Travelers hurried to and fro, adding a touch of liveliness.
Wusu stood before the Yellow Mushroom House, earnestly studying the layout of the buildings.
This was an enormous clearing; the Divine Temple and the ruins took up most of it, while the newly built Adventurers’ Guild and the two houses stood at the ruins’ outskirts. Vivid flowers and grasses spread along Wusu’s footsteps, sprouting in his wake and clustering around his small, dainty steps.
[Wusu’s Territory is about to welcome its first Subject. Please be prepared!]
Wusu looked at the semi-transparent quest notice, a huge question mark practically popping up over his head.
The quest notice promptly devoured itself, making way for the next line.
[The Gloomy Forest is your Territory.]
On the map, a huge blank region was circled; everywhere Wusu had walked glowed with faint light, little tags flickering silver.
Wusu poked open the yellow mushroom-cap’s tag.
[Building: Wusu’s Home]
[Defense: ?]
[Skill: Devours any “person” who harbors ill intent toward Wusu.]
Wusu: …Eat, then.
It sounded like a rather fun thing; he lowered his head and rubbed his little tummy.
Wasn’t he missing the point somewhere?
Wusu slowly closed the notice. The first Subject… what was he supposed to do?
The clustering flowers and grasses nudged and rubbed against Wusu; however rough their branches and leaves, they were always soft when they touched his tender skin.
Cold winds blew and the plants bowed flat; once the wind passed, their refreshed spirits rubbed up against Wusu again, their clever liveliness as if divinely inspired.
All things in this world had always had voices.
When Wusu listened, it became another clamorous, vivid world.
[The Lord is watching me!]
[We love The Lord!]
[The Lord!]
They called Wusu… The Lord.
The naive little figure, who had forgotten everything, half-crouched and quietly brushed past the tender leaves.
Half a month earlier.
At the border of the pitch-black, shadowed forest, two groups stood locked in confrontation.
No.
More accurately, it was a siege hopeless in its imbalance of strength.
Alana’s lovely features were cold and severe, her hand gripping the blade of light. “How dare you! My father, Count Wolfe, will not let you get away with this!”
As a great noble, Count Wolfe ruled Tasi County, one of the most fertile territories in the entire Rosa Kingdom; and he did indeed have a precious, beautiful young daughter.
Alana was Count Wolfe’s eldest daughter.
Amid eerie cackles, the pressing shadows held nothing back.
“Beautiful little princess, it was you who forced the trade caravan to carry you out of the capital, Pythia City, and it was you who posted the quest at the Adventurers’ Guild, having those powerful adventurers erase every trace of your flight from home. Fallen to your current predicament, do you truly believe none of it is your own fault?”
Standing at the rear, protected by several knights, the middle-aged fat man was white and soft as dough; he kept dabbing at his sweat with a handkerchief, yet spoke as if in the gentlest concern.
“So long as you agree to this marriage with me, I guarantee you will return to Pythia whole and unharmed.”
The fat man spoke unhurriedly; wedging his flab into that snug, luxurious shirt must have cost him considerable effort, and so as he talked he kept sucking in his breath and belly, lest the buttons pop off.
Looking at Viscount Weir, Alana’s delicate brows drew together in disgust.
Traveling, she had cast aside those elaborate, whale-boned court gowns, wearing only a high-collared, high-waisted pale purple dress, her long golden hair elegantly pinned up; the fine skin along her jaw was drawn tight, betraying wordless nobility and a banked anger.
In this hour of peril, Alana did not harbor even a thought of yielding. Once she confirmed the naked killing intent in Viscount Weir, that he would silence her the moment negotiations failed, she drew a small badge from her bodice and hurled it viciously at the ground.
Light exploded outward!
While that dazzling glare forced everyone else to shield their eyes, Alana bent her knees slightly, stamped down hard with her ankle, and leapt into the woods like a startled hare.
She would sooner die devoured by wild beasts than fall into Viscount Weir’s hands!
She had fled through the forest for more than ten days; the pursuers behind her gradually lost her trail, but Alana was also nearing her limit.
The gloomy forest often gave off dreadful sounds, and Alana had always kept far clear of them. She had no food, and the water pouch she carried had long since been drained.
Even with a body blessed by The Lord’s grace within the Church, and a knight’s training besides, holding out this long had pushed her to the limit.
