Chapter 65 - The Tree With a Wound

Etzel slept for six hours.

It was the longest uninterrupted sleep he had managed in weeks.

Naturally, Halven ruined it.

The communicator vibrated against the bedside table.

Etzel opened one eye.

“No.”

It vibrated again.

“No.”

Third time.

Etzel answered.

“If nobody is actively dying, I am going back to sleep.”

Halven’s voice came fast.

“Ancient Tree.”

Etzel sat up.

DK, seated in the chair near the window, opened his eyes.

“What about it?”

“New appearance. Forty-three kilometers outside the city.”

Etzel rubbed his face.

“Trees appear.”

“This one is infected.”

He was awake.

Twenty minutes later he was dressed.

Thirty-five minutes later Renn was shouting at him for violating the spirit of forty-eight-hour leave.

Etzel listened patiently.

Then asked:

“Are you finished?”

“No.”

“Good. The transport is here.”

Renn closed his eyes.

Ismera stood in the doorway behind Etzel.

“You are coming back.”

Etzel turned.

Not a question.

“Yes.”

“When?”

He looked at Renn.

Renn said:

“Tonight.”

Etzel nodded.

“Tonight.”

Ismera pointed at him.

“If you make him a liar, I will blame you.”

Renn looked genuinely uncertain how to respond.

Etzel smiled.

“Welcome to the family.”

DK followed him outside.

Saeva flew after them.

Neris called from the doorway:

“Bring back a better reward than a seed!”

Etzel shouted:

“No promises!”

The transport accelerated.

Mireth was already inside.

Etzel stopped at the door.

“You’re authorized?”

Mireth held up the monitoring band.

“Field observation. No network contact without approval. No civilian deviation.”

Etzel looked at Renn.

Renn looked exhausted.

“It requested properly.”

Etzel climbed in.

“I preferred it when everyone broke rules inefficiently.”

Mireth asked:

“Did you plant the seed?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Apparently it has standards.”

Mireth considered.

“Reasonable.”

Etzel sat opposite it.

“You are becoming unbearable.”

“I learned from—”

“Do not say it.”

Mireth’s almost-smile appeared.

The Ancient Tree stood in a shallow valley.

Authority had established a perimeter two kilometers out.

No one had touched it.

Good.

One person.

One Tree.

One use.

Those rules had become foundational after Trees appeared three years after the Rupture.

Humanity knew enough not to waste one casually.

Etzel saw the infection before the transport stopped.

Black glass.

It grew from the bark like a wound.

Not covering the whole Tree.

One side.

Thin veins entering the trunk.

The same smooth material as the dungeon parasite.

His stomach tightened.

Halven met them at the perimeter.

“Resonance?”

“Tree architecture is stable.”

“Then what is the black material doing?”

“We don’t know.”

Etzel stared at him.

Halven sighed.

“I heard it.”

Saeva flew closer to the Tree.

Etzel caught her by the ankle.

“No.”

She hung upside down.

“Look.”

“You can look from here.”

“Closer.”

“No.”

Mireth watched.

“She has a valid argument.”

Etzel looked at Mireth.

“Do you want to hang upside down too?”

“No.”

“Then support me.”

DK approached the edge of the inner perimeter.

His posture changed.

Etzel noticed.

“What?”

“Familiar.”

“The Tree?”

“No.”

DK looked at the black glass.

Etzel’s expression sharpened.

“You remember it?”

“Not consciously.”

That mattered.

Orsik Vardan came from another world.

A world where he had once reached SSS strength.

If the black material resonated with something in his recovered instincts—

this was bigger than local experimentation.

Etzel moved beside him.

“Try.”

DK closed his eyes.

Memory recovery had never obeyed commands.

It came through emotion.

Combat.

Bond.

Recognition.

He stood before the infected Tree for almost a minute.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from NovelPhoenix; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Then his hand tightened.

“Door.”

Etzel waited.

DK’s voice lowered.

“I remember a door that was not a door.”

Mireth tilted its head.

“That is unhelpful.”

Etzel pointed at it.

“Let him work.”

DK continued.

“Black surface. No reflection.”

“The material?”

“Maybe.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Before death?”

“Yes.”

That single answer changed everything.

The black architecture existed in Orsik’s original world.

Before his death.

Before Etzel summoned him.

Possibly before the Rupture on this world.

Halven had gone very still.

“Can you describe anything else?”

DK’s breathing changed.

A battlefield.

Etzel recognized the signs.

Memory coming.

“Stone towers.”

A pause.

“People running.”

“Hunters?”

“No.”

“Abilities?”

DK’s hand went to the Greatblade.

“Different.”

Then:

“The sky was open.”

Etzel frowned.

“Open how?”

DK’s eyes opened.

For the first time, fear touched his voice.

“Wrong.”

The memory broke.

