Tyrus was relieved to see everybody was alive and well, for the most part. It was jarring to see Wyford again in an entirely new set of garments and wounds that weren't there before their separation.

As for Mitha, Tyrus didn't want to admit it out loud or even allude to a hint of his thoughts to Wyford, but a tiny voice in his head told him to not be too shocked if it turned out Mitha was dead by the time they reached her. Thankfully, fate was on their side because she was still alive and sitting near the bottom of the cliff with a group of other captives, albeit looking like she'd been dragged through the mud by a hungry horse.

Alongside the captives, Blue Dawn were shuffling through the Whispering Forest. Under Royal Knight Nessa's orders, they were tasked with escorting the captives out of danger and back to Lindell. To maximize their safety, Blue Dawn surrounded the group like a protective shield while they used the markings Fiona created earlier to navigate.

During the travel, Fiona brought everyone up to speed about what transpired while she and Igneal were separated from the group. Tyrus felt his chest tighten when she told the rest about how they were trapped within an illusion created by the beacon above the lighthouse. She didn't go into great detail about how they escaped, only mentioning that they had to do some introspection and something about the illusion feeding on their emotions.

After that, the rest of their story sounded so far-fetched that if it were anyone else explaining it, he wouldn't have believed it himself. There were still naragas running around Dharmere, even though they were thought to be extinct centuries ago? And one of them took the form of Wyford to lure in explorers for what was called a harvest? It sounded insane coming out of Fiona's mouth, but she wasn't one to lie in situations like these.

"I can't believe some folklore creature stole my naturally good looks and character for such a heinous reason," Wyford said to the group.

"It is appalling how you can still joke at a time like this," Igneal said.

"An imposter stole my disposition in order to attract others into a trap Mitha and I have walked into. Frankly, I am not joking in the slightest, Lord Igneal. In fact, I am ashamed that Mitha and I couldn't stop this from happening."

Fiona shook her head. "From what I saw, you two had less than a one percent chance of even freeing the others, let alone stopping the blood sorcerer. If you don't mind me asking, how exactly were you two captured?"

Wyford and Mitha exchanged glances, then Mitha spoke. "My memory is still foggy, but if I remember correctly, we were walking through the mist, armed and ready. One moment we were together, and the next thing I know, a rush of mist came, blinding us. After that, I was all alone in some kind of memory, as if I were dreaming."

"The same thing happened to me," Wyford said. "It was like being submerged in my own past. I could hear people who shouldn't be alive, see places that I haven't visited in a long time. I tried to fight it, but the more I resisted, the stronger the hallucination became. Eventually, everything went black. When I came to, I was stuck in a cell with Mitha."

Grant, who was leading the pack, looked over his shoulder. "If I am not mistaken, Fiona and Igneal have undergone similar circumstances. Is that true for the rest of you?"

The other captives nodded their heads, muttering in agreement. Except, their illusions were entirely different. One of the former captives, a young woman with half-healed gashes down her arms, spoke up.

"Mine was my father. He died protecting me during a beast attack eight years ago. But in the mist, he was alive. He told me to follow him, and I did. I didn't even think too deeply about it—it felt real."

Another, an older man with a limp and a voice like gravel, added, "I relived the day my wife left me decades ago. I kept thinking I could save her this time. That maybe if I said the right words, did the right thing, it would change. But it didn't. It just kept looping until I found myself in a cell with a few younglings."

"Cells," Grant said in a low rumble, as if the words were sour on his tongue. "What exactly was occurring within the lighthouse for there to be cells? Why was Scourge rounding you all up and tossing you all in there? What have you seen?"

Silence fell over the group. Some exchanged glances, their faces as dark as the night surrounding them. Tears welled up in a few of the children being guided by the adults. Even Mitha was silent, lips curled as she bit them, trying not to remember. Tyrus caught Fiona and Igneal exchanging looks, and when it seemed like Igneal was about to say something, a wave of mana erupted from behind the group.

Blue Dawn and a few adults among the pack felt the explosion of mana and turned toward the direction of the lighthouse. Tyrus strained his ear and heard the crack of stone and something else, like a scream muffled by distance.

The air quivered, the way it did before lightning struck, as if the forest itself had been startled. Then came the echo: a shockwave rumbling through the trees and ground, stirring branches and sending birds scattering despite the unnatural quiet that had plagued the area.

"That came from Nessa's direction," Fiona whispered.

