The harsh winter had barely passed, and early spring still bit with cold.

Snow lingered in the mountains, thin white mist curling through the trees. A chill breeze stirred fallen leaves—scattered by Verlith’s earlier clash—and sent them swirling like confetti.

Verlith brushed aside silver strands tossed by the wind, shaking off petals and debris clinging to her shoulders.

She wore a dress snatched hastily from a boutique during her escape from the knights. Her previous outfit—ripped from a corpse—had been torn beyond repair. Focused only on losing pursuers, she’d barely noticed the flimsy fabric. Only now did she realize it was sheer nightwear, milk-white skin glowing faintly beneath translucent cloth. Its teasing modesty felt more provocative than nakedness.

Wrapped around Verlith’s criminally alluring frame, the gown’s effect multiplied a hundredfold. The thought of men seeing her like this was unbearable…

Or rather, *had* been unbearable. She recalled the bridge incident all too clearly.

*"No wonder the knights let me sever the suspension ropes so easily. No one tried to stop me. Falling into the river was their own fault—greedy fools."*

Verlith finally understood their stunned, nosebleeding stares. This lingerie-like gown was entirely to blame.

Thankfully, she’d grabbed undergarments from the shop too. Without them, exposed to those wolfish eyes… death would’ve been preferable.

Worse than the exposure was her first time wearing a bra. The sensation was worse than swallowing a fly. Twenty years as a man, then suddenly reborn as this winged beauty—it had to be a cosmic mistake.

Walking through the woods, her body swayed. Soft flesh rubbed painfully against the too-small bra’s edges.

Verlith grimaced, glancing down at the breasts she’d crammed inside. Her ignorance of cup sizes meant the stolen bra was far too tight. It made even her nonexistent balls ache.

*Well,* she thought bitterly, *I’ve lost more than just my face.*

Scowling, she cupped her heavy chest and trudged on, searching for someone to blame for this nightmare.

If this humiliation was fate’s joke…

The Tree God—the creator of this new world—was the obvious culprit.

**"So, Tree God!! I curse you to walk in the rain without an umbrella! May your showers cut out mid-lather! May you step in dog crap with new shoes! May your toilet paper tear when you wipe! And may your wife stay a virgin—a virgin forever!!"**

Her venomous shriek echoed through the empty forest, scattering birds like startled ghosts. To strangers, it sounded like a banshee’s wail.

Suddenly, the silver-haired maiden fell silent. Her sharpened senses caught a flicker of movement.

A pink tongue darted out to wet her lips. A cold smirk curled her mouth.

**"Show yourself. Or I’ll kill you before you even make a sound."**

*Whoosh!*

A smooth branch shot like an arrow from the treetops, aimed straight at her.

Verlith’s eyes narrowed. She snatched the branch mid-air.

A figure dropped from the branches, wooden staff raised for a crushing blow. Verlith sidestepped effortlessly.

She spun behind her attacker, whipping the branch against his back.

He wasn’t unskilled—he ducked the strike, sensing the wind at his spine.

Staff clashing against branch, he twisted and lunged, using the pole like a sword toward her shoulder.

Verlith’s smile turned disdainful. A flick of her wrist deflected his thrust. Her branch snaked forward like a living thing, coiling up his arm toward his throat.

The attacker arched backward like a bow, evading the lethal point. Hands slapped the earth; his body flipped upward, boots aiming for Verlith’s head.

She pivoted the branch, striking his ankles and knees with inhuman speed.

*Thwack!*

A final blow slammed into his waist.

**"Ow! Ow! Ow—"**

His back hit the ground with a thud. Rubbing his waist, he winced up at her, grinning sheepishly.

Verlith wasn’t done.

*Swish—*

The branch flew, embedding itself in the dirt beside his head.

**"Hey! You trying to kill me?!"** He patted his chest, eyeing the trembling branch-stub.

**"You brought it on yourself."**

Her attacker had a boyish face—youthful despite his age. Pleasant features naturally inspired trust…

*If* not for his messy golden curls spilling over his forehead, and the lazy grin in his eyes.

**"The great Tree God? Unmoved by such… earthy curses."** The golden-haired youth chuckled, springing up. **"That uniquely useless rant? Only you, my friend Verlith!"**

**"I don’t know any sneak-thief."** Verlith sneered.

**"Blaming the Tree God? Proof that Verlith *‘Miss’* has no answers."** He stressed *‘Miss’* and *‘maiden’* with relish. **"The mighty First Knight of the Northern Coalition—now a winged *girl*! This century’s greatest joke!"**

**"Since when did Ansal, the Northern Coalition’s *‘first’* Elven Sorcerer,"** Verlith shot back, sharpening *‘first’*, **"become a stalker?"**