Chapter 26
In the main city of Light Tower, in the Hall of Judgment, light solidified into a glass-like barrier.
The Grand Priestess stood on the high platform, radiating a cold, chilling light, her gaze somber.
"The source of rhythm... is no longer a free entity, but has become a variable of the mother tree."
If he continues to grow, the order of light will no longer be absolute.
The generals of the Light Domain knelt below, whispering amongst themselves:
"He actually managed to tear through the Light Tower's blockade... If it weren't for the simultaneous intervention of the Dark Roots and the nomadic forces, we might have been able to take it down much earlier."
The great vine's voice was like thunder:
"No! Even without anyone intervening, he has already shown the potential of the mother tree."
Next time, the Ring of Judgment must be activated—turning the entire area into a prison of light!
The hall was silent, except for the pulsating patterns of the towering light tower, which seemed like cold eyes watching the earth.
In the abyss, the roots of the Bud Walkers twisted together, resembling a flesh altar.
Within the black mist, the elder "Corroding Bone Root" chanted in a low voice:
"His ability to crush rotten roots... proves that the Web of Rhythm is inherently our enemy."
Another traveler chuckled sinisterly:
"Since we are enemies, we should nip them in the bud before they consolidate their power."
The bone-eroding root shook its head:
"No... he is not the enemy, but the prey."
If I can devour the Rhythmic Net, my Dark Root will shed its decay and become the new ruler of the underground.
The rotten sprouts growled in unison, their voices turning into a vibrating buzzing sound within the cavern, like countless maggots crawling at the same time.
They have decided that their next strike will not be one of destruction, but one of capture.
In the valley where night mist floats, vines intertwine in the fog to form a semi-transparent giant screen, reflecting the floating shadows of the vines.
The mist vine leader, "Lost Vine," chuckled:
"Hehe... He repelled both light and darkness, which is not a bad thing."
"If the Net of Rhythm could expand through the illusion of my misty formations, wouldn't it be able to shroud the entire continent?"
The mist vine messenger beside him hesitated:
"But he's too difficult to control, like a heartbeat in a storm. If he gets out of control, we'll be devoured as well."
A misty light shimmered in the eyes of the Wandering Vine:
"Therefore—we do not control him, but tempt him."
Let him get lost in the fog, become part of the fog.
The vines nodded silently, and the mist swirled, like invisible nets that had been quietly laid out.
Under the night sky, the leaders of the Wind and Flower Society gathered on a floating platform made of flower petals.
On the stage, wine and flowers flowed, and the flower spirits sang softly, yet their voices carried a chill.
The long-flowered spirit "Yefenghua" slowly spoke:
"The heartbeat of the rhythmic net can disturb our flower array."
If he grows up, the sharp edge of the wind and flowers will no longer be sharp.
Another flower spirit gently stroked the flower strings, the sound like a sword:
"In that case, there's no need to wait for him to grow up."
Before the flower blooms, cut its roots first.
Ye Fenghua shook her head, her gaze deep:
No. It would be too much of a waste to cut it off.
If this rhythm were grafted onto our flowerbeds, it would become a vein of blooming flowers—
And we will possess a floral tide that can stretch across the heavens and the earth.
The flower spirits chuckled softly, their petals swirling in the wind, as if they could already see their new prey being entangled in the sea of flowers.
Different forces, different intentions, yet a subtle consensus is secretly forming:
—The source of rhythm cannot be allowed to grow unchecked.
The light domain needs to be purified using a light prison.
The dark roots want to devour it.
The mist vines aim to confuse and assimilate.
The wind-blooming flower needs to be grafted with a branch of another flower.
Four forces, each preparing in the darkness, are all moving toward the same goal.
Meanwhile, in the valley, Seed 237 and Sprout 12 are slumbering in the echoes of their veins.
Unbeknownst to them, they had become the hunting grounds of the entire continent.
A night breeze swept by, and the rhythmic net trembled gently deep underground, like a heart that had just begun to beat.
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