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Book 8 : The Tower
My slumber ended.
As I woke up, I could see Hestias’ World Tree, brimming with magic and power.
The Tree had been planted near my own body. Its sustenance being energy I desired not, needed not.
It saluted me, and I ignored it.
Hestia still has over eight hundred million years until the end of its First Differentiation comes.
By them, Semi-True Humans will have appeared on Tiphoon already.
Tiphoon.
Long-Lived Humans fought over spoils of the Dark Continent.
High Elves built kingdoms, dragons found themselves mountains rich in Magic Power to slumber and try to resist longer.
Demons and Angels, Sages, Buddhas, Demi-Gods… almost all perished, only the weakest remaining.
The Eternal Shadows still existed. The Immortals still existed.
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Those cannot be killed by the scarcity of Magic Power. They are eternal until their Essences evaporate.
A few traits of terrain and Qi veins had changed. Some changes were worrisome, so a frown appeared on my face.
I shouldn’t have hid from the world so much. It was weaker than I expected. Much weaker.
High Elves a domineering race. Dwarfs and Dark Elves as special creatures.
Dragons scarce and feared across the land.
No good.
There was too much technology. There was too much hoarding.
Complete Humans had developed steel and crossbows. Magic engineering. Dungeon-core powered potions and magic gear.
High Elves had huge reserves of Magic Power stored in large Trees which resembled the old World Tree. They even called it by this kind of name.
Foolishness. If the World Tree reached only measly half dozen kilometers high, it would have been useless to me.
A few of the weakest Saints, called Gods by the lesser races, even hoarded magic power in the form of Shrines and sacrifice.
There is just too much magic being frozen as family heirlooms and cult practices.
Unacceptable.
How delayed is the Seed development of the peoples in this world?!
How delayed are my plans and objectives?
A hundred thousand years?
A million years?!
I reached forward with my fist. Magic on the surface of Tiphoon answered to my call.
No mater seals or blood pacts. No mater if frozen in dungeon-core form or inside of mages, elves and gods.
It answered my call, as I am its master.
I ripped it off.
Hundreds of millions died in a moment.
Fools.
Irs and Ichia intended to come and meet me, but once they saw my face, they gave up.
Both are ready to transition. Even if they die now, this would be the first and last death their Seeds face.
Still, both exhale the same air around them.
The air around the World Tree was the same that day.
Have they grown a heart?
Have they come to love the mortals of this planet?
Pathetic.
Lower lifeforms are useless.
I condensate the magic power in my hand and it became a small pearl.
Then, I started to make Tiphoon ready for the Third Differentiation.