Chapter 108
The morning hadn't even begun when the thunderous clang of the Dome Academy bell shattered the quiet. It rang far earlier than usual, strange, considering it was tuned only to summon a select few. Only seven students were meant to hear it.
Thalen Merrow groaned as he sat up, the sound still ringing in his ears. Sleep clung to him like a fog, his limbs heavy and unwilling. Before he could fully gather his senses, the door to his dorm burst open. Ormin Vos Sithe, wide awake and clearly more energized than anyone should be at that hour, grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged his half-conscious body out into the open courtyard.
Waiting near a modest-looking battle wagon were Ysil Thorne, Galen Althus, and Lora Sithe. Despite the early hour, all three looked ready for the road ahead, though not without a few tired yawns.
Nearby, the young lord Daniel Rothchester and Lady Melgil Veara Gehinnom were already loading supplies into the wagon—satchels of gear, potion cases, and tightly bound scrolls. Both moved with silent coordination, clearly used to working together. Daniel's noble demeanor didn't waver even as he bent to lift crates, and Melgil's sharp eyes scanned every item, double-checking their equipment.
Combat Instructor Matheo Roclus arrived moments later, still dressed in his sleeping robes and mid-yawn. His messy hair and groggy expression betrayed the same lack of sleep the others felt. Professor Finch Larenthanil, advisor to Class-B Silver, followed shortly after, inspecting the battle wagon with a sharp eye.
"It just appeared last night," the professor murmured, tapping the side of the wooden structure. "Strange craftsmanship."
Daniel stepped forward, his tone calm and practiced. "My head steward delivered it personally. No cause for concern, Professor."
That answer seemed to satisfy Finch, though in truth he assumed the "head steward" referred to one of Duchess Elleena Laeanna Rothchester's trusted men. Unbeknownst to him, the wagon hadn't come from the duchess's household at all but from the War Forge itself, crafted under the direction of chieftain Siglorr Bouldergrove.
Its enchantments, subtle, powerful, and precise, had been woven by none other than Nukra of the Grey Ogre Clan and Imgrim Bouldergrove, two spell-forging fanatics known in Daniel's domain.
Professor Finch lingered a moment longer, running his hand along the smooth edge of the battle wagon. "Quite the piece of work… likely cost a fortune in gold," he said aloud, still unaware that the true cost was time, not coin.
With everything loaded, the students began their journey, a two-day travel toward the Hallowtree region. But first, they had to stop by the local guild chapter that managed the area. Protocol demanded they pay their respects and acquire a veteran guide familiar with the surrounding terrain.
The Hallowtree was part of a vast forest nestled between two Riverton provinces. One of these, the Land of the Weeping Vines, was under the care of a noble wine-making clan with over a thousand inhabitants. The region was open to merchants and travelers alike, thanks to its location along a well-known trade route.
But their true concern lay beyond the vineyards, within a 670-acre stretch of land, at the heart of which festered a swamp nearly seventy acres wide.
It was home to something old and dangerous.
A treant, ancient, stationary, but deeply sentient—ruled the swamp's murky edges. In the past, it had maintained a grim balance, summoning smaller carnivorous plants to hunt only within its dark domain. But something had changed. The plants were no longer confined. They had grown more vicious, more violent.
And they were spreading.
The swamp's boundaries no longer held them. Innocents had been slaughtered in nearby towns, including traders, farmers, and even local guards. The guild had issued a formal quest. The students, still green yet promising, were chosen not by accident, but by need.
And now, with tired eyes and uncertain hearts, the seven of them rode toward that need—toward the forest, the swamp, and the mystery hiding in its roots.
The wheels of the battle wagon creaked softly over the dirt road, its enchanted axles humming faintly with magic. Morning mist still clung to the trees on either side, and the sun had yet to rise fully beyond the hills.
Inside the wagon's enchanted interior, larger on the inside, with cushioned benches and built-in weapon racks, the seven students sat in relative silence, save for the occasional snore from the combat instructor sprawled in the corner.
Thalen Merrow rubbed his eyes, still groggy. "Remind me… whose brilliant idea was it to leave before sunrise?"
"That would be me," Daniel said without looking up from the map sprawled on his lap. "We need to arrive before nightfall if we want time to brief the guild properly."
"You're a menace," Thalen muttered.
"I agree," said Ysil Thorne, brushing her silver-streaked hair behind one ear as she leaned back. "Even the sun isn't awake yet, and here we are, chasing killer shrubs."
