The Abyss Rift lay to the northeast of Stroup Forest, far from Nature's Dwelling, and the spatial turbulence caused by the rift's instability meant that Lucian and the others did not risk teleporting there, choosing instead to fly through the air.
Gazing down at the deep green sea of forest below, listening to the ceaseless birdsong, Natasha suddenly felt the musician's soul stir within her and asked, "What is nature?"
It was one thing to know from historical records and ancient scriptures that elves would transform into great trees upon death, and quite another to witness it with her own eyes. She felt a touch of emotion at the thought.
"Yes — what is nature?" Lucian repeated, his gaze already shifting to Malfurion and Lasshir.
What is nature?
Malfurion and the others heard the question and suddenly found themselves at a loss. Every elf, every druid held their own definition of nature within their hearts, and whether through hatred or through balance, all considered themselves guardians of nature. And precisely because their definitions and perspectives differed, the "Heart of Nature" cultivated by each druid was not entirely the same, leading to certain variations in the Divine Arts they could wield.
"Nature is the world — encompassing not only the plants, animals, humans, and elves that embody vitality, but also volcanoes, swamps, and poisonous miasma. Together, these myriad things form an interlocking system of balance, each depending on and constraining the others. Once balance is lost, nature trends toward ruin and destruction, becoming a barren wasteland devoid of life." Malfurion weighed his words carefully before offering his understanding of nature. Balance and life were the core of his belief.
Lasshir possessed a measure of the arrogance unique to elves. Though not part of the Nature-Hatred faction, she was not particularly fond of discussing the matter with humans. She merely emphasized one point: "Nature must include life — a wasteland devoid of life cannot be called nature."
Atlant, eyes closed, smiled and said, "We're almost at the Abyss Rift."
All four were Legendary powerhouses. Even with their flight speed deliberately reduced to guard against sudden danger, it did not take long to reach the Abyss Rift.
Below, at the center of the forest, a reddish dust had blanketed a vast area. At the middle, a massive rift gaped like a hideous centipede. Through it, the pockmarked Blood Plains on the other side were faintly visible, and the thick stench of blood and killing intent permeated the surroundings.
Amid the dust, a reasonably prosperous little town stood at the edge of the rift.
Nameless Town.
Throughout the long history when the Abyss Rift had been stable, demons — by nature violent and chaotic — had continually assailed the rift, battering against the elves' seals and defenses, attempting to truly descend into the Prime Material World and transform it into a place of destruction and disorder like the Abyss.
For human adventurers, though demons were terrifying, every part of their bodies was a precious material. The chance to capture demons without entering the Abyss was an excellent opportunity, and so adventurers gathered one after another, giving rise to the earliest semblance of a town.
Later, Great Knights and Sky Knights discovered this was a superb battlefield for tempering themselves and frequently traveled from far and wide to hone their skills. For high-ranking knights, unless their bloodline was truly top-tier and their talent exceptional, they could only seek opportunities for breakthrough through battle.
With the continent's political situation relatively stable, venturing to places like the Dark Mountains or the Dragon Swamp seemed far too dangerous — a single misstep could mean an encounter with a ninth-rank magical creature. But the rift in Stroup Forest limited the strength of invading demons, freeing the high-ranking knights from worrying about encountering Demon Lords, Dukes, and the like, so they could engage in battles against equivalent opponents with peace of mind. As a result, the town grew ever more prosperous, becoming one of the places with the highest concentration of powerful experts — surpassed only by Lance, Allentor, Lantar, and similar cities.
Of course, battles between equals were by no means without danger. Sky Knights and high-rank arcanists alike had lost their lives here, and ventures below the high-rank level saw casualties even more frequently. And so the town earned its name: "Nameless" — "Either leave with a name of glory, or die here without one!"
Mason, the "Azure Dragon," gazed at the wooden sign that had stood over Nameless Town for centuries and let out another heavy sigh, pacing back and forth. He looked up at the sky, where the reddish dust had blotted out the sun. "When will we be able to leave?"
The elves who guarded the rift always maintained a cold attitude toward the adventurers, but their efforts did indeed alleviate the elves' own workload, freeing them from having to worry about demons slipping through. So they turned a blind eye to the existence of Nameless Town.
The young, brown-haired man beside Mason produced a specialty cigar from the Kingdom of Briana, lit it, squinted his eyes, took a deep drag, and then exhaled a white ring of smoke. "Come on, bro, stop worrying. Until they figure out why the rift expanded, the elves aren't going to let us leave."
"I feel like my lungs are full of sand and blood." Mason took the cigar from his friend Fred and used the tobacco to ease his mood. "You know, before I left, I promised my family I'd be back in six months. It's already been two weeks past that. If they come looking for me, this godforsaken place could hurt them."
Fred blew a smoke ring and said with a bitter smile, "If they'd known in advance, the elves would have been afraid news of the rift's dramatic expansion would leak to the sea races — that's why they've restricted us. We can enter, but we can't leave. Unless they find a solution, or the sea races have already learned about it through other channels, we're stuck here."
"If the Abyss Rift goes out of control again…" As a sixth-rank Sky Knight, Mason couldn't help but shudder at the memory. The demon horde, dense as a tidal wave. The Demon Lords and Dukes radiating terrifying pressure. They were nightmares he would never forget. Countless adventurers had perished under demon attacks without so much as a ripple. Had it not been for "Night Mentor" Malfurion on guard duty during that time, several Sky Knights — himself included — would likely have fallen.
Hearing Mason's words, Fred couldn't help but shudder as well, recalling that two-headed, crimson-scaled "Blood Sovereign" and its cold golden eyes. "Let's hope the elves request reinforcements soon."
"The elves are a proud race. Unless they truly cannot handle it themselves, they would never ask for help." Mason had usually admired the elves' pride, but right now he found it particularly infuriating.
At this point, he drew his gaze back and looked at the cigar in his hand, more than half burned away. "Something seems off in the town, too."
Fred's eyes narrowed slightly. "Yeah. Something's strange."
Lucian, Natasha, and Malfurion descended in altitude, moving closer to the Abyss Rift. Just then, two figures — one in deep green, the other in brown — flew up from below and halted before the four of them.
"Honorable guests, all three of you — thank you for coming to our aid." The brown figure was a tall, middle-aged human man holding a wooden staff carved with a symbol of balance. This was none other than "Hand of Balance," Lothar.