The forest felt alive in all the wrong ways.

The ground was a dark, ashen brown, as if the soil itself had been burned and then forced to breathe again. Trees twisted toward the sky in unnatural angles, their bark veined with faint, sickly light.

Their leaves were black‑green and razor‑edged, rustling even when there was no wind, whispering like they were sharing secrets the living weren't meant to hear.

Between those warped trunks, beasts roamed freely—monsters that looked like they'd lost both sanity and restraint.

Ogres lumbered through the undergrowth, but unlike normal ones, their bodies were covered in jagged bone plates that jutted out of their backs and shoulders like crude armor.

Their eyes glowed a dull crimson, and thick, black drool dripped from their tusked mouths as they crushed smaller monsters underfoot without even noticing.

Goblins skittered between roots and low branches, taller and leaner than usual, their limbs too long, fingers ending in hooked claws instead of nails.

Their green skin had turned mottled and dark, pulsing with black veins of corrupted mana. Each one moved with abnormal speed, twitching and jerking like a puppet with too many strings.

Trolls dragged themselves along the forest floor, their hulking bodies stitched together by tumor‑like growths of flesh. Their skin was a dull gray, patches of moss and fungi growing directly out of their backs.

Every wound they took regenerated too fast and too wrong, limbs regrowing twisted, giving them an even more grotesque appearance.

All of them hunted anything that moved, devouring it whole—beast, monster, or unfortunate wanderer. The forest wasn't just dangerous. It was ravenous.

A thunderous explosion echoed through the trees.

The monsters snapped their heads toward the source, snarling, and began rushing in that direction—the ogres crashing through trunks, goblins leaping from branch to branch, trolls stomping forward with ground‑shaking steps.

At the center of the chaos, a brown‑haired young man moved like a storm.

Dark flames roared around Alden von Crestvale as he carved through the horde. Every swing of his blade left a trail of black fire, and whenever his sword touched a monster, the flames erupted, devouring flesh, bone, and even ash until nothing remained. Ogres disintegrated mid‑roar, goblins vanished before their screams finished, trolls dissolved faster than they could regenerate.

Yet Alden's expression was grim.

"Damn it," he muttered between breaths, cutting down another charging ogre. "My mana's not responding properly at all here. What's happening?"

His swings were still precise, his killing efficiency high—but he could feel it. The mana in the air resisted him, slipping from his grasp like oil instead of flowing like water.

He cleaved through a troll's neck, then tilted his head up toward the treetops.

"Hey!" Alden shouted. "Are you just gonna keep watching and not even try to help me?"

High above, perched casually atop a thick, twisted branch, a silver‑haired figure leaned against the trunk with his arms folded.

Alex looked down at the battlefield below and sighed.

"Hey, I am working," he replied lazily. "I'm trying to find those damned cultists. Our tracking devices aren't working here, you know…"

Before he could finish, a sharp voice came from behind him.

A split second later, countless arrows whistled through the air.

They rained down over Alden and the remaining monsters like a deadly storm, each arrow wrapped in a faint glow.

In the blink of an eye, every monster that had survived Alden's initial onslaught was skewered—ogres pinned through their skulls, goblins nailed to trees, trolls pierced so thoroughly their regeneration couldn't keep up.

Silence swallowed the forest as the last of them collapsed.

"Human," a clear, controlled voice said, "are you sure we're going the right way? You're not leading us astray, are you?"

Alex turned.

Behind him stood a female elven general.

She had maroon hair tied in a high, practical ponytail that still somehow flowed elegantly down her back. Her dark eyes were sharp and deep, like polished obsidian, framed by long lashes that did nothing to soften their intensity. Her features were refined and symmetrical—high cheekbones, a straight nose, and lips that naturally held a faint, stern curve. She wore form‑fitting elven armor woven from reinforced leather and enchanted metals, decorated with vine‑like patterns that glowed faintly with mana. Despite the grime of travel, her beauty was striking, carrying both elegance and lethal authority.

This was Saria, one of the elven generals.

Behind her, rows of elves stood ready—archers with bows still half‑drawn, warriors with twin blades at their sides, mages gripping staffs, though their spells sputtered in the strange mana of the forest.

Hundreds of them, eyes cold and alert, watched the surroundings carefully.

Alex raised an eyebrow at Saria's tone.

"And why do you think we'd do that?" he asked.

Saria met his gaze without flinching.

"Because even if His Majesty, the Elven King, trusts you," she said sharply, "I don't."

She stepped closer, eyes hardening.

"You took our princess to your country. And she was kidnapped there. You couldn't even do a single thing to save her."

Her aura flared with hostility, the elves behind her tensing in response.

"So tell me," Saria continued, voice cold, "why shouldn't I suspect that you're working with those damned cultists?"

---

"Well," Alex said, "you do have a fair point."

For a brief moment, his tone was light.

Then the air around him changed.