Galen Althus chuckled. "Oh, come now. Isn't this better than morning lectures? At least no one's droning about mana theory."
"Don't jinx it," Lora Sithe warned, elbowing him lightly. "Professor Finch might magically appear mid-air just to give us a pop quiz."
"Gods, don't give him ideas," Ormin Vos Sithe said, lounging on a crate near the back door. His hood was pulled low, but his tone was as dry as ever. "The man once lectured us in our dreams. I still have nightmares about comparative alchemy."
Melgil Veara Gehinnom, who had been quietly polishing her staff, finally spoke. "Enough
complaining. We're not here for sightseeing. The Treant's attacks are escalating. If we don't stop it or understand why it's changing, more people will die."
Daniel nodded. "She's right. We're not just here to collect guild credit. This is a real mission. Real danger."
"Then why are we being sent?" Thalen asked, voice low. "Shouldn't this be handled by the elite squads? Or at least someone who isn't... a bunch of sleep-deprived students?"
"Because you guys volunteered, remember?"
"And we just tag along."
Daniel said, folding the map. "And because no one else was willing to enter the swamp yet. Not until more information comes through."
"But we never actually thought you would leave this early."
"Melgil asked you guys about this, and you mentioned the next day, and you will leave before daybreak."
"You should keep in mind that you forced us to undergo additional training, even though we are aware of that.
"And you just happened to have all of this equipment and a wagon?" Galen asked, raising an eyebrow.
Daniel's expression remained unreadable. "Let's just say... I have sources."
Ysil leaned forward, eyes narrowing. "You mean like your mysterious war forge contacts? Or the enchanted wagon no one saw arrive?"
"Both," Daniel replied simply.
"Fantastic," Ormin muttered. "So we're riding into a murder swamp, following a noble with secrets, in a wagon built by people who name their children things like Imgrim Bouldergrove."
"I like Imgrim," Lora said cheerfully. "He's sweet. He made me a tea kettle that screams when the water's ready."
There was a beat of silence.
"...Why would you want that?" Thalen asked, bewildered.
"I didn't," she smiled. "He insisted."
A sudden thump rocked the wagon slightly, blinking sleepily. "Are we there yet?"
"No, sir," Ysil said dryly. "Still alive. Sadly."
"Good. Wake me when something tries to kill us."
With a groan, Matheo turned over and resumed snoring instantly.
The rest of the ride passed with tension slowly returning. Trees grew denser as the road narrowed, and the signs of civilization thinned out—no more passing merchants, no more distant smoke from homesteads. By midday, the forest deepened into the kind spoken of in legends.
And as the sun began to dip, they finally saw it—a squat stone building wrapped in ivy and moss, the guild outpost. Smoke curled from its chimney, and the faint scent of roasting meat drifted on the wind.
Daniel stood, stretching. "We're here."
Ormin whistled. "About time. I can't feel my spine."
Melgil narrowed her eyes toward the treeline. "Eyes sharp. This is where the edge begins."
Galen grabbed his spear. "Let's go meet the guild, then get that guide. The faster we finish, the sooner we're out of this cursed place."
As the seven stepped down from the wagon, their boots landing on moss-covered stones, none of them noticed the faint flicker of movement in the distant shadows behind the trees—slender vines curling back, retreating into the dark.
They arrived far too soon.
Ysil was the first to notice. As the wagon rolled to a soft stop, she leaned out the small shutter window and stared at the moss-covered stones and the ancient outpost nestled beneath towering vines.
"…No way," she muttered. "This can't be the place."
Thalen furrowed his brow. "We've barely been traveling what—five, six hours?"
"Five and a half," Galen confirmed, glancing at the strange time-telling orb embedded in the wagon wall. "Which is impossible. This road alone should take us a full day, and the entire trip was meant to be two."
Lora stepped down from the wagon and glanced at the sky, lips parted. "The sun's barely past noon…"
"I don't get it," Ormin muttered. "Did we teleport? Are we dead?"
Melgil stood silently, her eyes scanning the forest beyond the outpost. She didn't like this kind of magic. The subtle ones. The ones you only notice after they've bent time and space around you.
Thalen finally turned to Daniel, who was calmly folding the map and securing it in a case.
"Okay. You. Explain. Now."
Daniel stepped down from the wagon and dusted off his gloves before answering.
