The Useless Extra Knows It All....But Does He? - Chapter 264

Chapter 264: Chapter 264 – Sinner of my own Race!
The air near the World Tree was still — so still that even the wind seemed afraid to breathe.

The morning light filtered through the canopy like liquid gold, yet beneath that divine radiance lingered a heavy silence. Every leaf, every whisper of mana, carried the weight of what had just transpired.

Sylthara stood motionless, her eyes hollow with shock. The truth she had uncovered tore through her like a blade — the truth of her people’s sacrifice, their choice to embrace darkness not because they were cursed, but because they had chosen to protect all life.

Her lips trembled. She wanted to speak, to cry, but no words came.

Luca watched her quietly from beside the luminous roots. His gaze softened, though he didn’t know what to say.

He could only place a hand gently upon her shoulder.

Sometimes, words were meaningless.

In the silence that followed, his thoughts drifted.

How many… how many clans, families, entire races had given everything, just for the fragile hope that the world might see another dawn? How many names had been erased from history — remembered not as heroes, but as monsters — all for the sake of this trembling, wounded world?

His chest tightened. The price of salvation had never been light.

As his gaze lifted once more, it fell upon the scene ahead — the two elven queens, radiant in opposite light. The World Tree loomed behind them, its colossal roots glowing faintly like the veins of a living god. Mana shimmered around its base, pulsing in rhythm with the beating hearts of all who stood before it.

Queen Vaelira turned, her silver eyes sweeping across her kin — the dark elves gathered beneath her shadow.

Her voice, though calm, carried the gravity of destiny itself.

“My children,” she said, “you have heard the truth. You know what must be done. I will not command you — I will ask you. Will you walk this path of no return? Will you bear the weight that even light cannot touch?”

For a moment, no one spoke.

Faces turned toward one another — some pale, some trembling. Fear flickered in their eyes; how could it not? What they were about to do would condemn them and all their descendants to exile, cut them forever from the Mother’s embrace.

The silence stretched — heavy, unending — until a single figure stepped forward.

A young dark elf, his armor cracked and his blade dulled, placed his hand over his chest. A single tear traced down his cheek, glinting like starlight against the black of his skin.

“If that is what our Queen desires…” he said, his voice steady despite the tremor in it, “…if that is what the world needs — then we will do it. Many of us have already fallen fighting the Devil Emperor. If our sacrifice can save this world that our Mother Tree loves, then let our lives feed her roots once more.”

His words rang through the clearing like a vow carved into stone.

One by one, more dark elves stepped forward. Some raised their weapons; others simply bowed their heads. But their voices joined his — resolute, unshaken.

“For the Mother.”

“For the world.”

“For the Queen.”

Soon the forest itself seemed to hum with their unified cry.

Vaelira’s eyes shimmered — a single tear escaping down her cheek, glinting like moonlight. Yet her expression was one of pride, fierce and radiant.

“That’s right…” she whispered, her voice trembling with pride and sorrow alike. “You are my kin — the proud children of the dusk. The guardians of the forest’s shadow.”

Even the light elves could no longer hold back their tears. Serelis covered her mouth, her golden hair trembling as she wept silently. The light elves around her lowered their heads, grief and reverence mingling in their eyes.

Sylthara, meanwhile, could barely breathe. Her heart ached so deeply it felt as though the forest itself was weeping within her chest.

To see her ancestors stand like that — knowing what awaited them — it shattered something inside her, yet filled her with indescribable pride.

She whispered through tears, “So this is… who we were…”

Luca stood beside her, the light of the World Tree reflecting in his eyes. He said nothing, but a quiet respect bloomed within him — respect for a race that had been condemned by history yet had saved the world in silence.

Then, Queen Vaelira straightened her back and turned toward Rolph and the others. The spirits that had gathered around her danced slowly in the air, their faint glow swirling like sorrowful constellations.

“Let us begin,” she said, her tone steady and commanding. “The sooner we start, the sooner that abomination’s hold will weaken. Every heartbeat counts.”

Her gaze drifted up toward the World Tree — her expression softening with longing.

“Forgive us, Mother,” she murmured, her voice almost a prayer. “Your children return to you… not in light, but in shadow.”

The forest fell utterly silent.

Even the wind held its breath.

The roots of the World Tree began to stir, ancient runes igniting beneath their feet, weaving together a circle of divine power. The air thickened, humming with mana so dense it made the ground tremble.

Sylthara took a step forward, her tears drying against the rising heat of mana. “They’re really going to do it…” she whispered.

Luca’s eyes narrowed in confusion, just why?

And as the dark elves raised their hands to the heavens, a somber light enveloped them — a light not of purity, but of devotion.

The ritual had begun.

The circle beneath the World Tree began to pulse — faint at first, like the heartbeat of the world itself.

Then the ground shuddered.

From the horizon, black mist began to rise. It crawled over the land like smoke from a dying god — tendrils of corruption slithering through the air, drawn toward the towering trunk at the forest’s heart.

The sky darkened. Clouds bled across the heavens, swallowing the sun until the golden light dimmed into an ashen gray. The World Tree, once radiant and divine, trembled under the strain. Its luminous roots pulsed with agony as the corruption gathered at its base.

Vaelira stood at the center of it all.

Her silver eyes reflected the swirling darkness, her long hair flowing in the rising wind. Around her, the dark elves formed a circle, their hands pressed to their chests, mana resonating with hers.

And then, it began.

