Chapter 418: The Green-Eyed Horror of Treeroot Valley
The Green-Eyed Horror of Treeroot Valley
"Step back." King Aurelian’s command cut across the valley, deep and biting, thrumming against stone and steel. Each syllable was heavy, command honed from decades of conflict and leadership.
The commanders stiffened, their eyes flashing sharp glances at one another. None of them disobeyed. The front lines of troops reluctantly gave way, moving aside. Hooves rang on the hard ground, metal armor creaked and squawked, and even the banners moved with uncertainty. The valley held its breath, poised.
For an instant, the march was near-serene. Then, at random, the silence broke.
A rage-filled, otherworldly scream tore through the valley like a bolt of lightning. Far above the heads of the soldiers, air itself quivered. Hooves came to a halt. Warriors stiffened, their grips on reins and hilts tightening. Aurelian’s blue eyes narrowed at once, attuned to the sense of threat, danger, and anomaly.
And then they saw it.
A beast enormous beyond comprehension. Its wings stretched more than a hundred meters wide, its scales flashing green and jade as they reflected the sun. Its powerful body rolled through the air with horrid beauty, every swoop of its wings sending gusts that fluttered the banners and lashed the soldiers’ mantles.
A green eagle. Not the type that made nests on high cliffs or swooped on small game. This was the monarch of the valley’s magical creatures, the type of predator whose name was only whispered. Its claws alone could snap a horse in two; its eyes—two shining orbs of living jade—glowed, wise and evil.
"Your Majesty," one of the commanders yelled, his voice shaking. "The... the green eagle! Treeroot Valley’s Fury!"
Aurelian’s lips set in a thin line, his tone laced with annoyance. "I know, you moron. I’ve been following it for years."
But the fear of the soldiers was not unfounded. These eagles were lone hunters, it was said, that only appeared when the earth itself chose. And this one was enormous, much larger than any that had been seen before. Its scales glowed like living green, and the soft aura of magic etched down its wings, a testament to power and age.
It likes tall cliffs," Aurelian added, his tone cold but even, "aloneness. But occasionally, it comes down. And never—never—does it come near others unless attacked or... threatened."
The king’s horse danced restlessly under him, muscles taut like springs.
Before them, the carts were strewn about, motionless and intentional, each carrying dry grass, watching silently as the drama unfolded. One cart in specific caught Aurelian’s eye—a big bundle, almost a perfect sphere in shape, faintly moving under the cover of grass.
"That..." Aurelian grumbled, furrowing his brow, "isn’t grass."
One of the commanders moved closer, squinting into the sunlight. "Your Majesty... what is that shape? It’s... moving?"
Aurelian breathed slowly, weighing things out, observing the shadows, the angles, the abnormally still carts. And then it flashed on him in a burst of realization—the disk-like shape under the grass was an egg. A green, shining, colossal egg. Belonging to the eagle.
The soldiers froze. An egg of this size, abandoned? Only a being of unimaginable territoriality could risk leaving it there. And the eagle overhead... it was hovering, staring, tail feathers spread in threat.
The air grew heavy. Tension crawled over the valley floor.
Proceed with care," Aurelian instructed, his tone now icy and calculated. "Do not hasten. Do not taunt. This is no common monster. One miscalculation." His words dissolved as the eagle emitted another bellow, a sound that rattled the valley and dispersed other birds into the air.
From afar, the soldiers could sense the heat of sorcery radiating from the enormous wings. Green fire sparks—like molten emerald—sketched in the air with every beat. Then, quite without warning, the eagle swooped down, directed the first assault.
Green fireballs burst from its maw, each one blistering the ground with detonating power. Troops ducked for shelter, horses shrieking and rearing in terror. The earth split where the fireballs landed, dry grass instantly burning into rolling sheets of flame.
Aurelian did not blink. He held his shield, old and magic-hewn, to catch the initial blast of green fire. The metal shrieked and twisted with the energy, but it did not buckle. The king’s gaze, frigid and analytical, cut across the valley. His frame tightened, wound, ready to spring.
"Commanders," he shouted, "deflect, do not fight. Observe its rhythm."
The eagle dived again, talons outstretched, its blades whistling through the air with deadly accuracy. Aurelian’s shield took the first blow, sparks spilling. He jumped from horseback in a single movement, going down with the agility of a hunter himself.
