Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel-Chapter 748: The Trap For Elves.

Aetherion froze.

The lightning still crackled faintly around his body, crawling across his skin like living veins, but his eyes widened as the realization struck him—he had broken his word. In front of the entire elven kingdom. In front of the Mother Tree. In front of ancestors whose pride had defined their race for millennia.

He had used elemental energy.

Not just used it—he had erupted with it.

Silence fell.

It was not the heavy silence of fear, but something far worse for elves: disbelief. Faces stiffened. Brows furrowed. Lips curled downward in restrained disgust. For a people whose pride was law, whose words were bonds stronger than steel, this was not merely shameful.

It was abominable.

Silmarien did not let the moment breathe.

"To think," he said softly, his voice carrying effortlessly across the clearing, "that this is the man who wishes to be king."

He rose slowly from his seat, eyes cold as winter glass as he looked down at his brother.

"One who cannot even keep his word," Silmarien continued, "and must cheat to fight a mere human."

Aetherion's face twisted.

Humiliation burned hotter than the lightning.

He roared.

Gold light erupted from his body, dense and oppressive—the unmistakable aura of a Gold-rank cultivator. The air trembled beneath the weight of it, leaves flattening, stones cracking.

"Enough!" Aetherion screamed, launching forward, sword blazing with elemental power—no longer caring for appearances, for pride, for consequence.

His target was clear.

Silmarien.

But the blade never reached him.

A shadow moved.

A body collided into the path of the sword.

Slush.

The sound was sickeningly familiar—steel parting flesh, bone grinding beneath force.

Gasps erupted across the clearing.

Silmarien's eyes went wide as he collapsed forward, catching a falling body.

"No!" he screamed.

Blood spread rapidly beneath them, dark and warm, soaking into the roots of the Mother Tree.

The one impaled was not Silmarien.

It was Chiron.

Aetherion staggered back, shock flashing across his face. His intent had been clear—kill his brother—but what he had displayed before all was far worse than murder.

He had shown cowardice.

Silmarien knelt in the blood, hands trembling as he held Chiron against his chest.

He looked up at the crowd, tears streaming freely down his face.

"Is this," he cried, voice breaking, "the kind of man you wish to rule you?"

Murmurs spread. Pain. Anger. Disgust.

Chiron coughed.

Blood spilled from his lips as his eyes fluttered open. He forced a weak smile, gaze settling on Silmarien.

"I've lived a hard life," Chiron whispered hoarsely. "Never knew what real friendship was… until I met you."

His hand twitched, fingers brushing Silmarien's sleeve.

"I'm glad," he breathed, "to give my life for you."

His head fell back.

Still.

For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stop.

Then an elder stepped forward, voice shaking with fury.

"Arrest Aetherion."

In an instant, blades turned. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

The same guards and nobles who had moments ago threatened Silmarien now surrounded Aetherion, weapons leveled, eyes cold.

But the spectacle was not finished.

A gasp rose from the crowd.

Then another.

Someone pointed upward.

"The tree—!"

The Mother Tree's gray leaves were turning green. Color surged through its branches, life blooming rapidly as new leaves unfurled before their eyes.

Roots pulsed.

And then someone screamed again.

"His blood—look!"

Chiron's blood, seeping into the earth, was flowing toward the tree, drawn along its roots like sacred ink.

A memory surfaced among the crowd.

The king's words.

The tree needs the blood of one who has shown valor… and who gives their life willingly.

Whispers erupted.

Shock. Awe. Terror.

And realization.

A gasp rippled through the crowd.

Before their eyes, the Mother Tree did not merely recover—it transformed.

At its vast trunk, where roots converged and sap pulsed like a living heart, the bark began to shift. Wood softened, grooves forming as if shaped by unseen hands. Lines deepened. Curves emerged.

A face.

Chiron's face.

Carved seamlessly into the sacred tree, not crude or forced, but natural—as though the Mother Tree herself had chosen to remember him. His expression was calm, almost serene, eyes half-lidded, lips faintly curved.

The clearing fell into stunned silence.

A trembling voice whispered from the crowd, horrified and confused.

"Why… why is a mere human's face carved into the sacred Mother Tree?"

Before panic could spread, Silmarien rose to his feet.

His movements were sharp, decisive—nothing like a grieving king now. His voice rang out, loud and clear, carrying authority and awe in equal measure.

"This is a miracle."

All eyes snapped to him.

"Chiron gave his life willingly," Silmarien proclaimed, turning toward the tree, then back to the people. "He fulfilled the vision of the old king. His essence has merged with the Mother Tree itself."

He raised a hand toward the carved face.

"The Mother Tree has accepted him."

A pause.

"Bow," Silmarien said softly.

"Worship."

The effect was immediate.

Knees hit the ground.

