Academic gathering with Lich colleagues

She squatted in the flower field, holding freshly picked daisies in her hands. The delicate white petals resembled her gauze dress. Her bright golden hair fell over her shoulders. The young girl looked down at the bouquet, her azure eyes completely lost in the bright yellow stamens.

Farja...

Farja...

The little girl was a little surprised, turned her ear to the side, and brought her head closer and closer to the flower.

"Faljia!" The girl looked up, and her mother appeared behind her, her long silk dress brushing against her face like a fragrant breeze.

The girl pouted, a glint of light flashing in her eyes, and held her mother's hand with a hint of grievance.

"Mom, they abandoned me."

The woman patted the girl's head reassuringly and led her away from the flower field. "They haven't broken their promise, child. The forest is telling us something is wrong. We should go home, and so should they."

As if remembering her original purpose, the woman's tone became heavier, her strength just enough to bend a tender branch.

“Really, Farja. I warned you not to wander around, it’s dangerous outside.”

Farja, holding the bouquet, slowed her pace somewhat defiantly, making it more difficult for her mother to lead her. Suddenly, she remembered something and held the bouquet in her left hand in front of her mother.

"Mommy, Mommy, I heard these little flowers calling me today, and I can still hear them now!"

Farja...

Farja...

The mother bent down close to the flower, and when she stood up again, confusion appeared on her face, which then turned into a worry that even a girl could understand. The little girl's figure was imprisoned in her dilated pupils, and the mother walked lightly like a gust of wind.

“Let’s go back and ask your dad; he’ll cure you.”

The mother and daughter walked through the woods and through a maze of banyan tree roots. The shadows of the long branches traversed Farga's face, separating the girl from the sunlight on the other side. They arrived home, a magnificent marble house, its stone steps kept spotless by servants who cleaned the moss daily.

Farja greeted the bowing figure, though the other did not respond.

Passing through the porch, Farja counted to the seventh marble column. Her father sat on a high chair, talking to some uncles. The arrival of the two women made her father react; he smiled at her mother, but his face turned cold when he looked at the girls.

Farja shrank back, hiding quietly behind her mother, clutching the hem of her skirt to cover her face as if she were wearing a veil.

"My friends, give me some private space." The guest laughed and graciously left the hall.

With only the three of them left in the large space, Faljia felt a little lonely, but now she was even more afraid of her father's cold expression.

The father noticed the flower in Farja's hand.

"They should bloom for their own beauty, not sway to your whims, Farja!"

The girl possessed her own stubbornness, relying on her gentle mother and defying her strict father. Holding a bouquet of flowers in both hands, lightly grasping the stems, the girl displayed the bright, blooming flowers to her father, as if all the beauty was the result of her careful arrangement.

"I will take good care of them! They will be exposed to wind and sun in the woods, but I will take better care of them than nature itself! These little flowers will become the most beautiful flowers in my hands!"

Disappointed by his daughter's unreasonable argument, the father suppressed his emotions and led Farga back to her room, carrying her most beautiful bouquet of flowers. His hand slid from her forehead to her chin, and looking at his wife who remained rooted to the spot, he smiled apologetically and helplessly. "I promise this is the last time."

The mother paid no attention to any of this. She gently tightened her grip on her skirt and turned to look in the direction her daughter had gone.

“Falga, she says she heard the sounds of plants again. This is a bit strange, and I’m worried about her.”

The woman's worry made her husband frown. He tapped his crown and reassured his wife in a gentle voice, "Perhaps it's a sign of danger. If you're afraid, we can keep her away from those plants, protect Farga, and house her in a home of marble and jewels."

“She loves plants, you know. My child is a little lonely being separated from the forest by an elf. She can’t lose any more.”

“Then go and be with her, fill the void in her heart with your love. And let the child soothe your panic too. Stability is the most important thing for us right now; don’t let fear consume you.” The father reminded the trembling woman. Perhaps it had little effect on comforting her, but at least he had assigned her a task.

The mother walked unsteadily across the porch toward Farja's room. She looked as if she had just recovered from a serious illness, her eyes fixed on the closed door in the distance, ignoring the bouquet of flowers that had been discarded around the corner.

