The forest clearing was bathed in the warm glow of the campfire, its flickering flames casting dancing shadows across the dense wall of trees around us. The air was crisp, laced with the earthy scent of pine and the distant murmur of a nearby stream.

  Overhead, a sliver of the moon peeked through the branches, its pale light mingling with the fire’s golden hue. It was a rare moment of ease in this journey—a quiet reprieve from the tension that had followed us since leaving Seagard.

  Around the campfire were just the four of us: Princess Isolde, Borric, Ragna, and me. The mercenaries were stationed at a separate camp, their muffled chatter and distant movements a low hum in the background. Here, though, the mood was lighter. We chatted and ate among ourselves, although my attention was on the Status Page that floated before my eyes.

  I was four levels higher than when I first gained the Class, and I had four useful and strong skills from the Class. The skill [Slam] had also increased from D rank to C rank.

  I didn’t know how the Levels worked exactly, but I had an understanding of it by now. Someone being higher level than me didn’t mean he was invincible against me. He was just harder to kill. He was just stronger, of course, but not invincible.

  So, in the worst-case scenario, if my hunch was right, I wouldn't be totally slaughtered. Plus, the Valtherian Physique….

  “What? No way!” Laughter broke me out of my thoughts as Ragna leaned forward, narrowing her eyes at the princess, her tone half-teasing and half-incredulous.

  “So, you’re saying,” she began, gesturing vaguely with her hands, “you sat in some boxy stone building with a bunch of other people, just listening to someone talk? And they didn’t even fight you to prove they knew better? How does that work?!”

  Princess Isolde giggled, her laugh soft and melodic as she brought a hand to her lips. Beside her, Borric chuckled heartily, his shoulders shaking as he slapped his thigh. I shook my head with a faint smirk, chewing on a strip of tiger meat we’d roasted earlier.

  “That is precisely how it worked, yes,” the princess replied, her tone light but patient. “Well… mostly. Waybound Academy did consider strength, magic, and other such skills for grading us too. But it wasn’t the single factor.”

  Ragna snapped her fingers, her expression shifting as if a light had gone off in her head. “That makes more sense! Because even our tribe’s Shaman sometimes just yapped on in those ‘classes’ of his. I stopped attending after he started ranting about star positions instead of teaching us how to fight.”

  “If you had bothered to listen to his words, you’d already know what an ‘Academy’ is,” I chimed in, raising an eyebrow at her. My tone was dry, but the corner of my mouth quirked in amusement.

  Ragna shot me a sharp look. “Oh, our musclehead Thorvyn is suddenly so wise. Did you forget how slow you were before that Direwolf fight? I remember you used to badmouth the Shaman nonstop. Now you’re defending him? What changed?”

  “Wolf jumped me, headbutted me, I hit my head on a cave wall and boom.” I gestured dramatically with my hands, mimicking an explosion. “My stupidity was slammed right out of me.”

  That drew another round of laughter from Borric and the princess, though Ragna only scoffed, crossing her arms as she leaned back. I took the opportunity to shift the focus. “By the way, did you say Waybound Academy? You studied there?”

  Her eyes brightened as she nodded. “I did, yes. You’re going to Ethenia, aren’t you? You should visit if you can—it’s a marvel to behold. A true masterpiece. But I’m curious—how do you know of it?”

  “The Shaman,” I said simply. “He spent years in the outside world before returning to our tribe. He knows a lot of things. He teaches about them in his classes—those that barely anyone attends.” I glanced at Ragna pointedly before continuing. “Waybound Academy. The greatest magical institution in human history. Heroes, villains, even demigods—all came from its halls. You’re impressive to have studied there…”

  Her smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of modesty crossing her face. “Oh, come now. I’m a princess. That’s how I got in. Waybound has reserved seats for foreign students. I was just lucky enough to take one of them. And honestly… I’m not very talented.”

  “Princess, please don’t play yourself down like that!” Borric interjected, sounding almost wounded by her words. He sat forward, his voice rising slightly in protest. “You were one of the fastest-growing students there! From Level 15 to Level 46 in just two years! If you hadn’t had to quit and return due to your father’s health, you’d surely have reached 5th Ascension—or more—by now.”

  The sudden outpouring made him pause, his face paling as he clapped a hand over his mouth, realizing he’d said too much. Princess Isolde sighed, pressing a hand to her temple. “Oh, Mr. Borric…” she muttered, though her tone lacked true reprimand. “Please be mindful. My father’s condition isn’t public knowledge.”

  Her gaze turned to Ragna and me, her expression serious. “Thankfully, you’re people unconnected to Thalassaria’s politics. I trust this will stay between us?”

  I nodded, as did Ragna, who grinned and added, “No worries. We’ll watch our mouths.”

  Borric bowed his head, his voice apologetic. “I’m sorry, Princess.”

  “But he’s not wrong,” Ragna said with a wide grin. “Level 15 to 46? That’s 31 levels in just two years! That’s incredible, especially since you said you barely hunted.”