The lazy indifference vanished from his eyes, replaced by a sharp, chilling focus. The mana around him stirred despite the resistance of the forest, reacting to his presence alone.

"But tell me," Alex said quietly, his gaze boring into hers, "do you really think that if I wanted to lead you astray and kill you… I'd use underhanded tactics?"

His voice dropped lower, every word steady.

"If I wanted you all dead, I would've already done it."

Saria felt a chill run down her spine. The elves behind her stiffened, many of them instinctively gripping their weapons tighter.

Alex continued, not giving her a chance to reply.

"Besides, you're the ones who need to save your queen and your princess. I'm just doing you all a favor by being here."

Saria held his gaze for a long moment.

Then, slowly, she lowered her eyes.

"…Fair point," she admitted. "I apologise for my behaviour. Please… help us find our queen and the princess."

Alex snorted softly.

"What do you think I've been doing up until now?" he said.

He hopped down from the tree branch, landing lightly near the charred corpses and arrow‑ridden monsters. His eyes swept over the mutated bodies.

'These monsters are all mutated, aren't they?' Alex thought. 'They're way stronger than their race normally is.'

[ You are absolutely correct, host. ]

The system's calm voice echoed in his mind.

[ The mana here is very unique—almost as if it is alive and does not want to be controlled by anyone. ]

'Alive mana that refuses control…' Alex thought, frowning.

He turned to Saria.

"What do you know about this place?"

Saria looked toward the forest around them, her expression turning somber.

"This land once belonged to the high elves," she said. "Believe it or not, Ragna was extremely advanced in magic—some say centuries ahead of its time. It was often called the cradle of high magic."

Her gaze drifted upward to the twisted canopy.

"Even ordinary elves here lived for thousands of years," she continued, "building cities grown from trees, crystal, and mana itself. The elves of Ragna were known as the strongest race of that era."

Alden, who had walked up while wiping monster blood from his sword, listened intently.

"It is said," Saria went on, "that the mana here was so pure and flowed so freely that normal spells could be used to extend a person's life even when they were on the brink of death."

Alex and Alden exchanged a brief look, then focused back on her.

"So what went wrong?" Alden asked.

Saria exhaled slowly.

"I don't have all the details," she said. "Most of it is treated as an old myth now. But the common versions say one of three things happened."

She raised a finger.

"A forbidden ritual meant to elevate the elves to godhood went wrong."

A second.

"Or an ancient artifact—the Heart of Ragna—shattered."

A third.

"Or a war between gods took place here, and corruption swallowed the land."

She gestured toward the warped trees and twisted beasts.

"Whatever the truth is, the result was the same. The mana here changed. What you're feeling now is called dead mana."

"Dead mana," Alex repeated quietly.

Saria nodded.

"It cannot be shaped by normal spells," she explained. "It doesn't respond to casting. It absorbs intent, but gives nothing back. That's why this place is known as the city where magic died."

She pointed at the corpses around them.

"It's also the source of those monsters. Dead mana mutates living things, driving them mad and twisting their bodies. That's why they're stronger and more unstable than usual."

Alex let out a slow sigh.

'So she knows about as much as I do,' he thought. 'No real details… just myths.'

Out loud, he asked, "Then how are you planning to fight without mana?"

A faint smile tugged at Saria's lips.

"You don't have to worry about us," she said. "We have the blessing of the World Tree itself."

She placed a hand over her chest, where a faint green glow pulsed beneath her armor.

"Even though this land is lost," Saria continued, "it was once under the World Tree's protection. The blessing allows us to draw mana directly from the World Tree, even here."

In Alex's mind, he pictured invisible roots stretching across continents, delivering power from afar.

"So even if the mana here is dead," Saria said, "the World Tree supplies us with living mana from outside. It's not perfect, but it's enough for us to fight."

Alex blinked.

"Wow," he said. "That's very convenient."

"It is," Saria replied simply.

"What about me?" Alden cut in, raising a hand. "Because my mana control here sucks."

Alex snapped his fingers.

"Relax," he said.

He reached into his storage ring and pulled out a simple‑looking bracelet engraved with intricate runes. He tossed it toward Alden.

"I stored a lot of mana inside that," Alex said. "Don't worry, it won't deplete easily, even if you fight at full strength. Just go crazy."

Alden caught the bracelet, eyes widening as he felt the dense mana sealed within.

"Now that," he said, smiling as he slipped it onto his wrist, "is the first good thing you've said today."

Alex rolled his eyes, then suddenly looked up toward the canopy, scanning the sky through gaps in the twisted branches.

"Saria," he said, still watching the forest around them, "you elves know a lot about this forest, right?"

"Yes," Saria answered. "We do. Why? Do you need something?"

Alex's lips curled into a faint, thoughtful grin.

"No," he said. "But tell me something."

He looked back at her, eyes narrowing just a little.

"If you wanted to hide something as big as a base inside a deadly forest like this… how would you do it?"

----

A/N:

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