The girl never touched plants again; she locked herself in her room, and only her mother could knock on her door.

Days passed, and Falka grew up in her mother's company, with conversations with gentle women becoming her only source of information. The crisis was over; the elves defeated the enemy. Her father received praise, and the family's reputation was enhanced. There were also some amusing incidents among the ladies, and a smile gradually appeared on Falka's face.

The once somewhat impetuous little girl has grown into a graceful young woman, and under her mother's influence, she possesses an air of dignified elegance. Farga has reached marriageable age, and her parents have prepared numerous banquets for her. Unfortunately, the young woman has lost the habit of joining in the festivities; she simply gazes through the noise at the misty fog above the forest.

Everything changed when she was 132 years old.

A small cycling group approached from the other side of the forest. Tall, black horses carried elegantly dressed gentlemen. Farga, sitting on the balcony, noticed the man in the center from a distance. He wore a long robe, his black sideburns framing a handsome face, his lips red and teeth white. He seemed to sense her gaze and raised his head. Their eyes met for a moment, then Farga clutched her chest and fled into the room. She didn't know what it felt like; the bewildered fledgling only understood that the two had formed a special connection.

The mother was very pleased with this. At the dinner party, Farja heard his mother singing boastfully, and the father couldn't help but hum a few lines as well.

Everything seemed to fall into place naturally. We met, got to know each other, became friends, and fell in love.

“Enkata Vidal, it is important for us to get along well with the Night Elves, but I would prefer that your choice be based on your own will.” The father rarely spoke, and as his daughter was about to leave the family, he seemed to want to salvage something. He amused Farga.

"Do you want me to change my mind?" She winked playfully, her hand unconsciously tightening around her father's arm.

"No, it's just a formality, so I can feel better when I miss you in the future." He personally picked the flowers he had cultivated and took them away. Falga looked at her fiancé, Mr. Enkata, who was wearing a white suit that she liked.

Listening to the elders' blessings, as elven couples making vows should, Enkata Vidal held up the Ring of Vows, a magical wreath woven from flowers and thorns. If Falga reached out, the thorns, representing future hardships, would connect her blood with her fiancé's. Blood mingled through the Ring of Vows, and husband and wife became each other's possession.

Despite having mentally rehearsed it countless times, Falga still felt tense at this moment. She patiently took a deep breath and extended her fingertips towards the plant ring.

Farja...

Farja...

It was that familiar call again, whispering from the ring of the important oath at this crucial moment.

The young woman fell silent, but her fiancé gently reminded her. This elegant gentleman maintained his proper manners and gave Farga ample patience.

"Enkata".

"Faljia".

Farga laughed, a truly ugly laugh that was both disgusting and forced to maintain a dignified smile.

"Why don't you kneel down..."

The night elf felt a little embarrassed by his fiancée's unusual behavior. He looked at the others, then at his fiancée, and whispered, "I don't think there's a custom of men kneeling, darling."

The call caused Falga to burst into laughter. She clutched her stomach, and all the guests noticed the unusual behavior of this most beautiful lady. A strange atmosphere enveloped the oath-taking ceremony, and Falga's father's face turned red.

The girl wiped away her tears, oblivious to everything around her.

“I still can’t forget your face, haha, my dear~ A marriage alliance with a night elf, that’s a story only a lame playwright who’s been drinking rotten ale and is vomiting and has diarrhea could come up with. Befriending night elves? Hmph, even talking to a human-skinned slave owner who loves swords makes me want to vomit…” Falgar looked around, his disdainful gaze sweeping across the crowd, his deep blue eyes simmering with anger and madness.

"They're all acquaintances..."

"My mother died in childbirth, my father died of madness, my enemies and traitors were executed, oh~ and my dear Enkata Vidal, do you know why I'm so impressed by you, why my heart races just looking at your face? Because your terrified face when you died, it's truly the best work, um, just like now..."

