The road gradually surrendered to the wilderness as they moved farther from the main path. What had once been a wide trade route—solid, trampled by caravans and merchants—narrowed into a thin strip of hardened earth. Grass crept in from the sides. Roots pushed up through the soil like crooked fingers reclaiming something stolen. The trees grew denser the deeper they rode, their branches interlocking overhead until the sky became a fractured pattern of dull light.
The forest did not feel empty.
It felt watchful.
Kaisel kept his posture relaxed, though his senses remained sharp. The farmer behind him shifted often, his breathing uneven. Every so often the man would turn his head, as if expecting something to rush them from the undergrowth.
That was the first thing Kaisel truly noticed.
After nearly an hour of riding through the narrowing path, the trees began to thin. The village revealed itself without warning — no wooden gate, no carved signpost. Just a cluster of houses crouched together as though for warmth.
It was quiet . Not the peaceful quiet of rural life. Not the kind that comes from contentment.
This quiet had tension inside it.
A few children lingered near the well at the center of the village. Their quiet chatter faded the instant they noticed Kaisel. Small faces turned toward him in unison, eyes wide and unblinking. He was unfamiliar here — and that alone was enough.
A little boy reached for the sleeve of the girl beside him and whispered something urgently. Without looking away from Kaisel, they began to step back, slow and cautious, until they slipped behind the corner of a nearby house.
A man stepped out slowly from the narrow space between two houses. He was elderly, the top of his head mostly bare, with thin strands of grey hair clinging stubbornly to the sides. His linen shirt was plain and neatly washed, though patched in several places where the fabric had worn thin. The skin of his hands was rough and thickened, marked by years of labor under sun and tool. There was no mistaking it — this was the village chief.
He stopped a few paces away and gave a slight bow, not deep, but deliberate enough to show respect.
"You came," he said looking at the man and then shifting his gaze towards Kaisel. You must be the Mercenary.
There was relief in his voice.
"We are grateful. Please… help us get rid of it. It has taken too many."
Kaisel studied his face carefully and asked,
"When did it start?" .
"Months ago, Every few weeks. Two people. Sometimes three go missing without any noise or commotion." The old man swallowed. "When we searched the forest we only found blood."
'No bodies huh?'
Kaisel nodded once. "Show me."
The farmer who had brought him earlier stepped forward once more, motioning silently for Kaisel to follow. He did not look back at the others as they walked toward the forest's edge.
The forest felt different on foot. The soil was softer here, layered with decaying leaves. The air was cooler. The trees stood close together, their bark darkened by age and moisture. It would be easy to lose someone here.
The farmer stopped near a crooked oak.
"Here," he whispered.
Kaisel crouched.
The bloodstains were visible, though faded by time. Dark patches soaked into bark and leaf. Not splattered wildly.
He ran his fingers across the dried stain, imagining what could have done this without making a sound.
Then, a faint rustling came from the brush to their right.
The farmer flinched as if struck. He took a hurried step back without looking, his heel catching the loose edge of the earth.
The soil crumbled beneath his weight, and he slipped over the side of a sloped drop, sliding down the incline in a scramble of dirt and broken twigs, a startled cry escaping him as he went.
Kaisel reacted immediately, stepping to the edge before making his way down after him.
The slope was uneven and littered with exposed roots. As he bent to pull the shaken farmer to his feet, his forearm dragged against a jagged strip of bark. It tore across his skin with a sharp sting, leaving a shallow cut that began to bead with blood.
The blood surfaced for a breath's length.Then it stopped.
By the time he helped the farmer stand, the torn skin had already knitted together, leaving only faint redness behind. The Bloodfiend Lizard's regenerative trait quietly sealed the wound, leaving his skin smooth as if nothing had happened.
Kaisel didn't bother with it.
"Careful," Kaisel said flatly.
They climbed back up and continued searching for some time, circling wider through the forest. Kaisel paid attention to patterns — broken branches at unnatural angles, soil disturbed in straight lines rather than curves. He found small signs that others would miss.
