Chapter 535: If every step is calculated
Vergil and the woman in white stood face to face for a moment that seemed to drag on for centuries. The silence was almost tangible, made of held breaths and pent-up auras. The wind blew through the broken trees, carrying the acrid smell of ash and blood.
The protector raised her fingers, as if sealing an invisible pact. The energy around her wavered, but not in an explosion—it was a sudden retreat, like a tide pulled back into the sea. The crushing weight that had previously vibrated in the air lessened, but the sense of threat did not disappear. It remained there, contained, like a blade sheathed in its sheath.
Naberius was the first to react. The flame on her blade dimmed, flickering lazily. She chuckled softly, bored.
“Very well. I’ll pretend to respect your little game, old woman. But if it gets too boring, I’ll set this forest ablaze myself just to see the color of your despair.”
The protector inclined her head, showing no fear.
“Then I hope you have good taste in tragedy.”
Sapphire blew air through her nose, spitting smoke like an angry bull. Her aura dropped, but even reduced, it felt like a volcano about to erupt.
“I’ll hold my own…” she said, clenching her jaw. “But if anyone messes with me, don’t expect me to sit around like an obedient puppy.”
Sepphirothy was as sober as ever. Her eyes were fixed on her protector, searching for flaws in the armor of arrogance she wore.
“I’ll accept,” she said firmly. “But if I realize you’re using us for some other purpose, I won’t hesitate to cut that mask of serenity along with your throat.”
The protector’s smile was slow, almost maternal.
“Fair enough.”
Vergil chuckled lightly, adjusting the katana on his shoulder.
“You all talk about ‘rules,’ ‘conditions,’ ‘agreements’… but you know what? He tilted his head, his eyes glowing blue. “Rules are the best part of the game. Because breaking them always tastes delicious.”
Raphaeline shot him a withering look.
“Careful, Vergil. You’re playing with fire on oil-soaked ground.”
The protector took a step forward, her white sleeves sliding like waves.
“Very well. Since you accept,” she said, her voice low but heavy with a decree, “then remain under my watch. Anything touched within the World Tree will be permitted only to the point where it does not threaten the balance. Not a step beyond.”
Vergil let out a dry laugh.
“Balance… a fancy word for someone who lost their own ground millennia ago.”
The protector’s eyes narrowed, and for a second the air seemed to freeze. But instead of responding angrily, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them, her voice had changed again: soft, weary, almost resigned.
“Perhaps. But I still know the price of collapse. And you… not yet.”
Ada tightened her grip on her mother’s arm, her anxious gaze darting between Vergil and her protector.
“So it’s over?” she murmured, as if afraid the simple question would reignite the battle.
Raphaeline didn’t answer immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on the woman in the white kimono, as if trying to read what lay behind that mask of fatigue and fury. Finally, she sighed.
“It’s not over,” she said, almost in a whisper. “But for now… it remains suspended.”
A dense silence once again enveloped the clearing, filled only with the distant crackling of roots burning beneath the earth. The protector turned slowly toward the heart of the forest—where, ahead, the colossal trunk of the World Tree pulsed like an open wound in the sky.
“Follow me,” she ordered. “Or remain here, waiting for the echoes of what you’ve awakened to devour you first.”
Vergil wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and smiled, with that glint of madness and desire that always accompanied him.
“Ah… finally, the fun begins.”
The protector—she hadn’t given her name, and no one dared ask—turned and began walking, her steps light on the broken stones as if she were walking on clouds. The group hesitated for a moment, as if still unbelieving that such a precarious truce could hold, but eventually followed. Vergil in front, katana resting on his shoulder, eyes hungry; Raphaeline and Ada close behind; Sepphirothy and Naberius walking with strides that marked their territory; Sapphire burning like a living torch, measuring each step; Sepphirothy bringing up the rear with her lethal cold; Roxanne, Katharina, Vanny, Rize, Titania, and Zuri lined up, each holding their breath as if the forest would react to the noise of their souls.
The clearing gave way to a corridor of twisted trees. Where once the labyrinth hid paths and traps, now the scars of battle burned in open furrows and exposed roots. The protector made her way as if she knew every treacherous root, every echo of ancient magic. Every now and then she touched a trunk, murmured something no one understood—a chant, an instruction—and the shadows retreated, giving way.
“You walk as if you’re in a hurry to prove your sins,” she commented, without looking back. Her voice sounded simpler when she spoke between steps, but there was an authority in it that made men and monsters line up. “Walk carefully. The World Tree reacts. It senses who steps on it, who desires it, who steals it.”
Vergil smiled, a smile that promised no kindness. “I prefer the Tree to be hungry. And I like to starve.”
Naberius snapped his fingers, and the edge of his sword crackled, sending out tiny sparks that died before touching the air. “Always so romantic about disaster, aren’t you?” he teased. “Promise you won’t devour the entire trunk in the first bite, Verein? Or do you want me to convince you to moderate your gluttony?”
Sepphirothy gave a look so cutting that Naberius’s blade trembled a little. “Silence. There’s no room for singing here. Only what’s necessary.”
As they advanced, the forest seemed to multiply the senses. Ancient scents returned: iron, burnt resin, a floral perfume reminiscent of fresh tombs. The air grew denser with each step; the lights, when there were any, came in pulses, as if the world itself breathed at irregular intervals.
“The Tree isn’t just wood,” the protector explained in a tone that was addressed to the curious but beneficial to the unwary. “It’s a knot of memories. Everything that has been consecrated, buried, cursed… for millennia has converged there.” If you mess with the roots carelessly, you won’t just rip out iron or magic—you’ll rip out memories, desires, and horrors.
Roxanne remained alert, unconsciously touching the hilt of a dagger. “What if we have to fight for this? What if something comes out and attacks?”
The protector stared at her for a moment, a hard glint in her eyes. “If every step is calculated, no one need die. But if you enter with your heads in a rage… then the Tree will recognize you as predators, and the forest will respond with what it has learned to devour.”