"...even though they should have remained buried beneath the temple,in the crypt designed specifically to be inaccessible to your roots."
In response, the entire forest of roots rippled.
A psychic pulse exploded outward—sharp enough to make even the Oracle Knights flinch. A mental broadcast. Too complex for most to decipher.
Anthace had answered.
Jake couldn’t hear the exact exchange, but he didn’t need to.
The intent was obvious.
Contempt.
Mockery.
A suffocating, bottomless condescension. The kind a timeless being reserves for a screaming toddler who barely understands the sandbox he’s throwing dirt in.
The tree wasn’t fooled by Valandar’s flimsy bluff.
Finally, Jake broke the silence.
Out of respect—and maybe a little pity—for the old warrior, he played along.
"Huh... I thought I’d prepared for the worst. Even for scenarios so screwed-up you couldn’t imagine them. But this? Yeah, no. I didn’t see this coming.
"Doesn’t matter. An enemy is still an enemy. And victory comes once every enemy is dead or wiped out.
"The situation changes. The objective doesn’t. Step up, then. I’ll slaughter you all the same."
At that moment, Jake felt it.
Not just eyes.
Mental senses.
Dozens. Hundreds. Thousands.
Desperate natives. Enemy Players. Rivals hiding behind alliance banners. Allies buried inside enemy ranks.
And finally—
The vast, vile consciousness of a certain tree.
For the first time, Anthace addressed him directly. The Titan Tree, conductor of the Lustra Plains, orchestrating every living being like instruments in its dark symphony—
Its voice crashed into Jake’s mind like a tidal wave.
’YOUUU... WIIILLL... FAIIIIIIL!!!’
It was a disgusting sound. Like ancient bark fibers grinding against each other. Wood splintering under pressure. And beneath it all, something feral. Alien.
Jake suddenly understood just how deep the brainwashing of the Lustra Plains ran.
A voice that warped and grotesque should have exposed its intentions centuries ago.
"Go fuck yourself," Jake replied flatly, flipping off the massive tree looming over the capital. "And book a speech therapist while you’re at it."
Shadrex. Weiss, Kaelum. The other Players and natives who witnessed the gesture didn’t all grasp the cultural nuance.
But everyone understood the intent.
Insult.
Provocation.
Seconds later, a spiritual shockwave detonated from the tree’s core, sweeping across Twyluxia at absurd speed.
Valandar’s gray eyes—clear and hopeful just moments earlier—dimmed.
His consciousness vanished.
The Celestial was gone.
What remained turned its inhuman, emotionless gaze on Jake. Then, like someone yanking a puppet string, Valandar lunged—striking with a single palm wrapped in blinding radiance.
Jake deflected the blow with a precise edge strike of his right hand.
And then,
Ignoring the empathy he’d felt. Ignoring the promise he’d made. He retaliated.
No restraint. No hesitation.
He drove his fist forward—
Straight into Valandar’s face.