God's Tree

Chapter 24 A fight?

Argolaith's heart pounded as he watched the wyvern soaring above, its massive wings cutting through the air with effortless grace.

He could feel its predatory gaze on him, like the weight of a thousand eyes pressing down on his back.

Every instinct screamed at him to stop and prepare for battle, but his mind remained calm, calculating the best course of action.

He knew better than to engage a wyvern while it had the advantage—high above, with the entire sky as its domain.

No, this was not the time for a direct confrontation. He had to keep moving. The mountain was still several hundred miles away, but the wyvern's persistence meant that the journey might be far more complicated than he anticipated.

"Well, there's no point in waiting around," he muttered, tightening the grip on his sword.

"If I stay here, I'm just waiting for it to attack. It won't come down until I let my guard down for even a second, and I can't attack it from here while it's miles above me."

With that, Argolaith began to run, his legs moving in a steady rhythm, the sound of his boots hitting the ground almost drowned out by the rushing wind.

The wyvern, sensing its prey moving below, shifted its flight pattern to follow him. It stayed far above, but its attention was unwavering.

The beast's bloodlust was palpable, as if it could taste the impending hunt.

"Damn it, it's not going to give up, is it?" Argolaith grunted, picking up his pace.

He wasn't particularly bothered by the wyvern's pursuit, however. After all, this was good exercise.

"Well, it's starting to get dark again. Looks like it's time for some jaw training. Hahaha."

Argolaith allowed himself a small chuckle, the tension in the air not enough to break his focused determination.

He could feel the weight of the wyvern's presence above him, but he knew that as long as he kept moving, the creature wouldn't dare attack.

It was still cautious—though it was clearly sizing him up, trying to gauge when would be the best time to strike.

The way the wyvern flew in circles, as if it were playing with its prey, was a clear indication that it had not yet determined whether Argolaith was a threat worthy of direct confrontation.

Suddenly, an idea crossed his mind, and he reached into his storage ring. The magical items inside seemed endless—plants, herbs, and trinkets that had served him well on many occasions.

His fingers brushed against something familiar: a bundle of Luminara root, a rare herb known for its light-emitting properties and its ability to heighten a person's senses in the dark.

He could feel the pulse of magic radiating from the root, and a smile crept across his face.

"Perfect. This will work." He pulled out the root and examined it briefly.

"If there's one thing I've learned, it's that the right plant can make all the difference in this kind of situation. Luminara root will help me see in the dark and give me the boost I need to keep going."

Argolaith wasn't the kind of man who was ever put off by discomfort. He was used to pushing his body to its limits, and in this moment, he had no intention of stopping.

With a swift motion, he bit down into the root. The sensation was immediate. The sharp, biting crunch of the plant sounded like metal grinding against metal, a strange, almost painful sound as his teeth sank through the dense fibers.

"Good gods, this hurts," Argolaith muttered, the sour taste of the raw root lingering on his tongue.

He didn't hesitate—he knew the only way out was forward. Without looking back, he leaped off the edge, his body hurtling through the air toward the jagged rocks below.

As he fell, Argolaith unsheathed his sword and stabbed it into the side of the cliff with all his might.

The blade sank into the rock, and he braced himself, using the sword to slow his descent.

His muscles screamed in protest as he gripped the hilt tightly, but his agility and strength held true.

The wind whipped past him, and in a matter of seconds, he felt the ground beneath him again.

With a practiced roll, he hit the ground, absorbing the impact and immediately springing to his feet.

"Well, that worked out better than I expected," he muttered, wiping the sweat from his brow.

His heart was racing from the adrenaline, but he was alive—and that was what mattered most.

"Just glad I thought to use my sword to slow down. But it's not over yet. I've still got that wyvern to deal with."

And sure enough, the wyvern was already diving toward him, its massive wings beating furiously as it closed the gap.

The beast had not expected Argolaith to survive the fall, and now, it was more determined than ever to finish what it had started.

The wyvern was powerful, its speed unmatched in the air. But on the ground, it was a different story.

Argolaith had the advantage of maneuverability, the ability to think on his feet.

As the wyvern swooped down, he unsheathed his sword, his muscles coiled and ready. He waited for the perfect moment, knowing that he would only have one shot.

As the wyvern neared, its maw open wide to deliver the killing blow, Argolaith struck.

His sword flashed through the air like a bolt of lightning, and in one swift, decisive motion, he severed the creature's head from the rest of its body.

The wyvern's body jerked violently, and with a final screech, it crumpled to the ground, dead before it even hit the ground.

Argolaith stood over it, breathing heavily, his sword dripping with the creature's blood.

"Well then," he muttered, wiping his blade clean.

"That was easier than I expected. But I remember reading in the old tomes that wyverns are useful for many things. From elixirs to armor... But their meat leaves a lot to be desired."

The night sky above was full of stars, the two moons casting an ethereal glow over the battlefield.

As Argolaith went about the grim task of butchering the wyvern, he worked methodically, separating the creature's useful parts.

The scales would be valuable for crafting armor, the bones for making weapons, and the meat—while not the most flavorful—could still be put to use in a variety of ways.

As the sun began to rise the next morning, Argolaith finished his task. He packed the wyvern's remains into his storage ring, carefully preserving what he could.

There was no time to waste. The mountain still called to him, and the journey