Prince Ector, his two companions, and the entire vanguard deployed by the Sun Kingdom and the Adventurer Society made landfall at Gilart, the nearest major port city to the disaster zone. Gilart was relatively small compared to the roaring metropolitan capitals of the continent, but it was far larger, wealthier, and more fortified than Daro. Only six centuries old, the city was a product of the modern era, drawing its vast wealth from a highly active port trade and a cluster of high-yield dungeons on its periphery.
Ector stood on the deck, staring out at Gilart's coastal skyline while his mind ran through the complex logistics of rebuilding Daro. They desperately needed the mining city to stabilize. Daro's massive mythril production was the sole reason the Sun Kingdom held a financial monopoly over the neighboring nations; without it, the crown's economy would bleed out.
"The populace is going to be furious with the capital," Madam Diva murmured, leaning against the railing beside him. "Nearly everyone in that territory has lost at least one person they knew to the initial slaughter."
"I know," Ector replied quietly, his diplomatic training kicking in. "That's why we have to handle this delicately. Fortunately, the Duke of Daro isn't panicked and remains fiercely loyal to the throne. The orcs are the real opposition here. For the next year or so, the citizens will be blinded by a desire for vengeance against the monsters rather than focusing on their ruined infrastructure. We can use that distraction. We will lay low, let the Adventurer Society and the auxiliary Imperial forces grind down the orcs, and slowly reconstruct the city's foundation from behind the scenes."
Diva offered a rare, approving nod. "Not a bad plan, Your Highness. For what it's worth, the local City Lord is waiting at the docks to formally receive you and the Sanguine Sword." She paused, her brow furrowing. "Though, one thing bothers me. Why didn't the Royal Ranker stationed at Gilart's Adventurer Society branch mobilize to aid Daro when the breach first happened?"
"Daro's resident Royal Ranker managed to send out a single, high-priority distress flare to the capital and the central branch in Derrus," Ector explained grimly. "But immediately after that, all long-range communication arrays were violently severed. The atmospheric mana was crushed by a localized Divine-rank aura. No signals could get out."
Diva winced. "The casualties must be catastrophic."
"Forty million dead, and another thirty million mutilated to the point that they'll never live a normal life again, according to the official raven reports," Ector said, his voice dropping. "As for the localized forces? Only six Soldier Rankers, a single Commander Ranker, and fifteen Noble Rankers survived the first wave. If the orcs mount a second organized siege before we arrive, the city will be wiped from the maps entirely unless the high-tier high priests in the cathedrals intervene."
"Goddesses above, that's a brutal toll," Diva muttered. "What was Daro's total population before the breach anyway? I always heard it was heavily insulated by some ancient soul domain."
"Roughly two billion, counting the various registered sub-races," Ector answered. "If you're counting pure humans, maybe seven to nine hundred million. Most of them were specialized craftsmen, miners, or members of the Duke's personal vanguard."
"Which brings me to my next question," Diva pressed. "Why didn't the Duke's elite forces hold the line? History states the House of Daro boasts a legendary Royal Rank patriarch."
Ector let out a cynical chuckle. "They did. But the old patriarch went into forced soul-isolation decades ago as his lifespan neared its absolute limit. The current Duke is his seventh or eighth descendant—and by all accounts, the man is an absolute, incompetent arrogant bastard."
Before Diva could reply, Rickard stepped up to the pair, bowing elegantly. "Your Highness, the Sanguine Sword requests your presence on the lower docks. The welcoming committee has assembled."
A few minutes later, Ector stepped off the ramp onto the reinforced stone piers, dressed in his full, high-formal ceremonial uniform to projecting the absolute authority of the Crown Prince. Waiting for them was a small assembly of Gilart's elite Noble Rankers, alongside three powerful Royal Rankers, with Vincent Motsari standing comfortably at the center.
The moment Ector's boots touched the stone, the two local Royal Rankers and every single Noble Ranker sank to one knee, offering the absolute submission demanded by royal protocol. Vincent Motsari, of course, remained standing, his posture casual. The most aristocratic-looking Royal Ranker among them raised his right hand, purposefully flashing a heavy jade signet ring that marked him as the Sovereign Duke of Gilart.
