[…The Cursed Treant is hit, takes 92 points of fire damage. Current Hit Points: 60/152]
'Heh, pathetic.' Anser curled the corner of his mouth, grinning like a thief who'd just struck gold.
He hadn't used Empowered Spell Metamagic, yet with the boosts from Elemental Orb and Elemental Affinity, Fireball was still terrifyingly strong.
Moreover, treants were naturally vulnerable to fire, so the damage from Fireball was even more impressive.
The facts proved that counter relationships had always existed; level could not explain everything.
Anser beat his butterfly wings to adjust his position and cast again.
"ફાયરબોલકલા"
Another Fireball!
The Draconic incantation sounded like a death knell, frightening the treant into firing countless splintered wooden spikes upward in interception.
The spell detonated prematurely. The scorching edge of the flames swept across the treant once more, and the fire that had just been extinguished flared up again.
[…The Cursed Treant is hit, takes 51 points of fire damage. Current Hit Points: 9/152]
This time, the treant stopped moving entirely. Black smoke billowed from its body; many parts were burned red and charred, and its crown had been completely incinerated.
'That simple?' Seeing the treant fall for real, even Anser himself could hardly believe it.
Worried there might be something fishy, he used the die to detect the treant's status again. This time, the die popped up an additional message.
[Blasphemous Curse]: The treant is afflicted by a certain blasphemous curse. Its body withers and rots, its life declines, accompanied by intense pain and madness.
The treant has imprisoned its own soul, clinging to a lingering breath.
Method of removal: Greater Restoration, Hallow, or using holy power to strip away the withered portions, allow regrowth, and repeat multiple times.
'Imprisoned itself? What a ruthless tree!' Anser looked at the burning treant, surprise on his face. 'Save it or not? But at this rate, it's almost burned away—does it even make sense to strip anything off?'
In a normal state, treants belonged to the good alignment. If rescued, it might become an ally or subordinate—certainly more valuable than a few thousand experience points.
When facing him, the treant had seemed a bit underwhelming. But against land creatures, it would be absurdly powerful.
Moreover, this treant was the only survivor in the Spatial Paradise. It surely knew many inside details and could help him better understand and utilize this place.
After pondering for a moment, Anser decided to try. There was nothing to lose anyway.
He slowly descended beside the treant. His hands transformed into dragon claws—an innate shapeshifting ability granted by true dragon power, equivalent in effect to the 2nd-level Alter Self spell, but requiring no concentration and consuming no Magic Power.
"Thank you." The treant suddenly moved and let out an aged sigh. It spoke in Common. There was no pain in its voice, only relief.
Anser's body stiffened. Testing it, he asked, "What's your name?"
"Everyone calls me Old Moss. As for what my original name was… Ialon? Or Galadrim…" The treant's voice was long and serene. As it spoke, it unexpectedly sank into reminiscence.
Anser bared his teeth in helplessness.
At a time like this—about to be burned into charcoal—and it was still reminiscing about the past.
"I can try to save you." He raised a pair of dragon claws, and a trace of white-gold radiance surfaced upon them.
The treant fell silent for a moment, then said slowly, "I can feel it… You're a paladin of the Platinum Dragon God? No, that's not quite right…"
Anser was honestly impressed—he couldn't help rolling his eyes.
'You're spacing out again. Where's your survival instinct?'
He didn't waste any more words and swung his dragon claws to get to work.
Charred wood couldn't withstand that kind of damage. Great chunks peeled away, and black ash and wood shavings flew everywhere. Before long, he'd turned into a little blackened man.
"Sigh—" The treant let out a long, hard-to-read lament, and then there was no further sound.
Anser checked with the die and confirmed that this time it wasn't reminiscing or dazing off—it was genuinely about to die.
He decisively Quickened Spell "Aura of Vitality". A white halo radiated from his body, spreading more than ten meters and completely enveloping the treant's remaining husk.
A faint rustling sound followed. The treant's charred shell cracked and fell away, revealing a layer of newly grown wood beneath it, streaked with gray-black scars.
"Blasphemous Curse… how am I supposed to clean this up?"
Seeing no response from the treant, he simply got hands-on, raking at it with dragon claws suffused with radiant power. With Aura of Vitality active, it wasn't going to die—at worst, it would suffer a bit.
The moment the power of Divine Smite touched the scars, a wisp of black smoke flared up. Even though he was holding it in without releasing it, he still burned through one use of Divine Smite after only a few scrapes and could only keep replenishing it.
He felt like he was performing a large-scale tumor surgery—no anesthesia, and crude technique.
Fortunately, the "patient" didn't seem to have any objections.
After more than half an hour of struggling and spending half his Magic Power, the treant finally stood up.
