The woods began exactly where the road stopped pretending to be a road.Which is to say: the dirt narrowed, the trees leaned in like they were gossiping, and the light dimmed just enough to make Ethan's brain start listing all the ways this could go wrong.
Orrin walked ahead at an unhurried pace, staff tapping softly against roots and stones. Kael strolled beside Ethan like this was a scenic hike brochure and not a quest with the words minor disturbance slapped on it like a curse.
"It's not far," Orrin said calmly, without turning around. "Perhaps an hour."
Ethan stopped walking.
"…An hour is far," he said. "An hour is very far. That's like— that's enough time for multiple bad decisions to occur."
Kael shrugged. "Depends on the hour."
Ethan stared at him. "You say that like time has moods."
"It does," Kael said. "The woods are in a 'creative' one today."
Ethan resumed walking, because stopping alone in the forest felt worse than moving deeper into it. His eyes flicked everywhere. Every rustle was a monster. Every shadow was a tax audit with teeth.
The System, helpfully, did nothing.
Of course.
They hadn't gone five minutes before Orrin raised a hand.
"Careful," he said. "Low-level fauna ahead."
"Low-level what?" Ethan hissed.
Orrin gestured to a bush that was vibrating in a way bushes absolutely should not.
Out of it stepped a creature that looked like someone had taken a badger, stretched it vertically, and given it the personality of a street mugger.
It hissed.
[BESTIARY UPDATED: SNAPBADGER — Level 2]
[Threat: Territorial | Aggression: High | Intelligence: Offended]
[Notes: Bites ankles. Hates shoes.]
Ethan froze.
"It hates shoes," he whispered. "I have shoes."
Kael slowly lifted one foot and wiggled his toes.
The Snapbadger screamed and charged.
Kael hopped back, swore loudly, and kicked dirt at it. The creature skidded, bit a root, and tumbled into another bush with a furious squeal.
Orrin watched it go. "They're worse in pairs."
Ethan's breathing spiked immediately.
"In pairs. Why are they in pairs. Why does everything come in pairs. Does the forest bulk discount threats?"
They moved on quickly.
Five minutes later, something fluttered overhead.
Ethan looked up just in time to see a bat the size of a dinner plate swoop past his face.
He screamed.
It screamed back.
[BESTIARY UPDATED: SCREAMBAT — Level 1]
[Threat: Annoyance | Special Ability: Mutual Panic Induction]
The Screambat collided with a tree, rebounded, and vanished into the canopy.
Ethan crouched, hands on his knees, breathing hard.
"I hate this place," he said. "I hate this so much. Everything screams."
"Yes," Orrin said mildly. "That's how you know it's healthy."
Kael patted Ethan on the shoulder. "You're doing great. Only screamed once."
"I screamed internally three times," Ethan snapped.
They continued.
The woods thickened. Roots twisted like traps. Moss covered stones in that slick, treacherous way that suggested the ground itself was rooting for injury.
That's when they met him.
He stepped onto the path ahead of them, broad-shouldered, confident, and wearing enough steel to qualify as an economic investment.
A warrior.
Sword on his back. Shield on his arm. Helmet under one arm. Scar across his cheek like it had been professionally applied.
"Ho there," he said cheerfully. "You lot heading toward the disturbance?"
Kael smiled. "Looks like it."
The warrior nodded. "Good. Strength in numbers."
Ethan's heart tried to escape through his ribs.
"Oh no," he whispered. "He said the thing. He said the doomed thing."
The warrior frowned. "What?"
"Nothing," Ethan said quickly. "Just— hi. Hello. You look… competent."
The man grinned. "Name's Brannic. Veteran of the Western skirmishes. I heard this was minor work."
Orrin's staff tapped once against the ground.
"That word again," he said.
Brannic laughed. "Ah, don't worry. I've handled worse."
The ground immediately gave way beneath him.
There was a wet cracking sound, a yelp that rose into a full-throated scream, and then Brannic vanished straight down into the earth.
The scream cut off abruptly.
A heartbeat passed.
Then another.
Something below the ground chewed.
Ethan stared at the hole.
"…That was fast," he said faintly.
[BESTIARY UPDATED: ROOTMAW PIT — Environmental Hazard]
[Threat: Instant | Notes: Mimics stable ground. Feeds opportunistically.]
Kael peered over the edge. "Well. That's unfortunate."
Orrin bowed his head slightly. "He lasted longer than some."
Ethan backed away from the hole like it might chase him.
"That— that just happened. He just— he was introduced. He had a name."
"Yes," Orrin said. "The forest does that sometimes."
Ethan's hands were shaking.
"This quest is not minor," he said. "This quest is a lie. This is a murder maze."
Orrin finally turned to look at him fully.
