Chapter 585 - Omniscient First-Person’s Viewpoint

Few are aware, but the world of plants is far fiercer, more desperate, and more brutal than the realm of animals. In some groves, trees compete with one another, growing frantically taller to catch even a sliver more sunlight, only to meet their demise. Desperate trees like these are soon overtaken and suffocated by vines crawling up like serpents, claiming them. Some trees poison their surroundings, while certain grasses defy the poison, enduring, and seize the empty territory. Although they may seem still and serene, even plants are locked in relentless combat at every moment to capture a bit more sunlight. This battle unfolds even within a single tree. Branches growing lower down, overshadowed by the abundant leaves above, ultimately fail to sprout new buds. Deprived of sunlight, they wither away, only leaving behind slender twigs then vanish. Below is culled, above flourishes. And so trees grow into the shapes we recognize. Even the World Tree, being a tree, should follow this principle. But the Tree of Origin is a deity before it is a tree, transcending the convention of ordinary trees. Countless branches stretch out like a web. Absent are leaves, as there’s no need for them without sunlight. In their place, there are fields. Seedbeds dangle from the ends of branches, bearing crops of some kind. People carrying baskets tread carefully over those branches for the ripe harvest. The fields on branches of varying heights resembled terraced farms. Gaps of several meters between these terraces posed an issue, but still, a crowd that could rightfully be called a "village" was visible. The four wings I bore proved worthwhile. Even while clutching the Regressor, I managed to reduce my speed enough to glide onto the ground. As quickly as they had served their purpose, the wings withered and fell away. “…You’re late.” The Archwitch, who was waiting below with a sullen expression, greeted us. Carefully setting the Regressor down, I responded. “For a first attempt, this was pretty quick, don’t you think? Besides, I didn’t come alone.” “…Regardless, you’re late.” “This wasn’t for anyone’s timing.” I almost let it slide, until I noticed a crowd inching toward our landing spot. The people on the branches scrambled up ladders and ropes, swarming toward us like a colony of ants. I suppose it was intriguing to see someone fly down with wings. However, their reception was unexpectedly enthusiastic. “It’s the Witch!” “The Witch!” The immediate crowd erupted in cheers. Keeping some decorum, they refrained from stepping onto our branch, yet their intense focus and shouting made it feel like a performance. Such a warm welcome from strangers was oddly refreshing. I waved back at them. “Hello! Thank you for such a warm welcome!” “Who’s that? Get lost!” “You’re not the witch!” Harsh. Should I embrace my inner King of Sins? ‘Ugh, there are too many people. I forgot to change my appearance with Agartha’s mask in the hurry to land.... I needed to suppress my presence.’ The one being hailed as ‘The Witch’ was visibly pale, overwhelmed by extreme social anxiety. The Archwitch fiddled with her face in a tense effort of composure, eventually succumbing to retching and retreating behind me. Meeting a crowd intensifies her anxiety. Indeed, facing one person is easier than dozens. Perhaps this is my chance to get closer…. “You handle … this.” The Archwitch nudged me forward, shielding herself behind the Regressor. Meanwhile, the crowd steadily advanced. “You must be the witch from the Leafy Clouds?” “Ah, yes. That’s correct.” “But we directed our question to the witch?” “She entrusted me with this question. As her representative, my response is this: shove off, you scoundrel.” Did I appear too easygoing? The villager, emboldened by my words, charged at me. “You’re not even a real witch!” “You’re the same, aren’t you?” With a deft twist of my head, I dodged his attack, seized his entire face, and slammed him into the ground. He landed with a thud, unable to utter a word, trembling against the wood. He isn’t the Archwitch or Nevida, just an everyday citizen daring to challenge me. Do they think I prostrate myself to everyone? YW9peUx5cktZYXhyU2hzY1VsMkQ0WFY2TS9md1VwTG5aUjJDYjNOWXlwZnFyaGVNcHNDVkZkdTlSUmNuVjVHOA The most intuitive body language is violence. As the crowd mildly calmed, whispering ensued among them. I turned to the person I had knocked over. “By the way, why do you seek the Archwitch?” “To request a task from the witch….” “A task? What kind?” “A potion to regrow hair….” “Wow. Does she make concoctions like that? Witches are more impressive than I thought.” Once one spoke up, others soon followed, clamoring to be heard. “Our village was raided by panthers! We need a deadly poison to kill them!” “We’ve come for the mining dandelion supply. When can the witches come?” “My father is dying from mushrooms