The panic among the soldiers spread, but Aurelian kept his cool. "Formation! Guard the rear! Don’t disperse!
Magic flowed from the king as he released his own retaliation. Bolts of focused energy shot from his palms, hitting the eagle in mid-air. One green fireball crashed against a projectile from Aurelian’s hand, disintegrating into a cascade of emerald sparks.
The monster let out a furious roar, banking in a dive towards the carts. Every beat of its wings whipped gusts that could knock men off their feet. And yet, the king moved quicker. Aurelian’s motion was smooth, lethal—an expression of years of war and tactics conditioned to perfection.
The attack of the eagle was ceaseless, but so was that of the king. He circulated around the carts, protecting his soldiers, commanding them with precision. Every fireball he parried brought them closer to triumph. Each jump, each blow of his shield, saved a life.
One of the commanders cried out, "Majesty, should we counterattack?"
Not yet," Aurelian answered, never taking his eyes from the bird. "We have to wait until it tires out. One hasty action, and it will cost many lives.
The green-eyed eagle screamed, flying higher, smoke streaming from the burned ground below. Its magic grew stronger, the air heavy with heat and an unnatural, pungent odor. Then, with frightening speed, it sent another burst of fireballs. Aurelian whirled, deflecting two, dodging the third. Sparks flashed on his armor, crackling with explosive power.
His soldiers stared in frozen fear and admiration.
Your Majesty!" cried one commander. "We cannot... it is too powerful!
Aurelian’s blue eyes flashed, cutting. "Don’t lose hope. This is my fight." He jumped again, landing on the next boulder, his form silhouetted by the sun as a living statue of war. His hands shone with magical light, fingers weaving sigils in the air. He channeled a focused blast—a shining green shield that burst outward in a sphere, enveloping the eagle in its shockwave.
The beast roared, battered by the power, but did not give way. It dived once more, talons outstretched, wings pointing for maximum velocity. Aurelian waited, waiting for the opportune moment.
And then—he attacked.
A well-timed blow of magic, infused with power and control, struck the eagle in mid-air. It bellowed in agony, its body whirling uncontrollably. Shafts of green energy deflected from the king’s shield, striking the beast, disrupting its rhythm.
The soldiers gawked as their king, with pinpoint moves of a god, drove the enormous eagle back toward the cliffs. Carefully, he walked the beast away from his men and exposed carts. The air rippled with power, warmth, and magic, every breath thick with tension.
Lastly, with a single swift move, Aurelian pushed the monster over the edge of the cliff. It shrieked, talons grasping at nothing, before it plummeted into the depths below, wings folding against its body in a final spasm of life.
The valley was silent again. Smoke drifted lazily from burned earth, and the soldiers slowly ventured to breathe once more. The carts stood, untouched, except for small scorches—a testament to the king’s mastery and control.
Aurelian rode down, among the troops, his very presence soothing but exuding deadly power. "It is done," he stated bluntly, voice ringing off cliffs. "Search the perimeter. Make sure no other danger lingers. Go quietly—this valley is older and more wise than any of us. Handle it as such."
A single commander stepped forward, bowing. "Majesty... your plan... the precision... it is nothing we have ever seen before."
Aurelian’s mouth curled into a thin smile. "I am not immortal. I am prudent. Let this serve as an example to all of you: no power is unlimited. Patience and strategy conquer more than brute power.
From the distant rim of the valley, tiny fires continued to smolder where the eagle had fallen. Soldiers knelt, attending to horses, adjusting armor, muttering thanks to the king. And on a distant cliff, far away, a figure stood watching silently. The darkened figure was too distant to discern features, but its gaze, unwavering, rested upon the valley, upon the fallen eagle, and, finally, upon the king.
Somewhere on the planet, the game went on.
The Treeroot Valley had produced—for the moment. But Aurelian understood the masks of this world were limitless, each shadow poised to leap, each silence holding a promise of threat yet to unfold.
The blue eyes of the king rose to the sun, the valley dropping endlessly away. For now, he had succeeded. But he did not let his guard down. Success was fleeting. There was always another challenge, another darkness lurking.
And he would face it, as always, with steel, magic, and unyielding determination.