Someone had been moving through this forest regularly.
But nothing clear enough to track.
When they returned to the village, the sun was already lowering.
"Well?" the leader asked.
Kaisel spoke without embellishment.
"This isn't some mindless beast. It knows how to hide its tracks."
The old man's shoulders sagged slightly.
"Then… what do we do?"
"I will stay awake tonight," Kaisel replied. "And see if anything comes ."
Night fell heavy and slow. The villagers lit torches along the perimeter, but none dared step too far from the houses. Kaisel walked alone toward the forest's edge, the torchlight fading behind him.
The fog began to gather earlier than expected.
At first it lingered near the ground, coiling around roots and stones. Then it rose gradually, thickening until the trees blurred into silhouettes.
Kaisel moved quietly between them.
A flutter above drew his attention. Ragnar perched on a high branch, tilting it's head and lookeig at Kaisel.
Since Kaisel altered his appearance, the raven had been cautious. Birds trusted instinct more than sight. Yet Ragnar followed him, circling from a distance, never fully abandoning him.
" Ragnar.." Kaisel murmured under his breath.
The raven gave a low croak before lifting into the mist.
Silence pressed in again.
Then—
A sound was heard, it was soft. Not that of an animal or the snap of twigs.
Breathing, it was the sound of breathing.
Kaisel stopped walking.
The fog thickened unnaturally fast, swallowing the path behind him. The air shifted , beneath the damp scent of soil, something sweet began to surface. It was Faint—subtle.
His steps felt heavier.
He took another breath and immediately recognized it. Something was in the fog , in the air.
His heartbeat quickened once. He attempted to draw mana inward, to circulate it through his body and purge the influence—But the mana dispersed before it could form.
His thoughts blurred at the edges. His limbs grew sluggish.
His vision narrowed.
The last thing he saw was a silhouette watching him before he fainted.
—
Cold woke him.
Stone loomed above him — uneven and damp, its rough surface fractured by thin cracks where beads of moisture gathered and trembled before slowly trailing downward.
A faint light swayed to his left. An oil lamp hung from an iron hook . Its glow cast elongated shadows that crawled slowly across the walls.
Metal pressed against his back. He tried to move but couldn't.
Chains restrained him — wrists, ankles, even across his waist. Thick iron links bolted directly into a heavy table beneath him.
He tested them once but it didn't even budge.
He closed his eyes and reached inward for mana to use magic to free himself. But it was futile.
The energy rebounded violently, scattering before it could gather. He turned his head slightly.
The chains bore intricate engravings along their surface. It was some kind of Suppression markings that prevents the usage of mana.
His body was bare naked.The air smelled metallic from blood.
He shifted his gaze toward the walls.
Shelves lined them from floor to ceiling. Glass containers sat arranged in uneven rows. Some cloudy. Others disturbingly clear.
Within them floated pieces.
A human hand, pale and preserved , An eye suspended in viscous liquid , Fragments of rib or muscle.
'This was not the work of some beast.'
It was like a workspace of some research.
Footsteps echoed from beyond the lamplight.
It was unhurried.
A figure stepped forward.
He wore a black robe, worn thin at the hem. His face was slightly disfigured — not grotesque, but subtly wrong. One cheek dipped lower than the other. His mouth curved unevenly when he smiled, revealing teeth that were too straight to be natural.
His eyes were clear with curiosity.
"Ah," the man said softly. "You're awake."
His voice was slightly hoarse.
He approached the table, fingertips brushing the iron edge lightly.
"You lasted longer than the others," he continued conversationally. "Most collapse much sooner in that fog without even knowing anything."
His gaze drifted toward Kaisel's forearm. In his hand was a scalpel. He stepped closer and drew a long cut across Kaisel's forearm. Blood spilled instantly.
Then it started to heal at a visibly fast rate. The man smile became wider as a hint of madness was showed in his eyes .
"It healed," he murmured, almost pleased.
To be continued.