Dawn mist clung to frostbitten grass, cold and hazy. Pale yellow leaves spiraled down through the chill autumn breeze. Lead-gray clouds hung heavy in the sky, draining the world of color—everything looked gray, lifeless, and bleak.

Fro carried dry firewood, the crunch of his footsteps echoing through the silent, icy forest. Fear lingered in his chest like thick fog. Last night’s Wraith haunted his dreams—the memory of its smashed nose and writhing, wet tongue stayed sharp, as if right before his eyes.

"Ahhh!"

Nearby, a crow’s shadow blurred through the treetops.

Being sent to gather wood at dawn was murder on the heart. Every rustle behind the cold mist, every startled bird, every sudden sound made him think of the Wraith’s face.

Fro hunched his shoulders. So cold. Only Aelina’s faint, disdainful gaze had dragged him from his warm sleeping bag by the campfire. It wasn’t urgent—and this place was terrifying.

A wagon’s shadow appeared ahead. The Silverhaired Maiden sat atop it, seemingly eating again. Seeing her back, Fro sighed in relief. "Aelina, I brought the wood. None of it’s alive—ah!"

He screamed. The Silverhaired Maiden turned abruptly, a long, blood-red tongue lolling from her mouth, its tip trembling. Watching the terrified Golden Ape drop his firewood and shake head to toe, Aelina calmly picked up her chopsticks. She stuffed the grilled ox tongue into her chewing mouth. Her teeth—sharp enough to pierce titanium alloy—crushed it into pulp and swallowed. "Primitive food is such a hassle for energy."

Fro caught his breath, patting his heaving chest. "You scared me to death."

Aelina swallowed the last bite and swept her Molecular Reconstructor over the wood. "This’ll barely suffice."

"Since I nearly died of fright, can you at least tell me your plan?"

Aelina vaporized the wood into mist, stacking it on the wagon roof. "To the village."

"To sell firewood?"

"Always ready to fight." She glanced at Fro’s impatient face. "Yesterday, we fled in disarray. Lost twenty-six kilograms of iron and all our timber."

Fro nodded, rubbing his sore shoulder. He’d carried that timber yesterday—for the Giant Crossbow.

"When we return, we must project strength," Aelina said, climbing onto the wagon. She aimed the Molecular Reconstructor at her last storage chest—an unlocked, unopenable box holding her final ten-point-four kilograms of iron. "First, I’ll make you look like a raging beast. A wounded, furious animal is most intimidating. The wood? For defense. If the Elder betrays us, I’ll build a Giant Crossbow atop the wagon."

Pale blue light shimmered. The chest, etched with Aelina’s true name, dissolved into mist that coiled around Fro. Soon, he felt the cold iron again—lighter now. He looked down. His robe, once adorned with a cheerful bee emblem, was shredded with dog claw marks. Some still held broken nail fragments. His chest plate, though scarred with deep gashes, looked ruggedly durable.

It felt so real that Fro wondered if he’d actually been mauled by Wraiths and wild dogs for half an hour yesterday. He pressed a hand to the armor. It dented slightly—surprisingly thin.

"Don’t move," Aelina warned. "It’s all for show. We’re low on iron."

She turned, mounting a showy Giant Crossbow on the roof. A thick wooden bolt lay in its groove, its tip thinly plated with iron. The crossbow looked battle-worn: shallow sword scars marred its frame, and dried black blood stained the wood.

"Now, remember this," Aelina said. "Never reveal I can materialize items. Say this crossbow was hauled from the wagon. Claim it was forged by Torbjorn, a dwarf craftsman—for nine gold and three silver coins. To save coin, you treated him to a barrel of brightflower wine."

"Got it," Fro nodded eagerly like a chick pecking grain.

"One more thing." Aelina’s lips curled into a smile. "You think Bella’s like your little sister, right? In the village, treat her exactly that way. I’ll fully support you."

Seeing Aelina’s enchanting smile, Fro shivered. Strange—must be the cold weather.

They set off soon after. Four weary beasts pulled the wagon for half an hour until the village came into view. A night watchman clanged an iron slab hanging from a dead tree. Villagers peered curiously yet fearfully from windows at the Giant Crossbow looming on the wagon. The Elder waited politely at his yard gate. As the wagon halted, the crossbow swayed slightly. Its gleaming bolt tip made the Elder flinch back, terrified it might misfire and end his life.

The wagon stopped. An Elven Knight, clearly battered in battle, leaped down furiously. His robe was half-torn, the bee emblem reduced to a crooked grin. His once-pristine armor bore deep claw marks. The mustached Elder recognized those marks—he’d seen them on villagers who’d barely escaped Wraith attacks. Bones shattered, marrow exposed.

Yet the Elven Knight’s armor had won. The gashes were deep but hadn’t pierced through. And the knight himself was lively.

The Elf looked fiercer than any Wraith. Clanking in armor, he stormed straight to the Elder, his shadow swallowing the old man whole. The Elder’s belly quivered with fear as he leaned back. Fro kindly grabbed his beard. A cold black helmet pressed against the Elder’s face. He saw the Elf’s scarred cheek and fierce glare.

"You fat pig!" villagers nearby dared not intervene as the Elf shook his beard. "You never warned us about the Wraith! While we cleared rabid dogs in the marsh, it ambushed us from behind! We almost died."

"Knight sir, please," the Elder’s eyes welled with tears as he clutched his precious mustache. "Pity us poor folk. We cling to our homeland, unwilling to flee. We’re just farmers who know seeds—not monsters. Everyone runs at the mere mention of Wraiths."

"So you doomed us?" Fro’s anger flared, recalling Aelina’s analysis. Just greed for Thundergrass? "Do we look that easy to fool?"

"No, no—you misunderstand!" the Elder begged. "I sensed your heroic spirit. And that lady wields mighty magic. One Wraith should be nothing. Thinking of our dead villagers, I... I forgot to mention it. We had no choice. A fake Demon Hunter—a white-haired man—stole all our gold and vanished."

"Liar!" Fro’s right hand slapped his sword hilt. "Shall I cut you down now?"

*Shing!* His blade flashed out.

The Elder turned deathly pale, eyes fixed on the raised sword. Chaos erupted.

Aelina’s sharp voice cut through. "Stop! Release him!"

Fro obeyed instantly. Letting go, he noticed villagers gathering outside the gate, pitchforks in hand. The Elder collapsed onto his backside. Servants rushed to help him up, handing a wooden comb. He frantically smoothed his mustache.

Aelina stepped forward with a warm smile. "I apologize for my companion’s rudeness. I understand your plight. Let’s discuss this indoors. For example, that white-haired Demon Hunter."

The Elder found the beautiful maiden’s smile oddly chilling. Must be his imagination. He waved the villagers away and leaned on his cane. "Bless you! You must be saviors sent by the gods."

*Yes. Just not for you.* Aelina turned to Fro, whispering softly. "Go talk to your sister."

With that, she followed the Elder inside.