The cunning Champion and the scheming Sorceress finally left the outermost edge of the Forest Sea. They were about to reach Lundeheim—a city that held no loyalty to them.

"Though Lundeheim is technically part of the Forest Sea," Lyselle said as she walked, no longer a spirit dragged like a kite by Shall but back in her Sorceress form, "and in a way, my neighbor... I’ve never actually visited it."

She then asked knowingly, "What about you, Shall? Have you ever been to Lundeheim?"

She’d been once, long ago, when the Old Sage took her. He’d teleported her straight into the city. All she vaguely recalled was a city built atop trees.

Shall shook his head. "No."

Whenever the late Priestess was mentioned, the Champion grew unstable. But normally, he was reliable. He even offered crucial intel: "I’ve heard the Elves rarely welcome visitors. Only a handful receive invitations to enter Lundeheim. Outsiders know almost nothing about it."

Lyselle pursed her lips. "Makes sense. Doesn’t that fit our stereotype of Elves? Those pointy-eared ones have always been secretive. I heard from the White Tower that their entire race rarely interacts with the outside world. They’re self-sufficient."

She remembered the coffin carved from the Mother Tree of Elves now sitting outside her lair. "Yet they randomly gave you that coffin after your wife died. I don’t buy that they have no ulterior motive."

Lyselle suspected those pointy-eared Elves were like weasels paying New Year visits to chickens—up to no good. Shall just hadn’t noticed. So she pressed, "Do you recall what they said after handing you the coffin?"

Shall thought hard, then shook his head. "Nothing. The Elves said nothing at the time."

"No demands?"

"None, I think."

"Any odd behavior?"

Shall’s mind flashed back three months. Lyselle had just died. He’d been desperate to preserve her body. Then, a group of Elves appeared. They brought exactly what he needed—the coffin made from the Mother Tree of Elves.

He remembered their leader. A young-looking female Elf—though judging an Elf’s age by looks was tricky. She was stunning: sharp ears, golden hair like sunlight, sculpted marble features, and porcelain skin. Every bit the elegant, noble figure bards sang of.

After giving him the coffin, she’d whispered, "Departed souls become stars, Your Highness. Perhaps she never left you. When night falls, she’ll watch over you always... May you find solace."

A perfectly Elf-like eulogy. Beyond that, neither she nor her companions spoke another word. Their task was simply to deliver the coffin. Once done, they vanished back to their realm.

The Elves’ haste revealed nothing useful. Lyselle’s brow furrowed. "So besides those words, they said and did nothing?"

"Mm."

"Strange..."

Free lunches didn’t exist. Over three years, many had helped the Brave Squad—but all wanted something. Now, these pointy-eared Elves offered aid with no strings attached...

Lyselle nibbled her nails. Only two possibilities: either they were saints who did good deeds anonymously, or they were plotting something huge. Her imagination ran wild like a runaway horse.

After a while, she looked up at Shall with a weird expression, muttering, "Oh no. They wouldn’t try to put a lock on a shared bike, would they?"

Shall caught her words but not clearly. "What did you say?"

"Nothing, nothing!" Lyselle waved her hands. "Just wondering why those pointy-eared ones gave you that coffin..."

But thinking here led nowhere. She feared her thoughts would escalate from a gallop to a stampede. She reined them in. "Forget it. No use guessing. Lundeheim’s right ahead. If we want answers, we’ll just ask the Elves."

Shall nodded. "You’re right." He paused, gazing through the dense forest toward Lundeheim. "Either way, I owe them thanks for the coffin. Lundeheim may shun outsiders, but they can’t refuse a Champion coming to express gratitude—especially if they need something from me."

Lyselle was surprised. *He actually thought this through?* Back in the Brave Squad, Shall rarely showed such depth. Someone else always handled the thinking; he just swung his sword. Most of the time, he gave her the impression: *My head itches—is a brain growing? Scratch.*

Shall thinking clearly was unbelievable. *A strange Champion has been added.*

But that didn’t matter. What mattered was having Shall.

Lyselle nodded in agreement, then suddenly stopped. Shall halted instantly beside her.

Before them stood an unnaturally dense thicket—leaves overlapping without a gap, forming a stark contrast to the wild forest around it. Their eyes met. Same thought: *Found it.*

Nature didn’t grow plants this thick and orderly. It looked almost like a door. Someone must maintain it.

Lyselle darted behind Shall, poking his back with her Magic Wand. "Go! Check it out!"

Shall didn’t comment on her cowardice. He stepped forward, straightening his spine to shield her. The familiar stance made him think of the late Priestess—but he pushed the emotion down.

Calmly, he reached out and touched the thicket. His fingers passed through it like water, rippling the illusion. Part of his hand vanished.

He turned. "It’s an illusion."

Lyselle stepped out, studying the thicket with her wand. "Mm. A masterful illusion spell. Even has cognitive interference. No wonder few visit Lundeheim—most wouldn’t spot the anomaly."

They weren’t most people. One was cunning and scheming; the other, scheming and cunning. Shall had Magic Nullification to break spells. Lyselle was the Lord of the White Tower’s student—a master of mysteries. Both saw through the facade.

"Lundeheim’s likely behind this," Lyselle whispered, glancing at Shall. "You first. I’ll cover you."

Shall grunted. Hand on his Holy Sword’s hilt, he stepped cautiously through the illusion. Lyselle grabbed his sleeve, staying close.

They crossed the rippling barrier into legendary Lundeheim.

And saw a tree.

A colossal tree, taller than mountains, piercing the clouds. Even with Lyselle’s arcane knowledge, she couldn’t name its species. It resembled the mythical World Tree—connecting earth and sky, shrouded in mist. Its trunk was unimaginably thick; each leaf could hold a chapel.

They stood at its roots, craning their necks but unable to see the crown.

"You call this a tree?" Lyselle muttered, though she’d seen it before.

Shall barely paused. He tore his gaze away, voice low. "This is it. The Elves’ realm. Legendary Lundeheim."

Lyselle nodded. She’d never seen such a tree outside.

As they whispered, a voice suddenly rang out beside them:

"Intruders detected!"