We're out of the Deadwood Forest?!
Loran stared at Melissara in shock, but she remained utterly composed—as if exiting the deadly woods was no different from leaving an ordinary forest.
"You can continue the rest of the journey alone," Melissara said abruptly.
Loran froze for two seconds before blurting out, "Your Highness, aren’t you coming with me?"
"I have matters to attend to. Return to the Elven Forest first."
"But Your Highness, the current situation—" Loran’s voice tightened with urgency.
"You’ll handle it," Melissara interrupted, pressing her index finger against Loran’s brow. "Until I return, you have full authority over all affairs in the Elven Forest."
A tiny point of light sank into Loran’s forehead—a mark embodying Melissara’s will. With it, every elf in the forest would obey Loran’s commands, save the elders who spent most of their time in slumber.
Knowing persuasion was futile, Loran took a deep breath, dropped to one knee, and vowed solemnly: "I won’t fail your trust!"
Melissara turned away without another word. Loran sighed softly, guessing her destination, then headed in the opposite direction.
*The human territories are off-limits now. I’ll need another route.*
---
Deep within the Deadwood Forest, Herman struggled to his feet with his subordinates’ support. Bloodshot eyes glared from beneath torn robes crusted with dried blood.
"Damn those elves!" he snarled.
Scanning the survivors, his eye twitched. "Where are the other two?"
"Sir, Lord Maelon is trapped by the Elven King’s magic. He can’t break free."
"Show me."
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Herman limped to a clearing. There stood Maelon—thorn vines pierced through every joint, pinning his massive frame like a grotesque sculpture. His shredded black robes revealed bronze-like skin, glistening with fresh blood as the thorns fed on him. His wounds refused to heal. Only the faint, steady rise of his chest confirmed he still lived.
Herman sucked in a sharp breath, the curses dying on his lips. A chill crawled up his spine.
*Is this really the work of the so-called gentle, kind-hearted elves?*
He had no doubt the Elven King could have killed Maelon effortlessly. Yet she chose this—to keep him suspended between life and death.
*An ordinary human would be broken forever after this. Thank the gods Maelon isn’t human.*
*And neither am I. Or Loran would’ve killed me already.*
Herman decided to sever the thorns and transport Maelon as-is back to the capital. As he stepped closer, a faint murmur reached his ears.
Leaning in, he caught broken phrases: "...find... Darkness... woman..."
*What does that mean?*
"Cut the thorns! Get him back to the capital!" Herman barked. His gaze swept the clearing again. "And where’s Barnett?!"
Silence.
"Sir... Lord Barnett seemed to have left alone," a hesitant voice replied.
Herman clenched his jaw, then spat out: "Damn it!"
"Leave her. Clean up and retreat!" He watched his men lift Maelon’s thorn-riddled body, cast one last look at the cursed forest, and strode away.
---
Meanwhile, at the edge of the Deadwood Forest, the very person who’d defied Herman walked silently. Black armor radiated icy menace, and in her gauntleted hand, the South Sea Mermaid’s Tear glowed with an eerie blue light.
"Grace..."
A hoarse, hollow whisper escaped her helmet—like a sigh with no origin.
---
Another thunderclap shook the window. Mushiyu flinched, pressing a hand to her chest as she watched pitch-black rain lash the glass without pause.
Ata had matched the boy’s pace for most of the race, but faltered near the end. A narrow loss.
*Pity. If she hadn’t crashed into that tree chasing the speed boost... she might’ve won.*
Both players opened their eyes as the game ended. Ata offered the boy a rueful smile—"Good match"—before stepping down. The boy swept his winnings into a bulging pocket.
"Close call," Mushiyu said to Ata.
"Yeah. But without that boost, I’d never have held my lead in the final stretch," Ata replied, no regret in her voice.
Mushiyu nodded. *His skill was too overwhelming. No item, no victory.*
"Wanna try?" Ata nudged her toward the seat.
Mushiyu hesitated. "I don’t have money."
"Ten silver coins? Pocket change! Big sis’s treat!" Ata pushed her into the chair and tossed coins onto the table.
Mushiyu wanted to refuse. *She’s already paid for food, the airship tickets, my clothes...* But retreat was impossible now.
"This is my sister. Go easy on her," Ata told the boy.
He glanced at Mushiyu, gave no reply, and closed his eyes.
Unfazed, Ata winked at Mushiyu and stepped back.
Mushiyu shut her eyes, regulating her breath and heartbeat. Nervousness prickled her skin. Then—a weightless sensation flooded her body.
*The array’s activated. Game start!*
Her eyes snapped open. She straddled a wyvern perched on a cliff edge. Below yawned a valley flanked by jagged peaks. The beast beneath her spread its wings and roared.
To her left, the boy sat astride another wyvern. He met her gaze.
A deep, resonant roar echoed through the valley—growing louder, sharper—until it shattered the air.
Her wyvern lunged forward, plunging them both over the cliff.
