The newly reunited group moved through the city, heading east toward the massive wall.
As they approached, the city's oppressive noise fell behind them. The constant chatter of street vendors, the bustling crowds, the clanging of metal from blacksmiths—all faded into the distance as the walls loomed larger, their stone surface covered in age-old markings that Adlet could only guess at. Guards were stationed at the entrance, their presence commanding the space, but Baryon passed without issue.
On the other side, the city's mood shifted abruptly. There were no more narrow streets filled with people, but a quiet, almost sterile district, untouched by the chaos of the lower city. Tall, pristine houses, their windows framed with gold, lined the wide streets. The air itself seemed different, colder and more refined. Citizens dressed in finer clothes moved with an air of ease, chatting amongst themselves as they walked past in this nobler part of the city. In the distance, the massive, imposing castle stood tall—its spires scraping the sky, as if it were the very heart of this wealthy district.
It wasn't the kind of place Adlet felt comfortable in. He was out of place here, with no grand house or rich clothes to call his own.
Baryon's brisk pace gave them little time to appreciate the scenery, pushing them onward.
"It's a good thing we're moving quickly," Daven remarked from behind. "Maybe your scent won't have time to spread into my district."
Adlet clenched his jaw but said nothing. The comment stung, reminding him once again of his position. To Daven, he was little more than an inconvenience. To Florian, a colleague. But to Baryon, he was barely a recruit in a long line of protectors—a tool to be used and discarded.
They moved through the district until they came to another square. It was much quieter here, but guards and Protectors patrolled the area. The sound of their loud, hearty conversations echoed through the empty space.
"...Did you hear that? The lord's youngest son is about to begin his training as an apprentice Protector," one guard murmured to his companion.
"Yes, the Dryad family will likely be gifted with a new monster," the other replied.
"We'll see if he can even assimilate a Griffin," the first guard added, and their voices faded into the distance.
"A Griffin... a Rank 5 species," Adlet thought, trying to imagine the creature. His heart quickened. The power such a creature would possess… it was unimaginable.
Florian's voice broke his thoughts. "Did you assimilate a Griffin too?"
"Shut up, peasant! I'm not part of the main family, but that doesn't make much difference compared to you," Daven snapped, his voice bitter with irritation.
"Silence!" Baryon barked, cutting off any further exchange. He walked up to a guard and spoke in low tones, requesting the opening of the gate.
The guard complied, and with a heavy turn of a great wheel, the gate creaked open, revealing the forest beyond.
From here, the atmosphere shifted dramatically.
"We are about to enter the dangerous zone," Baryon's voice broke through the stillness. "Our mission is to patrol the walls, seeking Apexes. Eliminate or report them, and the city will send reinforcements to handle it."
Adlet's stomach tightened. He had never been in such a place before—never seen creatures that could take lives with a flick of their claws, never smelled the blood of monsters on the wind. His breath caught as he stepped through the gate into the Dryad Forest, the unknown stretching out before him.
The first thing he noticed was the scale of the trees. They were impossibly tall, towering like ancient giants. Their trunks were so wide that it felt as though he could drive a wagon through their bases. Their bark, rough and covered in moss, appeared alive, shifting in subtle, almost imperceptible ways. The air was thick with humidity, the constant buzz of unseen insects vibrating around them. It was nothing like the forest Adlet had known. This was a living, breathing creature in itself. The forest wasn't a place of peace; it was a hunter's domain.
It wasn't long before the group encountered their first true test. As they ventured deeper into the underbrush, the trees parted to reveal a serpent—long and sleek, with green, camouflaged scales that glistened as it slithered through the ferns. The Dryad Serpent, a Rank 1 Apex, was coiled in the shadows, its glowing eyes catching the light in a predatory gaze.
Baryon's sharp whisper broke the tension. "Who wants to handle this one?"
Daven stepped forward without hesitation, his eyes narrowed in concentration.
"I'll do it," he muttered, his voice low but confident. Without waiting for approval, he began to move.
Adlet's heart raced as Daven navigated the dense undergrowth with silent grace. There was no pause in his movements—Daven was swift, almost calculated, as though he'd fought many times before. Adlet watched him closely, surprised at how fluid his actions were despite his usual arrogance.