The ring of vows coiled around the night elf's neck like a venomous snake, thorns drawing blood. The fiancé, pale-faced, opened his mouth in vain, suffocating and collapsing, his pure white suit plunging into the earth. The land and plants, following the woman's will, bared their fangs; the wedding became a slaughterhouse. They screamed in vain, unable to escape their fate of being buried.

"Faljia!!!" Those were the parents, torn apart by thorns, half-buried in the earth, their ripped faces staring venomously at the only elegant lady.

She was completely unmoved by it.

"They call me the Shadow, they call me Nightmare, Moonlight, Heart of the Forest, Light of the Elves, Lady of Nature, and Her Majesty the Queen..."

“I have permitted many names, yet you insist on calling me by my name. Farja, a name I loathe yet cannot abandon.”

"My beautiful dream has come to an end."

"And your nightmare is about to begin, you bugs."

Chapter 810 Lady of Pleasure

Humming a little tune, she stepped onto the soft grass, her fingers tracing the rough bark of the trees, releasing the branches the instant they touched the golden hue. She wasn't moving in a straight line, but rather guided by the plants, circling the tree trunks again and again, as if on a picnic.

A fingertip brushed against the flower's stamen, and the flower bloomed—bloomed unreservedly and irrationally, eliciting a soft laugh from the woman, before closing back into a bud amidst that laughter. A thick fog drifted in, and the beautiful woman raised her head, her lovely eyes holding a depth far beyond her years.

Emerging from the thick fog, flying figures emerged. The Illusionists possessed wings larger than their torsos; they were adult-sized Lepidoptera insectoids. The mist enveloping the entire Dream Forest was a hallucinogenic powder scattered by their flapping wings. Their blue, butterfly-shaped wings were edged with downy hairs, and eye-like patterns flowed and shifted with each flap. They were beautiful in flight, resembling a constantly changing kaleidoscope from afar.

The Weavers appear to be some kind of friendly, intelligent creature, much like the elves in fairy tales. But that's just a disguise. Inhaling the scattered scales will cause their prey to sink into the dreams they weave. Once the prey is trapped in a nightmare and its soul dies in the dream, the Weavers will extend their feeding "straw" and suck the dead soul out of the dream.

The Illusionist's original plan was to create an illusion, drive a dense fog to engulf the entire Dream Forest, and let the enemy die in their dreams. But the intruders who emerged from the forest have already alerted the swarm of insects.

The queen's limbs were longer and thinner than those of her people, and her facial features occasionally displayed emotional expressions. Having undergone intellectual awakening, the spirituality she absorbed from the hunting elves had taught her many things, such as the art of conversation. Her halting Elvish speech resembled that of a child, and her composed demeanor reflected the confidence of the swarm.

"Your scent...you are their leader, their mistress..."

A fitting address brought a smile to the woman's face, the girlish innocence fading from her smile. The elegant mature woman tossed her blonde hair, her casually flaunted charm in the sunlight arousing a touch of female envy in the insect queen. Moving her long legs, the woman walked towards the swarm with unhurried steps.

"Once you're dealt with, this farce will be over, right?" Completely disregarding the Queen's guardians, the elven lady's eyes were fixed on the enraged Queen. Her arrogance was sharp as needles, and her disdainful gaze only fueled the swarm's fury. They awaited the Queen's command to tear their enemy to shreds.

"You may be powerful, elf, but no one can easily enter the hive and leave unscathed. You will pay the price for your arrogance." The queen shrieked, leading the swarm in a swooping attack, the serrated edges of her joints sharp enough to be deadly weapons.

Falgar raised an eyebrow, her triumphant smile making even the sunlight seem brighter. With a light step, vines sprouted from the soil, twisting and coiling towards the flying insects. This arrogant and provocative technique forced the Weaver to lower her altitude, which was exactly what Falgar wanted. She was a druid, the representative of the forest; there were no plants in the sky.

"Naive." The Insect Queen moved nimbly through the swaying vines. Despite her considerable size, not a single vine tripped her. Even when surrounded by an impenetrable net of plants, the Insect Queen could still slip through at incredible angles. The flying Illusionists were unaware of her. The delicate down on her wings sensed changes in airflow; the slightest pressure would cause the wind to carry the swarm away. The Insect Queen was the swarm's navigator; her superb flying skills allowed her to gracefully avoid storms.

