Re: In My Bloody Hit Novel - Chapter 733

Capítulo 733: War On The World.

While the Regent saw Chiron as an eyesore, he had no idea what was coming.

Then again, even if he could, he would not. After all, he was about to have his hands full with a much bigger problem.

The celebration had reached its peak.

Voices rose like a tide beneath the Mother Tree—songs, cheers, laughter born from relief and renewed hope. Petals drifted through the air like falling stars, and for a brief moment, it felt as though the elven people had truly found peace again.

Then Silmarien stepped forward.

He raised a single hand.

The Mother Tree responded first.

Its hum deepened, a low resonant pulse that rolled across the plaza like a breath held by the world itself. One by one, the cheers died down. Conversations ceased. Even the children fell silent, wide-eyed.

This was the power of the crown on his head. The power to command the mother tree that gave life to the elven society.

Once everyone had become silent.

Thousands of gazes fixed on their new king.

Silmarien stood tall—no longer hunched, no longer shrinking into the edges of the world.

For what he needed to do next, he had to play the part well so that the impact hits the most.

He took a deep breath to talk. Really enjoying the crown of roots rested upon his head as if it had always belonged there.

“My people,” he began, his voice calm but carrying unnaturally far, “children of leaf and soil… heirs of the First Forest.”

Faces softened. Pride swelled. Some elders nodded slowly.

“For a thousand years,” Silmarien continued, “we have hidden.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

“For a thousand years, we have told ourselves that this—” he gestured to the towering trees, the glowing wards, the sealed skies of the Cardinal Forbidden Zone, “—was safety. That this was wisdom. That retreat was survival.”

His eyes hardened.

“But tell me,” he asked quietly, “how many of our kin died while we hid?”

Expressions shifted.

Smiles faded.

Hands clenched.

Some lowered their heads.

And he was right. When the Elves went into hiding, many were left behind.

And with the kind of reputation elves had in the outside world, they were killed fast.

The only reason half elves were spared was because of their human blood. And it was general knowledge that many humans served as slaves to elves… used as pets.

Silmarien continued his speech.

“How many elders were buried while the world beyond our roots moved on without us?” Silmarien pressed. “How many children were never born because fear strangled our future?”

The crowd stirred uneasily now.

“We lost our God-King in the last war,” he said, and the name alone felt like a wound reopening. “We lost him not because we were weak—but because we fought alone. Because the world beyond the forest had already decided that elves were relics. Obstacles. Resources.”

Anger sparked amongst the people.

Fists tightened, jaws set. And…

Eyes burned.

“They pushed us back,” Silmarien said, voice rising. “They forced us behind seals and called it peace. They watched as our numbers dwindled and whispered that elves were fading naturally.”

A low growl of outrage rolled through the assembly.

“But that,” Silmarien said sharply, “is not our fate.”

His voice struck like thunder.

“We are not a dying race. We are not caretakers of ruins. We are the children of the Mother Tree—born to walk the world beneath open skies!”

The crowd erupted—but Silmarien lifted his hand again, and silence returned, heavier than before.

“I have heard news from beyond the Veil,” he continued, his tone turning deliberate, calculated. “The surface world is tearing itself apart. The Zodiac families slaughter one another. Their alliances rot. Their greed has turned their trust to nothing but ash.”

Whispers spread like wildfire.

“And the Holy Church,” Silmarien said, his lips curling faintly, “has just butchered its own magician legions—the very force that once stood against us in the last war.”

Shock flashed across faces.

Disbelief.

Then realization.

“Their greatest weapon,” Silmarien said, “is gone.”

He stepped closer to the edge of the platform.

“The surface is weak,” he declared. “Fragmented. Bleeding.”

A pause.

“And we,” he said softly, “have never been stronger.”

Something snapped.

Cheers burst forth—raw, hungry, unrestrained.

Silmarien raised his voice above them.

“This is our moment. Not tomorrow. Not in another century. Now.” His gaze swept across the sea of elves. “We will no longer wait for the world to decide our worth.”

He drew a breath.

“We will go back.”

The words sent shivers through the crowd.

“We will reclaim the forests they burned. The cities they stole. The lands soaked with elven blood.” His voice trembled—not with fear, but with passion. “We will finish what our God-King began.”

The Mother Tree’s leaves shook violently.

Silmarien straightened, every trace of frailty gone.

“I, Silmarien,” he declared, “King of the Elves, declare war upon the surface world.”

The plaza exploded.

A roar unlike any before surged skyward—rage, joy, vengeance, unity all woven into a single deafening cry. Elves wept openly. Others laughed. Some raised weapons. Others knelt, trembling with belief.

It was not celebration anymore.

It was fervor.

At the edge of the platform, the Regent stood frozen.

Cold dread crawled up his spine.

This was madness.

This was too soon.

This was exactly how the last war had begun.

And he knew—deep in his bones—that stopping it now might already be impossible.

No, but he had to try. No one knew the elven race more than him.

A thousand years might have passed, but they were still far from recovered.

This was not even a third of what their strength and numbers used to be.

Just looking at the crowd and he coukd tell that these people were simply riding on the history long gone.

And Silmarien had just excited their hearts.

This was not good. He had to stop this. He had to do something.

Or the Elven race might actually end.

Silmarien on the other hand looked at his people, and in his eyes, all he saw was their corpses…