Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel-Chapter 749: Hiding Fingers of Solitude.

In the end, Aetherion died a miserable death—stripped of dignity, stripped of legacy, and crushed beneath the very symbol his people worshipped. There were no songs for him. No elegies. Only whispers, quickly buried beneath ritual and awe.

The Regent did not fare any better.

He was captured in the chaos that followed, dragged away in chains while the court still reeled from shock. Officially, he was imprisoned.

Unofficially—quietly—Chiron killed him.

No spectacle. No witnesses.

His body was dissolved, his memories extracted, and a clone was put in his place—one obedient enough to run the affairs of the Elven nation from within, signing decrees, steering policies, and hollowing the kingdom out from the inside on Chiron's orders of course.

After that night, everything changed.

Each dawn, elves gathered before the Mother Tree.

Each dusk, they bowed again.

And there—etched into the sacred bark as if grown rather than carved, Chiron's face watched over them. Worshipped. Revered. Fed.

Naturally, Chiron's faith crystals multiplied.

Now, he sat alone in his chamber, legs crossed, back straight, breathing slow and even.

In his mind, in was in a special place.

The room was dim, illuminated only by suspended chandeliers. Beautiful arcane constructs designed solely for the farming of faith.

Within his mind, the Faith Exchange System unfolded at a corner as Chiron counted and made calculations.

Clusters of crystals glowed softly, hanging like fruit.

Many were green, pulsing with intensity.

Others were red, fewer in number, but deeper, richer.

Ripe.

Very ripe.

Chiron opened his eyes, returning fully to the world.

At present, three Guardian Totems were in his possession.

The one seized from the aura users.

The one gifted from the Dragon Patriarch.

And now—the one beneath the Elven Mother Tree.

This Cardinal Forbidden Zone of pride should have been a previous land, but the old elves dealth with any land spirits that would had hindered their growth.

Unfortunately, I was one of tge reasons the place was easily conquered.

Of course, conquering the elves would have been far more troublesome without Silmarien.

If Chiron was honest, Silmarien was the greatest gain of all.

Just then, a knock sounded at the door.

Chiron already knew who it was.

"Enter," he said.

Silmarien walked in without ceremony, shut the door behind him, and immediately dropped into a chair, slouching like a man finally free of an unbearable weight.

The first words out of his mouth were blunt.

"So," Silmarien said, staring at the ceiling, "how do we kill all the remaining elves?"

Chiron's answer was calm.

"We use war," he said simply. "But first—there's a meeting."

Silmarien turned his head, one brow lifting. "With who?"

Chiron smiled.

"We're heading to the Two Fingers of Solitude, in hiding," he said. "After that… the Chastity Family."

Silmarien's grin slowly spread.

Things were only just beginning.

Hunter was deep in the refinement cycle when it happened.

His hands paused over the cauldron, alchemical flames steady—but his mind trembled.

A familiar presence stirred.

Chiron.

Not a voice. Not words.

Just that subtle, cold pull inside his consciousness—the signal only his master could send.

Hunter did not hesitate.

His spiritual sense folded inward, accessing the lattice of sealed memories and intelligence he had gathered across these months of quiet infiltration.

Then, in a single focused thought, he sent the information Chiron wanted.

> Gates leading beyond.

Locations.

Weak points.

Specifically—gates leading Beyond, into the realms goveremed by the holy church and the zodiac families, buried deep in the Lower World.

Chiron received it instantly.

He was not yet strong enough to contend with the Holy Church—not openly.

Not directly. Their fingers of solitude, their relics, their absurdly entrenched faith networks were still beyond what even three Guardian Totems could overwhelm without consequence.

So he did what he always did.

He consolidated.

Among the data Hunter sent, one gate stood out.

A minor gate, poorly defended.

Controlled by the Lesser Monkey Family—demi-humans barely tolerated by stronger factions.

Thid gate had Small population. Crude fortifications. No great power oversight.

Perfect.

That was how Chiron and Silmarien found themselves standing before it.

The gate sat half-buried in a ravine of black stone, warped like cracked glass frozen mid-shatter. Crude monkey totems of the Zodiac family surrounded it—bones, feces, rusted weapons driven into the earth like mockery of real warding formations.

The monkeys never sensed the danger.

Not until the forest itself moved.

From the canopy above, elven arrows fell without sound.

No whistling.

No warning.

