That night, the wilderness felt like a forgotten world. The sky was shrouded in gray clouds, yet the moonlight slipped through the cracks, scattering in beautiful fragments among the trees.
The air was cold, biting against the skin, while the chorus of night insects and the rustling of leaves created an inescapable backdrop. In the heart of the forest, an Adventurer sat slumped beneath a great tree, his breath heavy, cold sweat trailing down his temples.
His wounded right arm hung useless, blood seeping slowly yet without pause, darkening the cloth wrapped around it.
With his left hand, he clutched his longsword—the only shield against whatever lurked in the darkness. Yet even that felt like a fragile defense.
There were countless ways for the Adventurer to die: bleeding out, torn apart by beasts, or simply rotting where he sat.
Weary of the thoughts clawing at his mind, a sudden rustle burst from the nearby underbrush.
He felt it was time. Raising his sword with trembling hands and a body nearly drained of strength, he fixed his gaze toward the sound, eyes straining against the darkness. His breath caught; for a heartbeat, the world seemed to freeze.
From the bushes stepped a woman. Tall in stature, with long hair of pale silvery-blue that shimmered faintly in the dark. A deep violet cloak draped her figure, embroidered with green rootlike patterns that blended seamlessly into shadow and tree alike, as though she were the forest's shade itself.
Her steps were calm, unhurried. A few floating fire-orbs circled her body. The magical aura she radiated sent a shiver down the Adventurer's spine.
"Hm?... An Adventurer." Her voice was soft, yet firm, her expression cold and faintly intimidating.
Relief surged within the Adventurer's heart—it was a human, not a beast of the night.
Swiftly, though not frantically, he begged her.
"Please… I need help. My body is stiff and weak… can you aid me?" His face twisted with pain.
In the next instant, she moved closer to the exhausted man slumped against the tree.
The nearer she drew, the more nervous he became—not merely from fear, but from an instinctive warning thrumming in his bones. If he could stand, he might already have fled.
Still, he remained on guard despite his frailty. "Forgive me… may I ask you something?"
Now she stood before him, head lowered slightly, sharp eyes sweeping him from head to toe.
"…The magic you emanate—it is unlike any ordinary sorcerer I've ever met—" He faltered, as if bracing himself for what he was about to say.
Swallowing hard, the Adventurer forced the words out. "…Tell me, are you… the Greenwood Witch?"
The woman gave no reply at first, only stood still, expression unreadable. That silence alone made him all the more uneasy.
At last, she exhaled slowly. "And why would you think me such a thing?" Her tone deflected, answering with a question of her own.
"My apologies if I've offended you… but there are countless rumors—whispers of a witch haunting these woods."
Her eyes opened again, sharper now. "Shouldn't you feel grateful? That someone—anyone—is here in this forest at nightfall… someone who might save you from death?"
"…Yes, I prayed for someone to find me. Yet… your aura is strange. Unnatural." His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword, preparing himself.
"…Even as a novice adventurer, I've traveled with mages of great renown—Archonmages. But never did their Belerium radiate so terribly as yours."
"A sorcerer whose presence is suffocating. Wandering at night through Rimbasauria, a forest infamous for its beasts. There can be only one conclusion…" Again, he faltered, then pressed on. "…You are the Greenwood Witch." His eyes hardened.
The woman's lips curved—just barely, almost mocking. "In such a state, and still you find the breath to talk so much."
She stepped closer. With a fluid motion, she knelt before him—not too near, but enough that their eyes were level. Her gaze was not threatening now, but filled with a strange, searching curiosity. "Have we… met before?" Her voice rang firm.
The Adventurer's eyes widened. "N-no—I don't recall ever meeting you."
"…Is that so?" she murmured, oddly. "Strange. The moment I saw you, you felt familiar. Yet at the same time… foreign." She touched her chin thoughtfully.
"Perhaps it's nothing. After waking from long slumber, many things today feel… strange." Her tone softened, lowering his guard almost against his will.
