Chapter 128 — The Heretic

The council hall's windows were smashed to pieces with a clatter, the various doors were shattered and blown apart by immense force, and thick branches and vines broke through every door and window, surging violently into the hall.

The plants that burst into the hall rolled across the floor, twisting and deforming with creaks and groans, then reared up on end: they were treants, each standing over two meters tall, and utterly unlike the treants a druid would summon under normal circumstances—their branches and leaves were twisted and rotted, countless fissures split their bodies, and poisonous sap oozed from the cracks, giving off a pungent stench.

As is known to all: once the druids of the Order of All Things' End betray their faith in life and nature, the power of "life" vanishes from their spells.

These treants began a fierce assault on Gao Cen.

"Their cores are in that clump of black rotted leaves!" Pi Yun flung out several magic seeds and shouted at the same time. "Don't let the venom splash your eyes!"

The magic seeds struck the ground and gave off a green radiance; then, quickened by druidic magic, they swiftly took root and grew into tough vines or thorned brambles to bind the treants surging in from every direction.

Gao Yang could not help but give Pi Yun a deep look, then withdrew his gaze and swung his longsword to sever a treant's arm.

Amber and Philip too were locked in combat with the rotting treants.

Yet amid this chaotic, ferocious battle, Gao Yang's attention remained fixed on the black-robed cultist.

Apart from having brought in the treants—doubtless prepared long in advance—the black-robed figure had not truly joined the fray at all; he merely watched from afar, seeming silent and sinister, yet reluctant to make a move.

In an instant Gao Yang understood what was going on: this cultist knew about Gao Yang Cecil.

He knew who he was, knew how great the fame of this "legend reborn" truly was. Though his first shout had been arrogant enough, he was plainly bluffing, holding back from striking—most likely because he truly dared not make a move.

Yet he still commanded the treants in battle and had not fled in panic. That told Gao Yang the man had probably guessed the truth: that Gao Yang Cecil, newly resurrected, was in a weakened state.

He was watching, gauging just how much power this "legend" possessed after resurrection. Without question he was taking a risk—and this place must hold something worth that risk.

Gao Yang's thoughts raced. In the span of two or three sword strokes he had already reasoned out a great deal. He still did not know by what channel this cultist had come by his intelligence, nor how much the man knew or had deduced, nor what he sought here—but none of that stopped him from laying a small trap to finish the fellow quickly.

In that flash of lightning thought, he drove his sword into the magic core of a treant, but as he drew the blade out he deliberately let his hand tremble, so that it looked as though his strength had suddenly failed him.