Mythical Creatures Strategy Guide

Chapter 65 The Little Greys, Doing Big Things

Grandma, carrying a kitchen knife, walked to the suspension bridge and shouted at the top of her lungs towards the outermost treehouses: "Everyone! Don't just stand there! Pick up your names! Dig up some damp moss and hold it carefully!"

Silver Leaf took two steps forward while holding Estella's name in her arms. Suddenly remembering something, she darted back to the treehouse with her short legs and pulled out the hand drum from her bag.

She borrowed the hand drum from her second uncle next door seventeen years ago, agreeing to return it the next day. However, the next day she said, "I have already formed a bond with it," and has been putting it off until now.

The second uncle next door just ran out, saw the hand drum in the distance, and opened his mouth.

Yinye stood at the highest point of the suspension bridge and raised his hand drum.

In the Gray Zone, the rule is that three drumbeats signify a gathering, and seven signify a fire. This time, she beat the drum nine times.

She didn't know what the number nine represented; she just wanted more people to hear it.

One by one, the doors of the treehouse opened. The old people came out, trembling, wearing their coats; the women filled baskets with food and covered them with cloths; the children were divided into several groups by the adults to go to the stream to collect wet moss, which they had to clean thoroughly to make sure there were no insects inside.

"What's wrong with the bug?" one child complained. "The bug also wants to send its name home."

His mother slapped him on the back of the head: "Your name needs to sleep, and you're stuffing bugs into its bed?"

The child thought about it and agreed that it made sense, so he obediently picked out the small beetles from the moss.

One name after another was brought out, carefully placed in the damp moss, and cradled in the hands of the gray elves.

Esta, Lytia, Malorne, Frey, Celine, Rosa...

A child, seeing the name in his basket growing dimmer, was on the verge of tears: "She's falling asleep!"

Grandmother went over and glanced at her: "Call her."

"what?"

"A name is something people call out to," Grandmother said. "She's not hearing well anymore, so everyone calls out to her together."

The old man next to him understood the ancient Ling language: "Lovia."

The child called out, "Lovia."

The people around them also whispered along, "Lovia."

The name that had gone dark flickered to life briefly amidst the calls of voices.

The child held the name out with both hands: "She heard me!"

So every time the grey elves unearthed a name, they would call out to her. If they couldn't recognize it, they would ask the old man to identify it, and then clumsily learn those few ancient elf syllables.

As dawn approached, Gray Domain finally settled the names of all the newly built sites.

They began to line up, and Yinye suddenly found herself standing at the very front, with everyone looking at her.

Yinye was also taken aback, unsure of what to say: "...Let's go."

The Gray Zone team set off. Many feet trod on the suspension bridge, the ropes creaking. The night wind blew, and the names in their palms glowed, like a slowly flowing golden river.

The children walked in the middle, carrying small moss lanterns in their hands.

"Is this name more appealing?"

"It's lit up; it called out just now."

"What's her name?"

"Frei".

"Frei, don't fall asleep."

The group traversed the vegetable fields of the Graylands, crossed the stream, and passed the Wind Chime Bridge. Further ahead lay the hunting trail leading to the Elven Royal Court.

Most of the Grey Elf people haven't been here for many years. The younger Grey Elves have only heard about the Royal Court from the elders.

The last time a large number of Gray People entered the Royal Court was many years ago during the Sacred Tree Festival when the Queen ascended the throne.

A young grey elf asked in a low voice, "Are we really going in?"

Audrey stood at the back of the line, silently watching the scene unfold. It took far more courage than others imagined for a group of people who had been turned away for so long to walk back in.

The treetops ahead grew taller and taller. At the end of the hunting trail lay the Elven Royal Court.

People in the gray area used to say that Wang Ting was tall. The trees were tall, the bridges were tall, the gates were tall, and the people were tall too.

But when they stepped onto the white stone steps outside the royal court that day, they suddenly discovered that everything had collapsed.

The ruins of the Elven Royal Court were silent.

"Is this the royal court?" a grey elf child asked in a low voice.

His mother was also a little nervous and pulled him closer with her arm, saying, "Don't talk nonsense."

"But... there's nobody here."

After a brief moment of confusion, the long queue in the gray area started moving again.

The road was wide, but the gray elves walked slowly. The elderly and children walked in the middle, while the adults stood guard on both sides. Whenever they encountered a broken section of the ground, the person in front would shout, and those behind would slow down.

They walked past fallen giant trees, through a courtyard covered in plaster, and past a high wall broken in two by vines. The flowers in the royal courtyard were still in bloom. Honey vines clung to the charred railings, their golden petals scattered on the ground.

When the procession passed through the central square of the Royal Court, everyone stopped.

The square is very large. It is paved with white stones in a circle, and in the center there used to stand a statue of a goddess. Now the upper body of the statue has been broken, leaving only a pair of outstretched stone hands, palms facing the sky.

"How could this happen..." Finally, an elderly person couldn't help but speak up, "This place used to be so beautiful."

Grandmother looked up at the highest point of the royal court, where there was an observatory.

The observatory is built on the thickest branch of an ancient tree, with half of the platform embedded in the trunk and the other half extending outwards, and there are no railings around it.

At this moment, two people are standing on the observatory.

One of them was Chu Sheng. He had a bandage wrapped around his shoulder that Amber had just tied for him, and he was standing rather awkwardly, leaning half his body out from the edge of the observatory and waving vigorously.

Another tall figure was Amber. She stood in the morning light, her platinum dress fluttering in the wind.

She looked down at the square, her eyes slowly widening.

Yinye followed her grandmother's gaze and soon saw the two of them as well.

"Chu Sheng!"

Silverleaf stood on tiptoe and waved frantically towards the observatory. With that wave, the name Estella in her arms almost slipped out of her grasp, startling Arthur, who grabbed her arm.

"Take it easy!"

Yinye quickly held up Estella's name and looked up, calling out, "Your Majesty!"

Her voice carried far through the empty royal court: "We've brought the name back!"

She smiled broadly, like a child running into the house with a basket full of berries, eager to tell her grandmother the good news: "Let's take them home together!"

Amber stood on the observatory, her lips trembling, but no sound came out.

She saw Estella. To be precise, it was Estella's name.

The line of golden ancient words lay in the palm of the silver leaf, its light faint yet still stubbornly shimmering.

Amber's tears suddenly fell, starting from the corner of her eye, tracing down her perfect face, and finally disappearing in the wind.

Chu Sheng, standing to the side, was also somewhat shocked.

He guessed what had happened the moment he saw the Gray Domain team; he just hadn't expected the power of the Sacred Tree to be so immense.

The forbidden technique that had kept the royal elves completely unaware for centuries and left Ambermint helpless was so easily broken by the sacred tree.

It simply took a nap, and upon waking, it called out to its children, making all of the neem's centuries of planning and scheming seem like a futile effort.