Still wary, the Adventurer kept his grip on the hilt. "But you haven't… answered my question."
A faint sigh escaped her. "Very well. Your guess may sound desperate… yet your intuition is true."
"So my answer is—yes."
At that word, the Adventurer's face stiffened. His breath caught, as though the very air had turned heavy and unbreathable.
Leaves and branches scattered about them, whether by sudden wind or the surge of her magic, he could not tell. The air grew colder; high above, faint blue motes drifted like fragments of the night sky.
"I dislike empty pretenses and lies. So allow me to introduce myself, lost Adventurer. I am the Greenwood Witch of Rimbasauria. My name… is 『Ursulyn』."
At her words, adrenaline surged through him. He lashed forward, blade thrusting.
But the sword halted, mere inches from her face. Roots had already bound his body to the tree, holding him fast.
Ursulyn's calm eyes lingered on the blade tip before her, as though it were no more than a passing inconvenience. "Such enthusiasm. Is this how you greet strangers?"
The Adventurer hadn't even realized she'd cast a spell—no words, no incantation. Perhaps she required none at all.
Knowing now how vast the gulf between them was, he let the sword fall, his strength drained. Slumping once more against the tree.
"Already surrendering?"
"…I hate to admit it… but my body has nothing left." His head bowed in defeat.
"…I fear death. I fear the darkness beyond it."
"So please… grant me an end that is quick and painless. Let me rest here, Greenwood Witch Ursulyn…" His fading voice trembled.
Ursulyn paused, then smiled thinly, as though stifling a laugh. "You speak as though I have no choice at all."
Once more she sighed, this time long and drawn out. "Haahh~… normally, I would not hesitate to erase anyone who meets me face to face, or even speaks to me—just to keep the truth of the Greenwood Witch from spreading. But really, wouldn't it be terribly unpleasant to kill someone on the very first day after waking from a long slumber?" she said with a hint of jest in her tone.
Ursulyn rested her hand on her knee, her expression loosening into something more casual. "And besides, I've already told you—I feel as though I've known you, Adventurer. Strange, isn't it? Like remembering something that never actually happened. Wouldn't it be… rather sad, to kill someone who feels so strangely familiar to me?" Her words, spoken in an easy manner, made the tension in the air slacken.
"…But I told you… I've never met you before," the Adventurer replied, his voice strained between gasps.
"Enough. If you keep forcing yourself to talk, I doubt you'll even be able to breathe much longer." Her calm face carried a quiet warning.
"Consider this your lucky day—I'll let an Adventurer walk away, even after speaking at length with me."
Ursulyn stepped closer, lowering herself until her face was near the young man's ear. In a voice low and sharp, she whispered, "I am not a good person. So, do not waste the mercy I've decided to show you." She offered him a thin, cold smile—one that sent a chill down his spine.
Her eyes drifted toward his right arm, still bleeding heavily, soaking through the darkened cloth.
"I'll start by treating your arm. You're losing far too much blood—keep this up and you'll be dead in minutes."
She examined the wound with a serious expression, then drew out a small pouch from beneath her cloak. It was a wonder in itself how such a bag fit within its folds.
"My medical supplies are limited," she said, opening the pouch. Inside were a neatly rolled strip of clean cloth, a vial of clear liquid, a small jar of greenish gel, and a roll of bandages. "But there's no time to bring you back to my place."
"Stitching this wound would take too long. Instead, I'll use this gel and bind it, to stop the bleeding."
"Don't worry," she added with quiet confidence as she prepared her tools. "I'll be finished before the beasts of the forest come to finish you."
Even in such dire circumstances, she could still joke.
The Adventurer looked at her supplies with surprise. "Medical… tools? Forgive me, but… are you a Progestor?"
"Yes," Ursulyn replied, pouring the clear liquid onto the cloth. "A witch who also bears the title of Progestor."
