Vel was still on the ground when the dust finally settled, clutching her stomach and wheezing with laughter.

  “G–gods above, Xulian—” she gasped between breaths, wiping tears from her eyes, “—the look on his face! He fled like a kicked puppy! I thought he was going to sprain his own dignity!”

  Xulian crossed her arms over what remained of her shredded robe, cheeks burning. “Why are you laughing?! This is embarrassing!”

  Vel only laughed harder.

  “Oh, I know. That’s why it’s funny.”

  Xulian mentally debated throwing another rock at her. Vel seemed to sense it and raised a hand in surrender.

  “Alright, alright—here.” She pushed herself to her feet, grinning uncontrollably. “I actually have spare clothes in my storage pouch. They should fit you… Though uh—” she gestured vaguely at Xulian’s chest, “—it might be a little tight. In certain areas.”

  Xulian stared at her.

  Vel winked.

  Xulian groaned.

  “Just go get them…”

  “On it!” Vel chirped, still laughing as she jogged away.

  The moment she vanished, the air quieted, leaving Xulian alone with her thoughts—and the sting of fresh embarrassment. She sighed, brushing ash and soot from her arms. Her skin was a patchwork of bruises, cuts, and dried blood, and even with her regeneration speeding up after Foundation Establishment, she looked like she had been personally chewed on by the heavens.

  Footsteps approached—soft, worried, too fast.

  Lilian.

  The girl skidded into the clearing like a divine messenger of panic, white robes fluttering, staff clattering against her hip.

  “XULIAN!” she gasped, rushing forward. “You— you’re hurt again! How do you even— how do you keep doing this to yourself?!”

  She circled Xulian like a frantic mother hen, hands glowing faintly as she scanned for injuries. Her brows furrowed deeper with every pass.

  “You’re bleeding—everywhere!” Lilian cried.

  “Your muscles are torn again!”

  “And look at these scorch marks! Xulian!!”

  Xulian blinked at her, mildly stunned by the speed and intensity of the lecture.

  Then, out of habit—and maybe affection—she lifted a hand and gently patted Lilian on the head.

  Lilian froze.

  Xulian also froze.

  They stared at each other.

  Lilian’s face slowly turned pink. Her entire posture stiffened like a startled cat.

  Just in time for Vel to return, arms full of clothes, sliding into the clearing with the biggest, most wicked grin.

  She took one look at Lilian.

  At Xulian.

  At the hand still hovering over Lilian’s head.

  “Ohhhhh,” Vel breathed, smile stretching. “Did I interrupt something?”

  Xulian dropped her hand so fast she nearly sprained her wrist.

  “It’s not—no! It’s not what it looks like!”

  Lilian squeaked and hid her face behind her sleeves.

  Vel laughed.

  Again.

  Lilian eventually regained enough composure to stop hiding behind her sleeves—though her cheeks were still pink—and she knelt beside Xulian with a determined little frown.

  “Sit,” she ordered softly, already glowing faintly with healing energy.

  Xulian obeyed. Mostly because standing hurts.

  Lilian’s hands moved with practiced care: wiping away dried blood, closing superficial wounds, assisting Xulian’s body in its natural healing with a saintess's gentleness. Every time Lilian found another scorched patch of skin, she sighed in disappointment, as though Xulian personally offended her sense of common sense.

  “You shouldn’t push yourself like this,” Lilian muttered, all scold and no bite. “You’re still healing. You were struck by lightning. Several times.”

  Xulian opened her mouth.

  Closed it again.

  Fair.

  Vel, meanwhile, might actually die from holding in laughter. She was biting her lip so hard, Xulian worried she’d draw blood.

  Finally, Lilian sat back, relieved. “Alright… the worst of the damage is done healing. You can get dressed now.”

  Vel immediately shoved the folded outfit forward like she had been waiting for her cue. “Here you go! Elven travel robes—lightweight, durable, extremely flexible, and very fashionable.”

  Xulian accepted them, raising a brow.

  The outfit was… familiar. A layered garment of soft green hues, shifting from deep forest tones along the outer folds to lighter, almost translucent greens beneath. Its fabric is smooth and cool to the touch, clearly crafted with care, falling in long, graceful lines meant to move effortlessly with the wearer. Fine embroidery traces the sleeves and collar, forming subtle leaf and vine motifs in darker thread that catch the light without overwhelming the design. A matching sash rests alongside the robe, neatly folded, its polished jade color meant to gather the layers together, giving the entire set an elegant balance between refinement and quiet natural beauty.

  It looked suspiciously like a cultivation sect disciple uniform.

  She blinked.

  Tilted her head.

  Did elves… just… accidentally invent cultivator fashion? Is this some kind of cultural similarity thing?

  She glanced at Vel, who was still fighting laughter like a gremlin.

  …No. Definitely not the same culture.

  Still, Xulian couldn’t deny she liked it.

  She changed quickly behind a tilted pillar while Vel hummed some annoyingly smug tune. Sliding the sash into place, she smoothed the fabric over her hips and took a breath.

