CHAPTER 62: Rebirth Of The Grove
The dragon corpse no longer resembled the majestic terror it once was. Its massive form lay in ruined chunks across the scorched earth—scales torn open, bones shattered, flesh steaming as embers licked across what remained. Zodac stood among it all, exhausted but victorious, the last tongues of fire reflecting in his eyes. His breathing was steady now, though the battle still echoed in his bones like distant thunder.
Only the head remained untouched by flame—large, heavy, and grotesque. Its jaw hung wide open in a permanent silent roar, tongue lolling out as if in disbelief at its own end; lifeless eyes stared blankly at the heavens, as though still searching for escape or vengeance.
Zodac approached, steps slow, boots crunching over burnt bark and molten earth. A slight breeze rolled past, blowing away the last of the poisonous fog, revealing the clearing more and more with every passing second. He stopped before the severed head, staring into those dead draconic eyes, and a small chuckle escaped him.
"Now you look dead," he murmured.
He raised his hand toward it.
"Hectorgon."
A surge of mana rippled through the air, and a large six-sided shield of glowing emerald light appeared beneath the dragon head. It rose slowly, weightless as drifting wood, then compressed—shrinking, folding into itself until the colossal skull was reduced to nothingness.
It vanished.
A translucent panel flickered into existence before Zodac.
< New ASSET Created >
< **Grieve Bringer** >
Type: Poison-Type
Form: **Mask**
Zodac blinked. "A mask… That's new."
He rubbed the back of his neck, half intrigued, half unnerved. "Grieve Bringer… Sounds creepy. Guess I'll figure you out later."
He turned back to the remains of the dragon. Flames danced high, crackling as they devoured scales and flesh, turning what was once fear incarnate into drifting black ash.
But though the monster was gone, the devastation it brought lingered like a wound. The once-lush grove was dying—trees wilted to husks, earth cracked and blackened by venom, roots shriveled and lifeless. Even the wind felt empty, as if mourning.
He lowered his gaze to his hands—scarred, trembling from mana expenditure, stained by the fight. He remembered Jin , the Earth Elemental hero who created towering stone golems to protect a city.
If Jin could shape life out of earth but with grass…
"Why can't I?" Zodac whispered to himself.
He exhaled slowly, planting one knee to the ground. His gloved fingers pressed into the ashen soil, still warm beneath the surface. He closed his eyes—steadying breath, quieting mind—letting mana ripple through his veins like a river awakening.
Silence.
Wind brushed softly across him, cool and gentle, stirring strands of his hair and cloak. The world dimmed, as though holding its breath.
Then—the orb embedded in his left hand pulsed with green luminescence. A low vibration hummed through the ground, subtle but growing. Mana channels opened within him, raw energy rushing like storm tides.
The system flickered.
A faint smirk tugged at Zodac's lips. "That's it… Flow."
He touched the earth fully, palm flat.
"From seed to root, from root to life…" he whispered, voice calm and resonant, as glowing veins of emerald mana spread outward like lightning.
Light raced across the soil, forming intricate patterns—runic markings twisting like vines, weaving around him in a massive circle. The air thickened, rich with primal magic older than language.
Zodac's voice deepened, words rolling with authority.
> **"Hear me, Verdant Spirit.
> By breath of wind and ancient bark,
> by oath of leaf and blooming spark—
> awaken.
> Where venom burns, let life return.
> Where death has passed, let roots be born.
> I, Zodac—Wood's chosen—call thee forth.
> Rise and restore."**
Mana surged upward.
The rune-circle erupted into blinding green light—brilliant, pure, alive. Zodac's eyes snapped open, glowing crimson like embers beneath a forest night. His voice thundered one final command:
> **"Verdantia—Arboris Requiem!"**
The ground roared.
The light burst skyward in a radiant pillar, shaking leaves loose and ripping a gust of cool wind through the clearing. When it dimmed into drifting emerald particles, something new stood where ash once lay.
A colossal tree—towering, magnificent.
Its bark shimmered brown-gold like polished oak. Thick branches spread wide like embracing arms. Countless emerald leaves glowed faintly, and from them hung thousands of soft pink blossoms, swaying with the breeze. Their petals drifted like gentle rain, scattering beauty and life across the ruined land.
Air suddenly tasted fresh—alive. Birds sang somewhere distant, as though answering a forgotten call.
Zodac stared… breath caught in awe.
He approached slowly, almost reverently. The ground beneath his steps already softened with new grass sprouting like fresh hope. He laid a hand on the trunk—warm, pulsing softly like a heartbeat.
"I… I actually did it."
A gentle pulse of green light spread from his touch, traveling up the tree and then outward like rippling water. The elemental mark of Wood revealed itself on the bark, shining bright for a moment before settling like a brand of identity.
He glanced around. The dead trees remained brittle but stood waiting—like wounded soldiers hoping for salvation.
He spoke softly to the new titan of nature.
"Heal them."
As if understanding, the great tree released shimmering motes of energy—glowing emerald particles that drifted outward. They touched wilted trees, cracked soil, poisoned roots. Slowly, color returned. Bark darkened from grey to brown. Leaves regained green. Flowers sprouted where poison once choked life.
Zodac stepped back, watching as life spread like sunrise across a dying world.
A faint smile tugged his lips—tired, but relieved.
"It has begun."
He turned, walking away from the grove with slow steps. The wind carried petals around him like blessings. He paused once atop a small hill and looked back.
Zodac nodded, voice low but sincere.
"I'll see you again."
He continued forward, cloak flowing behind him, leaving life blooming where death once ruled.
And somewhere deep within—though he wouldn't admit it aloud—he felt proud.
For the first time in a long time… he had created, not destroyed.