The distant sky was a black, endless void. The heavens remained perpetually a turbid gray, like the gloomiest of twilights. The gray churned incessantly, indistinguishable as cloud or mist.
Here, there was no day or night, no passage of time.
The forest—a forest that had lost all vitality eons ago. The towering trees retained only their trunks and thicker branches. Shredded, web-like substances hung from the branches, yet they couldn't possibly be spiderwebs. No spider could survive here.
Bogs dotted the landscape, gray mud occasionally bubbling up a bubble or two. Skeletons of unknown creatures would occasionally surface, only to be swallowed again by the mire.
The wind carried a damp chill, often bringing with it a wave of foul stench.
This was the Otherworld, a paradise for the undead and devils.
Fengyue had long lost track of how long it had been walking in this forest. It couldn't remember where it came from, only that a creature called "Rogue" had given it this name. Fengyue felt an instinctive revulsion towards its own name, yet didn't know where this feeling originated. As for vomiting, it seemed familiar, but it simply couldn't recall how to do it. Of course, what could a skeleton possibly vomit.
The dim, dappled light fell upon the ground and onto Fengyue. It only wanted to leave this forest, though it didn't know why. It was instinct.
Fengyue often sensed faint threads of energy transmitted from the one called "Rogue." It also knew it couldn't refuse Rogue's commands. There were too many things in this world that Fengyue couldn't comprehend. But this energy felt pleasant, making it stronger. Yet, it was too little. It was like a helpless traveler in the desert waiting for a single drop of water that might never fall.
Fengyue was utterly ravenous.
Wandering aimlessly through the forest with a rusted longsword, Fengyue had forgotten where it even found the blade. It carefully avoided certain areas; intuition warned that powerful and evil entities resided there. Fengyue was clever. When facing other skeletons like itself, it always devised ways to skillfully defeat them, for they carried the energy it craved.
It had forgotten which day it was when Fengyue found several bones of good quality. After a misty haze enveloped them, these bones had replenished its 24 ribs. Fengyue felt that it should have 24 ribs. This repair exhausted all the energy Fengyue had stored. Had it not been for a timely infusion of energy from "Rogue," Fengyue didn't know if it could have faced the first zombie it encountered.
The struggle lasted a long time. The zombie's strength was beyond Fengyue's capability to match. After losing three ribs, Fengyue finally realized the zombie couldn't catch up to it. So, the skeleton began circling the zombie incessantly, occasionally darting in to slash off a piece of rotting flesh with its blade. Finally, the zombie fell. Fengyue's rib count was now under twenty.
Other skeletons and zombies in the Otherworld seemed to ignore each other upon meeting. Fengyue didn't understand why it felt compelled to defeat any lone ones it encountered. "I'm hungry," the skeleton thought.
There was no time in the Otherworld, and Fengyue wandered endlessly. It didn't know how long it had been wandering, nor how long it would continue.
The forest seemed to have no end.
***
After the battle at the small building, Rogue developed a great interest in the skeleton that could play dead. Late at night, the second floor often hosted a man and a skeleton standing motionless, staring at each other. After countless failed attempts to communicate via Psychic power, Rogue finally lost interest.
Rogue didn't know where the skeleton's sword came from. After studying it for a long time without results, he stopped probing further.
The weather grew warmer day by day. Unnoticed, Rogue passed his twentieth birthday and it was time to leave the Magic Academy. The exams were just a few days away. Over the months, Rogue had read more than half of the 30-plus volumes of the Continent's General History, along with a pile of adventure biographies, travelogues, and various notebooks.
Ete had passed the Magic Academy exams three months prior and was now striving to become a Magic Knight. After all, becoming a Mage would be a waste of his large build. Under his father's training, Lance had become a fairly competent fifth-level Knight, though judging by their beliefs, father and son probably qualified as Dark Knights. As for Lance and Franco, while still idle, their swordsmanship had improved. More remarkably, they had spent most of the money previously allocated to women, art, and fine wine on their equipment, so their actual combat effectiveness had increased far beyond their skill level.
These fellows weren't inherently driven; they were simply forced by circumstances. After the small building incident, whenever they went out womanizing or seizing common girls, people would occasionally jump out to attack them. Although the Sword and Blood Rose Mercenary Group was small, not even third-rate, the leader (the deceased Mage) had been forthright, and Keevey had many suitors. Some mercenaries who knew the truth sought revenge.