growing on him! We need medicine!” “Crops on the branches aren’t growing well recently. Do you have any kind of fertilizer?” People waved metal items or alchemy coins in their hands. Not immediately grasping the situation, I glanced toward the Archwitch. “…Many materials grow on the Tree of Origin, but minerals and metals are scarce…. So, we accept those in exchange for making remedies….” “Ah, bartering? I suppose mining would be tough for a witch.” They’re making trades, substituting witchery for minerals. It seems like there’s been quite an accumulation here, a bit too much for me to handle. But if I refuse outright, who knows how this crowd might react. Desperate folks tend to act excessively. “Now, shouting here won’t help me remember everything you need. Instead, please organize your requests. I’ll convey them up the tree.” “Convey? To which witch?” "The witch will decide that. Each witch has her own specialization. Wouldn't it be more convenient to gather everything together and present them all at once rather than comparing separately?" Whether the witch agrees to all these requests is uncertain, and frankly, I'm not particularly interested. Yet, these folks will likely be content just knowing their requests have been noted for delivery. "Wait a moment. Please don't try to write it on me. Isn't there a village chief or a tribe leader here? Someone or a group representative of you all." "Village...chief?" "This isn't a single tribe, so we have nothing like that." "As for a representative, there is one…." The people's gazes converged on one spot: a tree branch among those emanating from the Tree of Origin, quite marked by human hands. It bore golden grains instead of leaves. "The Paddy Branch." The residents under the World Tree live on its branches. No matter how expansive the World Tree’s branches are, allowing for life above, branches are still branches. Angling slightly upwards, they have no flat places. Stairs made from planks offer the only semblance of a level surface. "A village full of stairs. The quality of life must be terrible." As I grumbled, climbing the steps, the Regressor seemed to have a sudden recollection. "At times like these, you show a keen interest in how people live." "What?" "It seems like wherever you go, you observe the people living there. Is it because of that? Being the King of Humans?" "It's not something I consciously think about." I'm not particularly interested in human observation. It just catches my eye as I pass-by. "Really?" The Regressor shrugged it off, looking around. "By the way, where did that witch go? She disappeared all of a sudden." "Wasn't she next to Shei?" "I don't know. She hid behind me and vanished at some point." ‘Usually, I'd notice such a thing. Am I dulling because of my injuries?’ No, I haven't missed it. She's right behind me. Following along while concealing her presence with Agartha’s mask. Hidden in the crowd, no one paid her any attention. Without her witch's hat, moving quietly, people neither noticed nor cared about her presence. ‘…No one's recognizing me. This is more comfortable. Agartha’s mask…surely is convenient.’ Agartha's mask has three aspects: Truth, Goodness, and Beauty. Truth alters perception. Normally, when people look at a face, they estimate gender and age. Agartha’s mask decides "what I am seen as." Even someone with a face like the Regressor could be perceived as a man with this mask. Goodness determines impression. Few people feel threatened by a smiling dog, no matter its size. Conversely, they fear similar-sized leopards or wolves. Agartha’s second mask affects the wariness people feel upon seeing one's face. Beauty reveals allure. Charm, presence, charisma that catches the eye, and an allure that tempts the mind. It can both highlight and obscure one’s presence, making them akin to a beacon emanating from the face. Currently, the Archwitch is wearing all three masks simultaneously to avoid attention, minimizing her presence and attracting no gaze. Disguised as just another girl, she blended in seamlessly with the populace. ‘This is the mask of the ancestor… or, in essence, Agartha's very face. A power that even affects beasts, not just humans.’ Identifying faces isn’t solely a human trait, though its effects would be weaker. Although the Archwitch uses it so trivially, Agartha had been one of the Five Sovereigns, unifying the jungle with this power. Subduing primitive tribes under her order with beauty, awe, and civilization's might, she even tamed the most dangerous beasts. It's hard not to see this power as superior to the Grandiomor Royal Family's, which merely tempered human sociality. Ironically, the lesser power of the Grandiomor lineage has survived longer. 'After centuries of searching through this jungle, it came to me willingly. Who would have thought it hid in an elephant graveyard?... You die if you go there. Did the Saint see through the elephant graveyard, too?' Deepening into the Regressor's words, the Archwitch lost herself in thought. 