness. The boat hadn’t even rocked in the slightest.

Zilvra vigorously rubbed her eyes, looking at the mage in confusion. She hadn’t noticed what Lynch had done at all. Even by magic, there couldn’t be such speed, nor could the flashes and sounds of spellcasting be completely hidden.

A few elves exchanged glances, none able to catch what had just happened. It was as if, in that instant, something diverted their attention, causing every elf to involuntarily blink and miss the process they should have seen.

"Perhaps this is the wonder of mages," such thoughts lingered in the elves’ minds.

The small boat docked at Heather’s shore, leaving only the sound of the waters lapping gently against the land. The group lightly stepped onto the damp and soft ground, the thick blades of grass beneath their feet offering a comfortable touch. Zilvra hoisted up Soka, who still couldn’t quite find her bearings, and jumped off the boat.

This was the first time in elven history that a Dark Elf set foot on this Holy Land.

This small island in the heart of the lake had been a residence for elves for millennia, and the towering trees had appeared from this era onward. Yet even the oldest elves couldn’t describe the changes these trees had undergone over the long years. Some said that since the arrival of the elves, even before other life forms appeared, these trees had always been like this. Stepping into this Holy Mountain was like stepping into the river of history, like returning to ancient times. Here, only the most ancient memories would be passed down, and the eternal trees whispered nearly vanished legends. Salantir only kept memories of these oldest things, wherein this place, these ancient things seemed to live again, moving, breathing. They had heard of evil powers, knew the taste of sorrow and pain; the elves rejected and doubted the outside world. Even at Salantir’s borders, there would be the howling of wandering beasts, but on Heather’s land, no shadow could ever appear.

History seemed to freeze here, just like the elves’ proud traditions, never changing with the passage of time.

A basket descended from the tree, equipped with comfortable cushions and smooth natural vine knots serving as handles. With the elves pulling from above, visitors could easily ascend to higher places, entering the network of transport among the trees.

Lynch bowed and gestured to the two ladies, indicating for Zilvra to take Soka up first. However, Zilvra, having come to this land, appeared somewhat uneasy, never fully trusting the elves before her, fearing they might suddenly let the basket fall. She shook her head at Lynch and then cast the Floating Technique to lift the gentle angel upwards to the platform above.

Lynch smiled at the elves: "Actually, I don’t need the basket either." Saying so, he gently waved his magic wand, swiftly arriving beside Zilvra, ascending together slowly.

A few elves exchanged smiles with one another. They adjusted the longbows on their backs and swiftly climbed onto the thick trunks. Although the vines spreading above could aid in climbing, the dexterous elves didn’t tug at the green plants at all. They climbed upward quickly, nimble as squirrels long acclimated to life in the forest. Leaving almost no trace, they soon reached Lynch and Zilvra’s side.

The mage and the elves gently applauded each other’s actions, exchanging mutual smiles of admiration.

"Mage friend, this way please." The elves bowed gracefully: "Now, I formally welcome you to Heather’s land, the land of pure blessings."