Along the way, he stopped at a small stall and bought a dull short sword—cheap, but sturdy enough to do what he needed—and twenty meters of coarse rope, which he slung over his shoulder.
Eventually, he reached the gates.
Without a word, he flashed his guild badge at the guards.
They didn't even glance at it twice.
They simply nodded and stepped aside, letting him pass.
Adrian raised an eyebrow but said nothing. No questions? Not even a bag check? he thought. Security here's a joke.
The sun dipped lower behind the hills as he left the city walls behind. Hours passed as he walked deeper into the wilderness, guided by the map Annie had shown him. By the time he reached the edge of the troll-infested forest, night had fully fallen.
He exhaled through his nose, scanning the shadowed treetops. The woods were dense and dark, filled with distant howls and the occasional snap of movement—but nothing came close. Deciding to rest, he approached one of the larger trees near a small clearing and placed his palm on the trunk.
Mana pulsed from his hand, subtle but focused. The tree groaned as its bark twisted and split open, the inside reshaping itself to his will. Adrian carved out a deep, oval-shaped hollow large enough to sit upright and stretch his legs. He reinforced the walls with overlapping wooden ribs, letting natural curves form a dome-like roof. A slit near the top acted as a vent, and he even smoothed out the interior floor with a layered bark pattern for insulation.
Satisfied, he stepped back and surveyed his temporary shelter. It wasn't pretty, but it would keep the wind and creatures out.
But he needed a fire.
He gathered dry twigs and dead leaves into a shallow pit just outside the tree's opening, arranging them carefully. Then he frowned, patting his coat pockets. No flint. Of course I forgot flint, he thought with a sigh.
Kneeling, Adrian closed his eyes and extended his mana sense—a soft ripple spread out like a wave across the forest floor. Among the glowing signatures of plants and bugs, he spotted something faint—metallic and jagged—half-buried in the roots of a nearby tree.
He walked over and brushed aside the dirt. A broken piece of iron ore, rough but sharp.
"Lucky break," he muttered, taking out the dull short sword and striking it against the iron shard.
A few sparks leapt from the blade. After a few tries, the dry twigs caught.
Flames danced to life.
Adrian sat by the fire, the flickering light casting long shadows over the trees. The heat warmed his face as the chirping of night insects filled the air. He let his shoulders relax and reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a small glass orb—one of six compressed whiskey bottles, each about three centimeters wide.
He held it up to the firelight, then focused a thin stream of mana into it. The orb responded instantly—growing warm in his hand as it shimmered with a faint, golden hue. The glass expanded slightly, and inside, the whiskey began to decompress. Within seconds, the tiny orb swelled and elongated into a full-sized bottle—nearly two liters of deep amber liquor sloshing gently inside.
He uncorked the bottle and took a long swig, the sharp burn of alcohol hitting his throat and warming his chest. Strong. Bitter. Familiar.
After another swig, he set the bottle down beside him and leaned back into the tree's opening. Slipping inside, he lay on the bark-smoothed floor and pulled his coat over himself like a blanket.
It wasn't comfortable.
But it was warm.
And that was enough.
Adrian awoke to the sound of rain hammering down against the forest canopy. It was heavy, relentless, and loud enough to pull him out of a deep sleep. Blinking the haze from his eyes, he sat up inside the hollowed tree, only to realize with a grimace—
"Fuck. They're soaked," he muttered, glancing at his boots lying just outside the entrance, drenched from the nightlong downpour.
Annoyed, but not surprised, Adrian reached for them and held them in his lap. This wasn't the first time. With a bit of focus, he channeled mana into the boots, targeting the water soaked into the leather. Through minor matter manipulation, he altered the state of the moisture inside, turning it to steam. Wisps of vapor hissed out from the seams as the boots dried completely.
Once satisfied, he pulled them on, then threw his coat over his shoulders—his makeshift blanket for the night—and stepped out into the downpour.
Rain splashed against him instantly, but the success with his boots gave him an idea.
He willed his mana to the surface of his skin, applying the same effect: the rainwater that touched him turned instantly into steam. It hissed softly, swirling around him in cloudy tendrils. Within seconds, his vision was obscured by the rising fog, the mist curling around his face and arms like a warm breath.
Adrian stopped, blinking through the haze. "Ahh, well… at least I can dry them later," he thought, smirking faintly.
He turned back to grab the rope from inside the hollow and slung it over his shoulder. The dull short sword was next, and beside it, the iron shard he used for sparks. Holding it for a moment, he compressed the flint with a small application of mana, shrinking it to a fraction of its size and placing it in the same coat pocket that held his whiskey orbs.
With everything gathered, Adrian began walking again, weaving through the forest with purpose. An hour passed. Then another.
He slowed, his eyes narrowing.
A group of deer grazed quietly in a clearing up ahead. But they weren't alone. Shadows shifted in the underbrush—large and hunched, watching. Trolls. At least three of them, hiding just out of sight, their focus glued to the deer.
"Ah, there they are," Adrian whispered, a thrill running through him.
He moved quickly, staying low and out of sight as he prepped his trap.
First, he used matter manipulation to dig a five-meter-deep pit into the earth. The displaced dirt vanished as he worked, leaving a clean-cut hole. Adrian tied one end of his rope around a sturdy tree trunk and dropped it into the pit.
Then, turning to another nearby tree, he placed his palm on the bark. In a breath, the entire tree unraveled into raw material. He shaped the wood into thirty sharp stakes, each one polished and deadly.
He climbed down into the hole and arranged the stakes upright, firmly embedding them into the base. Once done, he scaled the rope back up and pulled it free. A thin, brittle false floor formed next—just a few centimeters thick, designed to shatter under pressure.
As a final touch, he tied the remaining end of the rope to the hilt of the sword and welded the two together with matter manipulation, fusing them seamlessly.
Everything was in place.
Adrian crouched low, eyes locked on the trolls still watching their prey.
It was time to hunt.
Adrian stepped out from the treeline into the open field, his coat flapping slightly with each stride. He began twirling the rope with the sword at the end, spinning it above his head like a madman.
"HEY! Over here, you ugly bastards!" he yelled, voice echoing through the clearing.