"The battle wagon was enchanted with a temporal-folding acceleration ward. In layman's terms, it compresses distance and minimizes travel time without shifting planes or disorienting the body. My steward had it prepared for longer expeditions like this."
Ysil narrowed her eyes. "That kind of enchantment should be illegal without guild sanction or, at the very least, absurdly expensive."
Daniel shrugged. "It's not illegal if the caster is a master-class artificer with a clearance from the kingdom."
Thalen groaned. "Of course. Of course you know people like that."
Daniel just made this response. As they were traveling, he just opened a dimensional gate and shortened the travel distance from two days to a few hours.
"But the guild," Galen started, frowning. "Weren't we supposed to check in and get a guide from the veteran registry before we head into Hallowtree?"
Daniel looked at them all calmly and shook his head. "We're not going to the guild."
The group froze.
"What?" Lora asked, blinking. "But… protocol—"
"We're not following protocol," Daniel said firmly. "Not for this."
He stepped forward, speaking evenly, eyes steady. "This isn't just about finishing a quest. It's about learning how to finish one on our own. If we rely on veteran escorts, we won't be tested. We'll observe, we'll be protected, but we won't grow. This is our trial, and if we're serious about becoming field-ready, we need to act like it."
"But this is a dangerous one," Ysil cut in. "The Treant isn't just summoning vines anymore. It's out of control. People are dead, Daniel. This isn't some mock exam."
"I know," he said. "That's why we need to face it directly. The quest details said it best—"
Daniel reached into his coat and pulled out the official parchment from the Guild Archive, unfolding it as the group gathered around.
He read aloud:
"The Swamp Treant of the Weeping Vines has altered its behavior unnaturally. Carnivorous plant summons now hunt beyond the swamp's boundary. Twelve confirmed civilian deaths. Unknown cause of aggression. Local guard forces have failed to contain it. The threat is considered Yellow Tier escalating toward Red. A guild-sanctioned team with independent clearance is required to investigate, identify the cause, and neutralize or report."
He looked up. "It says independent. Not supervised. Not babysat. If we don't start now, when will we ever be ready for the real ones?"
"Ah, this is the real one," as Galen adjusted the straps on his gear.
"But what if someone dies?" Ormin asked quietly.
Daniel nodded, acknowledging the weight of the question. "Then we handle it. Together. Like real adventurers and hunters do. Like real comrades do."
For a moment, no one spoke.
The wind rustled the leaves above them. The strange silence of the swamp nearby pressed gently on their ears. Insects chirped and hummed at the edge of hearing, but something
"Something deeper is wrong; they waited past the tree line."
"I hate that you make sense sometimes," Ysil muttered, folding her arms.
"I hate that I agree with her," Galen added.
Lora looked between them all and finally smiled.
"Fine. But I still want a bonus if we make it back alive."
"What, there is a bonus?"
"Agreed," said Thalen, stretching his arms with a groan. "And someone else better be cooking lunch."
Ormin let out a slow sigh, adjusting the straps of his pack. "Well, if we die, at least I won't have to attend next week's Mana Ethics presentation."
Daniel smiled faintly. "Glad we're all in agreement."
Melgil said nothing, but her gaze lingered on Daniel a second longer. She gave him a slight nod. That, for her, was enough.
With the outpost behind them and the guild door left unopened, the seven turned away from the safety of official aid and marched toward the treeline, the forest that locals had begun calling the Hollowpath, where shadows stretched unnaturally and vines hung too still, too watchful.
The sun was high overhead, nearing noon. By all logic, it should've been warm. But beneath the trees, the air turned cool and heavy. The sunlight struggled to pierce through the thick canopy. Damp moss muffled their steps. No birds sang.
"The town of Riverton is just a few hours beyond those tree lines," Daniel said, pointing through the thicket.
"Tree line of death, you mean," Ormin muttered.
Five of them chuckled nervously, trying to shake off the tension. The sound of laughter was brief but welcome, echoing through the quiet woods like a fragile promise.
Only Daniel and Melgil didn't laugh.
They weren't worried about the Treant.
Because they understood something the others hadn't fully grasped yet.
The greatest threat wasn't always the monster; it was ignorance.
Daniel stopped and turned toward the group. "This is where your education begins."
Galen blinked. "Wait, what now? We just got here."
"Exactly," Daniel said. "Out here, time is never on your side. In the wild, you learn or you die."
He knelt beside a fallen branch, brushing away leaves to expose a tangle of pale roots underneath. "See this? Wolfweed. It grows fast after a recent kill. That means something fed here in the last twelve hours. Possibly carnivorous flora, possibly not."