  The robe fit perfectly. It hugged her waist, flowed around her legs, and the high collar framed her face elegantly. Her long black hair fell around her shoulders like silken waterfalls. But she did notice Vel was correct. She did expose more than the outfit could muster, though not in a way that was uncommon or uncomfortable. The fit reminded her of the very few memories she does have left, those uncomfortable dresses she wore for those pointless company gatherings. This actually feels more natural than those pieces of female torture…

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  She stepped back out into the open—

  —and the world went silent.

  Lilian stared like she’d momentarily forgotten how to breathe.

  Vel’s eyes widened so dramatically it bordered on theatrical.

  “…Oh wow,” Vel whispered reverently. “Okay. So. If you were an eight before—”

  “Vel,” Xulian warned.

  “—you’re a twelve now.” Vel declared with utter sincerity.

  Lilian nodded so fast it nearly counted as bowing.

  Xulian blinked, confused. “What…?”

  Lilian stepped close and touched Xulian’s cheek gently. “Your skin… there’s not a single blemish. No scars. No imperfections. It’s like… like you stepped out of a divine painting.”

  Vel circled once, whistling. “Not just radiant. You’re glowing. Literally. I can see light from your skin.”

  Xulian’s eyebrow twitched. “Stop exaggerating.”

  Her skin truly was porcelain-smooth now—slightly luminous, unearthly. Her aura felt refined, cool, sharp-edged. Her green eyes had become clearer and brighter, almost gem-like, and when she looked at Vel—

  Vel physically shivered.

  “Gods,” Vel muttered. “Your stare feels like it can cut souls. That’s not fair. Why do you look like a fairy queen who wants to assassinate me?”

  Xulian frowned. “Why would I assassinate you?”

  Vel pointed. “That! That right there! That cold face! Somehow it got colder! It’s like the gods calibrated your resting expression to ‘beautiful but terrifying.’”

  Lilian flustered again. “S-she looks… amazing…”

  Xulian crossed her arms, cheeks heating. “Stop staring.”

  Vel smirked. “Honey, with that face? Everyone’s going to stare.”

  Xulian groaned into her hands.

  The three of them—Xulian, Vel, and Lilian—made their way back toward the camp where the rest of the expedition was resting. Word of the sudden storm had spread like wildfire, and even though the clouds had long since dispersed, the atmosphere was thick with tension and curiosity.

  When Xulian stepped into view—clean, radiant, and somehow even more intimidating than before—every conversation died a little. Eyes widened. A few soldiers straightened unconsciously.

  Even Cilian, who had been pacing in a tight circle, stopped dead mid-stride.

  His face went red so fast it was almost impressive.

  He marched straight over, nearly tripping over a supply crate in his haste.

  “X–Xulian,” he began, clearing his throat when his voice cracked, “I… about earlier. I sincerely apologize. I did not mean to— I would never— I simply happened to look at the wrong moment and—”

  Xulian walked right past him.

  Didn’t even slow down.

  Cilian froze, wilted, then sank into a quiet posture of utter despair—the physical manifestation of a kicked puppy.

  A ripple of murmurs went through the assembled soldiers.

  “Did the prince just get ignored?”

  “Oh gods, she didn’t even look at him.”

  “That’s cold. Beautiful, but cold.”

  “Is she allowed to do that?”

  “Hush! Do you want to die!”

  Vel slapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. Lilian lowered her gaze, torn between sympathy and amusement.

  Brill, who was polishing his sword nearby, blinked at the sight.

  “…Huh,” he grunted. “Never seen the prince look like that.”

  He strode over, clapping a massive hand on Cilian’s shoulder, nearly knocking the poor man off balance.

  “Alright, lad. Listen here,” Brill began with the confidence of a man who often thought he was wise. “When my wife gets angry, I let her shout it out. Let her get it all out of her system. Then I bring her something sweet, sit next to her, keep my mouth shut until she’s ready to talk again.”

  Cilian slowly turned his head toward Brill.

  It was a glare that could have cut granite.

  Brill blinked, confused.

  Cilian didn’t say a word.

  He didn’t have to.

  Everyone in camp knew Brill’s wife was the true commander of their household. The man acted big and mighty here, sure—but at home? He was ruled with an iron ladle.

  Vel whispered loudly from the side, “Does Brill remember he’s not the one wearing the pants at home?”

  The soldiers near her choked.

  Brill’s face went red. “That’s— that’s entirely uncalled for.”

  Cilian pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated. “Brill… your advice is appreciated. Truly. But this situation is… different.”

  Brill crossed his arms. “Woman’s anger is woman’s anger. Handle it right, and you’ll be fine.”

  Cilian inhaled.

  Exhaled.

  Looked like a man contemplating walking into a monster nest instead.

  Across the camp, Xulian sat down beside a crate, elegantly crossing her legs, completely unconcerned.

  Her new aura only made things worse—her cold, fairy-like beauty and sharpened eyes made ignoring her feel like ignoring the moon.

  Vel snorted. “Yep. He’s doomed.”

  Cilian shot her a betrayed look.

  Lilian sighed, patting him gently on the arm. “Give her time. She’s just… embarrassed.”

