Chapter 412 412: Strength (4)
The silence of the chamber stretched, alive with the thrum of power buried in the roots. Lindarion stood still for a long moment, listening to the beat within himself.
His core pulsed differently now, no longer a steady current but a storm contained in crystal. Every breath, every flicker of thought, felt magnified, his veins burned with mana too dense for the body he'd carried before.
[System Notice: Core Advancement Confirmed.]
[Previous Stage: Mid Luminous Core.]
[Current Stage: Ascended Core — Tier 10.]
[Note: Vessel stabilization in progress. Estimated synchronization: 78%.]
He drew a long breath through his teeth, his chest aching with the weight of it. An Ascended Core. Something even veterans of centuries barely dreamed of touching, yet it burned inside him now, fused to his soul.
Ashwing stirred on his shoulder, claws shifting uneasily. 'You're glowing, Lindarion.'
His golden irises reflected against the roots around him, catching and scattering light in fractured sparks. He raised a hand, and the chamber reacted. Mana pooled thick around his fingers, drawn to him like rivers bending toward the ocean.
"Let's see." His voice was quiet, but the roots seemed to lean closer, as if listening.
He stretched his palm outward. Mana rushed forward instantly, eager, overflowing. Shadows curled first, thick and coiling, then lightning lanced through them, streaking white-blue across the chamber.
Fire surged after, golden and bright, threading itself with divine light. Water, ice, void, astral, each affinity surged to answer, not separately but as one.
The chamber shuddered under the pressure. Roots pulsed violently, golden veins straining as though to contain him.
[Warning: Output exceeds environment tolerance. Suppression recommended.]
His jaw clenched. He twisted his wrist, pulling the surge tighter, forcing it back inward. The storm obeyed reluctantly, crashing into his veins, beating against the walls of his chest until his ribs ached.
But he held it. He bent it.
Ashwing gasped in his mind. 'You… you almost cracked the World Tree!'
Lindarion exhaled, sweat beading on his brow. "No. The World Tree can't be cracked. Not by me. Not now." He glanced at his trembling hand, veins still glowing faintly gold beneath the skin. "But it reminded me who's stronger."
Ashwing hesitated. 'Do you feel… okay?'
'Okay' wasn't the word. He felt vast, heavier than he had any right to, as though one careless step might split the ground.
Yet in that weight was clarity. A bow and a sword, divine gifts, but his truest weapon was himself, this vessel reforged by the World Tree's blessing.
Slowly, he lowered his hand. The chamber stilled, the roots calming, golden light retreating into a steady pulse again.
[System Notice: Vessel Synchronization: 83%.]
The numbers didn't matter. He could feel it, this was only the beginning of what he could draw out.
Ashwing finally let out a low whistle in his mind. 'You're… scary now.'
Lindarion's lips curved faintly. "Good. Let's keep it that way."
He turned, the chamber opening paths where once there were none. Roots bent aside, revealing a passage leading deeper still. The World Tree wasn't done with him.
And neither was he with it.
The door shimmered like molten gold, veins of light running through the bark until the surface itself split apart.
Lindarion stepped forward, his boots pressing against living wood that unfurled beneath him like a bridge.
The radiance clung to his frame, refusing to dim, the World Tree had marked him, and its blessing bled through every breath, every heartbeat.
Ashwing peeked from his shoulder, his little body rigid, tail wrapped tight. They're all gonna stare at you, he muttered in Lindarion's mind.
"Let them," Lindarion whispered.
The golden door dissolved behind him, folding back into the trunk as if it had never been. The air outside struck colder, sharper, and for a heartbeat the silence rang louder than any storm.
Then came the gasp.
The Lorienyan King, Vaelthorn Ironbark, and his queen Sylwen, stood at the head of the gathering.
Their council was with them, their guards, their people, elves had filled the clearing before the World Tree, drawn by the sudden pulse of power that had spread through every root, every leaf of Lorienya.
Now they looked at him.
Not as stranger. Not as prince of another land.
But as if the World Tree itself had stepped into flesh.
Vaelthorn's hand twitched at his side. Then, slowly, deliberately, the king bent his knee.
The queen followed, lowering with fluid grace, her silver hair spilling forward. One by one, the councilors fell to their knees, then the guards, then the crowd. A thousand voices held in silence, pressed flat by awe.
The prince of Eldorath stood before them, his hair turned to snow, his irises burning with gold. Every elf felt it in their marrow, he had been chosen.
Ashwing whispered, 'Uh. They're bowing, Lindarion. Even the king. What are you supposed to—'
"Nothing," Lindarion cut him off under his breath. His jaw tightened. He had not sought this. The World Tree had given it to him anyway.
He scanned the kneeling elves, his gaze catching on Vaelthorn's bowed form. Respect, yes, but also relief. Reverence. A new tether binding him here whether he willed it or not.
The king raised his head just enough to meet his gaze. His voice, steady despite the weight pressing down, carried to all.
"The World Tree has spoken," Vaelthorn said. "And we obey."
A ripple ran through the elves. Heads dipped lower.
Lindarion's chest ached with the burn of his Ascended Core, the storm still restless inside him. His hand brushed the hilt of his sword, the weight of the bow sealed away in his system inventory, reminders of what he now carried.
He did not speak yet.
Because words spoken now would bind. And though the World Tree had marked him, he had not yet decided how far he would let its will drag him.
Ashwing flicked his tail, his voice softer this time. They're yours now, you know.
Lindarion's golden gaze narrowed.
"No," he murmured so low only the dragonling heard. "They're not mine. But they will follow. And that is enough."