Had she not been schemed against, she would never have come to this.
Her foot caught, and she crumpled to her knees before a tangle of withered vines.
Was she going to die?
Rustle, rustle…
Footsteps trudging through the vegetation, utterly unconcealed.
Alana spent the last thread of her strength gripping the blade of light; the hilt felt cold.
In this desolate, frozen forest, there were other people?
She tried to rise, but her fallen body wriggled twice and did not move again.
A delicate fragrance drifted over.
Then a soft touch.
Then a slightly cool, gentle voice.
“Are you all right?”
Flower nectar was the first thing brought to Alana’s lips; the rich fragrance teased her taste buds, and her parched throat could not resist. From who knew where she found the strength to clutch that hand desperately, and with its support she gulped down mouthful after mouthful.
Wusu crouched, looking down at the bedraggled blonde woman.
Her pale purple dress was crumpled and stained with grime, yet none of it could hide Alana’s beauty and fortitude.
She was a very good-looking person.
Once Alana finished the nectar, elegant etiquette swiftly returned to her mind; shame, indignation, and wariness tinged her ears faintly red. Sitting up sideways, blade of light in hand, she raised her head, about to thank the person who had saved her.
The moment her gaze touched Wusu, Alana’s breath caught.
What a feeling that was!
Like light.
Like beholding a perfect Creation.
In that instant, Alana’s pride as Count Wolfe’s daughter was crushed to pieces.
No language could describe it; the mere existence of this being was perfection, and even looking directly felt like blasphemy. Wherever he stepped, a subtle fragrance drifted and flowers paved the way; even this terrifying, shadowed forest seemed to shed its sharp edges, leaving only gentle, quiet companionship.
“Can you walk?”
That consummate beauty asked her gently.
“…I can.”
Alana didn’t even feel the voice roll out of her own throat.
Led by Wusu, the blonde knight vanished step by step into the gloomy depths.
Soundless screams.
Flesh devoured; mana scattered and made prey.
The scent of blood spread, torn apart by the Gloomy Forest as it bared its fangs.
Strangely, though, even amid all this…
…what lingered was still that faint, clean fragrance.
Viscount Weir insisted on waiting at the forest’s edge for an outcome.
After a hundred-odd attendants went in, there was never any news again.
That was the outcome he got.
A hundred-odd loyally cultivated followers, even for Viscount Weir, was no small blow. His sweat flowed faster; he changed his clothes several times a day.
“Still no news?”
The kindly smile he had worn before Alana had long since vanished without a trace; his question came out sinister.
“There is something wrong with this place.”
His knight commander was a grand knight with a resolute face, and the sight of him patrolling with his greatsword in hand was intimidating indeed. “You are not safe here. This forest has never appeared on any map…”
In truth, his entire body was screaming warnings to get away.
It was the battlefield’s gift.
The knight’s code bound the knight commander to loyalty toward his lord alone, with no judgment passed on the man’s conduct.
He gave his faithful warning.
“Damn it!”
A sure thing had gone wrong at the worst possible moment.
Viscount Weir kept wiping his sweat with his handkerchief, neurotically rubbing his cane.
If Alana Wolfe died, there would be no more suitable candidate, and the plan ahead would be in real trouble!
“Viscount…” The knight commander was about to say more when he suddenly drew his greatsword and shield, sharp eyes snapping toward the shadowy depths of the forest!
Something was lurking.
Whizz!
Whizz, whizz!
“AAAHHH!”
Dozens of greenish tentacles writhed, swallowing, chewing the knights who had been guarding Viscount Weir’s carriage only moments before.
A teeth-grating creak; bones crushed and meat minced wetly together; murky, moist slime dripping down.
Even amid such a gory scene, that clean fragrance…
The knight commander gripped his greatsword tighter. That utterly incongruous fragrance was so, so strange.
His spirit wavered for an instant.
In just that one instant, the grand knight’s powerful mind was breached. Tap, tap, went footsteps, mingled with Viscount Weir’s continuous, contorted screams behind him…
The sounds of chewing, of crushing.
Every person in the camp melted away.
The Gloomy Forest existed in stillness.
Under the silver moon’s glow, it guarded with the utmost tenderness the small figure nestled at its heart.