  Cilian brightened a little. Really that bad?”

  Vel: “Yes. Because you saw her half-naked.”

  Cilian’s soul left his body on the spot.

  Even Xulian, from across the camp, felt the spike of panic and buried her face in her hands.

  When scouts returned and reported clear roads a few hours later, the group departed the ruins. Xulian climbed into the wagon with Lilian while Cilian walked ahead. He unfurled a scroll—then lifted it into the air.

  The parchment folded into a paper bird, glowing faintly, then streaked away in a flash of light.

  “Messenger scroll,” Lilian explained. “He’s probably reporting to Archmage Hurman.”

  “Who?” Xulian asked.

  Before Lilian could answer, Luim—who had been walking beside the wagon—snorted loud enough to scare a nearby horse.

  “Master of the Magic Tower,” he said bluntly. “One of the strongest mages alive.”

  Then, after a beat:

  “…and a cataclysmic drunkard.”

  Xulian stared. “…Master of the tower and a drunk?”

  Lilian nodded with a resigned sigh. “Brilliant… in the most chaotic possible way.”

  Xulian nodded slowly, imagining an ancient archmage hurling world-ending spells while stumbling over furniture, while lecturing apprentices with wine stains on his robes.

  Honestly?

  Sounded exactly like the type of trope she should expect.

  The ruins thinned out ahead, and suddenly the world changed.

  It was abrupt—almost violently so.

  The moment they passed through the cracked stone archway that once formed Marlow’s outer wall, the dead gray expanse of the ruined city simply… stopped.

  And a living wall of forest rose before them.

  The contrast was so sharp it looked as if a divine knife had carved reality down the middle: ruin on one side, thriving wilderness on the other.

  Xulian leaned forward, eyes wide, heart thumping like an excited child’s.

  Lush green canopies towered overhead, dense enough to blot out half the sky. Vines draped down like curtains. Thick roots cracked the old cobblestone road. Moss covered everything—stones, trees, even old signposts swallowed by nature’s slow hunger.

  The single road they followed cut through the jungle like a scar, but even that was overgrown and wild.

  “It’s beautiful…” Xulian whispered.

  Vel jumped down from a branch overhead, landing lightly beside the wagon. “Right? Wild Forest territory. The elves protect these lands, so it grows like it wants to.”

  Xulian tilted her head. “But these tracks… someone was moving through here recently.”

  “They were probably made by the Surillians. It looked marched, not travelled.”

  Vel swung past a overgowths along the barely seen road with the ease of someone who considered a casual stroll in the forest an everyday drive to work.

  “Why would they risk keeping a road marching so deep? This doesn’t look like a one-time thing…” Xulian looked around her. Despite the road being overgrown, it still cut through the forest like a knife.

  Vel’s expression soured, the humor fading from her face. “To my disappointment? For my own kin. The elves try to patrol and protect this forest… but it’s too damn big.” She gestured around them. “Thousands of kilometers of dense woodland. Even with our speed and senses, we can’t be everywhere.”

  Lilian frowned. “Because the Surillians despise elves.”

  “Because of Surillia, hunt elves,” Vel corrected sharply. “Their border cuts along the eastern side of these woods, and lately they’ve been expanding their hunts.” Her jaw tightened. “And their purges.”

  A heavy silence settled.

  “Purges?” Xulian echoed softly.

  Vel nodded once, anger simmering under her calm tone. “Small elven settlements near the border. Scattered clans, foraging villages, outposts. Surillian raiding parties burn them out or ‘clear’ them under the excuse of securing the frontier.” She spat the last words. “Cowards pick the small targets. The isolated ones. The ones with women and children.”

  Xulian clenched her jaw.

  Lilian looked stricken. “Haven’t the elven courts intervened?”

  “They do,” Vel said, “but this forest is massive, and the Surillians hit and vanish before patrols arrive. We’ve been trying to push back, but…” Her shoulders slumped for a moment, rare vulnerability showing. “Sometimes we’re too late.”

  Xulian looked at the faint wagon ruts cutting through the overgrown path.

  “Why would anyone hunt elves?” Xulian murmured more to herself than to anyone else.

  Vel kept silent, giving a distant stare into the forest as if seeing something unfold miles away. Lilian slowly whispered into Xulian's ear.

  “Surillia uses elven and captured slave women in what they call their military leveling enclosures. They breed goblins to speed up the leveling of their low-ranked forces. As well as teach them military drills.”

  Xulian stared at Lilian in disbelief. She only saw a few goblin corpses along the way the past few days. They looked exactly like what she knew about them, and judging by Lilian's words, Surillia is sacrificing lives for power.

  She exhaled. “I’m sorry.”

  Vel shrugged, her grin returning—but thinner this time. “Eh. Life goes on. Forest grows back. People… do their best.” Her tone brightened deliberately. “Anyway! That’s why these tracks exist. Patrol squads, rescue teams, or hunters are trying to push Surillian scouts back.”

  Xulian nodded quietly, understanding settling in.

  This forest wasn’t just beautiful.

  It was contested.

  Wounded.

  Enduring.

  And now she was walking straight into the middle of it.