As the first ray of dawn pierced the thick canopy of the Trial Forest and spilled onto the moss-covered ground, Allen was already up. He expertly flipped oatcakes over the fire, placing the golden, crispy disks neatly onto a wooden plate. Then he poured freshly brewed herbal tea into coarse clay cups, the steam rising gently through the morning mist, carrying a faint medicinal aroma.

  “These aren’t the fancy pastries you’d find in the city,” he said, setting the plate on the table with a warm yet hearty tone, “but they’ll fill your stomach—and keep you from collapsing halfway through.”

  Qian grabbed a piece without hesitation and took a big bite. “Tastes way better than it looks!” she mumbled between chews. “What’s in it?”

  “Secret recipe,” Allen replied with a wide grin, offering no further explanation.

  After the meal, he took a small leather pouch from beside the wall and handed it to Sern. “This is a powder I mixed myself. It helps suppress the spores of the nightmare vines. Sprinkle it on your body or weapons if you encounter them—it might give you a bit of an edge.”

  Sern accepted the pouch. Ancient forest-guardian runes were embroidered on the leather, and he could feel faint magical pulses emanating from within. “Thank you, Mr. Allen.”

  “And take these,” Allen said, pulling a few small glass vials from under the table. The deep crimson liquid inside shimmered with a faint warmth when swirled. “Essence from firestone lizards. If you need flame, apply it to your weapon or focus—it’ll amplify the fire.”

  As they prepared to depart, Allen stood at the cabin door, his expression stern. “Remember—if things go south, retreat immediately. No heroics.” He paused. “Be back before nightfall, whether the job’s done or not.”

  “We’ll be careful,” Sern replied with a nod.

  Qian straightened up and gave him a playful salute. “Understood, ‘Captain Allen.’”

  Allen chuckled softly, patted the doorframe, and said no more—only watched them disappear into the forest shadows.

  With the map and Allen’s words in mind, the two ventured into the heart of the Trial Forest. Unlike the woods around Carmen City, the ancient and mysterious atmosphere here felt almost suffocating. The trees were impossibly tall—some requiring three or four adults to encircle. Ancient vines crept along their trunks, and dense green foliage layered overhead, forming a vast emerald dome.

  Sunlight streamed through gaps in the canopy, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow on the forest floor. It was beautiful—tranquil, almost deceptively so.

  “It’s too quiet,” Sern murmured, halting to listen. “No birds. No insects.”

  Qian noticed it too. “Even the rustling leaves sound strange… like the forest is… groaning.”

  As they ventured deeper, a strange scent began to fill the air—not the stench of rot, but an overly sweet, cloying fragrance, like decaying blossoms. Sern pulled out Allen’s powder and gestured for Qian to apply some as well. The powder emitted a fresh, minty scent mixed with an unfamiliar herbal note, dulling the nauseating sweetness in the air.

  According to the map, their first target was near an ancient oak in the forest’s northeastern corner. This tree, centuries old, had once been a sacred site for forest guardians. But what they found was a grotesque distortion of legend—thick, eerie purple-black vines coiled tightly around its trunk. Most of the once-vibrant leaves were now withered and sickly gray-purple.

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  At the ends of the vines bloomed deep violet flowers, their centers glowing with ghostly blue light. They swayed gently with the breeze, releasing the same sickly sweet scent. More unsettling, the vines seemed to pulse—as if not plant, but veins of some living creature.

  “That’s the nightmare vine,” Sern said under his breath, hand already gripping his sword hilt. “Ready?”

  Qian nodded, gripping her staff tightly. The flame-imbued crystal at its head glowed with a dim crimson light. She began chanting softly, the crystal warming with each word until it pulsed with a red-hot aura.

  “Allen said they fear fire. Let me try first.” She took a deep breath, focused her mana into the staff, and shouted, “Flame Spirit: Crimson Dance!”

  In an instant, a blazing stream of fire erupted from her staff, condensing into a roaring flame dragon that surged toward the vines. The moment the fire touched them, a shrill, inhuman screech rang out, as though something alive was screaming in pain. The vines writhed violently, and the blossoms burst open, releasing clouds of eerie blue-purple spores.

  “Watch out!” Sern immediately scattered Allen’s powder into the air. It burst on contact with the spores in tiny flashes, neutralizing them like fire meeting dry leaves.

  But before they could celebrate, more vines burst from the earth, lashing at them like whip-like tentacles. Sern drew his sword—ancient runes along its blade glinted silver-blue in the sun. The blade, passed down from his father, was light in his hand and danced with the wind as he struck. The flowing patterns on its surface seemed to awaken something deep within him.

  “To your right!” Qian shouted, raising her staff. A burst of blue-white light flared at its tip. “Elemental Shield!”

  A translucent barrier formed just in time to block the vines’ strike from the side, the impact ringing like shattered glass but holding firm.

  Seizing the moment, Sern grabbed the vial of firestone essence, dousing his blade in it. Instantly, the sword blazed with orange-red fire. Without hesitation, he dove into the mass of vines, slashing with deadly precision. The flames followed every strike, severing and incinerating the vines with howls and shrieks.

  “There, Sern!” Qian pointed to the oak’s roots. “That swollen part—it looks like the main root!”

  Following her gesture, Sern spotted a pulsing purple-black lump, covered in vein-like ridges that throbbed like a living organ. This had to be the heart of the nightmare vine.

  “Cover me,” he said gravely, weaving through the vines toward the root.

  Qian responded quickly, lifting her staff high as its crystal flared with radiant crimson. She chanted, “Flame Summon: Crimson Fox!”

  With a burst of flame, three small foxes of fire leapt from the staff, each trailing flickering tails of heat. They darted through the vines, setting them ablaze and carving a fiery path for Sern.

  Taking the opening, Sern dashed forward, both hands gripping his sword. He launched into the air with a powerful leap. “Wind Veil: Streambreaker!”

  His sword arced through the air in a heavy stroke, piercing the throbbing root. At impact, a surge of force knocked him backward, and the root split open with a violent shudder. Thick, inky purple liquid poured out—but most shocking of all was the ethereal blue energy ribbon that rose from the breach, spiraling upward like smoke before diving swiftly into the ground and vanishing.

  With the energy gone, the vines immediately lost their vitality, crumbling into withered husks in seconds.

  “What was that?” Qian asked in awe, stepping beside him.

  Sern shook his head, frowning. “No idea. But that… wasn’t from any ordinary plant.” He crouched and examined the liquid. “This doesn’t look like sap.”

  Qian pulled out a small vial and carefully collected some. “We’ll let Allen take a look. Maybe he’ll know.”

  Over the next few hours, they cleared four more vine nests. Each battle was tougher than the last. The vines seemed to share a collective awareness, shifting their tactics—sometimes ambushing from underground, sometimes cloaking themselves among other plants.

  But Sern and Qian grew more in sync. Sern’s swordplay flowed like water, every strike guided by instinct and purpose. Qian’s magic adapted fluidly—fire, frost, wind—all weaving into a rhythm that made them unstoppable.

  Yet every time they destroyed a main root, they saw the same thing: a ribbon of blue energy escaping into the earth, not fading randomly, but moving with purpose—toward the forest’s depths.

  “Did you notice?” Qian asked after they finished the fifth nest, wiping sweat from her brow. “That blue energy… it always goes the same direction.”

  Sern nodded. “Yeah. Deeper into the woods—toward the final mark on the map: the Ancient Lake.”