Each shaft was grown from the Mother Tree itself, veins of pale green light pulsing along the wood. When the first arrow struck a monkey sentry in the throat, he didn't even scream—his body simply collapsed, eyes wide as his energy was ripped out of him in a single, merciless pull.

The second wave came faster.

Monkey warriors leapt from platforms, howling, swinging crude blades—but their movements slowed mid-air as arrows punched into their torsos, legs, shoulders.

Where the arrows landed, their cultivation vanished.

Muscles withered.

Aura flickered out.

Spiritual defenses evaporated like mist.

They hit the ground as ordinary flesh, helpless.

The elite elven squad moved then.

They were Silent, efficient. Beautifully cruel.

Blades flashed only when necessary. More often, arrows were enough—pinning limbs, draining strength, leaving the monkeys alive just long enough to understand what was happening before steel ended it.

One monkey elder attempted a spiritual energy technique, slamming his staff into the ground—

An arrow pierced his skull before the incantation finished.

Within minutes, the ravine was quiet.

The gate was surrounded by elven banners, roots from the Mother Tree creeping unnaturally into the stone, wrapping the structure, claiming it.

Only then did Chiron and Silmarien walk forward.

It was for this reason that Chiron wanted you have the elven kingdom first. They were just too effective.

After all, there was a reason that they were able to challenge the entire world and almost win one thousand years ago.

Chiron and Silmarien moved.

They were dressed not for battle, but for comfort—dark layered fabrics, refined, untouched by blood or dust. Silmarien's wooden crown rested lightly on his head.

Even from a place so far from home, the Mother Tree's authority still

pulsed faintly through it.

Chiron looked at the corpses with mild interest, nothing more.

"Well done," Silmarien said to the captain.

The elf bowed deeply. "The gate is secured, Your Majesty. We will hold it permanently."

Chiron stepped up to the threshold.

Beyond the shattered veil surface, another world shimmered—distorted, refracted, unreal. Light bent strangely there, as though reality itself were unsure how to behave.

> Beyond the veil.

Without hesitation, Chiron stepped through.

Silmarien followed at his side.

Behind them, the elite elves took formation—roots tightening, arrows nocked, the gate no longer a passage, but a conquered artery feeding directly into Chiron's growing dominion.

The upper World had just been breached.

And it would not remain untouched for long.

Meanwhile....

The Seer sat upon her throne.

It was not forged, nor built, but grown—a seat of living glass within her castle that never held the same shape twice.

These Walls flowed like frozen waves, corridors bent when no one looked directly at them, and light fractured endlessly through translucent arches that pulsed as though the structure itself breathed.

Of course. The castle was ever alive.

So was the woman at its heart.

She sat in meditation, back straight, hands resting lightly on her knees, robes cascading like liquid crystal over the steps of the throne. Beneath closed eyes, countless formations turned—arrays layered upon arrays, each one watching a different fold of existence.

Then—

Her eyes snapped open.

"He's here," she muttered.

Not a question. Not doubt.

A statement.

She could not see Chiron's exact location—not directly. The conditions he placed on himseld distorted him, warped the causal threads around his presence.

But she had anticipated that long ago. Far beneath the Veil, in the forgotten strata between worlds, she had planted listening formations—ancient, patient constructs that did not observe where he was…

Only when he moved.

And one had just triggered.

His presence had left.

If he was no longer below—

"Then the only direction left," she whispered, rising slowly from her throne, "is up."

The glass beneath her feet reshaped itself into steps before she even moved, the castle responding instinctively to her intent.

She turned.

At the base of the dais stood a Gold Knight, armored head to toe in radiant alloy etched with sealing runes. He dropped to one knee instantly, fist to chest.

"Summon the Finger of Solitude," the Seer commanded.

"… the Clown."

The knight stiffened—just barely—but bowed his head. "At once, Your Grace."

He rose and strode away, armor ringing softly as the glass corridors unfolded to grant him passage, then sealed behind him like a closing wound.

Left alone, the Seer exhaled.

Her fingers tightened, just slightly.

"You lucky bastard," she muttered, gaze drifting toward the distant, refracted sky beyond the glass walls. "If I weren't still recovering from the injury you gave me…"

Her lips curled, not quite into a smile.

"I would have killed you myself."

The castle shimmered, responding to the faint spike of killing intent that bled from her words.

Somewhere beyond the Veil—

Chiron had reached his destination.