"You're not wrong," he said. "But that's why you're here."
Ethan swallowed. "Because I heal?"
"Because you don't rush," Orrin said. "Because you're afraid."
Kael nodded. "Fear's underrated."
They walked on.
After a while, when Ethan's breathing finally steadied into something less like a malfunctioning bellows, Orrin spoke again.
"I've been doing this a long time," he said quietly. "Long enough that the System stopped surprising me."
Ethan glanced at him. "What happened to your beard?"
Orrin smiled faintly. "Ah. That."
He paused, choosing his steps carefully.
"Mana exposure," he said. "Years of it. The body adapts. Unevenly."
Kael snorted. "You look like a wizard who aged sideways."
Orrin accepted this without argument.
"I was young once," he continued. "Brave. Confident. Thought the quests meant what they said."
Ethan's stomach dropped.
"And then?"
"And then I survived," Orrin said. "Most of the others didn't."
The woods grew quieter.
Ethan hugged himself.
"I don't want to die here," he said softly.
Orrin glanced back at him. "Then keep doing what you're doing."
"What's that?"
"Being careful," Orrin said. "And panicking at appropriate intervals."
Kael grinned. "You're a natural."
Ahead of them, the trees thinned slightly.
Somewhere deeper in the woods, something heavy shifted.
The System remained silent.
Which was, somehow, the worst part.
Silence, in the woods, was not a lack of noise. It was a decision.
It meant the birds had taken a vote, the insects had signed a treaty, and every small creature with even a hint of survival instinct had collectively decided that making any sound whatsoever was no longer in their best interests.
Ethan heard this silence and immediately filled it with his own thoughts, which were, as usual, a raging bonfire made of panic and worst-case scenarios.
Okay. So. The forest is holding its breath. Great. That's normal. That's fine. Totally fine. That's not ominous at all. That's not how horror stories begin. Horror stories begin with— with— well actually this is exactly how they begin, isn't it?
Kael noticed Ethan's breathing had gone weird again—the kind of weird where your lungs start treating oxygen like a luxury good.
"You're doing the thing," Kael murmured.
"What thing?" Ethan whispered back, while doing the thing.
"The I'm about to become a cautionary tale thing."
Ethan swallowed, hard. "I'm just… pre-remembering my own death."
Orrin, who had the irritating calm of someone who had died in several interesting ways and found them all educational, tapped his staff once on the ground.
The sound didn't echo.
It should have echoed. Even a polite little echo would have been reassuring. But the woods absorbed it like it was hungry.
"That," Orrin said, as if commenting on the weather, "is unusual."
Ethan's soul left his body, checked the map, and briefly considered emigrating.
"Unusual," Ethan repeated. "As in— unusual for— for woods? Or unusual for quests? Or unusual for reality?"
Kael patted his shoulder again. He was really getting mileage out of that shoulder.
"Maybe it's unusual in a fun way," Kael offered.
Ethan stared at him like Kael had suggested juggling knives to improve morale.
"Name one time unusual was fun," Ethan said.
Kael opened his mouth, closed it, and nodded conceding the point.
Orrin continued walking. "The quest location is still about an hour."
Ethan's gaze snapped to him. "You said that an hour ago."
Orrin didn't look back. "Yes."
"So either we're not moving, or time is having moods."
Kael raised a finger. "Called it."
The path narrowed further, becoming less "path" and more "the vague suggestion that someone once walked here and regretted it." The trees leaned in close enough for Ethan to notice details: moss like wet velvet, bark like old scabs, and branches that looked like they'd been trained to point at you accusingly.
A rustle came from the undergrowth.
Ethan's body locked up.
Kael's hand drifted toward his bow with the solemn dignity of someone who had, at some point, seen an arrow.
Orrin merely sighed.
Out stepped a creature that looked like a fox had been built by a committee of spiteful rabbits.
It was small. It was scruffy. Its tail was too long, its ears were too sharp, and its eyes had the dead, empty confidence of something that had never once faced consequences for its actions.
It regarded them with the casual malice of an animal that understood insurance fraud.
It made a sound that could only be described as a threatening sneeze.
[BESTIARY UPDATED: SNARF OX — Level 1][Threat: Petty | Aggression: Conditional | Intelligence: Opportunistic][Notes: Steals food. Bites fingers. Will pretend it is injured to lure sympathy.]
Ethan stared. "That thing is— that thing is weaponized pathetic."
The Snarf Ox limped forward on three legs.
Kael tilted his head. "Aww."
Ethan grabbed him by the sleeve. "No. No. That's a trap. That's— that's emotional blackmail with teeth."
The Snarf Ox let out a tiny whine, lowered its head, and slowly dragged its "injured" paw in the dirt.