He stood and pointed further into the woods. "Smell the air. The wind's carrying dampness, rot, and iron. Blood is recent. We're not alone."
Melgil moved to his side and added, "Formations matter. Lora, Thalen, you're in the middle. Ranged and support. Ysil, Galen, flank left and right. Ormin, keep your eyes on the rear. If anything approaches from behind, call it."
"Wait, are we seriously doing this like we're already in formation?" Thalen asked, unsure whether to be impressed or alarmed.
Daniel straightened. "This isn't a drill, Thalen. This is field survival."
"You've been out here before," Ysil observed. "Haven't you?"
"I was raised with expectations that didn't leave room for weakness," Daniel replied. "And Melgil was there for most of it. We didn't get stronger by sitting in classrooms."
He turned and began walking again, his steps precise and deliberate. "You don't learn survival from safety. You learn it when your food runs out and your fire dies and you have to keep moving anyway."
The others followed, quieter now, more alert.
Along the way, Daniel kept teaching the smallest things, like how to walk without snapping branches, how to mark trees with chalk and not magic to avoid detection, and how to spot the hidden eyes of watching plants.
"You think fighting the Treant is hard?" he said at one point. "Try making it to the Treant without starving, freezing, or getting ambushed. If you're not alive when the fight starts, you don't get to win it."
That sobered them quickly.
By the time they stopped near a break in the trees to rest, the students had already begun to shift. Less noise. Less fidgeting. More attention to their surroundings. By the time dusk crept across the forest, the shadows had thickened, grown longer, and become heavier, almost alive. The students followed Daniel as the path became increasingly tangled.
Trees twisted around them like skeletal arms, their trunks warped as if reshaped by something unnatural. The air grew colder with every step. Even the insects had fallen silent.
The sun, now a blood-red smear behind the hills, barely reached the forest floor.
Daniel raised a hand. "Stop here," he said calmly.
The group halted behind him.
Ahead, through the thinning trees, was the swamp. Or what should have been one.
It wasn't just a swamp.
It was wrong.
A pale mist crawled across the surface of stagnant black water. Trees jutted up like broken spears, their bark twisted with glowing green veins pulsing faintly like veins under skin. The swamp stretched too far, too deep—its edges shifting, like it was breathing.
Vines dangled from the trees above like nooses. The water didn't reflect the sky.
It reflected nothing at all.
"Is it just me," Ormin whispered, "or does this place feel like it hates us?"
"It does," Melgil answered softly, her hand resting on the hilt of her staff. "The mana here is aware… and watching."
Daniel stepped forward without hesitation, his posture composed—almost methodical. Not just another student in a uniform, but someone who had done this before. Someone trained to read the unnatural.
Galen moved up beside him, gripping his spear tighter. "That's not just a swamp," he muttered. "That's a domain."
Daniel gave a single nod. "A corrupted one. This Treant isn't just summoning plants anymore. It's rewriting the rules of this place, changing the land."
He crouched and touched the ground, running his fingers through the dark soil. "Still warm. Something large passed through here recently."
"Maybe one of the missing villagers?" Ysil suggested, glancing uneasily toward the tree line.
"Or something that ate one," Lora muttered, already unslinging her staff.
Daniel stood. His voice was steady and measured. "We are not here to fight not yet. This is observation. Watch how the environment reacts. Listen to the silence. Feel the shift in the air."
Thalen took a cautious step closer, sweat glistening at his brow. "Observe what, exactly? Everything here looks like it wants to digest us."
At that moment, a deep, creaking groan echoed across the clearing—like ancient wood grinding together.
Then a splash.
Then… silence.
Every head turned.
Something stirred at the far edge of the swamp.
From the shadows emerged a figure.
Not an animal. Not entirely humanoid either.
Its form was made of soaked bark and pulsing moss, with arms stretched long like living vines. It walked upright but bent strangely at the joints. Its face was smooth wood, blank like a mask, without mouth or eyes. Moss hung from its shoulders like a druid's cloak. It moved with slow, twitching steps out of the water.
The air thickened with pressure.
Galen raised his spear instinctively. "What… what is that?"
Daniel narrowed his eyes. "A thrall. A sentient extension of the treant's will. These are its scouts."
The creature raised its hand.
Above them, the vines in the trees shuddered.
Then twitched.
Then began to move.
