313 Empire Embassy
Floral, perched on the Withering Throne, couldn’t recollect when she regained consciousness—it was akin to how individuals often couldn’t recall when dreams commenced.
However, when she discerned her existence, the initial sensation she perceived was the odor in the atmosphere.
After transforming from a living being to a lich, she sensed her five senses decelerate over the years. The ones that degenerated the swiftest were her sense of smell and taste. It was purported that these two senses had the most discernible impact on evoking memories. Thus, after becoming undead, they were the most conspicuous.
The scent in the air was so pungent that Floral, who had been a lich, couldn’t help but feel discomfited.
It was akin to a fruit that had been fermenting for an extended period, brimming with a sweet and putrid aroma. This scent also became the earliest memory she could summon.
At that instant, the individual stationed at the base of the throne spoke.
“Your Grace, the Eighth Order envoy has conveyed that if you harbor any reservations about the punishment for those rebels, she can execute it on your behalf.”
At the steps of the throne stood a man with a suppurating wolf’s head affixed to his neck.
Floral couldn’t help but ponder when she heard the other party articulate with difficulty through his decayed vocal cords.
Then, she promptly obtained an answer.
Fragments of memories pertaining to the body melded into her soul. Within the blink of an eye, she appeared to have lived another life of her own.
It was a life that resembled the trajectory of her existence, but there were monumental variances in almost every aspect.
After assimilating all her memories, she immersed herself in her role without any opposition.
Floral blinked and addressed Garet Wolfspeak, the clerk in this timeline,
“Convey my gratitude for her kindness, but regardless, this is an internal problem for the Forest Elves. There’s no need to involve the executioner of the Holy Spirits Church to preside over it…”
Floral ceased speaking—she sensed that her voice was akin to a leaking organ.
She wasn’t certain if the other party could comprehend her.
However, reality proved that he was overthinking. Observing that she didn’t continue, the clerk scrutinized Floral, who had halted, and queried in bewilderment, “Your Grace, should I reiterate those precise words to the Eighth Order envoy?”
Floral inhaled deeply and persisted with a leaky voice, “I’ll issue the directive after I’ve personally interrogated them.”
“Yes, as you wish.”
Having said that, the clerk bowed and withdrew. After taking a few strides back, she pivoted slowly and exited, leaving her alone in the sprawling hall of the White Bone Castle.
Floral, perched on the Withering Throne, ultimately breathed a sigh of relief.
With a thought from Floral, the magic nexuses etched in the White Bone Castle’s hall were activated.
Be it memories or capabilities, they corresponded flawlessly to her volition. It was preferable to say that the memories in her original timeline had transformed into something that necessitated immense exertion to recollect.
It was akin to attempting to recall a lucid world in a half-dream state.
Or perhaps endeavoring to recall her experiences in a dream after awakening.
After sitting on the throne for a while, Floral commenced pondering what she should do next.
She seemed to vaguely recollect that she possessed a crucial assignment here.
However, those memories were akin to a sandcastle that had been erected, only to be dismantled by the waves one after another, leaving behind a blurry contour.
Ultimately, she rose from the throne.
Since she couldn’t recollect… she had to journey to Green Prison and interrogate the captives.
Although she required the empire’s power to remold Ravenwood’s archaic custom, this didn’t imply that the authority over the Forest Elves’ life and death was in the empire’s grip.
After all, she was the true sovereign of Ravenwood.
Not those blokes from the empire’s embassy.
After a brief moment of astonishment, William composed himself.
The bloated, putrid figure that loomed like a mountain didn’t pose any danger to him. Although this timeline had been influenced by the Lady of Starvation Camilla for thousands of years, this was still Currere.
Thus, it could only be said that Camilla had forged a potent vessel that could greatly accommodate her might—a vessel that was far sturdier than the Void Incarnation from over a millennium ago.
However, it was only a vessel. If Camilla yearned to crossover, she had to instigate a greater commotion to shatter the World Shell. Ergo, he was comparatively secure until the Lady of Starvation initiated the final ritual.
After affirming this, William hastened towards the heart of Holy Tree City.
As per Elise’s account, she had been seized by other timeline jumpers based on the uniqueness of the Eighth Holy Spirit. If what the possessor of the Eyes of God uttered was accurate, Floral was his anchor at the other terminus of the timeline. If anything transpired to her here, he would be instantaneously repelled back to his timeline.
Furthermore, locating the Lady of Starvation’s vulnerabilities here necessitated a local guide. Hence, reuniting with Floral became his primary objective.
As for the mark he had left on Floral… It didn’t function as he had anticipated.
Therefore, William had to pause and inquire from the locals the whereabouts of their duke.
Since he was in a rush, he didn’t possess much patience, so his approach to questioning was relatively straightforward and crude.
It was evident that the likelihood of obtaining the answer of Ravenwood’s ruler’s location by seizing anyone on the road was infinitesimally close to zero.
However, that individual would definitely be acquainted with someone who was more probable to know the answer to the query than him.
Then, he would pose questions one after another. It wouldn’t take him long to discover someone who genuinely knew the answer.
It was an uncomplicated but inefficient method… When William tailed the leads and interrogated the sixth individual, he ultimately obtained a recognizable name.
“Is this the Eighth Order envoy you mentioned, Nizemar?”
William gestured at the moss-covered stone edifice not far away. He pivoted and inquired of the withered elder garbed in conventional forest druid attire.
“Yes… Sir, this is the empire’s embassy in Emerald Province… I witnessed her enter not long ago… She’s assuredly the individual most probable to know where Duke Floral is currently located,” the elderly man responded unsteadily.
William remained silent. Instead, he sustained his gaze fixedly on the elder.
It wasn’t that he found him incoherent—he couldn’t be reproached. Anyone who was pinned to the ground by a four-meter-tall obsidian puppet akin to a colossal rag doll wouldn’t be able to speak coherently.
William ruminated over two problems simultaneously.
Firstly, if he embarked on a killing frenzy and massacred all the Forest Elves in this timeline, could he separate the synchronization rate between the two timelines to thwart the Lady of Starvation’s scheme?
Secondly, since he could employ summoning magic here, didn’t that imply that the elemental planes where summoned creatures abided were connected to all timelines concurrently?
The old man couldn’t help but shudder when he saw the demon who had materialized abruptly eyeing him thoughtfully. He probed, “Sir, is there anything else you wish to know?”
“Nothing much. Get some rest.”
The other party’s inquiry pulled William back to reality. As he spoke, he gestured for the obsidian puppet to release him. Then, he intoned the Placating the Undead spell and planned on inducing slumber in the other party.
The inhabitants on this side believed that they were the living’s undead. Ordinary illusions were futile against them.
The forest druid, who possessed no comprehension of modern magic, blanched when he saw the spell aglow in William’s palm. He surmised that the other party intended to silence him and implored, “Sir, Sir! Please hear me out. If you intend to storm into the empire’s embassy and demand someone for interrogation like before, I still advise against it.”
The other party’s utterances caused William to cease his incantation.
“Why?” William inquired.
“Because… the empire’s embassy is the empire’s jurisdiction and an off-limits domain for all Forest Elves,” the elderly man stated, unable to conceal his trepidation.
“Off-limits?” he echoed.
“No Forest Elf taken to the embassy has ever returned…” the other party responded.
William abruptly pondered over a crucial problem.
The site of the time fragmentation should solely fall within the ambit of Ravenwood Forest, and the individuals who had undergone time fragmentation should exclusively be the Forest Elves inhabiting here.
So, what was the quintessence of the Riel Empire in the view of the Ravenwood denizens?