Hesitant, intermittent footsteps betrayed their owner's inner confusion.
But in an instant, the footsteps grew firm again, then quickened, heading straight for Roland.
The moment he heard the unfamiliar sound, Roland's body tensed.
He silently drew the Mithril Longsword from his waist, its blade glinting coldly in the dim light.
Tress floated behind him, her fiery gaze locked onto the direction of the sound.
The next moment, the sparse undergrowth was pushed aside.
A human silhouette slowly materialized in the thick fog.
It was followed by a clear, hesitant voice.
"Pardon the intrusion, but... are you alive?"
As he spoke, the figure raised both hands above his head and stopped about five paces from Roland.
But even at this close range, the milky fog obscured his face. Only his voice gave away that he was male.
And though the stranger seemed to mean no harm, Roland's guard didn't lower in the slightest.
He gripped his sword hilt, his voice low as he replied.
