Chapter 124: Chapter 119: The Weight of a King’s Choice (Part 2)
The golden leaves circling John slowly settled around him.
Some rested upon his wings.
Others drifted near his shoulders before dissolving into faint particles of light.
The warmth left behind wasn’t overwhelming power.
It was calm.
Steady.
For the first time since entering the hidden realm, the constant pressure inside his chest eased.
Across the battlefield, the False Heart watched in silence.
Its black eyes lingered on the fading light around John.
"Interesting," it murmured.
"The Tree is choosing a successor."
John lifted his gaze.
"I’m not trying to replace anyone."
"That is why it responds to you."
The answer caught him off guard.
Even Caelis looked mildly surprised.
The False Heart tilted Asterion’s head slightly.
"Those who seek power are easily consumed by it."
"Those who seek only to protect..."
Its gaze returned to the World Tree.
"...are more troublesome."
A low rumble spread beneath the roots.
The black tendrils creeping along the World Tree paused for a moment, as though reconsidering their advance.
Caelis stepped closer to John.
"Listen carefully."
His voice dropped low enough that only their group could hear.
"We cannot defeat the False Heart through force alone."
Aerion frowned.
"You said that earlier."
"And I meant it."
Caelis pointed toward Asterion’s body.
"That vessel is connected directly to the False Heart. Destroying it recklessly could damage the True Heart beneath the roots."
Sylvara’s eyes widened.
"A backlash."
"Yes."
"If the connection ruptures violently..."
He looked toward the enormous trunk of the World Tree.
"The Tree may die with it."
Lythriel clicked her tongue.
"So we can’t hit him too hard, but we also can’t let him keep draining the Tree."
"Pretty much," Aerion said.
"I preferred simpler enemies."
John glanced at them.
"When have we ever had simple enemies?"
Lythriel thought for a moment.
"Fair point."
The brief exchange drew a quiet laugh from Sylvara.
Even the Soul Raven’s feathers relaxed slightly.
John noticed the guardian watching him.
"What is it?"
The great bird hesitated.
"You remind me of him."
John knew who it meant.
"The Great Dragon King?"
The Soul Raven nodded.
"Not because of your power."
"Because you keep looking back at your companions before making a decision."
Its golden eyes softened.
"He did the same."
John looked away for a moment.
He wasn’t sure how to respond to comparisons with a figure who had become almost mythical.
Yet part of him felt strangely comforted by the resemblance.
The False Heart’s gaze shifted toward the guardian.
"You speak of him often."
The Soul Raven spread its wings.
"Because he gave us a reason to believe in tomorrow."
"Tomorrow is an illusion," the False Heart replied.
"Everything ends."
Caelis tapped his staff lightly against the crystal ground.
"Of course it does."
The being turned toward him.
The old man smiled.
"That is exactly why tomorrow matters."
For the first time, the False Heart did not answer immediately.
Its black eyes narrowed slightly, as if searching for a flaw in the statement.
John studied it carefully.
It wasn’t enraged.
It wasn’t arrogant.
It simply couldn’t understand.
After carrying the suffering of countless lives for thousands of years, it had reached a conclusion that made perfect sense to itself.
End suffering by ending life.
Twisted.
Horrifying.
But born from despair rather than cruelty.
That realization made this battle feel heavier than any monster hunt John had ever experienced.
A sudden gust swept through the branches above.
More golden leaves descended, but these did not fall toward John.
They drifted across the battlefield and settled among the kneeling champions.
One touched the shoulder of an ancient giant.
The giant trembled.
Another landed upon the helm of a forgotten knight.
The knight slowly lowered his weapon.
Whispers spread through the army.
Not commands.
Memories.
John felt them through Nature’s Resonance.
Fragments of laughter.
Training grounds beneath the World Tree.
Festivals.
Children chasing dragons through glowing fields.
The champions were remembering.
The False Heart noticed immediately.
"The Tree resists."
Its voice remained calm, but the black tendrils around the roots tightened.
Several champions staggered as the corruption fought to suppress their returning memories.
John took a step forward.
"They’re still in there."
Caelis nodded.
"The corruption chained them."
"But the World Tree has not abandoned them."
Aerion slowly raised his sword.
"Then maybe we don’t need to defeat an army."
"Maybe we need to wake it up."
Sylvara looked toward him in surprise.
"That sounds unusually optimistic."
Aerion shrugged.
"Don’t get used to it."
John couldn’t help smiling again.
These small moments mattered.
He was beginning to understand what Caelis had been trying to teach him.
Strength wasn’t only measured by how hard someone could strike.
It was also measured by what they chose to protect when everything else was falling apart.
The False Heart’s gaze returned to John.
"You believe they can be saved."
"Yes."
"Even after thousands of years?"
"As long as they’re still trying to remember."
Silence followed.
Then the being asked quietly:
"And if you fail?"
John looked at the kneeling champions.
At the wounded Soul Raven.
At Aerion, Lythriel, Sylvara, and Caelis standing beside him.
Then he answered honestly.
"Then we’ll fail together."
The words left his mouth before he had time to think about them.
Yet the moment he said them, he knew they were true.
Aerion gave a small nod.
Lythriel smirked.
Sylvara smiled softly.
Even the Soul Raven’s feathers rustled with approval.
The False Heart stared at them.
For a brief instant, uncertainty flickered across its expression.
Only a heartbeat.
But John saw it.
So did Caelis.
The old man’s eyes sharpened.
"Good," he whispered.
"It can still hesitate."
John looked toward him.
"What does that mean?"
Caelis’ silver gaze remained fixed on the dark figure beneath the World Tree.
"It means Asterion is still fighting from within."
The black tendrils suddenly recoiled.
For the first time since the False Heart had taken control, a faint pulse of gold flashed beneath Asterion’s chest.
Small.
Weak.
But unmistakable.
Asterion had not disappeared yet.
And somewhere beneath the darkness, he was still resisting.
To be continued...
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