"You may rise," Ector commanded smoothly, playing the part of the regal prince perfectly.
"Your Highness, we welcome you to our shores. I trust your voyage across the sea was comfortable," the Duke of Gilart said, his voice a gruff, gravelly rumble.
"It was adequate. Thank you, Lord Gilart," Ector replied with calculated courtesy.
Vincent Motsari tapped a small, humming magical interface strapped to his wrist, cutting straight through the pleasantries. "The local transit arrays are primed. We will be teleported directly to the outer boundary of the Soulless Forest. From there, the terrain shifts; we will rely on specialized land vehicles and our own mobility to cut through the foliage. The overland march should take roughly a week."
Right on cue, the main Sun Kingdom fleet entered the harbor, their massive white-and-gold hulls occupying over half of the city's available deep-water decks. A regiment of Noble-rank officers, Royal-rank military officials, and the elite Silverwing Knights marched off the ships in perfect synchronization.
After a swift logistical check with Gilart's local Adventurer Society Director, the vanguard—totaling over a hundred elite Noble and Royal Rankers alongside Ector—was escorted into a massive, subterranean teleportation chamber. The mages began concentrating their mana, deliberately shattering several high-grade mana crystals into the array to stabilize the massive spatial distortion. With a blinding flash of violet light, the portal roared to life.
The vanguard stepped through the rift. When Ector opened his eyes on the other side, the salty sea air of Gilart was gone, replaced by the crisp, biting wind of the high plains. Ahead of them, stretching from horizon to horizon like a violent green ocean, was the endless canopy of the Soulless Forest.
Acting with quiet efficiency, Rickard raised his hands, manipulating his cloud affinity to conjure a fleet of sleek, solid cloud-transports to carry the Imperial infantry and heavy baggage.
To the rest of the world, Rickard was merely an immaculate royal butler and a highly capable military commander who had protected Ector since birth. But to Ector, Rickard was something far more important: he was his primary Core Instructor. Rickard possessed the exact same foundational soul core as Ector, meaning they shared the same baseline abilities. Yet, the way the old butler wielded that power was on an entirely different dimensional plane.
Where Ector, a Soldier Rank 54, still struggled to materialize a small, stable cloud-structure resembling a house, Rickard could effortlessly manifest dozens of hyper-dense cloud skyscrapers simultaneously, binding his mana to make them structurally permanent. In a practical siege, the butler could construct fortified housing for millions of refugees in a matter of days.
As the convoy crossed the threshold into the tree line, a suffocating weight settled over them. Every single ranker felt the oppressive, dominant pressure of the ancient soul domain scraping against their perception. But the vanguard didn't slow down. Seraphina and the Silverwing Knights took point at the front of the convoy, unleashing coordinated torrents of elemental spells that incinerated a broad, fourteen-kilometer path through the corrupted brush, allowing the cloud vehicles to maintain maximum velocity.
Yet, the journey seemed to stretch into absurdity. By the end of the third continuous day of driving through the charred path, Ector leaned over the console of his transport, staring out at the trees in mounting confusion. He turned to his butler.
"Rickard, this doesn't make any sense," Ector muttered. "Our geographical charts map this entire forest as being no more than a hundred kilometers wide from the outside. We've been driving at top speed for three days—we must have crossed thousands of kilometers by now. Why are we still trapped in these woods?"
"High-tier space manipulation, Your Highness," Rickard explained patiently, his eyes never leaving the path ahead. "The ancient soul domain anchoring this forest acts as a massive spatial sponge. It stores an astronomical amount of physical landmass within a compressed pocket, layering the geography upon itself. To an outside observer standing on a hill, it looks like a brief walk to cross the trees. In reality, the interior space extends for hundreds of thousands of kilometers. That is precisely why the Adventurer Society classifies this forest as an unnavigable death trap—it is practically impossible to survive the transit without a baseline team of Royal Rankers to ward off the compression."
Ector let out a slow breath, turning his gaze back to the endless, towering pines. As the vehicles sped deeper into the artificial horizon, the forest seemed to stretch on forever, a vast, green labyrinth swallowing them whole.
***