Chapter 436 - 416: Mortal Godslaying (Pseudo)! Reputation System

Chapter 436: Chapter 416: Mortal Godslaying (Pseudo)! Reputation System

Far from the suffocating main battlefield, in a relatively peripheral wooded area, Galvis was gasping for breath, his back so hunched he could barely stand straight.

He narrowed his eyes, clouded by his fading Life Energy, and strained to see a distant figure. Despite the sporadic attacks, the figure remained standing with eyes closed, as motionless as a statue.

Tula.

’What in the world is that guy doing?’

Doubt filled his mind, and an absurd thought flashed through it uncontrollably.

’Could it be... he’s afraid of the Power Roland has shown? Is that why he’s shrinking from the fight?’

But the moment the idea appeared, he fiercely rejected it.

"Mr... Galvis..."

A slightly hesitant voice interrupted his thoughts.

Standing beside him, Philis clenched her fists tightly, only to let them go limp again.

After repeating this several times, she finally summoned her courage. Her gaze was complicated as she looked at the old, decaying Elf before her, her tone a mixture of pleading and duty.

"Please... don’t stay here any longer. Mr. Roland gave me strict orders to bring you to a safe place as quickly as possible. Please... don’t make this difficult for me."

Galvis slowly turned, his movements exceptionally sluggish due to his weakness.

He clearly caught the complex, inscrutable look in Philis’s eyes.

It wasn’t simple concern or obedience; there seemed to be a hint of... struggle mixed in.

And even a fleeting, fiercely suppressed hatred.

He coughed heavily a few times. Only when the taste of iron spread through his throat did he ask slowly in a hoarse voice,

"Do you... hate me?"

He paused, his gaze resting calmly on the female Zor Elf.

"Did I unintentionally offend you just now?"

Philis remained silent, not answering. She only gave a minuscule shake of her head and averted her gaze.

Seeing her reaction, Galvis understood instantly.

He sighed softly, his voice low.

"I see. Because of your Zor Elf blood, you instinctively hate this body and soul of a Surface Elf. Is that right?"

The Minstrel paused, as if gathering his words, or perhaps sorting through his own long-held confusion.

"To be honest... I’ve always found this a bit strange."

Galvis continued as if speaking to himself, his gaze seeming to pierce through Philis and into the distant, long river of their races’ history.

"Growing up, I was taught by the elders of my clan. In their descriptions, the Zor Elves were always associated with words like cruel, cunning, and treacherous."

"And to be honest, when I first saw you and sensed the Zor aura about you, my heart... did indeed stir with an instinctive caution and disgust."

He shook his head slightly, a questioning look on his face.

"But... in my entire life, from the day I was born until this very moment, this is the first time I have truly met and spoken with one of you—a living Zor Elf—face to face. I imagine... it’s the same for you, regarding me? We have no personal grudges between us."

His voice carried the unique inquisitiveness of a Minstrel, a search for the root of the problem.

"So, where does it come from? This seed of mutual animosity and hatred, seemingly rooted deep in our blood, that requires no reason to exist?"

"Who, in the distant past, planted such a venomous fruit? A fruit that has traversed the vastness of time to continue affecting us even today, reducing the countless possibilities of our first meeting to a single outcome: facing each other with drawn blades, or with cold indifference?"

Just as Galvis was lost in thought, his Perception—unusually dulled by old age and depleted Life Energy—finally caught a faint ripple coming from the heart of the distant battlefield.

"Something’s wrong!"

He was jolted from his thoughts, his inner speculations ceasing. He whipped his head around, his clouded eyes fixed on Tula’s position as he spoke with alarm and suspicion.

"He’s... gathering Power? Is that... the aura of the Gods... coalescing?"

Although the vague signals from his Perception didn’t allow him to grasp Tula’s exact intentions, the ever-intensifying, inwardly collapsing essence of the Divine Attribute stirred a profound sense of unease and alarm deep in his soul.

An instinct was screaming wildly within him.

He absolutely could not let Tula complete whatever "preparation" he was undertaking!

At this thought, Galvis forced his weak body upright, leaning most of his weight against the trunk of a nearby weather-beaten, ancient tree.

Then, he slowly closed his eyes as if to shut out all external interference. He focused his remaining Spiritual Power and muttered to himself with a hint of relief and resolve.

"Thankfully... that madman Tula, though he took most of it, never managed to completely strip away Lady Shuni’s gift. He left behind a final, faint spark..."

His voice faded until it was inaudible, and a strange silence fell around him, broken only by his faint breathing and the distant, indistinct clamor.

A moment later, Galvis’s closed eyelids twitched violently, then snapped open.

In his eyes, which had been dim with age, faint, warm motes of light seemed to flash for an instant.

"Found it!"

With a low cry, the Minstrel made a strange gesture.

He extended his withered hands, letting them hover in mid-air. His ten fingers were slightly bent, their tips trembling gently.

It was as if he were searching for and stroking "threads" in the void that were imperceptible to ordinary people, or perhaps tuning the strings of an invisible harp.