DK staggered.

Etzel caught his arm.

“Enough.”

“I can continue.”

“No.”

DK looked at him.

Etzel did not move.

“Enough.”

After a moment, DK nodded.

Mireth watched closely.

“You stopped him.”

“Yes.”

“He chose to continue.”

“Yes.”

“You stopped him anyway.”

Etzel looked at Mireth.

“Because choice does not erase damage.”

Mireth considered that.

Another lesson.

Maybe.

Halven’s scanner beeped.

“Change.”

Everyone turned.

The black glass had spread.

Only a centimeter.

But visibly.

Toward a knot in the Tree’s bark.

Etzel approached the perimeter.

“Does touching the Tree activate selection?”

“Yes,” Halven said. “Assuming eligibility.”

“So nobody touches.”

Renn arrived over comms.

“Correct.”

Etzel looked at Mireth.

“Especially you.”

“I am not eligible.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I am not physically sixteen.”

Etzel paused.

“That is the funniest correct argument you’ve made.”

Mireth looked pleased.

The Tree pulsed.

System text appeared to every awakened Hunter present.

Etzel’s humor vanished.

The percentage dropped.

Halven swore.

“What happens at zero?”

Nobody knew.

Etzel hated that answer even when nobody said it.

The black material was not merely attached.

It was corrupting the selection mechanism.

The thing that matched souls to abilities.

The dungeon object had stolen abilities after awakening.

This was earlier.

At the source.

“If someone touches it now?” Etzel asked.

Halven looked at the numbers.

“They may receive a corrupted selection.”

“Or have something taken.”

“Yes.”

“Or both.”

“Yes.”

Mireth looked at the Tree.

“It is learning where identity becomes function.”

Etzel turned.

“What?”

“The facility tested incomplete souls.”

Mireth counted on its fingers, an oddly human gesture.

“The dungeon took abilities.”

Then it pointed at the Tree.

“This is between them.”

Etzel understood.

Soul.

Ability.

The bridge between.

Awakening.

Not random sites.

Stages.

Someone was dissecting the System process one layer at a time.

Saeva touched Etzel’s shoulder.

“Bad.”

“Very.”

The seed warmed.

Etzel froze.

Again.

He took it out.

The tiny root pointed toward the Ancient Tree.

Halven stepped back.

“What is it doing?”

“Being concerning.”

System text appeared.

Etzel stared.

The seed liked home.

Now it liked an Ancient Tree.

Two possible sites.

Different reasons.

Growth shaped by refusal.

Protected fragment.

What was the reward becoming?

Mireth leaned closer.

“Will you plant it?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because the Tree is infected.”

“That may be why it responds.”

Etzel looked at Mireth.

Annoyingly plausible.

The seed pulsed.

A second root emerged.

One pointed toward the Tree.

The other—

toward Etzel.

No.

Through Etzel.

Soul Space.

Toward the unnamed soul.

Saeva felt it.

She landed on his arm.

“Little.”

“Yes.”

The System opened.

Etzel read.

Home could provide ground.

The Ancient Tree could provide a living System anchor.

The protected fragment could provide incomplete structure.

But no site provided all three.

Unless—

Etzel looked at the Tree.

Then at the seed.

“No.”

Halven blinked.

“What?”

“I know what it wants.”

“Which is?”

“A piece of the Tree.”

Silence.

Renn’s voice came over the communicator.

“Absolutely not.”

Etzel nodded.

“Agreed.”

Everyone looked at him.

“What?”

Renn sounded suspicious.

“You agreed too quickly.”

“I am capable of good decisions.”

DK said:

“Occasionally.”

Etzel ignored him.

The seed did not need him to touch the Tree.

It needed a living System anchor.

Taking a piece might damage the Tree.

Worse, it might count as interaction.

And the Tree was already compromised.

No.

The seed warmed.

Etzel stared.

“Wait.”

The root withdrew slightly.

System text appeared.

Etzel frowned.

“It rejected my refusal?”

Mireth asked:

“Why did you refuse?”

“Danger.”

“Then you refused risk.”

“Yes.”

“The previous conditions were not about risk.”

Etzel looked at it.

The fragment.

No soul expendable because incomplete.

The stolen ability.

Power not worth taking what makes another person themselves.

Principles.

Not caution.

The seed wanted lines he would not cross.

Etzel looked at the Ancient Tree.

What principle was here?

One Tree.

One person.

One awakening.

A Tree existed to give someone a chance.

Taking part of it for himself would consume or damage a future person’s opportunity.

There.

He understood.

“I won’t take someone else’s awakening to grow my reward.”

The seed became hot.

Three conditions.

The seed split further.

A tiny green shoot emerged.

Actual green.

Saeva gasped.

“Plant!”

“Not yet.”

Etzel stared.

His refusal had changed the requirement.

Not removed it.

