"That side?" Lansiel repeated Felagond's question, his body blocking the cave entrance and cutting off the sunlight, leaving the interior dim and gloomy. Then he smiled. "Of course I mean the Blood-Colored Plains."
Felagond cried out in shock and fury: "You colluded with the Blood Sovereign? You let the Elven Tree be corrupted? Why would you do something like that?"
He grew ever more aware of his perilous situation, seizing every opportunity to stall for time, attempting to break free from the ancient devil's projection. But his hatred had accumulated over centuries, and learning the "Dance of Vengeance" was no short-term endeavor—the "seed" had long since taken deep root and could not be undone in a matter of moments.
Lansiel seemed not to notice Felagond's intentions at all, playing along with a smile: "The Blood Sovereign? That 'schizophrenic'—what right does he have to partner with me? As for the Elven Tree's corruption, you actually have your Nature Hatred faction to thank for that."
"Schizophrenic" was a term Lucian had used to describe a certain psychological condition. Because it closely resembled the state of certain two-headed, three-headed, and four-headed demons, it had become common parlance among adventurers near the Abyssal rifts, and the elves were no strangers to it.
"Why?" Felagond asked, playing along—though he genuinely had not expected that the Elven Tree's corruption was truly connected to him.
Lansiel's manner at that moment was like the great villain in a bard's tale—triumphantly boasting of his plan at the moment of victory, only to leave his opponent a chance to turn the tables by talking too much: "'The Heart of Nature' is an item approaching god-like status. Even if I secretly separated a wisp of its aura and carried it into the Abyss, it would be nearly impossible to corrupt it. The only way would be if the Abyssal Will awakened from its deep slumber of grievous injury. But the original elves were born from the Heart of Nature—every elf carries the blood of nature in their veins, bound to the Elven Tree by blood and spirit."
"Under those circumstances, when enough elves were targeted by ancient devil projections, falling into demonic corruption—combined with the symmetrical magic circle we set up on the Blood-Colored Plains—the Elven Tree naturally became corrupted in turn."
At this point, Lansiel gave a dark chuckle: "Originally, getting elves who revere nature to be consumed by negative emotions over a long period is an enormously complicated task. But your Nature Hatred faction solved that problem for us. A portion of them are profoundly hostile toward humans, treating everything humans do—including normal activities—as grounds for hatred. They let negative emotions blind their own reason, perfectly fulfilling the prerequisites for summoning a Hatred Devil's projection. So—I must thank you, Felagond!"
A face flickered within Felagond's illusory Heart of Nature—a face bearing a striking resemblance to his own, yet twisted and consumed by hatred, resentment, and loathing. It was ugly and hideous.
"Is this... me?" When Felagond had been dispelling the ancient devil's influence, he had glimpsed this face. He understood that it was a manifestation of his inner negative emotions projected by the devil, yet he could not help being shaken. Was this how he always looked when talking about nature and hatred?
He composed himself, suppressing the fury stirred by Lansiel's words, and asked in bewilderment: "But why were only a small fraction of the corrupted elves from the Nature Hatred faction?"
"Those truly targeted by the Hatred Devil's projection—unless they willingly embraced it and reached a certain threshold—show no outward signs of demonic corruption. Only those elves who struggle internally, who resist the call of hatred, are the ones who lose control and display signs of falling. The difference between the two is like that between Masha and you." Lansiel "diligently" explained the reasons to Felagond.
Hearing the last sentence, the fury in Felagond's heart surged once more: "So Masha was already under the Hatred Devil's projection—one of your 'subordinates.' No wonder she slandered me. But why target me? What exactly is your goal?"
"What do you mean, 'why target you'? My target has always been you. If I don't let you fall into demonic corruption and become a legendary Hatred Devil's body, how am I supposed to advance further?" Lansiel said with a radiant smile.
"What? Your target was always me?" Felagond could scarcely believe it. Though he and Lansiel were not on good terms, it had never reached the point of assassination. Then he suddenly realized: "Was it you who arranged for the Magic Parliament to send aid? So they would investigate me, and then use my hatred of humans and my fury at being slandered to ignite my negative emotions—combined with the long-term influence of the 'Dance of Vengeance'—so the devil could successfully project into my mind?"
"You're figuring it out too late. And it wasn't a devil projection—it was those negative emotions, after being transformed, that actively converged upon you," Lansiel explained with a laugh. "Converting oneself into an existence similar to an ancient devil is extremely dangerous and very easy to lose control of. That's why I had my eye on you. You carry centuries of accumulated hatred—a perfect 'vessel.'"
"You—" Felagond's rage and hatred surged straight to his brain, nearly driving him to attack regardless of the consequences. "Aren't you afraid the mages will uncover the real mastermind?"
"Heh. Setting up the magic circle on the Blood-Colored Plains not only leverages the contradictory forces of the Abyss and the material world, but also lured Lucian Evans and his companions over to investigate. And if they went to the Abyss, Mafario would have no choice but to follow—otherwise he couldn't answer to the Magic Parliament. That way, I could act without any restraints. By the time they return from the Blood-Colored Plains with their 'evidence,' the 'witnesses' and 'mastermind' will be dead or fled. No matter how strong his astrology is, he won't be able to divine a thing!" Lansiel tilted his head up slightly.
"Weren't you worried Lucian Evans might refuse to go to the Abyss? And what about Atalant?" Felagond managed to push the "devil projection" aside slightly and felt a small surge of spirit.
Lansiel raised both hands, his short bow aimed at Felagond, and smiled: "If he refused to go, he wouldn't be the Lucian Evans who researched quantum superposition and proposed the observer effect."
In the past, because his strength was not high, it had always been Lucian who analyzed others' personalities and behavioral patterns to formulate plans. But now, others were analyzing him.
"As for Atalant, he was only too happy to see my plan come to fruition. He himself wanted to wait for a safer, more reliable path—he didn't dare take the leap. But that doesn't mean he didn't want to use this event to gather data. For certain reasons, I knew where he stood, so I secretly sent word to him, prompting him to volunteer for the investigation." Lansiel sneered at Felagond. "A mage who studies the mind like him—how could he not detect something amiss?"
Felagond said through gritted teeth: "What exactly are you trying to do?"
"Our elven race has been silent for too long—so long we've forgotten the glory of the past. I refuse to remain trapped in this tiny forest forever. I want to conquer the continent, conquer the oceans, conquer the entire world—just as our ancestors did—and restore the glory of the elven race!" Lansiel's normally composed face took on a hint of madness. "And all of it requires a powerhouse at the god-like level as its foundation! I now have the chance to advance in that direction, and I must seize it. Felagond—I will remember the 'contribution' you made for the elven race!"
Felagond glared at Lansiel with hatred: "You!"
It was too shameless—too despicable!
Lansiel glanced at the sun outside and laughed heartily: "Felagond, don't be angry. Do you know why I told you all of this?"