Honkai Star Rail: I Became the World Tree — Chapter 43

Chapter 43: The Restless Wanderers

Venti hummed a light tune, deciding not to press the issue any further. He turned his attention to more pressing matters, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Old man, just arrange things however you see fit,” Venti said, waving a hand dismissively before leaning in close. “Oh, right. I seem to recall you burying a rather special batch of wine around here a long time ago, didn’t you?”

Zhongli offered a slow, measured glance at the bard. He raised a hand and pointed toward the base of a massive, ancient tree nearby.

“Over there. Dig it up yourself.”

Venti rubbed his hands together with the eager energy of a starving man at a banquet, a playful grin stretching across his face.

“Hehe. Then I certainly won’t be polite about it.”

Zhongli gave a slight nod. The wine resting beneath the soil had been prepared specifically for Venti. Ever since the Anemo Archon’s very first visit to Liyue, Zhongli had been well aware of his friend’s insatiable love for a good drink. Because of this, the former Geo Archon would occasionally set aside fine vintages to entertain his old companion. The particular batch resting under the tree had been buried exactly five hundred years ago. Today, it would finally serve its purpose.

Under Zhongli’s quiet gaze, Venti produced a shovel from thin air and began digging into the earth with enthusiastic, rhythmic grunts of effort.

Meanwhile, far away in the Underworld of Belobog.

Svarog, Natasha, and Bronya stood in a cleared square, overseeing the distribution of supplies to the local residents who had completed their daily labor. Handing out resources for free was out of the question; such a method would only breed resentment and encourage freeloaders. To prevent this, Bronya had applied a strict work-for-relief program, ensuring that those who contributed to the community were the ones who received aid.

However, human nature dictated that there would always be those looking for an easy handout.

“I break my back working all day just for this pathetic scrap of food? Do you take me for an absolute idiot? Hand over the rest! Or else I’m going to make things very ugly for you!”

A Vagrant screamed at a Wildfire volunteer who was managing the supply crates. Beside the angry man, several of his accomplices stepped forward, puffing out their chests and joining the commotion.

“Yeah, he’s right! You Wildfire types clearly have stockpiles of this stuff. Why aren’t you handing it out to everyone? Instead, you treat us like pack mules!”

“You’re always preaching about how you protect us. Is this your idea of protection? This isn’t keeping us safe, this is exploiting us for cheap labor!”

Hearing the escalating shouts, Bronya stepped forward, her posture rigid and formal as she attempted to de-escalate the situation through reason.

“Citizens, please listen to me.”

“Wildfire’s supplies are strictly limited, and the infrastructure projects we are asking everyone to assist with are for the long-term benefit of the entire Underworld.”

“Once these projects are complete, every single one of you will enjoy the improved living conditions they bring.”

The Vagrant leading the mob let out a harsh, mocking snort.

“Benefit? The only benefit we care about is the food in those crates! We want enough supplies to fill our stomachs today, not some empty promise about tomorrow!”

“If you high-and-mighty leaders actually cared about us, you would deliver these crates directly to our doors.”

Bronya frowned deeply, her diplomatic patience wearing thin. These men were being entirely unreasonable, blinding themselves to the reality of their situation.

Just as she opened her mouth to try another angle of persuasion, a dark blur whipped past her shoulder.

Seele materialized directly in front of the screaming Vagrant. Without a single word of warning, she delivered a brutal, sweeping kick to the side of his head. The man’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed into the dirt, completely unconscious.

A split second later, a massive shadow blotted out the artificial lights above. Svarog descended from the upper scaffolding, landing with an earth-shaking thud. The towering mechanical guardian reached out with one massive hydraulic hand, grabbing another screaming Vagrant by the collar and slamming him face-first into the ground, pinning him there effortlessly.

Behind Svarog, the heavy, metallic footsteps of dozens of Automaton Direwolves echoed through the square as they marched into position to enforce order.

Svarog’s electronic voice boomed across the silent crowd.

“Targeting hostile elements. Suppress all individuals creating a disturbance.”

Seele dusted off her hands and walked back to Bronya’s side, her expression unbothered.

“Bronya, trying to talk sense into these Vagrants is a waste of breath.”

“They are nothing but street thugs looking for an excuse to riot. Down here, you have to use your fists to do the talking.”

“They only start listening to the rules after you beat the fear of the consequences into them.”

Bronya stared at the unconscious men being dragged away by the automatons. She remained silent for a long moment before finally giving a slow, reluctant nod.

“Yes. I understand now.”

The attempted riot was crushed as quickly as it had begun. Wildfire and the Robot Settlement had officially united their forces, and their combined authority over the Underworld was absolute. At the slightest hint of rebellion, Svarog’s network or Wildfire’s scouts would immediately report the disturbance.

The mechanical units under Svarog’s command rounded up the remaining troublemakers and hauled them off to temporary holding cells within the Robot Settlement. Once the monsters were fully cleared out of Rivet Town, these men would be sent to the front lines of the reclamation effort to perform heavy manual labor.

