Chapter 60: Old Bai

Joan had long known that the Tears of the Gods possessed the ability to automatically search for mythical creatures in the surrounding area. Upon receiving this psychic prompt, she immediately realized that "Old White"—Yggdrasil—was the mythical creature she had been seeking for so long.

The so-called "mythical creature," much like celestial beings, infernal entities, or dragonblood creatures, is a special template that makes its bearer far more powerful than ordinary creatures of its kind. Such beings often gain magical or supernatural abilities. What sets mythical creatures apart from those with inherited or mutated templates is their deep connection to ancient myths—almost always tied to legends from primeval times. Take "Old White" before her: rumor had it he was a descendant of the World Tree, itself a legendary creation myth. The truth of the World Tree's legend—how much is real, how much is later invention—remains uncertain. Mortal lives are too brief to witness history from millions of years ago; instead, one must rely on the tradition passed down from the myth's origins to speculate about its authenticity. Since the Tears of the Gods sensed the mythic power within Old White, inherited from the primordial era, Joan could conclude that the legend of the World Tree was not entirely false.

Existing mythical creatures are like bridges connecting the ancient past to the present, living fossils recording changes across history. They allow glimpses into the glory of their mythic ancestors and help determine which species have existed since antiquity and which are modern or artificially created—valuable information for history and paleontology.

Different mythical creatures possess varying ranks; the higher the rank, the older the origin and the greater the power. Known ranks range from level 1 to level 10 at most; in fact, level 10 mythical creatures also possess legendary status, their combined might rivaling that of demigods. The mightiest seraphs of the heavens, dukes of hell, and demon lords of the abyss are all level 10 mythical creatures. Such entities rarely appear in the material plane inhabited by mortals; should they descend, it is usually accompanied by divine wrath or world-shattering catastrophe.

The Tears of the Gods in Joan's hand could grant her mythic abilities, but such power came at a price.

Before gaining each mythic rank, Joan had to pass a corresponding trial: slay at least one mythical creature of a rank not lower than her current level. As she had not yet passed a single trial, her mythic rank remained at 0. If she wanted to embark upon the mythic path, her best option was to hunt a level 1 mythical creature.

Joan had come to Powatan Village precisely in search of mythical creatures. She'd heard rumors of a mythic ogre haunting the nearby mountains and had been calculating its possible rank all along—if it were only level 1, so much the better. But she hadn't expected that, before meeting the fabled ogre, she would instead stumble upon a descendant of the World Tree boasting a mythic rank of 7.

Naturally, Joan would not dare consider Old White as a target. What did a level 7 mythical creature represent? He could likely kill her with a casual swipe of a branch. Besides, Yggdrasil was the sacred tree revered by the Algonquin tribe for generations—how could she dream of harming him? Even if Joan had the ability to defeat Old White, she would not have the heart to do so. He was close to Conti's family and was a wise, gentle tree; she was not so depraved as to murder good people—or good trees.

While Joan's thoughts raced, Yggdrasil finally opened his eyes. He gazed at the girl cradled in his palm and released a deep, kindly laugh.

"Ho ho... My old roots, look who has woken me up! Conti, my little lark, I'm at ease now that you've returned safely."

"Old White, I've brought you three friends—Joan! Mira! And Little Black!" Conti introduced her new friends with pride.

"Ho! Wonderful, all good children. I'm delighted to meet you." Old White cheerfully lowered his branches, embracing Joan and Little Black with flexible limbs. Even the little dryad Mira, usually shy, did not flinch, but instead raised her tiny hand to gently touch the ancient tree's branch, her face aglow with excitement.

"Great old prophet, may I have the honor of rooting myself in the soil beside you, to become your attendant?" The black oak treant asked respectfully.

"Ho ho! Of course, child. You may root yourself beside me. When I wake, you can keep me company and chat with me. I have many ancient stories to share, and you can tell me about the interesting things that happened while I slept." Yggdrasil regarded the young treant with grandfatherly affection.

Little Black bowed deeply to the old prophet, then moved to an open space about twenty yards away, sinking his roots into the earth. In an instant, he transformed into a tall, robust oak, resembling a young knight guarding an aged king.

"And you, my little unfortunate one, you traveled so far with Little Black to come here. You must be tired." Yggdrasil gently stroked Mira. "Don't be afraid, no one will harm a lovely dryad in my woods. You can still live in Little Black's trunk, chat with the birds when you wish, or play with the village children, but best not wander too far from the village."

Mira nodded, a little shy and curious, then asked Yggdrasil, "Grandfather Prophet, is it very dangerous outside the village?"

"Ho hmm... Dangerous, perhaps not yet, but I sense an evil force spreading from the north," the old prophet lowered his long brows, his wrinkled face touched with sorrow. "Wind and water bring me ill tidings. Across the great river in the north, demon worshippers who hate the forest are gathering strength. Plants corrupted by magic and fierce beasts serve as their vanguard; wicked fae willingly become their servants. Even the ogres in the caves are moving toward them... The fairies of the Ifen River are suffering merciless slaughter, the laments of dryads and woodland spirits echo in the winds. Alas, I fear these dire tidings may herald a coming calamity."

Yggdrasil sighed deeply and began to chant in a low voice. The song, written in elven tongue, sounded like echoes from the distant past, its verses imbued with a bleak, mournful beauty.

...

In this fallen age,
Sin breeds everywhere,
Brothers turn against brothers,
Fathers and sons are torn apart.

Blades whirl in battle,
Shields are shattered,
War consumes the land,
The age of wind approaches,
Then comes the age of swords,
And at last, the age of wolves,
Twilight of the gods descends,
The day the world ends.