The Devil's Cursed Witch

Chapter 398 Trouble By Humans

Draven and Erlos arrived at the enormous graveyard where thousands upon thousands of supernatural beings could be seen standing under the bright morning sun.

'This is what Lvenor had been reduced to.'

Before this vast wasteland earned the name Netherfields, this place used to be the main city of the High Elves, Lvenor.

Amongst the proud elves, the High Elves were excessive lovers of art, always demanding stone masons for the most luxurious materials and artisans for creations nothing short of the best, that was why numerous beautiful houses and creative architectures were built in their city.

Lvenor was once the most magnificent city of Agartha, even rivaling that of human empires of the past.

However, at this moment, not even the ruins of their fallen city had remained. The once blood-soaked soil became covered with grass, and now, there was nothing but vast green fields covered with the gravemarkers and tombstones of everyone who died.

It became known as the Netherfields, and in place of houses were rows of graves, extending so far that gravestones could be seen for as long as one's gaze could reach. Unending rows of graves marked with white tombstones—each of them a family member, a friend, a lover, of those who had come to mourn.

'A hundred and one years had passed since that massacre,' Draven thought as he solemnly walked from the outskirts towards the graveyard.

Many of the elders and high-ranking officials of each race could have arrived at their destination through their powers and bloodline abilities, but like Draven, they chose to slowly walk step by step towards the graves they were visiting. It was a sign of respect for the dead.

The Netherfields had no clear demarcation among the graves, as the warriors and those whose lives were sacrificed need not be divided, but in general, the graves of those belonging to the same clan or family members were kept side by side. As such, one could see those of the same clan or race mourning together.

As Draven and Erlos walked, they saw familiar faces.

Cornelia Grimm and her coven members were standing in front of the graves where the witch race were buried. Beside them, there was a small number of witches not wearing white—they were the villagers from the Millow Circle. After all, regardless of their attribute, both the White and Black Witches belong to the same race.

The stooping old witch, Zelda, was in the lead, and though the Black Witches had a small number of mourners, the number of graves under them were one of the largest, second only to the High Elves. Other than the High Elves, the Black Witches were the ones that were killed the most in that war, and their remaining numbers were not even fifty.

On the side of the elves, Draven saw High Elder Leeora lead her clan members, from kids to the elderly.

Likewise, he saw Logan together with his father, standing in front of the graves of the fallen White Tiger warriors, as well as Morpheus and Aureus, standing side by side the Chief of the Shapeshifters, and they were talking with each other, probably Chief Agraleus sharing brief stories about his brother and sister-in-law towards his nephew and grandnephew.

Draven stopped in front of the largest part of the Netherfields. At this moment, it had no visitors aside from him and Erlos, unlike the rest of the graveyard.

"My people, this unfilial child has come to pay his respects," Draven heard Erlos murmur as the young elf lowered his head, his real thoughts unknown.

Draven and Erlos were standing in front of the graves of the High Elves. Erlos, being the last descendant, and Draven, being Erlos' guardian, would always offer their prayers in front of the gravestones of Erlos' clan.

It was an absolute tragedy, where everyone from a new born child to the elderly were killed, with no one spared. An entire clan disappeared from the face of the land. Erlos was fortunate to survive that massacre.

Draven closed his eyes, and as for his prayers, only he knew in his heart.

Time ticked by, and soon, the sun had risen to a certain point in the sky.

As basically all the residents of Agartha had convened in the Netherfields, except for those with special circumstances, like the warriors appointed elsewhere for the sake of security, the prayer ceremony would begin.

A loud, deep sound of horn echoed within the Netherfields. Those who were murmuring amongst themselves turned quiet.

At the second sound of the horn, everyone kneeled on the ground in front of the graves and closed their eyes.

Some solemnly chanted while offering flowers, some sang war songs while crying, others read out prayers while others silently prayed in their hearts—each clan and race had their own ways of showing honor for the dead, but in the end, all their actions were for the souls of the deceased who had lost their lives in that terrible, terrible war.

Erlos could not help but stifle a sob, yet his eyes burned red as he tried to hold back his tears.

Seeing the young elf trembling,  Draven placed his hand on his shoulder to console him in silence.

Draven remembered the past, as if he was flipping pages of a book. A small silver-haired child would fall into Draven's arm and cry uncontrollably, and as that silver-haired elf grew up, turning from a little boy to a young lad, the loud cries eventually stopped.

Erlos was now a young man,  but his silent cries of anguish remained the same. His loss was still painful, and he was still painfully alone.

The day of mourning was a first for Aureus.

He followed what the rest of the Divine Eagle Clan were doing. Till a few weeks back, he had no concept of family. As far as he was concerned, he had no living blood relatives, and there were only those few he considered as his new family.

But now, not only did he have a living uncle, he also has a granduncle. He had distant cousins as well as clan members who looked up to him. He bowed to the gravemarkers of his grandparents and prayed for the rest of his fallen clan members as well.

After a while, the sound from that horn echoed once more.

iIt was a signal for the mourners to stand up and leave the graves of their respective clans, allowing the people to pay respects to their fallen friends and acquaintances from other clans and races.

It was also the time for the mourners to interact with each other and reminisce about the memories of the deceased. Those who had chosen to be in seclusion began to interact with their younger generation, and old friends who had not seen each other for a long time began to chat.

Most of the members of Divine Eagle Clan used this chance to interact with Aureus, as this young lord of theirs was quite elusive, mostly refraining from the clan affairs. Despite Aureus throwing pleading glances at his uncle, asking him for help,  Morpheus left him alone and went towards where the White Tigers were located.

Morpheus and Logan were the ones in charge of the security of the kingdom, with Logan acting as a temporary Deputy Commander to Morpheus. The entire day, the residents of Agartha would be at the Netherfields so their day was basically just beginning. They could not be relieved of their duties so soon.

"How is it at the border?" Morpheus asked.

"For now, seems quiet," Logan replied after he received the scroll from a newly arrived messenger.

Logan was handling the security at the borders, preparing for problems coming from the outside, while Morpheus was the one assigned to monitor the happenings within the kingdom.  They could not take chances in case humans managed to fool them and sneak inside the main territories, or that the hardliners from within the Wild Elf Clan who hated humans would cause trouble as well.

After all, they had learned a painful lesson from the betrayal of the Black Witches—even your fellow brothers and sisters could turn into an enemy in the future.

Just then a shapeshifter from the Divine Eagle Clan, a young brown eagle, landed near the two officials. Morpheus recognised him as one of his clan members appointed at the fortress bordering the human territory.

"Greetings, Commander, Deputy Commander."

"Why are you not at your post, warrior?" Morpheus asked.

"Reporting to the Commander, the humans are creating trouble at the border. Our two groups are currently at a deadlock, but the humans managed to destroy part of the fortress wall with the use of explosives. The captain is engaged in combat but did not send out a signal for reinforcements, so the vice-captain sent me to inform you for further instructions."

"Those lowlives?" Morpheus opened his wings to fly, but Logan put his hand on his shoulder.

"You stay here. I will go take care of it."

"Let us go together. I need to be there as well."

"Don't worry, I alone can handle the situation. Besides, since their captain did not call for reinforcements, he probably believed their manpower is enough to subdue the humans. You should remain here just in case unexpected problems occur."

"Alright!" Morpheus agreed and he watched Logan transforming into a large White Tiger with a scarred body, his beast form, and followed behind the brown eagle who led the way.

With Logan's speed, blessed with the strong body he possessed, he by himself could subdue those problematic humans.