High above the subterranean chaos, in the Overworld.

Inside the Supreme Guardian’s office at Qlipoth Fort, Cocolia stood perfectly still. Her cold eyes stared through the frosted glass of her window, locked onto the massive, alien Starship suspended in the sky above the frozen plains.

Her voice was barely a whisper as she questioned the entity resting within her city.

“Are you absolutely certain their presence will not interfere with the arrival of the New World?”

The voice of the Stellaron slithered into her mind, echoing with a chilling, distorted resonance.

‘No. The advent of the New World is an absolute inevitability. Only the New World can provide the future Belobog deserves.”Cocolia, discard these pathetic, lingering doubts. These visitors from beyond the sky are not the saviors of your people. They possess no power to grant Belobog salvation.”Only… the Stellaron.’

Hearing the entity’s absolute certainty, the tiny, fragile spark of hope that had briefly ignited in Cocolia’s chest was snuffed out, leaving nothing but cold ash behind.

She kept her eyes fixed on the distant Starship, her expression hardening into a mask of pure ice as she muttered to herself.

“Only… the Stellaron is the future.”

Time flowed onward without pause.

In what felt like the blink of an eye, three days passed.

Morning sunlight filtered through the massive canopy of the World Tree. Down on Trunk Avenue, Stelle, March 7th, Furina, and Seele were tearing down the wide, wooden pathway, each of them riding a sleek, anti-gravity hoverboard.

“Wahoo!”

“Yahoo!”

“Look at me fly!”

With a deafening crash, Stelle attempted to execute a highly complex mid-air spin. She miscalculated her trajectory entirely, launching herself off the board and flying headfirst into the side of a nearby treehouse. She hit the wooden wall with such force that she became wedged into the timber.

Groaning, Stelle braced her boots against the wall and yanked herself backward, popping out of the splintered wood and dropping onto the avenue below.

She rubbed her bruised cheek, wincing.

“Ouch. Okay, that actually hurt a lot.”

March 7th drifted to a halt right in front of Stelle, executing a perfect, stylish tail flick with her board.

“Humph! That is exactly what you get for trying to show off!”

Furina and Seele glided over, coming to a smooth stop beside the chaotic trailblazer.

Furina patted her board, her eyes shining with genuine excitement.

“These flying skateboards are an absolute delight. March, I must thank you for purchasing one for me.”

March 7th waved her hand dismissively, a proud smirk on her face.

“Oh, you don’t need to thank me at all. I didn’t buy them. I just grabbed them out of Herta’s storage room while she was distracted. They were just sitting on the Starship she flew in on.”

While the girls chatted, Seele’s ears twitched. She turned her head toward the dense foliage bordering the avenue.

“Stelle, March, Furina. Did you guys hear that?”

Stelle paused her cheek-rubbing and scanned the surrounding branches.

“Hear what? I don’t hear anything.”

March 7th leaned forward, straining her ears against the rushing wind of the high altitude.

“Wait. There really is a sound. It sounds like… someone screaming for help.”

The faint, desperate cries began to grow louder, echoing through the massive leaves.

Stelle’s eyes widened as she finally caught the sound.

“I hear it too! Someone is actually in trouble! Come on, let’s go see what’s happening!”

Stelle kicked her hoverboard upright, leaped onto the deck, and shot forward like a bullet toward the source of the screaming.

A short distance away from the girls’ racing path, a white-haired elf was sprinting for his life, desperately trying to outrun a vicious pack of Goblins.

The elf’s name was Bradley. He was currently over nine hundred and eighty years old. For an ordinary elf of his lineage, the absolute maximum lifespan was one thousand years. A few days prior, a deep, instinctual ache in his bones had warned him that his time in the mortal realm was rapidly drawing to a close.

Rather than wither away in his bed, he had chosen to spend his final days leaving the hidden sanctuary of his tribe to make a holy pilgrimage. He wanted to look upon the Lord Sacred Tree with his own eyes before he died.

Bradley cast a terrified glance over his shoulder at the snarling Goblins snapping at his heels. His ancient eyes held a mixture of deep despair and bitter regret.

His legs felt like lead. The strength he had relied on for nearly a millennium was finally failing him.

Stumbling, Bradley looked up at the colossal, sun-blocking canopy of Irminsul above him.

“Lord Sacred Tree! Even in the next life, I, Bradley, will remain your most devoted believer!”

Knowing he could run no further, the old elf spun around, raising his hands to cast a defensive spell.

Nothing happened. His mana reserves had been completely drained during the exhausting chase.

Breathing heavily, Bradley gripped his wooden magic staff with both hands like a crude club, planting his feet and preparing to fight the charging monsters in brutal close-quarters combat.

Just as the lead Goblin lunged for his throat, the high-pitched whine of jet engines ripped through the forest canopy. Four figures riding strange, floating contraptions burst out from the tree line directly behind him.