Chapter 103: Twelve Black Towers
【……The cursed Treant is hit, taking 92 fire damage, current life 60/152】
‘Heh, too weak.’ Anse smirked, grinning mischievously.
He didn’t use Empowered Spell Metamagic, but Fireball under the boost of Elemental Orb and Elemental Affinity was still terrifyingly powerful.
Moreover, Treants are naturally afraid of fire, so the damage from Fireball was even more impressive.
Facts proved that counters always exist; level doesn’t explain everything.
Anse flapped his Butterfly Wings to adjust position, then cast again.
“”
Another Fireball!
Dragon Speech was like a death knell, startling the Treant into firing countless Wood Splinter Barrages upward to intercept.
The spell was detonated early, and the scorching flames’ edge swept over the Treant again, reigniting the just-extinguished fire.
【……The cursed Treant is hit, taking 51 fire damage, current life 9/152】
Now the Treant was completely still, with black smoke billowing from its body, many parts burned red and carbonized, its canopy completely burned away.
‘This easy?’ Seeing the Treant fall, Anse couldn’t believe it himself.
Afraid of tricks, he used Dice to detect the Treant’s status again, but this time the Dice popped out an extra message.
「Profane Curse」: The Treant is afflicted with some Profane Curse, its body withered and rotting, life withering, accompanied by intense pain and madness.
The Treant imprisons its own soul, clinging to survival.
Removal method: Greater Restoration, Spell Sanctuary, or peeling away decayed parts with Holy Power and regrowing them, repeated multiple times.
‘Self-imprisoned? A tough tree!’ Anse looked at the burning Treant, surprised, ‘Save it or not? But it’s almost burned away—still need to peel?’
A Treant in normal status belongs to good alignment; if saved, it could become an ally or subordinate, definitely better than a few thousand cold combat experience points.
Against him, the Treant seemed a bit weak. But used against land creatures, it would be ridiculously strong.
Moreover, this Treant was the only survivor in Spatial Paradise, surely knowing many secrets, able to help him better understand and utilize this place.
After thinking for a moment, Anse decided to try; no loss anyway.
He slowly landed beside the Treant, his hands turning into Dragon Claws—this was True Dragon Power’s built-in Shapeshifting Ability, equivalent to Second Ring Polymorph, but without concentration and no mana cost.
“Thank you.” The Treant suddenly moved, letting out an aged sigh in Common Tongue, its voice free of pain, only relief.
Anse paused, probing: “What’s your name?”
“Everyone calls me Ancient Moss; my original name was… Iaron, or Galadrim…” The Treant’s voice was long and calm, drifting into memory.
Anse grinned helplessly.
At a time like this, about to burn to charcoal, still reminiscing about the past.
“I can try to save you.” He raised a pair of Dragon Claws, a sheen of platinum light appearing on them.
The Treant was silent for a moment, then said leisurely: “I feel it—you’re a Paladin of the Platinum Dragon God? Or not…”
Anse was truly exasperated, rolling his eyes.
‘Zoning out again—where’s your survival instinct?’
No more chit-chat, he swung his Dragon Claws and got to work.
The carbonized wood couldn’t withstand such destruction, large chunks peeling off, black ash and wood chips flying everywhere, soon turning it into a little black figure.
“Ah—” The Treant let out a long, ambiguous sigh, then went silent.
Anse used Dice to detect, confirming this time it wasn’t reminiscing or zoning out—it was really dying.
He decisively Quick Cast 「Aura of Vitality」, a white halo emanating from him, spreading over ten meters and fully enveloping the Treant’s remains.
A rustling sound arose; the Treant’s carbonized shell cracked and fell away, revealing new wood beneath, covered in gray-black scars.
“Profane Curse—how to clean this?”
Seeing no reaction from the Treant, he just went hands-on, clawing wildly with Dragon Claws infused with radiant power; with Aura of Vitality, it wouldn’t die, at worst suffer a bit.
Holy Slash’s power sparked black smoke on contact with the scars; even holding back, it only took a few strikes to consume one Holy Slash, requiring constant replenishment.
He felt like he was performing a massive tumor surgery without anesthesia, rough technique.