Reo squinted. "I can literally feel their battle from here! It's a damn battlefield out there. As much as I want to spectate a royal knight in action, just the shockwaves of their mana alone would probably knock me out cold."

Tyrus didn't reply. His focus remained locked on the horizon. If he focused hard enough with mana sense, the pulse of mana wasn't a single flare, but raw elemental bursts. Traces of mana eased its way through the treetops, reminiscent of something that lived and breathed, only much more concentrated.

"We keep moving," Grant commanded. "Our priority is the civilians. We should be nearing Lindell."

Fiona grunted. "Let's make it quick. If that wave had been a little stronger, it could've flattened half this forest. Whatever she's fighting... she's holding nothing back."

One child whimpered, and Fiona knelt to soothe them. Tyrus felt the guilt twist in his stomach. Just a glance at the battered faces around him—the haunted eyes, the trembling hands—was enough to hold him in place. They'd survived a great ordeal. It was on them now to make sure these people got home.

He tugged at the cuff of his sleeve as he fell into step at the back of the group beside Igneal, eyes flicking between the trees as the procession surged forward into the forest. It took them a few more minutes before arriving at a marked with the number one on its bark. After some more walking, they arrived at the rocky trail that would lead them to the crossroads with the splitting path between the gates and the Shaire Kingdom.

"I just realized something," Reo said, approaching the crossroads. "Just to be sure, Lindell was willingly sending citizens into the forest as an offering. Now that some have returned alive, what will they do?"

Fiona frowned. "That is a good question. Wyford, er, the imposter, still carried the memories of its victims. That means there is some truth sprinkled along the lies. The naraga mentioned the city was complicit in the disappearances, thinking that resisting will only make things worse."

"You want to know how it worked?" said the old man with a limp. "It started after the mist first rolled in. People vanished. Scouts, travelers, and a few unruly children who loved venturing to the forest sometimes. At first, we thought it was just accidents resulting from beasts. But then the council sent more scouts, more armed and organized. They never returned either."

His voice dipped lower. "That's when the whispers began. First in taverns and homes, then among the council themselves. They said the mist was divine punishment. A veil cast by an unseen god or forest spirit. The head of Lindell's council, Vareste, claimed to have received visions. Said the forest had become sacred ground, and that a sacrifice was needed to appease the one dwelling within so that no more of Lindell's children were taken."

Grant shook his head. "They turned to faith to justify their delusions."

The man nodded solemnly. ""They dressed it up in rites. Called it 'the Offering of the Veil.' Once a month, two souls would be chosen through sealed letters delivered at dusk, marked with the symbol of a jade serpent posed as a whip in action . The chosen were expected to go willingly."

The young lady who had spoken earlier took over, her voice shaking. "They made it sound honorable. That to refuse would be the same as condemning Lindell to destruction if the deity in the Whispering Forest was displeased. They said resistance would only stir its wrath and invite the mist deeper into the city. And we believed it. What else could we do?"

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Her voice faltered, and she swallowed hard. "The forest had already taken so many. The disappearances, the silence, the way the fog never left—it all made the lies easier to swallow. Vareste stood before us with solemn eyes and trembling hands, talking about divine communion and sacred duty. No clerics. No temples. Just the word of our council's highest voice."

"There was no ceremony beyond the letter. You'd wake to find it on your doorstep, or slid under your door, stamped with that serpent. And once the sun fell, you were to walk into the woods. No escort. No farewells. If you didn't go…" She paused, eyes flicking to the old man beside her.

"They came for you anyway," the old man said, his voice brittle. "Always masked and quick, but not before letting the town see you resist to serve as a warning."

Grant's brow was furrowed to the point where wrinkled on his forehead was forming. His arms were crossed, and he stood with his head slightly bowed in thought until he said: "Why didn't anyone fight back? Why didn't anyone leave the city?"

Before anyone could answer, a chill that was never there before swept among them. At the same time, an outburst of energy clashed against the very air itself, delivering a wave of mana through the air. The ones that were previously prisoners yelled out in shock, mist coming out of their mouths.

Now on higher ground, Tyrus stood just a bit higher than the canopy of the Whispering Forest. With the mist gone, visibility was clearer, and Tyrus was given a better lay of the land. Off in the distance, a bizarre sight was visible. The lighthouse, now reduced to ruin, had shattered into several pieces as if a god had taken a giant mallet to it. Where it had once loomed as a beacon, now it was a splintered wound on the edge.

