The morning mist was like liquid moonlight, flowing between ancient trees with the gentle breeze.
Parasitic vines draped from old branches like silver threads, their ends heavy with crystal pendants of dew that dripped onto the flowers below. Garlan trudged through the moss-covered woodland, his boots sinking into a carpet of glowing cyan fungi that released clouds of spores with every step.
Before setting out, he had retrieved several long-unused weapons from his cellar, making sure he was fully prepared. After confirming that the traps and protective measures around the house were secure, he cast a glance at the still-sleeping Lia and departed.
Garlan didn't head straight for the Great Southern Forest. Instead, he made a detour back to Rohguri to procure a map from the Adventurers' Guild. The map marked the territories of troublesome monsters and the general direction of the Red Mirror Dragon's nest—a collaborative effort of numerous scouts. The merchant who sold it to him for eighty copper coins swore it was the most authoritative guide in the North.
A bubbling stream curved nearby, forming a mirror-like pond. The reflections of passing clouds shimmered with an emerald hue that didn't exist in the real sky—beautiful, yet hiding unknown dangers.
"Past the marsh is the breeding ground for Bone-Eating Fish? It's on the map, yet no one's cleared them out. The water looks so clear it makes you want to take a sip," Garlan muttered. He stared at the eerily calm pool and ultimately decided against a closer look.
The Bone-Eating Fish was a cunning monster. It used innate camouflage magic to blend with the underwater algae, waiting for unsuspecting prey to lower its guard and lean in for a drink before snapping its crocodile-like jaws shut.
I forgot to pack rations this morning... my stomach is already growling. It was a self-inflicted wound. He should have brought some bread; he hadn't realized how grueling this terrain would be.
Garlan checked the map again. The nest was across another small mountain. A few centimeters on paper translated to a punishing trek in reality. He felt cheated by the scale of the world.
RUMBLE—
About ten minutes later, a massive commotion startled flocks of birds into a panicked, chirping frenzy. Distant trees were toppling one after another, indicating something large and destructive was on the move.
"Hey, hey, what's with all this noise? I thought I avoided the monster hotspots on the map!" Garlan cursed the guild swindlers. He felt a surge of powerful mana moving toward him. Instinctively, he rolled into a dense thicket, suppressing his presence.
BOOM!!
A dark blur burst from the treeline. Before Garlan could get a clear look, the ground in front of him fractured, and several stone pillars suddenly erupted from the earth, forming elevated platforms.
A man in a brown mage's robe emerged, leaping nimbly across the platforms he had just created. Hot on his heels was a Face-Tree—a monster with a twisted human visage on its trunk, lashing out with massive, whip-like branches. It shrieked piercingly, tearing through obstacles in its pursuit of the fleeing man.
It seemed the mage had inadvertently stumbled into the monster's territory and lured it here.
What terrible luck... Garlan thought, unsure if he meant the man or himself.
The tree's branches were like powerful whips, easily shattering the stone pillars into rubble. If those hit a mage instead of a sturdy warrior, their internal organs would likely burst on impact. However, the man was skilled. No matter which direction the branches came from, he dodged with a graceful, practiced ease.
He's a mage, but his movements are sharp. He's clearly trained for close-quarters combat. This was a rare type of mage. His style wasn't the traditional "stationary turret" approach taught at magic academies; it was built for the chaos of the front lines.
As Garlan watched from the sidelines, the woods rustled again. Two more Face-Trees emerged to join the fray. The air was thick with flailing branches.
"Three of them? No wonder he couldn't finish them off."
These monsters, often called "Dryads" by villagers in the Northern Highlands, were incredibly persistent. Once they locked onto a target, their lightning-fast vines acted like vipers. Most adventurers preferred to avoid them or rely on overwhelming ambushes. For a typical mage, this was a nightmare—the monsters never gave them enough time to chant.
"This is getting troublesome," the man grunted. With three monsters surrounding him, his windows for counter-attacking had vanished.
A branch grazed his forehead, drawing a thin line of blood. Under the triple assault, his composure began to fray. Had he not been prepared, he might have lost an eye.
"Friend over there! Are you just going to keep watching?!"
Garlan's heart skipped a beat. He saw me? Even with his presence suppressed, he'd been detected. It was the first time anyone had seen through his stealth. Had the man been intentionally leading the fight toward him? What terrifying perception.
Just as Garlan prepared to intervene, a cold, detached voice rang out from another direction.
"[Judgement Light Magic]."
Cross-shaped stars flickered into existence, illuminating a stern, handsome face. A signature monocle over the man's right eye glinted in the magical light.
Garlan turned and froze.
Him?! That shouldn't be possible. What is he doing in the Northern Lands at this point in time?
The young man with the monocle stood like a cold machine. After a brief, efficient chant, he leveled his staff. The starbursts condensed terrifying mana and streaked toward the three Face-Trees, leaving brilliant afterimages in their wake.
The attack struck in an instant, leaving no room for defense. Explosions rocked the monsters, forcing agonizing shrieks from their wooden throats. The magic was highly corrosive; the branches of the Face-Trees failed to regrow. Driven by mindless rage, the scorched monsters charged blindly at the man in the brown robe.
"Hey, hey! Don't go forgetting about me! You'll regret underestimating me!"
The older mage, who had looked ragged just a moment ago, suddenly regained his casual swagger. He lept backward onto a fresh stone pillar, crouching and pressing both hands against the surface. Mana surged through him.
"[Earth Manipulation Magic]!"
Jagged stone spikes erupted from the ground, impaling the charging Face-Trees from below. The momentum of the battle had shifted the second the younger man appeared.
In a real fight, victory is decided by a single opening or a sudden flash of inspiration. There are no three-hundred-round duels like in novels—only the cold finality of a decisive strike.
After a few final struggles, the monsters pinned to the spikes went still. Deprived of their regenerative power, they dissolved into a cloud of mana particles and vanished into the air.
___
There's a few advance chapters on my P@treon
Usually upload 2 Chapters a day in there, except Saturday and Sunday
[email protected]/Sp1ced
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