  “She’s right,” I agreed, nodding. “Waybound’s a four-year course, isn’t it? You only did two. At that pace, you might’ve hit 6th Ascension if you’d finished.”

  Princess Isolde waved a hand dismissively, though a faint blush colored her cheeks. “Oh, stop it. 5th Ascension, maybe. But 6th Ascension is far harder to achieve.”

  Borric perked up, clearing his throat, but the princess spoke first. “Speaking of 6th Ascension,” she said, her tone lightening, “Borric’s daughter—my dearest friend, Zerina—is already there. We entered at the same time, so she’s in her third year now, and yet she’s achieved such an intense feat. It goes to show how talented she is. Some even believe she might break Katheran the Lightning’s record as the fastest pure human to reach 7th Ascension.”

  “No way, Borric!” I exclaimed, turning to him. “You never told me your daughter’s a legend?”

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  The merchant rubbed the back of his head, his cheeks coloring as he laughed. “Hahaha, she’s the proudest thing I’ve brought into this world. I’ve written to her about you, you know. She’s grateful you saved me, and—”

  Before he could finish, the crunch of approaching footsteps drew our attention. Sir Allister emerged from the shadows, his expression grim as he strode toward the princess, a letter in hand.

  “Princess, a hoopoe brought this,” he said, his voice low but steady as he extended the envelope toward her.

  Isolde’s brow furrowed as she accepted it. “What is it, Sir Allister?” she asked, her tone losing its earlier warmth.

  “It would be better to read this in private,” he suggested, but she shook her head, already unfolding the letter.

  The campfire’s warmth seemed to dim as she scanned the paper, her expression tightening with every line. Her face turned pale, and her gaze snapped back to Sir Allister. “We can’t afford to waste time camping here,” she said sharply. “We need to move. Tell the others to pack up.”

  “Understood, Princess.” He bowed and turned on his heel, walking briskly toward the mercenary camp.

  I stood as Isolde rose, her movements hurried. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  She hesitated, glancing down at the letter in her hand before meeting my eyes. “It’s my father,” she said softly. “His health… it’s worsened significantly. He’s requested that I return immediately.”

  I nodded, understanding. Fathers and kings. Both mighty, yet equally fragile. Loss doesn’t care about titles or strength. “I’ve lost my father. I know what it’s like. Do what you need to. We Valtherians can go without sleep for days. Don’t worry about us.”

  Her eyes softened, and for a moment, her regal poise gave way to something more human. “Thank you, Thorvyn,” she said quietly.

  With that, the camp stirred, and we prepared to ride again.

  ****

  The forest blurred past, and only the rhythmic pounding of hooves kept us company as we charged ahead. We talked less and rode faster. The air was damp and cold, and the overgrown path twisted through a thick mass of trees that felt like they were pressing in closer with every step forward.

  I kept my eyes fixed on the road, the branches above looking like crooked hands reaching down toward us as if trying to pull us back. The forest was growing denser.

  Ragna rode beside me, the wind making her red hair dance. She looked content in the speed, her eyes locked forward, and a small smile played on her lips. This wasn't a leisurely trip anymore, and yet she looked happy at the thrill. Weird barbarians.

  The princess’s grip on the edges of her carriage window represented our situation far better. We moved fast, too fast, and the forest itself seemed to resist us. Every turn felt like a new obstacle as the mercenaries kept their eyes open.

  Up ahead, the road split, one path fading to the left where the woods seemed less dense, the other a winding path disappearing into a darker section of the forest, where my eyes failed to see properly. The shadows were much thicker.

  “Hold!” Sir Allister's shout broke through the clatter of hooves. The group slowed to a stop, the horses snorting, breaths forming mist in the cooling air. I looked up, watching as Allister approached the princess's carriage.

  Princess Isolde leaned out, her brow furrowing as she eyed the two paths. “What is it?” she asked, her voice holding that edge that only came when someone was trying to mask concern.

  Sir Allister gestured toward the right path, his eyes serious. “Princess, we have a choice.”

  “Ah?”

  “The left path is safer, but it will take us longer—about a week to Solstara. The right one...” He paused, and his gaze swept to the shadows lurking ahead. “It’s faster, about half the time. But more dangerous. Monsters.”

  Isolde's eyes narrowed as she considered her options. A moment later, she glanced at Borric, who was riding awkwardly on his horse beside me, his face looking more drawn than usual.

  “Mr Borric,” she said, “join me inside the carriage. It may be safer, considering what’s ahead.”

  “Princess…” He hesitated, opening his mouth as if to protest, but quickly closed it. He nodded instead. He dismounted with a groan, stumbling a little before climbing into the carriage. The door clicked shut, and Sir Allister turned his horse, urging us forward.

  We took the path to the right.

  The forest seemed to tighten its grip the deeper we went, the road narrowing, trees crowding in until it felt as if the sky had vanished completely. I kept my gaze sweeping across the underbrush, every rustle putting my nerves on edge. Ragna seemed less concerned, though her grip on her weapon had tightened just slightly. We pressed on, and I could feel the weight of the darkness growing heavier, pressing against my senses.