Orrin leaned down, squinted, and calmly poked it with his staff.
The Snarf Ox immediately stood up perfectly fine and tried to bite the staff.
Orrin lifted it gently by the scruff as if it was a misbehaving cat.
"You're wasting your own time," Orrin told it, mildly offended.
The Snarf Ox hissed, flailed, and did the only sensible thing left—released an alarming amount of stink.
Kael gagged. Ethan gagged. The forest gagged.
Orrin dropped it.
It fled into the bushes, triumphant.
"See?" Ethan said hoarsely. "I told you. It's evil."
Kael coughed. "Okay, but… it was cute evil."
They moved on, because remaining still was apparently how the forest picked you for a free trial.
A short while later, the trees thinned again and the ground dipped into a shallow gully where the air felt colder, heavier, and faintly disappointed in them.
A trickle of water ran along stones, the sort of stream you could step across—provided you didn't mind stepping across something that looked suspiciously like it wanted to swallow your ankles.
Ethan eyed the water like it was a contract.
"This is the part where I slip and heal the stream," he muttered.
Kael blinked. "Can you heal water?"
"I don't know!" Ethan snapped. "That's the problem! Everything I don't know is potentially catastrophic!"
Orrin stepped into the gully and paused.
The stream's surface rippled.
Not with wind.
With… attention.
Ethan's stomach fell.
"Is the water— looking at us?" he whispered.
Orrin's voice went softer. "Don't step in it."
Kael, who had absolutely been about to step in it, froze mid-step.
"…Why?" Kael asked.
Orrin glanced back, and for a moment the calm cracked just enough for Ethan to see the fatigue beneath it.
"Because some things in the woods are not animals," Orrin said. "And some things are not alive in ways you can help."
The stream burbled.
Then it burbled again, but this time in a way that sounded eerily like laughter.
[BESTIARY UPDATED: GLASSMIRTH BROOK — Environmental Anomaly][Threat: Low… until touched | Intelligence: Unknown | Mood: Mocking][Notes: Lures with shallow water. Reacts to magic. Do not "test" it.]
Ethan backed away with the careful grace of someone reversing away from a bomb while trying not to breathe wrong.
"I wasn't going to test it," he said quickly.
[ YOU LOOKED LIKE YOU WERE GOING TO TEST IT ]
Ethan whipped his head around. "System! Where have you been?!"
[ OBSERVING ][ YOU ARE VERY LOUD INTERNALLY ]
Kael frowned. "Did it just insult you?"
Ethan's face went a shade paler. "It said I'm loud internally."
Orrin gave a little shrug. "It's not wrong."
Ethan's lungs performed a brief protest strike.
"Okay," he said, voice tight. "Cool. Great. We're being judged by haunted water and my own brain. Perfect."
They skirted the gully carefully, stepping around stones and roots, until the ground rose again and the air stopped feeling quite so… interested.
Then, from ahead, came the sound of voices.
Human voices.
Ethan's relief was immediate and irrational. Humans meant rules. Humans meant society. Humans meant someone else would be responsible.
They rounded the bend and found three villagers standing at the edge of a clearing, arguing loudly while holding a bundle of sticks as if they were deciding whether to use them to make a fire or a point.
As the party approached, one villager spotted them and froze.
His eyes went right to Ethan's shoes.
Then to Ethan's face.
Then to the faint, lingering afterglow that Ethan desperately hoped was just sweat.
"System," the man said flatly. It was not a question. It was an accusation.
Ethan raised both hands. "Hi! Yes. But— but I'm under strict economic restrictions."
Kael nodded solemnly. "He's been certified 'mostly harmless' by a council."
One of the villagers narrowed his eyes. "A council certified him."
"Yes," Ethan said, as if that settled everything. "They're very tired."
The villagers exchanged the look of people who had, at some point, seen what happened when a tired council made an optimistic decision.
Orrin stepped forward. "We're following a group quest. Minor disturbance."
All three villagers flinched at the word minor as if it had personally burned down their granary last winter.
"Minor," one muttered. "Aye. That's what they called the last one."
Ethan's stomach clenched. "What happened in the last one?"
The villager glanced toward the woods as if it might overhear.
"The last one," he said slowly, "started with odd lights. Then the rabbits got bold. Then the trees stopped dropping leaves properly. Then my cousin started talking to a stump and the stump answered."
Kael brightened. "Did the stump have helpful advice?"
The villager ignored him. "The council paid a mage. Mage went in. Mage came out… quieter."
Orrin nodded once, as if hearing about a colleague who'd taken up pottery.
Ethan's voice rose half an octave. "So you're telling me this is— this is a recurring issue and nobody fixed it?"
The villagers looked at him like he'd asked why the sky didn't simply negotiate with gravity.