Then there was a miniature blizzard sending forth crimson sleet occurring right in front of the ruins. Tyrus was appalled at the sight. Why was there a blizzard in the middle of spring? And why was the ice red at that?

"Oh man," Fiona breathed.

Behind her, several of the former captives shielded their eyes, not from the moonlight caressing the area, but from the biting mana-laced wind that had begun to seep even into the lower trails. Grant noticed this and moved in front of the unblessed, shielding them with his body. As they led everyone further up the path, he and Reo touched the shoulders of each child, encasing them with a protective barrier that glowed white.

"We are still not proficient in bestowing our mana to others, so we can only shield a few at a time," Grant said with a half-smile. "Reo and I are only capable of this much."

One of the little girls blinked up at them, tears freezing at the corners of her eyes. "Thank you," she whispered. "You're like heroes from the stories."

Grant knelt slightly to meet her eyes, his broad shoulders still turned toward the creeping wind behind them. "No," he said gently. "We're just people who refused to leave others behind. Now go. Stay close, and keep your eyes forward."

The girl nodded and ran to join the others.

Reo, standing just beside him, rubbed the back of his neck. "Heroes, huh? Should we start thinking of statue poses like the ones back at the Grand Tower?"

A nearby boy giggled, and Reo winked. "Exactly, kid. I want mine gleaming, expensive, sculpted by the best. I'll pose with one foot on a gold block, the other pointing down—like I'm saying, 'You can be like me too, if you try!'"

Grant didn't smile, but he gave Reo a quick pat on the back. "And for the inscription, it'll say: 'Here lies the loudest fool of the land. May his ego rest in peace.'"

That earned a burst of laughter from the children, light and fleeting against the frigid air. Tyrus knew immediately what these two were doing. Lightening the mood all while holding the line between fear and hope, even if just for a moment. Even some of the adults were smiling. Although it was brief, a little bit of laughter may of scraped off the deep, dark wound that the captives had endured.

Afterward, with Fiona and the rest of the group guiding from the front, Grant and Reo continued ushering the freed captives down the trail. Soon they came upon the southern gate of Lindell, and to their surprise, it stood wide open. The group stepped through the threshold of the city and froze.

The city square was alight with torches and lanterns, and in the center, a crowd of citizens were kneeling, heads bowed low. At the center of the square stood a lone woman with hair that looked liked a bird's nest, streaked with soot and twigs. In one hand, she held a spear planted into the cobblestone. In the other, she had an elderly man clutched by the scruff of his shirt.

Fiona's jaw dropped. "Is that Royal Knight Othelia? What is she doing here? Wyford, watch over the rest while I and my group see what's going on."

When Wyford nodded, Fiona thanked him and rushed forward alongside Grant and Reo. Tyrus looked over his shoulder to see Igneal rubbing his chin, deep in thought.

"Why do you think Royal Knight Othelia is here?" Tyrus asked.

Igneal scoffed. "I can't think of any other reason other than it relating to Royal Knight Nessa. She must've been ordered to assist her. What I am trying to figure out is how she arrived here so swiftly. I don't recall anyone tailing our carriage when we left Valis."

"By horse, obviously," Tyrus said.

Igneal shook his head. "If it were a horse or any working animal, we would've seen the tracks. Or at the very least, see an extravagant escort, but I see nothing of the sort. It also took us most of the day to arrive here."

"You might be overthinking things. She probably just left her transportation out front or its being taken care of somewhere."

Igneal didn't seem convinced, though he strolled forward to join Fiona and the rest, leaving Tyrus alone. Tyrus's eyes remained on the crowd, then to Othelia herself, who was now lifting the elderly man off his feet. He had on a terrified face, like a cornered animal, one foot over the other, hanging above the ground.

"I asked you a question," Othelia said in a calm tone. "Where is Royal Knight Nessa, Vareste?"

Vareste's mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. "I—I don't—"

Her tone sharpened to a cutting edge. "Her insignia pinpointed her location to this region. We have also been alerted through her reserve communication device that she was taken by a pair of cloaked figure who are most likely sorcerers. Have there been any new carriages that have come through the gates in the last few hours?"

Vareste was wilting under her gaze. His simple tunic was rumpled, and sweat matted what little gray hair clung to his scalp. He looked like he wanted to vanish.