  An hour in, the air shifted.

  The stillness was too thick. My horse moved uneasily, his ears twitching at every small noise. “It’s okay, I’ll protect you, buddy,” I ruffled his head, and he neighed.

  Although I said that, a cold sense of dread had settled at the base of my spine, and I found myself glancing at the shadows more often. I felt an itch at the back of my neck—the one that always came before things went wrong.

  It didn’t take long for my worries to be confirmed. Suddenly, a sharp swish tore through the air. Instinct kicked in, and I jerked my head to the side as something sliced past my cheek. The sting of the wind brushed against my skin. I turned sharply, spotting the arrow embedded in the trunk behind me.

  “Ambush!” I shouted, already reaching for my ax.

  The world sharpened as my [Dragon's Eye] activated. It was a Passive Skill, so it was always active—that was how I managed to dodge the arrow—but I could make the effects ‘stronger’ by focusing mana on my eyes. The effects came easily.

  The dim forest burst into clarity, and I could see them—small figures with dog heads blending into the foliage, their fur-covered skin hiding them among the leaves. Kobolds. Dozens of them, crawling from every corner, arrows nocked and ready.

  “Ragna!” I called, my eyes snapping toward her.

  She turned, her expression lighting up with an excited grin. “Finally!” she yelled, raising her club as she stood on her stirrups, scanning the shadows with an eager gleam. The mercenaries reacted, drawing swords, their voices raising in alarm. Horses reared, the chaos of battle exploding around us.

  “Everyone, hurry!” Sir Allister's voice boomed, commanding over the din. “We’re surrounded! Form up, protect the carriage!”

  The mercenaries moved into position, their shields raised as they tried to form a defensive ring. My horse bucked as an arrow whizzed past its head, and I yanked on the reins, steadying it as I caught sight of a kobold creeping closer.

  Without a second thought, I swung my ax. The blade caught the creature in the neck, and its body crumpled to the ground.

  [You’ve killed a Kobold Archer – Level 21!]

  [You’ve received experience points.]

  Around me, the forest was growing louder with kobold cries and the clash of steel. I urged my horse forward, keeping near the carriage, my eyes darting between the shadows. The glint of furry skin betrayed the positions of our attackers.

  “Come on, you bastards!” Ragna roared, swinging her club with a wild grin as she knocked a kobold off its feet, her laughter ringing through the air.

  The kobolds were fast, darting between trees, their arrows relentless. I batted one away with the haft of my ax, its force vibrating up my arm. The mercenaries were holding, but barely, their formation fractured by the chaos of the attack.

  Sir Allister was in the thick of it, his blade flashing as he cut down a kobold that lunged for one of the horses. He turned, his voice sharp. “Keep moving! We can’t let them bog us down here!”

  The carriage lurched forward, the horses straining as the wheels bounced over the uneven ground. I stayed close, my ax ready, my eyes scanning for any sign of movement.

  The forest was a blur of chaos—branches snapping, kobolds shrieking, the mercenaries struggling to maintain formation as they pushed forward. We couldn’t afford to stop. Not here. Not when we were surrounded.

  “Ragna!” I shouted, catching sight of her as she swung her club, knocking a kobold into a tree with a sickening crunch. She turned, her eyes meeting mine, a wild grin splitting her face.

  “Keep at it!” she yelled back, her voice full of excitement.

  Another arrow zipped past, and I twisted in my saddle, my ax flashing as I brought it down on the kobold that had fired. It crumpled, and I urged my horse forward, the carriage rattling just ahead.

  I ignored the notifications.

  Sir Allister’s voice rang out once more, commanding and unwavering. “Push through! We break through their lines and keep moving!”

  The mercenaries rallied, their shouts echoing through the trees as they forced their way forward, cutting down kobolds that lunged from the shadows. The carriage surged ahead, the horses straining as they pulled it over a rise.

  And just like that, we were through. The kobolds fell back, their numbers thinning, their arrows no longer finding their mark. The forest opened up slightly, and we kept moving, not slowing until the sounds of the kobolds had faded completely.

  The air was heavy with the scent of blood and sweat, the forest around us silent once more, save for the labored breathing of the horses. I glanced at Ragna, her face flushed, her eyes bright with adrenaline.

  “That was fun,” she said, her grin widening as she looked at me. I held a sigh as she announced, “I reached Level 30!”

  I shook my head, a breathless chuckle escaping. “You’re insane.” Then again, I felt the same way.

  [You’ve received experience points.]

  [You’ve reached Level 32.]

  We laughed and continued, the road winding through the trees. The shadows deepened as the night closed in.

  Battle wasn't chaos, it was clarity. All distractions faded; only truth remained. Today's truth? Survival only belonged to those who see clearly. That one must strike swiftly and never hesitate.

  That lesson was about to be tested again. Because tonight…

  Something was watching us from the darkness.

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