Fortunately, the “patient” seemed fine with it.
After over half an hour of fussing, half his mana spent, the Treant finally stood up.
Much smaller in size than before, with some scars remaining on its surface, but its canopy lush, branches bearing many purple-black grape-like fruits.
“That’s enough; I can handle the rest.” The Treant raised a hand to block Anse’s Claws, its canopy shuddering oddly.
“Oh, alright.” Anse reverted to humanoid form, feeling accomplished.
A crackling sound rang out as all the fruits on the Treant’s canopy fell, bursting and releasing faint gray mist.
At the same time, the black scars on the Treant faded gradually, soon vanishing.
Anse understood—this was the Treant’s unique detoxification method.
“Thank you.” The Treant looked down at Anse, its aged face on the trunk much calmer than before.
“Ancient Moss, first tell me about this place.” Anse stepped back a few paces; too close was oppressive.
“Looks like you’ve become the new master here—great.” Ancient Moss’s canopy swayed slightly, genuinely happy. “This is an otherworldly space…”
It spoke slowly; Anse didn’t rush, standing by listening quietly.
This place is called “Twelve Black Towers”; the original owner was a high-level Wizard of unknown strength and background. Ancient Moss was captured to complete the ecosystem, back when it was just a naive little Treant.
Later, it got busier but safe; Treants always disguised as an ancient tree in the corner, ignored.
One day, Black Tower erupted in war; Ancient Moss thought it was civil war, since it had seen all those people.
Result: no survivors, the place polluted by magic and curses, who knows how many years to recover to this state.
This place isn’t as big as imagined: sea hundreds of meters deep, sky ten thousand meters high; sail ten kilometers out and hit fog barrier—can’t pass or break it.
“That’s it?” Anse eyed it suspiciously. “What’s that Wizard’s name? Mage Tower status? Any dangers? Other monsters?”
“I don’t know.” Ancient Moss scratched its head; it slept most of the time, uncaring. “Should be no danger; Mage Tower is destroyed.”
“Isn’t it still here?” Anse asked doubtfully.
“This Black Stone has memory and self-repair ability, but the magic arrays and magical effects on it disappear.” Ancient Moss explained. “I remember Black Tower was snapped in half, only the lower part left.”
“Oh.” Anse understood. If someone got Scepter of Sanctuary years ago and entered, they’d see only ruins.
“You said there were many people before, but why can I only teleport 200 in?” he pressed.
“Not sure, but probably related to Magic Seal; I had one when entering, later removed, and I’ve never left since.” Ancient Moss yawned, tired.
Anse’s eyes lit up—could play it that way.
Scepter of Sanctuary’s seal limit was indeed 200, meaning only 200 could freely enter/exit; others trapped unless given a seal.
“Good.” He grinned slyly. “Ancient Moss, any plans?”
“I want to sleep.” Ancient Moss yawned again.
“Uh, then sleep.” Anse waved. “When you wake, if I’m gone, clean up the environment, bury bones, adjust tree layouts, etc.”
“Sure.” Ancient Moss didn’t move, legs piercing the stone slabs into soil, eyes closing as it slept, like a misplaced weird tree.
Anse’s eye twitched; he shook his head, no expectations for Ancient Moss anymore.
‘This personality… sigh, movies lied; Treants live long but not necessarily wise.’
He sighed inwardly, ran to the river to wash, then climbed the steps to the towering Mage Tower entrance.
Looking up, Black Tower pierced the clouds like a giant propping the sky, majestic.
Not even entered, already intimidated.
Door half-open; Anse peeked sideways—inside a mess, no Window visible, but soft light, not dim.
Clack clack clack, his hard-soled Leather Boots on stone slabs, crisp sound.
Rounding a door, the view opened wide: Hall over ten meters high, in disarray, furniture and decor destroyed, yet still solemn and grand.
A few steps forward, thick ash underfoot; anything touched turned to dust, almost nothing intact.
‘What magical effect is this?’
Standing in Hall center, looking around, peripheral vision caught a tall figure low head gazing down at him.
He jolted, whipping around.
“Construct Shield Guard?”
