Licht watched the scene in horror. The moment the guards had appeared, everything had gone to shit. He cursed his own negligence. Now he knew that while he had been focusing entirely on releasing the locks around the slaves’ chains, one of the guards had ventured away from the campfire that was spewing out the flower’s smoke.

This had enabled him to venture around the caravan after he realized that the slaves had broken free and gather his sleeping fellows.

Licht winced again. One of the bronze sabers of the guards had slashed through the ragged clothing of an elven man, sending him falling backward. Blood splashed from the wound, reddening his clothing and bubbling at his mouth. Several of the elves yelled despairingly in a language Licht could not recognize. The action repeated itself a few more times, with one of the other men falling to the ground and a woman, both slashed across their fronts. They had no time when looting to put on armor, and the disparity between the two sides in equipment was overwhelming.

Licht quickly analyzed the situation. If the elves here failed to take care of the able-bodied guards, the rest of the freed slaves would likely fail as well. Was there anything he could do?

From the repeated uses of [Biogenical Growth], LIcht had strained his AF reserves. It was one of his most costly skills, and he was left after its repeated use nearly depleted. Luckily, the majority of his wood manipulation was free of charge, thanks to his compounding virtues, but Licht still had trouble using his branches offensively.

“It’s do or die right now, I have to come up with something. It’ll haunt me the rest of my life if I see these elves die.”

Licht expanded his control to encompass the perimeter of trees. Licht’s resolve reverberated through the trees, spurring them to action. Roots punctured through the ground, rising with dirt and dust to reach out toward the ongoing fighting. Soon, the forms of the trees themselves began to move, Licht using his first experience with connection as a basis for making the trees walk. As they moved, the wooden plant bodies tore through the wet dirt, liquifying the ground and splitting rock.

[Warning! Mental Occupation Capacity Overloaded!]

[Warning! Taking Damage To Sustain Occupation!]

[Health 197/200]

…

[Health 192/200]

…

[Health 185/200]

…

[Health 176/200]

With each grouping of roots he added to his control, the weight on his mind grew with intensity. At first it had felt like a pounding headache, as if he had woken up hungover. Soon however the sensation became fatally intensive. His mind was in pain as though it was compressed from all sides.

At some point, he had such a numerous quantity of roots under his control that the force weighing on his mind had extended itself to the physical world as well. His main orb felt like it was going to shatter, and many of the withe tendrils wrapping around it like a net had gone soft and weak.

[Health 154/200]

“This is…killing me, but I have enough of a health pool to last through it.”

Or at least he hoped that was the case. As he extended more roots toward the men, his health pool began to drop by greater and greater amounts. But at least he would be able to go on the offensive. Using his health as his fueling resource.

[Health 138/200]

…

“Get the one over there. No you dumbass that one!”

A guard fitted in scouting equipment held his bronze blade aloft, swinging it like a teacher would a ruler to point out a student’s mistake. He was directing one of his fellow guards to a retreating slave woman.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“That one is already taken care of! What the hell are you standing around here for? Get her!”

The scout wiped a bead of sweat off of his brow. Despite them having the clear advantage in skill, the slaves had still outnumbered them by one, leaving him to face two at the same time. It had left him a little tired, but nothing more. The guards had not lost a single man, while three of the slaves had been cut down, two men and a woman, and were now bleeding out on the ground below them. One of the slaves, their leader it seemed, had surrendered willingly. A coward.

Although this had then spared the guards from one more fight. Leaving only the fleeing elf woman to run after.

The scout scratched his chin. This was surprisingly going well. While most of the guards had been killed during this time by the freed slaves, their group of four would be more than enough to put the rest in place. Then, after business was sorted he could take the remaining slaves to market, making a killing amongst four people.

The scout smiled. With that in mind, he could likely become the leader of this caravan. The real leader had been missing for more than a few days now, likely to never come back. With no one to rightfully claim his place, nor strong enough to contend against himself, the scout could very realistically claim the caravan’s belongings as his own with the property deeds. Those were bound to be in the leader’s old tent…

The scout raised his head, looking past the bodies of several guards across the clearing to where the leader’s tent was. No one had gone in there since he had left, so it was likely to still contain the property deeds. The scout’s smile grew.

“Everything here is likely to not be worth a small sum. Given Chuck’s past life in nobility, his personal effects left in his tent should come out to roughly the same price as the profit we’ll get from the remaining slaves as well.”

As the scout mumbled to himself, one of the silhouettes of his guards in the periphery disappeared.

Thump!

“What was that?”

The scout and his fellow caravaneers turned around toward the noise. All they saw was empty air, where the guard used to be.

“It’s too damn dark in this clearing to see anything! You two, light a torch.”

The two other guards grumbled something about ordering them around but lit a couple torches nonetheless. Up until now they had relied on moonlight to see their surroundings and the slaves, but with the time to make them now available, torches were much preferred.

“What is that?”

The scout looked at the ground. The dark form of a warped dusky root snaked its way from the men, disappearing into the thick foliage that preluded the treeline. Speaking of the trees…

“Uh, have we always been this close to the forest?”

The trees were indeed only thirty feet or so away from them. None of the guards remembered the clearing being this shallow on this side, nor would they have set up tents this close to the trees. For good reason too, as they didn’t want to catch the surroundings on fire accidentally with a standing torch or campfire.

“No, the trees have moved!”

It was at that moment as those words came from the scout’s mouth that several roots broke from the ground, tying themselves around the ankles of the guards.

“Shit! Use the fire!”

Swiping at the roots tying them down with their ankles proved to be ineffective, as the sheared wooden fibers were quickly replaced by more incoming. As they began to feel the pull of the roots toward the forest, one of the guards dropped his torch to the wooden coils, headless of the possible danger to his own person.

The roots entwining him rapidly shrunk back, blackening and convulsing nearly like an animal in pain would. The other two quickly did the same, as a torch was thrown to the scout to use.

“What was that? Some kind of tree magick?”

The scout looked around at the wounded elves as he tore the fibers off his being, shaking his head. It seemed unlikely, given how rare people who could use the stuff were. Whatever it was, it was clearly a last ditch attempt and had been too weak to affect them. It had dragged one of their guards off somewhere though. The scout decided he would look for the missing sod after he was done here.

“NEEERRRAAAAHHHHHH!!!”

By the time they had unwrapped themselves however, it was too late. The war cry of a speeding elf woman toward them alerted them to danger too late, as one of the guard’s helmets caved in with the motion of a bronze club. The gleaming cone-shaped nasal helmet collapsed on the man’s skull spectacularly and with a metallic boom.

Bang!

Another crumpled to the ground after a dagger flew into his neck. Something that had likely been looted from a caravan scout. This left the standing scout to fend for himself. The scout’s head turned toward the contingent of approaching elves, fear that had made its home in his eyes reflecting their forms.

“Goddammit!”

The slave woman that they had let run away had returned with the rest of the elves, who had clearly finished exterminating the camp, if their heavily-armored and equipped forms were anything to judge by.

They shouted at him in a language he couldn’t recognize, their native tongue. Even those who had stayed back were present now. The eyes of the two elven children and the fungoid woman there to bear witness as his head was cleaved from his neck.

One swift motion from the woman, Emera, who had run to get reinforcements ended his life instantly. A mercy for one who had done nothing to merit it.