Othelia's spear remained rooted in the cobblestone, but her other hand lifted the man higher by the collar, his toes barely brushing the ground. It looked like she was about to shake him until his teeth rattled, but Fiona stopped her just in time.

"Royal Knight Othelia! I have urgent news about Royal Knight Nessa!"

At Fiona's voice, Othelia immediately whipped her head in her direction. Her wild, leaf-streaked hair swung with the motion.

"We met Royal Knight Nessa in a lighthouse at the end of the Whispering Forest," Fiona said, walking around the crowd. "She helped us fight off some of the ones who were responsible for everything. She's fighting off one member of Scourge as we speak. There's another one, but I haven't seen them yet, though we can assume that—"

Fiona wasn't given the chance to finish. Othelia dropped Vareste without a word. He collapsed like a deflated sack, wheezing as he clutched at his collar, eyes wide in stunned disbelief.

The royal knight wasted no time. Her entire body shifted in an instant—from statue-still to explosive motion. She rolled her shoulders, then bent low, legs flexing until the seams of her uniform creaked under the strain. Her boots ground against the stone, and in the next heartbeat, she launched forward.

The cobblestones cracked under the force. Dust and bits of stone shot outward from where she had stood, causing the crowd to flinch and recoil. Tyrus barely registered the blur that shot past him. In the space she'd left behind, a faint imprint of her boots remained embedded in the cobblestone.

I knew her physical abilities were great, but that was crazy! She didn't even need to use mana at all. In the blink of an eye, she's gone from the square to the crossroads in no time.

Now that Othelia was back, Tyrus thought back to his first encounter with the knight. When he first met her, he had almost gotten skewered by that spear of hers. Like before, no mana was used. In fact, even while using mana sense to gauge her strength, he sensed no mana that would usually stay in a sorcerers mana heart. If a person lacked a mana heart, that meant they were an unblessed.

Going by that logic, Othelia should've been no different from an ordinary soldier. Stronger than average, maybe, but nothing close to the level of someone like Nessa or the sorcerers he faced. And yet here she was, cracking cobblestones with her legs alone and tearing through the city like a hurricane without even drawing on mana.

"She's not normal," Tyrus muttered under his breath.

A few of the townspeople were cautiously standing now, warily glancing between the adventurers and the stunned figure of Vareste, who had only just managed to rise to his feet. He held his side where Othelia had gripped him, one hand trembling faintly. But when he saw the attention shift back toward him, he straightened and coughed into his fist.

"It appears that Royal Knight Nessa has remedied the troubles that plagued our forest," Vareste said. "Let us be thankful her intervention has brought closure to this ordeal."

Fiona took a step forward. "Closure? Is that what you're calling it?"

Vareste didn't flinch. "What would you prefer I call it, young lady? A tragedy? A failure of governance? Would that bring back the ones we've lost?"

"The ones you sent," she snapped. "Don't twist this into a public statement. We're not here for your speeches."

Murmurs passed through the crowd, yet Vareste held up his own. "I understand how this looks. I do. But I acted on the information I had at the time. When the forest became dangerous and the mist began its claim, I made decisions that I thought would protect Lindell."

Grant stepped forward, arms crossed. "Decisions like sending innocents into danger, disguising it as sacrifice, manipulating them into blind obedience; because you're in charge?"

"By what authority do you judge my actions?" Vareste snapped. "And I don't have a clue of what you mean by containment."

They went back and forth with each other while Tyrus stood at the far back with Wyford and the rest. It seemed like Fiona and the others had it under control and didn't need his help with anything. There was nothing he could add that hadn't already been said. Better to leave the talking to the professionals.

As Tyrus watched them go at it, a subtle green glow from his fingers caught his eye. He looked down. The green gem embedded in his Scourge ring was glowing. It grew heavier, tugging his hand toward the ground. Seeing the familiar scene, Tyrus's heart leaped.

It's happening again... That must mean the artifact senses corrupted mana nearby. Where is it coming from?

Tyrus purposely pulled the artifact out of his ring. A brief hover above his palm, a gentle spin, then a whistling flight. It hurried between startled bystanders, careening toward the crossroads.

Watching the artifact slip from his fingers, a chilling echo warned him of danger: 'Keep this artifact with you at all times and do not lose it.'

Tyrus broke into a sprint without hesitation. Wyford called out to him, but Tyrus ignored his voice, running past without so much as sparing them a glance. All that mattered now was following the artifact and never letting it out of his sight, especially when corruption was afoot.

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