The morning did not begin quietly.
"HEY—!"
Bram's shout echoed between the ancient trees, bouncing off thick trunks and vanishing deep into the roots of The Oldreach.
"WHO DRANK MY ALCOHOL?!"
Daren, sitting comfortably on a large stone, turned his head while chewing an apple. Lys stood beside him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her expression completely shameless.
"Oh, that?" Lys said lightly.
"It tasted good."
Bram stared at the two of them like a man whose heart had just been crushed.
"That was noble alcohol!" he protested.
"The kind that only comes out a few times a year! I didn't even get to—"
Daren patted his stomach and laughed.
"Relax. Consider it mental training."
"MENTAL TRAINING FOR WHAT?!" Bram roared.
"GETTING STABBED IN THE BACK?!"
Kael stood not far away, calmly wiping his sword sheath with a cloth. When Bram turned to him, Kael simply gave a small smile.
"…The captain drank too," Bram said quietly, his voice breaking.
Kael shrugged.
"A little."
Bram collapsed onto the ground.
"Betrayed… I've been betrayed by the world."
Laughter spread.
Even Eiran and Ruen couldn't help but smile, though their bodies were still sore from the night before.
But the laughter didn't last.
"Move," Sereth said.
His voice was calm—but firm.
They were already far from the campsite. The air had changed. The trees grew closer together. Sunlight fractured into thin lines that died before touching the ground.
The Oldreach no longer felt welcoming.
They advanced in formation.
Not rigid.
Not loose.
Eiran and Ruen stayed near the center, just behind Kael.
Hours passed—until heavy footsteps sounded from the bushes ahead.
"Hobgoblins," Nox whispered from the shadows.
"More than ten."
And then they appeared.
Large bodies emerged one by one. Greenish skin. Thick muscles. Crude but well-maintained weapons. Their eyes weren't wild—only experienced.
"All right," Bram said, spinning one of his axes.
"We use yesterday's bet."
Daren grinned.
"Most kills wins. Loser pays for drinks when we get back."
Ivo sighed.
"…I lost yesterday."
"Good," Bram said immediately.
"That means you're paying."
"YOU CHEATED," Ivo protested.
Then the clash began.
And this time—
Eiran and Ruen moved with them.
Eiran stepped forward, breathing steadily, replaying every shouted instruction from before.
"Dodge!"
"Don't stiffen!"
"Watch the shoulders!"
He nearly stumbled—then shifted his step, read the opening, and thrust.
The hobgoblin fell.
One.
Ruen was slower, but cleaner. He blocked, turned, and struck the back of his opponent's neck with the pommel.
One as well.
"Nice!" Lys laughed.
"Your face is hilarious, Eiran!"
"STOP SHOUTING AT THE SAME TIME!" Eiran snapped.
"I'M GETTING DIZZY!"
"THAT'S TRAINING!" Bram yelled back.
"LEARN IN THE CHAOS!"
Eiran clenched his teeth—and started to hear it.
Not sound.
Rhythm.
Steps. Breathing. Pauses.
One by one, hobgoblins fell.
"Six," Bram muttered, counting.
"Seven."
He glanced at Eiran.
"You're improving fast."
Sereth added calmly,
"Your eyes are sharp."
Daren laughed loudly as he cut down another foe.
"The martial art of my village is the best for killing monsters like these!"
Then the laughter stopped.
The ground trembled.
Two massive shapes emerged from behind the trees.
Lycan wolves.
Nearly three meters tall.
Dark fur. Dense muscle. Red eyes.
They lunged—straight at Kael.
Eiran froze.
He didn't see Kael draw his sword.
He didn't hear a slash.
He didn't see Kael step forward or back.
Only—
two Lycan bodies splitting apart, collapsing in clean sections, before any sound could follow.
Kael stood exactly where he had been.
His sword… still sheathed.
Silence.
"…Does that count for the bet?" Bram whistled softly.
Arnold, who had been leaning against the supply cart the whole time, nodded calmly.
"I already knew the result."
The battle ended.
Seven.
Eight.
Eiran stared at his sword.
Seven.
From one… to seven.
His chest trembled.
Then—
the pressure came.
Not an attack.
Not a sound.
A presence.
All twelve moved at once.
Bram, who had been sitting—stood.
Daren, who had been laughing—was ready.
Lys, Ivo, Sereth—each in perfect combat stance.
Vire coated their weapons.
Eiran and Ruen couldn't look up.
Breathing became difficult.
High above—
a man in a black cloak stood on a branch.
A raven perched on his shoulder.
Red eyes glowed beneath the hood.
He watched them.
For a long moment.
Then his lips moved.
"Interesting."
And he vanished.
Not by jumping.
Not by retreating.
Gone.
Silence fell like weight.
Kael stood at the very front.
His eyes remained fixed on the empty branch.
In a voice barely above a whisper—
"That emblem…"
His hand clenched.
"…I will never forget it."
He inhaled slowly.
"What happened twenty-five years ago."
No one spoke.
Not Bram.
Not Daren.
Not anyone.
And The Oldreach—
for the first time—
no longer felt like a forest.
But a stage.