Changed how it could be satisfied.

The seed did not reward sacrifice.

It adapted around the things he refused to sacrifice.

That was the entire mechanic.

Etzel smiled slowly.

“I think I finally understand you.”

Witness did not trigger.

This was not its job.

The seed pulsed once.

Then the Ancient Tree screamed.

Everyone heard it.

Not sound.

System.

A violent pressure tore across the valley.

The black glass spread in an instant.

Selection integrity plunged.

“Containment!” Renn shouted.

Authority teams moved.

Nobody touched the Tree.

Black veins reached the roots.

Etzel’s seed reacted.

The green shoot pointed toward one specific patch of bark.

Not the infection.

A clean section.

System text appeared.

Etzel understood.

“Halven. Can we connect without touching the Tree directly?”

“With what?”

“The seed.”

“That is touching.”

“No. The seed touches.”

Halven stared.

“That distinction may be metaphysically important and operationally insane.”

“Correct.”

No time.

Etzel looked at the Tree.

One chance.

If the seed damaged it, he could ruin an awakening.

If he did nothing, the infection might ruin all future selection from this Tree anyway.

Choice.

Not between safe and dangerous.

Between two responsibilities.

Mireth spoke.

“You do not know the result.”

“No.”

“You told me choices need consequences.”

“Yes.”

“Then choose.”

Etzel looked at it.

No mockery.

No borrowed phrase.

Mireth meant it.

Etzel placed the seed on the ground.

Not against the Tree.

Three meters away.

“Plant.”

The seed entered the soil.

Roots exploded downward.

Green.

Thin.

Alive.

They did not travel toward the Tree.

They traveled toward Etzel.

Soul Space opened.

The protected fragment inside the seed brightened.

The unnamed soul answered.

Saeva’s light flared.

Then one root changed direction.

It reached through the ground.

Stopped beneath the Ancient Tree.

Did not pierce the roots.

Did not take.

It waited.

Etzel stared.

“Consent?”

The Ancient Tree pulsed.

Once.

The clean roots moved.

Touched the green root.

System light filled the valley.

The seed erupted.

A sapling rose from the soil.

Small.

Waist-high.

Green leaves.

Dark bark.

Not an Ancient Tree.

Not ordinary.

The black infection on the real Tree stopped spreading.

Then began pulling away.

Toward the sapling.

Halven shouted:

“It’s transferring!”

Etzel’s heart dropped.

“No.”

Black glass crossed the root connection.

Entered the sapling.

The young leaves darkened.

The real Ancient Tree cleared.

Recovering.

The sapling took the corruption.

Etzel moved toward it.

DK caught him.

“Wait.”

“It’s dying.”

“No.”

Mireth pointed.

The sapling was changing.

Black glass entered its bark.

But did not spread freely.

Green veins surrounded it.

Contained it.

Studying it.

Etzel’s System opened.

Then:

Etzel stopped.

“Two?”

The sapling pulsed.

Inside it—

the incomplete fragment remained.

And something else had been captured.

Not a soul.

A pattern.

The corruption.

Protected.

Contained.

Not consumed.

The Ancient Tree recovered to ninety-three percent.

Then ninety-eight.

Then stopped.

Halven exhaled.

“Why not one hundred?”

Etzel looked at the place where the black glass had entered.

A tiny scar remained in the bark.

The Tree had survived.

But it remembered.

Like Maerin.

The price of coming back.

The valley went quiet.

Then the Ancient Tree produced a System message nobody expected.

Not to Etzel.

To everyone.

Renn’s voice sharpened.

“For whom?”

The answer appeared.

Every Authority sensor turned toward the northern ridge.

One person walked down the slope.

Young.

Alone.

No escort.

No registered Hunter signature.

Etzel narrowed his eyes.

The stranger looked sixteen.

Maybe seventeen.

The exact age where an Ancient Tree could matter.

He stopped at the perimeter.

Looked at the Tree.

Then at Etzel.

“I’ve been dreaming about this place for three nights.”

Nobody moved.

The Tree pulsed.

Etzel’s grip tightened around his spear.

The stranger took one step forward.

Then looked at the scar in the Tree.

His expression changed.

Not confusion.

Recognition.

He whispered:

“It found this one too.”

Etzel went still.

Renn shouted:

“Stop!”

The boy did.

Good.

Then he looked directly at Etzel.

“You need to burn the black roots before the Gardener notices you.”

Silence.

Etzel stared.

Finally.

A name.

Not an organization.

Not necessarily a person.

But something.

“The Gardener?”

The boy’s face went pale.

The Ancient Tree pulsed again.

Behind Etzel, his new sapling opened one black-veined leaf.

The boy saw it.

Fear replaced everything else.

“Oh.”

Etzel did not like that sound.

“What?”

The boy backed away.

“You already planted one.”