Dozens, no, countless of these tendrils stirred to life, hanging like waiting serpents, hissing softly as they prepared to strike.
Melgil stepped forward slightly, her fingers brushing the scroll bound to her thigh. She didn't speak, but she was already preparing a counterspell in her head just in case.
"They can't fight that many," she said quietly.
Daniel nodded once. "Correct. They won't. Not here."
He turned to the others. His voice stayed calm and clear. "Fall back. Quietly. Keep your spacing. Don't run; let's not trigger the vines."
No one argued.
Thalen whispered a muffling incantation to soften their footsteps. Lora summoned a faint breeze to mask their trail. Galen moved backward, keeping his eyes on the Thrall. Ysil had to tug Ormin's sleeve when he hesitated, frozen by fear.
Melgil didn't need prompting. She stayed close to the rear, scanning the treetops, fingers ready to snap into motion if the vines dropped even an inch closer.
They slipped into the tree line in silence; the swamp behind them remained still, but something had changed.
They were known now. Marked. No longer uninvited guests… but prey.
The group moved cautiously beneath the canopy, each step deliberate. No one spoke. Only the rustling of their packs and the occasional breath broke the silence as they made their way back toward what they believed to be safety.
After several tense minutes navigating the roots and moss-covered ground, they reached a wide clearing, one they recognized.
"The same one…" Galen whispered.
Just ahead, parked neatly beneath a twisted elm tree, was the battle wagon. Its polished wood and silver-inlaid runes shimmered faintly in the fading moonlight. The sight drew a collective sigh from most of the group.
"We're back," Thalen said, relaxing his grip on his staff. "That was faster than I expected."
"Safe at last," Lora muttered, stretching her arms as she stepped onto the soft grass of the clearing.
Daniel's voice cut sharply through the quiet.
"Don't let your guard down. Stay alert."
The sudden authority in his tone made several of them pause—but not quickly enough.
A blur of movement surged from the dark edge of the swamp.
A vine, thick, wet, and unnaturally fast, shot out like a whip.
Before anyone could react, it wrapped tightly around Thalen's leg and Lora's waist, snapping them off their feet with terrifying force.
Both screamed as the vine yanked them toward the swamp's edge—toward the writhing black waters.
Ormin spun, eyes wide. "No—!"
But he didn't have to move.
Daniel was already there.
In one fluid motion, he drew his mother's katana blade from his dimensional storage. The metal shimmered with a faint red glow, something deeper than enchantment. Something old.
He slashed once, clean and precise.
The vine holding Thalen dropped, severed completely, its tip writhing like a dying serpent.
At the same moment, Melgil moved.
She didn't shout. She didn't hesitate.
She raised one of her daggers, channeled energy through it with one elegant motion, and released a crescent of burning green light. The arc sliced clean through the vine, pulling Lora, searing it mid-recoil. The forest sizzled from the mana heat.
Lora hit the ground hard, coughing and gasping.
Daniel stepped forward, scanning the edge of the swamp. More vines were twitching just beneath the murky surface, waiting.
"They're baiting us now," he muttered. "Testing our reactions. They've learned we're here."
Melgil helped Lora sit up, eyes never leaving the dark edge of the clearing. "That strike wasn't random. It aimed for the least alert."
"I thought we were safe…" Thalen whispered, still on the ground.
Daniel turned to him. "Safety is a lie this close to corruption, especially near something sentient."
Lora, pale but steadying herself, looked at the others. "That thing was fast. I didn't even hear it until it was around me."
Daniel sheathed his blade. "They want us complacent. This clearing—it's's not safe. It just feels like it."
Ysil stepped closer to the battle wagon, inspecting its runes. "Is… is this even our clearing?"
Galen frowned. "What do you mean? We came straight back."
"No," Daniel interrupted. "The swamp may have mirrored our original path. It copied this location to lure us. Look." He pointed at the base of the elm tree.
There, beneath the wagon, were no tracks.
No wheels had rolled here.
No boot prints led to the wagon.
It had just… appeared.
Lora shivered. "Illusion?"
"Worse," Melgil answered. "Spatial mimicry. The Treant is reshaping landmarks now."
Daniel nodded grimly. "This place isn't real. Or at least, not stable. We stay one more minute and we'll be surrounded."
The group reformed quickly, shaken but wiser.
This time, no one lowered their guard.
They stepped away from the false wagon, back into the forest, butt this time, every step was deliberate. Every shadow was watched. Every breath, measured.