Swordsman's Regression: Reawakened as a Necromancer-Chapter 123: To the Neverglades

For Aethelstan and the rest of the Heroes’ Party, their responsibilities had begun fully. Like Omares had said, they had a mission. In a fine province in Eldermoor known as Neverglades.

The journey to the Elf Kingdom was less of a travel expedition and more of an opulent parade.

Unlike how they lived in the Tutorium, the Heroes were traveling in a convoy of three Maglev Carriages.

These were special lacquered vehicles suspended a foot off the ground by repulsion crystals, drawn by six-legged Moon Steeds that galloped with silver glistening on their hoofs. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢

Inside the lead carriage, the interior was upholstered in velvet so soft it felt like moss.

"This," Bromm Axebringer grunted, shifting his bulk and causing the magical suspension to whine in protest, "is ridiculous. A warrior should feel the road beneath his ass, not float on a cloud like a pampered concubine."

He bit into a turkey leg he had smuggled from the Tutorium kitchen, crumbs falling onto the pristine carpet.

Across from him, Liraeth wrinkled her nose, waving a hand to dispel the smell of roasted meat.

"It is dignified, you dumb dwarf," she corrected, smoothing her red robes. She glanced sideways at Aethelstan, who sat by the window, reading a tome on Advanced Team Tactics. "Prince Aethelstan deserves nothing less. The savior of the world cannot arrive looking like he was dragged through a hedge."

Aethelstan didn’t look up. "Comfort preserves stamina, Bromm. We need to be at 100% when we arrive. The Gate isn’t going to care how tough your ride was."

"Hah! My stamina is fine," Bromm retorted, tossing the bone out the window. "It’s my patience that’s draining."

Nessa sat in the corner, sharpening a dagger with a rhythmic shhhk-shhhk sound. She looked out the window as the scenery changed.

"Looks like we’re crossing the border," she noted quietly.

The rugged forests of human lands gave way to the ethereal landscape of Neverglades.

The trees here were as white as snow, their trunks as thick as towers and pale as bone. The air was extremely refreshing, shimmering with ambient mana that naturally overfilled the Elf Kingdom.

As they approached the capital city of Serol, the party fell silent.

Serol’s buildings were marvels. They formed from living marble-wood, shaped into spiraling towers and graceful arches that defied gravity. There were no sharp angles here, only fluid curves.

The streets were paved with polished quartz. The elves that walked on them wore high quality robes with only colors of white, platinum and silver.

There was elegance in the way they moved, bowing slightly to one another as if every interaction was a courtly ritual.

"It’s... so clean," Deron whispered, pressing his face to the glass.

"It is Eldermoor," Corvell said, a hint of wry amusement in his voice. "If you drop a speck of dirt here, three Cleaning Mages will appear to banish it to the void before it hits the ground."

"Cleaning Mages?" Strida grunted. "You lots have all kinds Mages here, don’t ya!"

The carriage glided to a halt before the Palace of the Silver Bough.

Standing on the steps, flanked by guards in armor that looked like glass, was Duke Aelasor.

Aelasor wore a robe that seemed to be woven from actual moonlight, and his hair was so long it trailed on the floor behind him, carried by two small attendants.

"Welcome! Welcome!" Duke Aelasor proclaimed, spreading his arms as the Awakeners stepped out.

His voice was musical, like a harp being plucked. "The Saviors of Evernia! The Chosen Twenty! My province is humbled by the weight of your destiny!"

He eyed Corisande. "Princess!" He bowed immediately. "It is an honor."

Corisande tightened her lips as everyone turned to her. "The honor is all mine, Lord Aelasor. I’m merely grateful for your hospitality, for welcoming us to your great province."

Aelasor blushed. "Oh you are too kind."

Aethelstan stepped forward, bowing perfectly. A Prince acknowledging a Duke. "Your Grace. Thank you for the invite."

Aelasor stared at the Prince of the Humans for a while, then broke a smile. "You look just like your father. Heh! Oh well!"

He glided down the steps, inspecting them with the excitement of a collector looking at rare insects. "I have nothing but joy to have you all here!"

"To think, the first B-Rank Gate cleared by the Heroes’ Party will be recorded in my history books! I have ensured the site remains pristine. No Guilds. No scavengers. It is a virgin challenge, waiting for your blade."

He clapped his hands.

"And when you return, victorious, I have prepared a banquet! We shall feast on Starlight Pheasant and drink wine aged since the First Age. It will be splendid! A meal to make the gods jealous!"

Omares, standing like a shadow beside them all, stepped forward. The air around the old scholar seemed to darken the bright elven atmosphere.

"The Gate, Lord Aelasor," Omares rasped.

Aelasor blinked, his smile faltering for a microsecond before returning. "Ah, yes. The Scholar Omares. Always straight to business. Very well. My guards will escort you. But do try not to damage the local flora on your way in? The trees are sensitive to aggressive mana."

The twenty Heroes bowed and left the castle, following four guards who took them to the Gate that awaited.

The trek to the Gate took them deeper into the Neverglades, away from the quartz streets and into the wilder, silent heart of the forest.

The twenty Awakeners began their rituals.

Bromm tightened the straps of his leather harness, grunting as he checked the edge of his axe. Deron muttered a prayer to Azrael, kissing the hilt of his sword. Liraeth was checking her reflection in a small hand-mirror, ensuring her combat makeup was flawless, while simultaneously testing her fire balls.

Corisande walked near the back of the group.

The nervousness was rising in her throat like bile.

She didn’t know when her hand drifted up to her collarbone, her fingers seeking the cool, familiar touch of her silver moonlight necklace.

Her fingers brushed against bare skin.

She froze for a step. The necklace was gone. She had left it on the scarred desk in the Tutorium.

"Right," she whispered to herself, dropping her hand. She adjusted the strap of her gauntlet instead, pulling it tight enough to pinch. "I am not a Princess today. I am a Healer."

She narrowed her eyes, focusing on the path ahead.

"We’re here," Nessa announced from the front.

The forest clearing was unnatural. The beautiful white leaves of the trees had turned a sickly, rusted grey. The grass was dead, crunched underfoot like ash.

In the center of the decay stood the Gate.