Chapter 93: The Speaker of the Woods
"From now on, the true Water of Brokilon is completely lost…"
After clearing his mind, Arthur sighed leisurely. Just as he was about to return to the tree house, a beam of moonlight fell before him.
It looks like this is the sole witness to the secret. Arthur raised the silver goblet, toasted the moon high in the air, and then downed the water in the cup.
The water inside the goblet was sweet and crisp. Arthur felt every cell in his body emit a comfortable sigh of relief.
[Incentive Event: The Nord's Way of Solving Puzzles]
[Compatibility increased to 40/100]
[New Racial Talent: Disease Resistance. Brokilon looks after its children, and you are no exception]
[Specialty Reinforced: Dungeon Explorer]
[Initial Effect: Your senses are enhanced in the dark]
[Reinforced Effect: You can now more easily detect hidden traps in the environment]
"Does this mean it thinks my way of dealing with problems is too crude?" Arthur gave a self-deprecating smile, looking at the script slowly dissipating in mid-air.
Having experienced it firsthand, he was no longer worried about Red-Kite's fate. The current Water of Brokilon still had the effect of curing diseases and enhancing archery talent, but it no longer possessed the power to erase memories and twist the mind.
"I have removed the shackles imposed on your souls by the Elves. The path you take next is up to yourselves."
Arthur placed the goblet engraved with the prophecy of destiny back in its original spot and turned to climb higher.
The Giant Oak beneath his feet pulsed faintly, like an old friend expressing gratitude to Arthur.
The dryads should be grateful. The Water of Brokilon losing its ability to erase memory and mind-control was a good thing for them: most of the members they accepted were abandoned humans anyway. Retaining their minds wouldn't affect their loyalty to Brokilon.
While they could no longer forcibly convert captured girls into dryads, the dryads were already a declining force. Giving up a method that only fueled hatred was probably for the best.
"Where did you go?" The moment he returned to the tree house, Kolgrim rushed over and asked quietly.
"I took a wrong turn and ended up in the sinkhole. What's wrong?" Arthur sensed Kolgrim's state was off. The old Witcher was usually calm, never even frowning when blades were held to his throat, but now his face was flushed, his speech rushed, looking utterly distressed.
"You… Sigh, never mind, let Dandelion tell you." Kolgrim raised his hand to point at Arthur but found his fingers trembling severely. He waved his hand instead, leaning against the wall and sitting down, looking exhausted.
"What exactly happened? Why are you all so stressed?" Seeing Kolgrim's demeanor, Arthur's heart instantly tightened—had something happened while he was gone?
Dandelion pointed to the Elf nearby and made a gesture of plugging his ears. Arthur was even more puzzled—since when was Dandelion so careful?
He snapped his fingers, covering the Elf with a soundproof barrier. Only then did the poet speak.
"When Kolgrim came back and found you had gone into the sinkhole, he tried to help, but the tree house shut down. The door, the windows, everything turned into solid wood panels, leaving only a few small holes for ventilation."
"They initially thought it was the Queen's doing, but people outside started shouting too. Kolgrim and Geralt said the dryads were trapped as well… The tree house only returned to normal one minute before you got back."
Unlike his nightly ballad performances, the poet's words lacked any flowery language. In just a few brief sentences, he made the entire situation perfectly clear.
Dandelion grabbed Arthur, his face pale: "What did you do down there? The dryads outside are completely in chaos now! Should we take advantage of the confusion and…"
"Don't worry." Arthur gently pressed the poet's shoulder, comforting him: "It's over now. But I can't explain it to you all yet."
"Why not?"
Dandelion pursued the question relentlessly, but Arthur's gaze bypassed him, turning toward the door behind.
There, a dryad with red and green hair was peering inside.
It was Faiv.
Geralt met her at the door at the right moment, drawing the dryad's attention. "Is something the matter?"
"Ah, no, nothing really! It's just too chaotic outside, and I suddenly felt very comfortable being here." Facing the handsome Witcher, Faiv gave a shy smile and timidly asked, "Is that alright?"
"Is that alright?" Geralt also turned to look inside, asking the question.
"Of course… Is it alright?" Seeing that it was Faiv, Dandelion's face broke into a wide smile. He was about to readily agree, but realized everyone was looking at Arthur.
"Of course it is." Arthur casually pointed toward the center of the room, and a small section of the floor immediately rose up, perfectly sized to serve as a stool.
"Thank you!" Faiv cheered, trotted in lightheartedly, and pulled Ciri down to sit. "Do you know how to play riddles?"
Ciri lifted her chin. "Riddles? I'm an expert at those!"
Seeing the dryad and Ciri enthusiastically playing, Kolgrim nudged Arthur's shoulder and quietly asked, "Don't tell me this is also from that book Triss gave you—that's a Druid's trick!"
Arthur winked at him. "If you put it that way, I suppose I'm half a dryad now."
After drinking the Water of Brokilon, he had a subtle feeling that the trees were capable of communication. He had only just now tried transmitting that request to the tree, and it had responded.
They had assumed Faiv's arrival was an anomaly, but it turned out to be just the beginning. Over the next fifteen minutes, dryads visited one after another. The room quickly became crowded, forcing everyone to sit upon a thick branch—Arthur and Dandelion were squeezed right in the middle.
"Running over here in the middle of the night—is there something you need?"
"Master Dan tells so many interesting stories! We came to hear his tales!" A small dryad clung to Arthur's arm, saying in a sweet, affected voice.
She smelled strongly of berries, which almost made Arthur laugh out loud.
This small dryad couldn't be more than fourteen or fifteen and certainly wasn't involved in the reproduction and growth of the tribe, yet she had already fought with other dryads over Dandelion. Now, she and the others were like a flock of children gathered around an old man, clamoring for a bedtime story.
"We came because we want to ask you something." A slightly older dryad turned her face. Seeing her curtain of black hair, Arthur recognized her as Selyse.
Selyse stared into Arthur's eyes, asking with some hesitation: "Are you… the newly born Speaker of the Woods?"
Speaker of the Woods... Arthur's heart stirred. He pressed her: "What is a Speaker of the Woods?"
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