Commoners bowed first, fear and reverence twisting their expressions. Nobles followed—some hesitating, others rushing to be seen kneeling first. Elders lowered their heads, hands pressed to their chests.

Worship surged through the clearing like a tide.

The Regent stood frozen, eyes wide, his mouth slightly open. He could not even process what he was witnessing—tradition, belief, and reality colliding violently before him.

Aetherion's eyes, however, burned with clarity.

From the very beginning…

A trick.

A slow, terrible realization dawned on him. The intruder. The sacrifice. The timing. The speech. The duel. The blood.

It was all staged.

Rage exploded inside him.

"You—!" Aetherion roared, launching himself forward, sword blazing once more as he aimed straight for Silmarien.

Guards reacted instantly, throwing themselves into his path.

Steel clashed.

Aetherion moved like a storm unleashed.

He cut through the first guard with a brutal downward slash, kicked another aside, and twisted mid-motion to deflect a spear aimed at his back. Arrows rained down—dozens of them—but he spun his blade in tight arcs, lightning flaring as shafts shattered midair or were knocked harmlessly aside.

"Hold him!" someone screamed.

More guards rushed in.

Aetherion met them head-on, proving beyond doubt that he carried the blood of the late king. His footwork was flawless, his strikes heavy and precise. Each movement carried years of training, fury sharpening every blow.

He slammed one guard into the earth hard enough to crack stone, ripped an arrow from his shoulder without slowing, and hurled it back, pinning another attacker to a tree.

Still, the numbers grew.

Silmarien watched from behind the line of guards, expression unreadable.

The crowd remained bowed.

The Mother Tree stood radiant behind them all.

And the storm around Aetherion was only beginning.

Hidden among the kneeling masses, the real Chiron watched the stage with a calm, almost indulgent smile.

He was dressed as a common elven soldier—simple armor, muted colors, head lowered just enough to avoid notice.

Yet inside him, something warm and intoxicating flowed.

Faith.

It poured into him in thin, constant streams. Not prayers spoken aloud, but reverence all the same. They bowed to the Mother Tree. They bowed to the miracle.

And the miracle wore his face.

Refreshing.

It felt cleaner than blood, lighter than soul fragments—faith slid into his being like cool water after a long march. Chiron exhaled slowly, savoring it.

Sll this was Silmarien's idea… refined by Chiron's hand.

Chiron wanted faith.

Silmarien wanted ruin for all elven people for simply being born.

Perfect alignment.

From the intruder killings… to the wager… to the sacrifice… to the duel…

Every step had been calculated.

The Chiron bleeding on the stage was nothing more than a blood clone, shaped carefully, and dying convincingly.

And the so-called sacred Mother Tree?

A lie stacked atop an older lie.

It was merely a tree whose roots had grown around the Guardian Totem that stabilized the Pride Cardinal Forbidden Zone.

The elves worshipped the leaves, ignorant of the heart beneath the soil.

Yes, the tree had grown sentient over time.

But sentient things still had weaknesses.

And the moment Chiron obtained the Guardian Totem…

The moment he traced the resonance…

The moment he whispered into the roots—

The Mother Tree had succumbed.

This was the land of Pride.

Yet nowhere was cowardice cultivated better.

Chiron's gaze shifted to Silmarien.

A subtle movement. A single finger brushing against his thigh.

The signal.

Silmarien felt it instantly.

He raised his hand.

The world changed.

The Mother Tree moved.

A thunderous cracking echoed as colossal branches tore free from still air, whipping forward like living siege weapons. The ground split as roots burst upward, coiling, snapping, hunting.

Aetherion barely had time to react.

"—What?!" he snarled, lightning flaring—

But the branches wrapped around him mid-motion.

The moment they touched his body, his gold-ranked elemental energy collapsed.

Gone.

Drained.

Neutralized.

The Mother Tree's greatest and most forbidden ability.

Aetherion screamed as more branches bound his limbs, lifting him into the air like a captured insect. His lightning flickered uselessly, choked out by ancient runic suppression woven into the tree since before the last war.

He struggled.

He raged.

He could do nothing.

Silmarien stepped closer, looking up at his suspended brother.

"You forgot," he said softly, almost kindly, "that the one who wears the crown commands the Mother Tree."

Blood ran from the corner of Aetherion's mouth as he laughed bitterly.

"You think… you'll get away with this?" he rasped. "You think this ends here?"

Silmarien tilted his head.

"You still don't understand," he replied.

Before Aetherion could speak again—

A branch thicker than a siege ram pierced straight through his chest.

There was no explosion. No lightning. No final outburst of power.

Just a dull, wet impact.

Aetherion's body went slack.

His eyes lost focus.

The branches released him, letting his corpse fall lifelessly at the foot of the Mother Tree.

Silence swallowed the clearing.

Then—slowly—

The crowd bowed even deeper.