The Illusionists had firmly believed this until their joints were completely bound by vines; they still couldn't accept what was happening. Following the wind, they plunged headlong into the woven net, like moths to a flame. Before they could even understand why, the scene before them left the Illusionists even more bewildered.

Their queen was kneeling beside the elven queen, gazing at the elf with a fanatical expression.

“I did it, mistress.” Like a dog waiting for a reward and praise, the Weaver’s insect mother nuzzled affectionately against Falga’s instep.

Farga pinched the insect queen's antennae, lifted her head, and, with a beaming smile, praised their insect queen under the Weaver's horrified gaze.

“You did well, little bug.” The brighter her smile, the greater the fear in the hearts of the illusionists. They couldn’t see the elf before them clearly; she seemed utterly harmless. Their joints were crushed and torn apart by the living plant, and sap splattered everywhere. The illusionists roared in despair at the terrible victor, whose beautiful face they now equated with a demon.

"What did you do to the Queen Insect... You tamed her?!"

Farja laughed, bent down, and reached out to hook the insect mother's chin, as if admiring a flower.

"She entered my dream, and thus became a part of me. This wasn't taming, it was merely control." Falga recalled the dream, remembering everything she experienced within it. The Insect Queen had penetrated her dream, attempting to control her, but had failed. In return, Falga controlled the Insect Queen and misled the Illusionist, leading to the demise of half her race. Meanwhile, other Insects were fighting on the front lines, directly confronting the Elven forces. To prevent further harm to her people and to end the war as quickly as possible, Falga chose a decapitation strike tactic.

“You are… Dreamwalker…” These were the last words the Weaver spoke before she was completely buried. Falga was very grateful for this. She held the Insect Queen’s face in her hands and murmured gently like a mother: “Little Insect, and the front-line troops, bring them back too. Find a reason, such as an attack on the Insect Nest. After it’s over, I will grant you a merciful death.”

"Yes, my mistress." The insect queen carried out her orders without question.

"That's wonderful, darling, you're the Queen Insect, how lucky you are."

A flicker of sentience seemed to emanate from the Queen's dazed state. She opened her mouth and answered honestly, "The Queen is not permanent. The swarm's consciousness chooses its own kind based on efficiency to become Queens. When a Queen dies, a new Queen is born from among the swarm. The swarm's consciousness has already sensed the severe losses caused by my erroneous orders. My identity has been stripped away, and a new Queen has been born from the remaining swarm. The return of the Chrysalis Warriors is the last order I can give."

“It’s alright, it’s alright, little bug, you’ve done enough.” Falga cradled the bug mother’s head, speaking with adoration, and hummed a lullaby again. The bug mother closed her eyes to the gentle melody, falling into eternal sleep as Falga hummed. New shoots broke through the shell and grew on the kneeling bug mother, covering her in green. Only Falga and the plants would remember what this potted plant originally looked like.

A cacophony of sounds surged from the forest. Farga straightened her back and smiled at the newly arrived swarm of insects. "I was just about to create a floral arrangement called 'Alien Queen,' and it seems another subject has arrived."

The pupal form of the Weaver resembles a long-legged crescent moon, its body a curved, dark brown pupa with three pairs of movable abdominal legs and two pairs of mutated hand blades. Hardened keratin provides both defense and aggression, and its fully sealed structure blocks most attacks, even mental shocks. Having abandoned its mouthparts and other feeding organs, the pupal warrior is more like a killing machine. As the main force arrives, the pungent smell of blood makes Falga's eyes grow even colder.

"Monster!" The raw fear allowed Falga to easily identify the newly crowned queen. The insulting title did not anger her, and the trembling body of the insect queen brought a sense of surprise to the elven queen.

"What a surprise, you actually inherited the memories of the previous Insect Queen..." With just a glance, the Insect Queen went into attack stance, and Falga laughed.

The potted plant has become two.

"Twin Queens".