He moved in swiftly, reaching out and grasping the serpent's tail, jerking it with strength. The creature recoiled, its tongue flicking the air. Daven didn't flinch. His aura flared around him, sharp and focused. With a quick motion, he reached for the snake's head, gripping it tightly to prevent it from striking.
For a moment, there was only the sound of Daven's controlled breathing as he wrestled the creature, then—crack. The serpent's body went limp as Daven finished it off with brutal precision. He stepped back, wiping a trace of blood from his blade, his expression unchanged.
Adlet stood still, feeling a deep respect for Daven's efficiency. There was no bravado here, no show of arrogance. Daven was good—effective, even, as much as Adlet hated to admit it. But beneath the awe was a bitter truth: Adlet would have to reach that level too, if he wanted to survive.
The group continued deeper into the forest, their eyes sharp and their senses heightened. The mission, Baryon's precise orders, and the constant vigilance wore them down, but they pushed forward. For the next week, they followed their patrol route, Baryon's commands cutting through the silence with precise authority. Every day bled into the next. Adlet and Florian rarely spoke, their conversations clipped and brief. The days were long and exhausting. Each morning began with a silent march into the unknown, through the dense underbrush, eyes ever vigilant for the smallest signs of movement. By midday, the weight of the humidity and heat made every step feel heavier. When they found a monster, there was no hesitation, no time for fear or doubt. It was a fight, quick and brutal, or a chase until the creature was either caught or killed.
Adlet could feel the pressure of the mission, the weight of each moment stretching into eternity. Even when there was no creature in sight, he couldn't relax. His senses were on edge. He knew the predators were there, lurking just beyond the thick brush. And when they did encounter them—whether it was a Rank 1 or a lone Rank 2 beast—Adlet felt the pulse of danger crackling through his veins. He could feel the heartbeat of the monsters, their Auras like faint whispers in the air, just out of reach.
By the end of the first week, the forest had begun to feel like a second skin. It was still foreign, but less threatening, less unknown. He began to grow comfortable with the sounds, with the ways the shadows moved. He began to recognize the creatures, even anticipate their attacks. His body was changing, adapting to the intensity of the environment. He could feel the raw power surging inside him each time he defeated a monster—each time he absorbed a portion of their life energy.
But it wasn't easy. Every night, when they set up camp, Adlet's body ached. His muscles screamed in protest, his legs heavy and worn. The bruises and scrapes from the constant encounters with beasts piled up, a stark reminder of the dangers of the forest.
But it wasn't all about the creatures. The tension between the group grew as the days wore on.
Baryon remained distant, a strict and often silent leader. Florian, trying to prove himself, grew more stubborn with each passing day, his temper flaring when he felt dismissed. And Daven… Daven was still insufferable. His arrogance hadn't softened, and his actions were often reckless. He mocked Adlet and Florian at every opportunity, especially after they had faced a dangerous encounter, reminding them of how little they knew compared to him.
Yet there was a strange unity in the group, too, forged through necessity. They relied on each other, even if they didn't trust one another. When they patrolled together, it was as though they became a single entity—moving as one, anticipating each other's actions, learning each other's weaknesses and strengths.
It wasn't until the third week, just after dawn, that everything changed.
Adlet and Florian were resting, having just finished a hasty meal. The air was thick with the smell of pine and sweat when suddenly, a power unlike any they had ever felt descended upon them. It wasn't the quiet, calculated force of Baryon or even the flicker of Daven's Aura. This… was something far worse.
Adlet's heart stopped. His mind screamed for him to move, to run. But before they could react, the Aura pressed down on them with overwhelming force. The presence was so intense that they could feel it even through the thick canopy of trees.
Suddenly, two men appeared in front of them, both in their thirties. One carried a large canvas sack, clearly heavy, and they looked as though they were fleeing from something. Their faces were pale with fear, and as soon as they saw the boys, they shouted, "Run! Get out of here!"
Before Adlet could respond, the Aura pressed down on them with even greater force—so immense that neither boy could gauge its rank. It was unlike anything they had experienced, its power overwhelming and suffocating.
Yet more frightening than its power was the absolute hostility it radiated. The message was clear: a terrifying being approached, and death awaited anyone in its path.
A chilling shiver ran through Adlet and Florian as they sensed the overwhelming force approaching, a danger so immense that their hearts beat in unison, frozen by the pure hostility radiating from that presence.