It was a whole circle smaller than before, and a few scars still remained on its surface, but its crown was lush and verdant, and many purple-black fruits shaped like grapes hung from its branches and leaves.
"That's enough. I can handle the rest." The treant lifted a hand to block Anser's sharp claws, and its crown inexplicably trembled once.
"Oh, all right." Anser returned to human form, feeling a strong sense of accomplishment.
A crackling series of sounds rang out as all the fruits on the treant's crown dropped. The fruits split open, and a faint gray vapor spread through the air.
At the same time, the black scars on the treant's body gradually faded, disappearing completely in short order.
Anser understood. This was a treant's unique method of expelling toxins.
"Thank you." The treant lowered its head to look at Anser. The aged face on its trunk was far more serene than before.
"Old Moss, tell me about this place first." Anser took a few steps back; standing too close to it felt somewhat oppressive.
"It seems you have already become the new master of this place. How wonderful." Old Moss's crown swayed slightly, its joy heartfelt. "This is an extraplanar space…"
It spoke very slowly. Anser did not urge it, standing to the side and listening quietly.
This place was called the "Twelve Black Towers." Its original master had been a high-level Wizard; his strength was unknown, and his background unclear. Old Moss had been captured and brought here to perfect the ecosystem. At that time, it had only been a naive young treant.
Later, the place grew more and more lively, yet remained very safe. The treant always disguised itself as an ancient tree in a corner, and no one paid it any attention.
Then one day, war broke out within the Black Towers. Old Moss believed it had been an internal conflict, because it had seen all of those people before.
In the end, no one survived. The place was polluted by magic and curses, and it took an unknown number of years to recover to its current state.
This place was not as vast as imagined. The sea was several hundred meters deep, the sky ten thousand meters high. After sailing more than a dozen kilometers out to sea, one would encounter a mist barrier that could neither be passed through nor broken.
"That's all?" Anser looked at it suspiciously. "What was that Wizard's name? What's the situation with the Wizard's tower? Is there any danger? Are there any other monsters?"
"I don't know." Old Moss reached up and scratched its head. It had spent most of its time asleep and simply did not concern itself with such matters. "There should be no danger. The Wizard's tower has already been destroyed."
"Isn't it still there?" Anser asked in confusion.
"This kind of black stone possesses memory and self-repairing properties, but the spell arrays and magical effects upon it will disappear," Old Moss explained. "I remember the Black Tower being smashed in half at the waist, leaving only half of it."
"Oh." Anser understood. If someone had obtained the Rod of Security years earlier and entered, they would have seen only a ruined half-tower.
"You said there used to be many people here. Then why can I only teleport two hundred people in?" he pressed.
"I'm not sure, but it should be related to the magical mark. When I came in, I had a magical mark on me. Later it was removed. Since then, I have never gone out again." Old Moss let out a yawn, looking utterly exhausted.
Anser's eyes lit up. So it could be used like that.
The Rod of Security's mark limit was indeed 200. This meant only 200 people could freely enter and leave. Anyone else who entered would be unable to depart—unless another mark was assigned to them.
"Very good." He narrowed his eyes in a smile. "Old Moss, what are your plans?"
"I want to sleep." Old Moss yawned again.
"Uh… then go sleep." Anser waved his hand. "When you wake up, if I'm not here, help clean up the environment—bury the remains, adjust the layout of the trees, that sort of thing."
"Sure." Old Moss did not move elsewhere. It pierced the stone slabs with its legs, driving them into the soil. Closing its eyes, it fell asleep, like a strange tree growing in the wrong place.
Anser's eyelid twitched. He shook his head, no longer harboring any expectations for Old Moss.
'This temperament… sigh. Movies misled me. Treants live long, but that doesn't necessarily mean they're all that wise.'
He let out a quiet sigh, first running to the riverside to wash himself. Then he stepped up the stairs and arrived before the towering Wizard's tower.
Looking up, the Black Tower rose into the clouds, like a giant propping up the sky, imposing and magnificent.
Before even entering, one would already feel three parts apprehensive.
The main door was half open. Anser leaned sideways and glanced inside. It was a complete mess. No windows were visible, yet the light was soft and not dim.
Tap, tap, tap—his hard-soled leather boots struck the stone slabs with a crisp sound.
Passing through a doorway, the space suddenly opened up. The hall's ceiling was over ten meters high, utterly disordered. All the furnishings and decorations had been destroyed, yet it still retained a solemn and majestic air.
After taking a few steps forward, he found a thick layer of ash beneath his feet. Anything he touched crumbled into powder. There was almost nothing intact.
'What spell effect is this?'
Standing in the center of the hall, he looked around. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a tall figure lowering its head to look down at him.
A jolt ran through him. He spun around abruptly.
"A construct shield guardian?"
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