The corruption surged.

It came like a storm — a torrent of black-red energy crashing down upon them, burning through the air, searing the earth. The dark elves cried out as the sheer malice of it pressed upon their souls.

Vaelira’s voice broke through the chaos, clear and unwavering.

“Hold the circle! Do not falter!”

The first wave struck her.

Her body convulsed — her head snapping back as the corruption entered through every pore, every vein. The luminous mana that once surrounded her flickered, sputtered… and then began to die.

Around her, the spirits screamed — not in words, but in mourning. Their soft, golden light dimmed, fading one by one as if unable to bear witness. Each time one vanished, a spark of nature’s mana burst outward, dissolving into the air like dying stars.

Sylthara covered her mouth, her eyes wide in horror.

Luca’s jaw tightened. He could do nothing but watch — helpless — as the scene unfolded. The purity of the World Tree twisted into something unrecognizable, and the corruption began to pour into the bodies of the dark elves like molten lead.

Their skin began to darken more and more, veins glowing faintly crimson beneath. Their forms distorted, blood seeping from their eyes, ears, and mouths. They trembled violently, their breaths breaking into ragged screams — yet not one of them moved to stop.

They endured.

Because they had to.

Because the world still had to live.

Vaelira lifted her head through the agony, her vision blurring. The taste of iron filled her mouth, but her eyes burned with unwavering light. Around her, her kin screamed, wept, and yet held firm — shoulders trembling, but spirits unbroken.

“Steady!” she cried. “You are the shields of the Mother! Hold her pain—hold her breath—let it pass through us, not through her!”

Her voice cracked, but her will never did.

The corruption deepened. The sky above split with thunder — streaks of black lightning coiling like serpents. The World Tree’s branches groaned, their divine glow dimming as if mourning its children.

Even the light elves fell to their knees. Serelis’s tears streamed freely, her hands clasped in prayer as she whispered, “Forgive us… forgive us, sister…”

The heroes too could not stand tall any longer.

Rolph knelt first, one knee pressed into the trembling soil. His sword clattered beside him, his voice breaking.

“We will… never forget your sacrifice.”

His words echoed across the grove — a vow carried by every trembling heart.

The Saintess followed, her golden hair dim under the dying light, tears dripping into the dirt. Gustav and Victor bowed their heads beside Rolph, their hands pressed to their chests. One by one, every being present — elf, human, spirit — knelt before the suffering of the dusk-born.

Yet Vaelira did not look at them.

Her gaze remained fixed on the World Tree. Her body shook violently, blood pouring from her nose, her mouth, her eyes — crimson tears streaking down her face. Still, she smiled.

A bright, pure smile — untouched by the filth corroding her body.

“M–Mother…” Her voice was barely a whisper, fragile against the storm. “…may one day… we come into your graces again. May we stand once more in your shadow…”

Sylthara fell to her knees, her body trembling as though the very weight of the world had just collapsed upon her shoulders. Her fingers dug into the soil, clawing desperately at the ground, her breath breaking into uneven gasps.

“I… I destroyed it…” she whispered, her voice hoarse and fragile, like a dying ember in the wind. “I destroyed what they—what they sacrificed there own being for!”

Her words cracked as they left her lips, each one carrying the anguish of generations. The glow of the World Tree’s roots reflected in her tear-streaked eyes, and for a moment, it was as if she could see them—the proud faces of the elves who once stood beneath its light, now nothing more than echoes in the dirt.

Her hands shook violently. “Those cultists… they knew.” Her voice rose, filled with both horror and self-loathing. “They knew our blood carried the highest corruption—our veins tainted by what was sealed within us! We were the vessels! And still we… we went to the Mother Tree!”

She slammed her fists against the ground, the sound sharp in the heavy silence. “We should have never approached her! Never! We thought we were helping… we thought we could purify what was left, but—” Her voice broke into a sob, a sound raw enough to tear through hearts.

Her tears fell freely now, staining the dirt that once nourished their sacred roots. “They used our blood… our pride… our lineage… to poison the very heart of the world! Every drop of my blood that flows… it carries their corruption. I… I carried the sin that killed her…”

Her gaze lifted toward the World Tree, its withering form looming over her like a monument of judgment. “The Mother Tree’s cries… all this time… it was us. It was our blood screaming back at her. I—I am the sinner… the sinner of my own race!”

Her voice shattered into broken sobs. “I killed them all… my ancestors’ hopes, their prayers, their sacrifice… all turned to ash because of me!”

And in Luca’s mind there was only one question, Why…did they do it?

But seeing Sylthara before Luca could even breathe a word, before he could reach out to her, his vision began to splinter.

The air around him twisted, color and sound bleeding away like fading ink. Sylthara’s cries echoed in the void—distorted, distant—until even her voice was gone.

The elves, the heroes, the trees, the battlefield… everything dissolved into nothing.

Only darkness remained.

Then—

A faint golden light flickered in the endless black. Soft, radiant, warm. It spread gently, wrapping around him like a mother’s embrace.

The despair, the screams, the death—it all faded. In its place, there was peace. A warmth that touched the deepest corners of his soul, making his chest ache with something nameless.

And through that light came a voice.

Gentle. Serene. Yet vast enough to make the stars themselves fall silent.

“Child… do you remember me?”

The words resonated through him—not just in his ears, but in his heart.

A voice that felt achingly familiar… as if it had once sung him to sleep long before he ever came into this world.