"We live here," the man said patiently. "We cope."
Orrin's staff tapped the ground again. "We're close."
The villagers all stepped back at once.
"How close?" one asked.
Orrin gestured ahead. "Another—"
Ethan's head snapped toward him, eyes wide, pleading.
Orrin paused, the faintest hint of a smile flickering beneath his beard.
"…Half an hour."
Ethan exhaled so hard he nearly turned inside out.
Kael leaned toward him and whispered, "See? Time has moods. It improved."
Ethan whispered back, "If time can improve, it can also get worse."
[ CORRECT ]
They moved on.
For a while, Orrin said nothing, and Ethan could practically feel him choosing his words the way people choose stepping stones: carefully, because the wrong one will put you in something unpleasant and cold that laughs at you.
Eventually, Orrin spoke.
"You asked about the beard," he said.
Ethan swallowed. "Yes. I'm sorry. It's just— it's alarming."
Kael nodded. "It's like a wise old man attached itself to your face and refused to leave."
Orrin accepted this with the resigned dignity of someone who had long ago stopped arguing with reality.
"It wasn't always like this," Orrin said. "I came here when I was… younger. Perhaps older than you," he added to Ethan, "but not by much."
Ethan blinked. "Wait. You got isekai'd too?"
Orrin's mouth twitched. "No. I was born here."
"Oh," Ethan said, instantly disappointed in the universe for not being consistent. "So you just— you just got the System naturally."
"Naturally," Orrin repeated, as if tasting something unpleasant. "Yes. Like storms. Or fevers. Or politicians."
Kael perked up. "So what's your deal? Why do you do quests?"
Orrin kept walking. "Because if you do not, the System will eventually do them to you."
Ethan frowned. "That's not an answer."
Orrin glanced back. "It's the only one I have."
He inhaled, then spoke in the voice of someone explaining something he wished he hadn't learned.
"The first time the System chose me, it gave me a quest. A 'simple' one. Escort a merchant's cart. Easy road. Good pay. I was… proud." He paused. "I even told my mother it would build character."
Kael winced sympathetically. "Oof. Famous last words."
Orrin nodded. "Yes. The cart was attacked. Not by bandits. By wild boars."
Ethan blinked. "Boars?"
Orrin's eyes went distant. "Boars with… unusual confidence. They moved like they were being guided."
Ethan felt cold. "Like… like the System was controlling them?"
Orrin's staff tapped a root, hard enough to make it shudder. "Like something else was using the rules."
Kael's grin faded. "And you survived."
"I did," Orrin said. "But the merchant did not. Nor did the horse. Nor did the cart. The boars were very thorough."
Ethan's voice came out small. "And the beard?"
Orrin gave a short, humorless laugh. "The beard came later. Years of mana. Years of pushing spells when I should have run. Years of quests labeled 'minor' and 'low risk' and 'safe enough.'"
He looked down at his staff.
"When you live long enough under a System that does not care if you understand it, you learn two things," Orrin said quietly.
Ethan waited, holding his breath like it might make the woods less interested.
Orrin raised two fingers.
"One: 'minor' is a lie."
Kael nodded gravely. "We know."
"And two," Orrin continued, "the ones who survive aren't the strongest."
Ethan's mouth was dry. "Who are they?"
Orrin glanced back, eyes settling on Ethan with an odd gentleness.
"The ones who hesitate," Orrin said. "The ones who ask. The ones who get afraid and don't mistake it for weakness."
Kael gave Ethan a sideways look. "Wow. You're basically a prodigy."
Ethan made a small, strangled noise that might've been a laugh or might've been his soul filing paperwork to resign.
Ahead, the trees thinned again.
Not gradually.
Abruptly—like someone had cut the forest away with a knife and left the air behind.
The clearing beyond looked… wrong.
Too still.
Too open.
The light hit the ground in a flat way, like it didn't quite know what to do there.
And right at the edge of it, half-hidden in shadow, something large shifted.
Not an animal shift.
Not a leaf shift.
A weight shift.
Ethan stopped, because his body had finally learned to obey his terror instead of arguing with it.
Kael swallowed. "Okay."
Orrin raised his staff slightly, expression unreadable.
The System, after a long and irritating pause, finally flickered.
[ QUEST AREA APPROACHING ][ REMINDER: 'LOW RISK' IS A MARKETING TERM ]
Ethan whispered, very quietly, "I want to go home."
Kael whispered back, "Same."
Orrin, without looking away from the clearing, said calmly, "Then keep your feet under you and your magic to yourself unless I say otherwise."
Ethan's hands trembled.
He shoved them into his sleeves like he could hide the glow there, too.
And together—three people who had absolutely not been consulted about any of this—they stepped toward the place where the woods ended pretending to be normal.