'Wait…if she got the mask from the elephant graveyard, how did she even get there?’ "We've arrived! This is the Paddy Branch. Just head over there…huh? But where did the witch go?" The people started glancing around, realizing only then that the Archwitch had vanished. Though she stood in their midst, they were oblivious to her presence. "Ah, thank goodness for the mask…." Passing her unnoticed, the crowd spotted the Regressor. Before, when the Regressor was masked she appeared as a genteel man, but now, without it and slightly grown-out hair, she didn’t seem masculine at all. The crowd pointed at her, whispering. "This person seems like a witch too, doesn't she?" "Don’t be stupid. She’s not wearing a witch hat." "But her outfit’s so unusual! Both arms bound. How strong must she be to need to seal her own hands? She must be an extraordinary witch!" Bothered by the chatter around, the Regressor looked at me with a weary expression. "Explain this." "You both are such a hassle. Why is it so hard for you to talk to people?" Something’s wrong with this world. Both the Regressor and the Archwitch have abilities that far outstrip their social skills. They need to tone it down. "Don't worry. The witch is observing you with her magic right now." "Really? She hasn’t run off, right?" "What’s there for a witch to fear? She could turn you all into frogs at will." "But still…." "This is getting annoying. Witch! Please, turn one into a frog as an example!" "No, no, really! I apologize!" They are quite comfortable around the witch. Though in a jungle teeming with mysticism, witches aren’t exactly unusual. ‘Frog fodder? Hmm... if all humans were turned into frogs, it might not be so bad...’ "We apologize! Please forgive them!" ‘Tsk…’ I almost ended up doing it for real. You have to be careful joking around with someone who could actually turn jokes into reality. The crowd appeared a bit skeptical of my assurance but had no choice but to relent. The people surrounding us began moving toward a pavilion-like structure built amid the center of the Paddy Branch. With no stable ground on the branches, planks were affixed atop pillars for level footing, turning every building into a sort of elevated structure. Especially at junctions where branches diverged, large pavilions were erected. Among the expansive branches that seemed to stretch into infinity, adorned with draping vines and thick leaves, the pavilion looked like a scene straight out of a painting. Though, like with most art, experiencing the landscape firsthand was nearly exhausting. Everyone panted as they ascended the branch, pausing to catch their breath in front of the most significant pavilion. Silence fell over the group, no one stepping forward or even considering entering the pavilion. Then someone turned to me and started a conversation. "Excuse me, representative of the witch." "Yes?" "We're sorry, but could you possibly go in first?" "I’m new here and don’t know anyone inside..." "You came from above the Leafy Clouds, didn’t you? Those people are strong and fierce, but they treat those from the Leafy Clouds with great respect." Leafy Clouds? Looking up toward the top of the Tree of Origin, lush green leaves spread out like storm clouds above, obscuring the sky. The people below likely refer to that canopy as the Leafy Clouds. I suppose they refer to people emerging from the higher echelons as such. It's understandable; individuals like Nevida and the Archwitch would indeed seem extraordinary to them. "And... we’re kind of scared of people from beyond the plains—like those who come from the same place as Muhu." Even the people in this pavilion were likely ‘special’ to the former inhabitants of All Nations. Something must have clicked; I seized the opportunity to ask. "What? Are the ones here from beyond the plains?" As if on cue, everyone chimed in one after another, eager to unload their qualms. "Yes, the pavilion in Paddy Village has outsiders." "They may be small, but they're frighteningly strong." "They act like they're the village chief! Without even being from the Leafy Clouds!" Seems like they've all been holding back grievances. They were too scared to confront them, yet desperately want something done about it. If they’re hesitant, I guess I'll have to handle it myself. Opening doors is hardly beyond my capabilities. Let's see here... "They’re always bragging about being the lords of creation." ...Hmm? Pausing before the pavilion, familiar words caught my attention. ‘Lords of creation’—a statement that struck a chord. The feeling of incongruity lingered as I opened the door, and inside, “Woof—. Sorry, but the boss is out right now—.” A voice that felt like a creature in a playful posture echoed. Seated atop a desk, a beastman dressed in a pitch-black suit greeted me.