The weather was hot, and people were restless. On the exam day, Rogue casually cast two Finger of Flame spells in the examination hall, passed the test, and obtained a Mage's robe. That afternoon, after registering at the city's Mage Guild, he officially became a Beginner Mage. If he agreed to be conscripted when the Lyon Alliance needed him, Rogue could also receive a monthly allowance of 5 gold coins. But Rogue, now filled with knowledge of history, had other grand ideals.
"Clang!" Several tankards slammed together heavily.
"Brothers, it's been a while since we've properly gathered! Damn it, assassins everywhere! Come on, today we drink until we drop!!" Ete, bear-like and even larger than the pure Knight Lance, raised his tankard and poured the entire contents down his throat in one go. Lance's face was heroic and brimming with righteousness, though now it was flushed red and reeked of alcohol. As for Lance and Franco, they were reasonably handsome men. But among nobles, they were average; after all, noble ladies were usually quite good-looking.
Having faced life and death together numerous times over the past months, they had developed a fairly deep camaraderie.
"Brothers, tomorrow I take up my post in Faerburg. Ah, we won't be able to meet as often. You guys must come visit me often, though you'll cover your own travel expenses." Lance looked utterly dejected.
Franco said, "Faerburg? The one near the Demon Domain Forest, right? There are quite a few bandits around there. I've heard small scouting parties from the Ronen Duchy have been frequently crossing the Demon Domain Forest to operate nearby recently. Be careful."
Lance took a gulp of wine. "My old man insists I go there to accumulate some military merit so he can push for my promotion. Besides, the commander of the Faerburg garrison knights and my old man are friends from when they wore open-seat pants—he'll look out for me a bit. This time, he even gave me that family Dark Elf breastplate. Heh heh, score."
"Brothers, Faerburg is a great place!" Rogue perked up. He planted a foot on his chair and spoke exuberantly. "That place is near the Demon Domain Forest and close to the front lines—there are plenty of adventurers! This time, Lance is going there as a cavalry captain... Huh? Squad leader? Doesn't matter, isn't the commander your relative? We can develop things nicely. Think about it, what do those adventurers, monster hunters, even the military, need?? Weapons!! If we open a weapon shop, won't we strike it rich? Others have restrictions doing this, lots of them. What restrictions do we have? And think, how do those people entering the Demon Domain Forest make money? Right, by hunting monsters and selling the cores or pelts. We might not have the strength to hunt monsters ourselves, but we can buy their spoils. In the hands of that closet pervert Fess, this stuff becomes top-notch material. Turn it into magic equipment and sell it back to the adventurers—damn, we can sit back and still skin them several times over!"
Lance also got excited. "Faerburg has two hundred thousand people! Probably plenty of beauties. With Lance there, we won't have to live like grandsons the way we do in the royal capital, where every official seems big. Anyway, I've got nothing to do. Rogue, I'll partner with you."
"Your eyes light up at the mention of adventurers. Had enough of that last girl?" Ete grinned, staring at Lance.
"Dammit, why am I so unlucky? Her kicks all aimed for me! Couldn't touch a woman for a month, damn it! But she sure learned her lesson later!" Lance gnashed his teeth. "Is that girl still locked up at your place?" Franco asked. "Of course! Keeping her well. Can't let her off that easy after nearly ending my line! So, how about you brothers come over to my place tonight?" The table erupted in lecherous chuckles.
They drank a while longer. Except for Lance, the others were unemployed idlers, thinking of going out to make their mark. So, they decided to venture to Faerburg together to open a weapon shop and deal in adventurers' goods. Lance would go first; the others would pack and set out together in a few days. As for Fess, Rogue had already dragged him into this, but his lab full of equipment couldn't be moved quickly.
The moon reached its zenith. These scoundrels of the capital staggered out of the tavern, their robes stained with wine. As they entered a dark, long street, several masked figures dressed as adventurers silently jumped out, surrounding them.
"You scum, you deserve to die! Today, I'll avenge Keevey!" The ruffians sighed in unison. They had heard this opening line at least seven or eight times already.
The masked men brandished their weapons and charged. A Mage at the periphery began chanting a spell.
Suddenly, a crossbow bolt shot like lightning into the Mage's chest—Rogue was now called the Mage Killer. The others drew weapons from under their robes, showing no sign of drunkenness. Beneath their robes, they were fully armed. With perfect coordination, they all targeted one masked man in front of them. The man, greatly startled, rolled away, tumbling into the roadside ditch and narrowly escaping death. The capital's scoundrels immediately broke through the encirclement and fled. In the chaos, someone—no one knew who—scattered a small bag of beans, instantly tripping up the ambushers and leaving them to watch helplessly as the group vanished into the night.