She pressed the dampened cloth against his wound with slow, steady hands. "Even though we live in a world of magic, healing spells no longer exist."
"No longer? Then… there once was magic that could heal?" the Adventurer asked.
Ursulyn lowered her gaze. "After the War of Ages Past, humankind turned to medicine. And from it, we Progestors were born—healers, guardians of the rear line."
"This is the first I've heard such a tale. Why does healing magic no longer exist?"
"Because of the death of the Magistre of Divine Light."
"What!—aghh!!" Shocked by her words, the Adventurer tensed, reopening his wound slightly.
"Hehe, careful. Startling yourself only makes the wound harder to close."
"Forgive me, I… I simply can't believe a Magistre could die."
Ursulyn pressed the antiseptic-soaked cloth more firmly to his arm, her movements calm yet precise.
The Adventurer winced as burning pain lanced through him. Ursulyn's expression remained unshaken. "That sting is good—it means your arm can still feel. But… if you truly can't endure it, I could put you under for a while."
He gave a pained chuckle. "I'd rather stay conscious. Thank you."
Ursulyn smirked softly. "Good. If you can still laugh, then I must be doing something right."
After a moment, she removed the cloth to check the wound. "The bleeding's slowing. Now I'll apply this gel. It'll feel cold—but it will keep the blood from flowing further."
She opened the small jar. A fresh aroma filled the air—mint, eucalyptus, a trace of anise, and frozen moss, all blending into a strangely soothing scent. With two fingers, she spread the gel along the wound's edges.
The Adventurer watched, torn between awe and unease. "It smells… wonderful. Is this one of those legendary healing gels?"
A faint smile crossed Ursulyn's lips. "If you call a mix of mint, eucalyptus, anise leaves, and frostmoss 'legendary,' then yes."
When she was done, Ursulyn pulled out the bandages, cutting a strip with a small knife from her belt. Her hands moved with practiced skill as she wrapped the wound, firm yet not so tight as to stop the blood's flow entirely.
"This should protect your wound from filth for now," she said, tying a secure knot. "But it's only temporary. The gel will stave off infection and dull the pain—but it won't close the wound."
She packed her tools away, then pulled a small vial of pale blue liquid from her pouch. "Drink this. It'll dull your pain, boost your adrenaline, and replenish your Belerium. But the effect lasts only about thirty minutes." She set the vial on the ground before him.
"What if it's poison?" the Adventurer asked suspiciously.
"Hm~… truly? You still don't trust me, after what I've already done for you?" Ursulyn raised a brow.
"I was only joking—don't be angry," he said with a weak smile, taking up the vial.
"Relax. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't waste poison. Believe me—I know far easier ways." Ursulyn's mischievous laugh followed her words.
The Adventurer chuckled. "You really do have a unique sense of humor."
"Good that you've noticed," Ursulyn replied smoothly, folding her arms. "Now, drink it. Don't waste time."
He downed the potion quickly, grimacing as bitterness flooded his mouth, leaving his tongue stained blue. "Ugh… it tastes… honestly, it tastes awful." He stuck out his tongue, half-joking.
Ursulyn laughed quietly. "Better an awful taste than death, isn't it?"
"I suppose you're right," the Adventurer admitted, already feeling warmth spread through his body, pain and fatigue fading as if burned away. "My body… it feels lighter."
"Good. Then let me see you safely out of this fo—" Her words broke off abruptly.
The Adventurer followed Ursulyn's gaze. Nothing seemed unusual to his untrained eyes, yet the air felt different. The night wind had grown colder, and the sounds of the forest had faded, replaced by an oppressive silence."Hmm… is there something out there?"
"There is always something in this forest," Ursulyn answered softly. He reached beneath his cloak and drew out his long staff, the gesture leaving no doubt—he was already prepared for danger.
"Wait," the Adventurer whispered, straining to listen. "I hear many steps coming this way. Could it be a pack of wolves?"
"Yes," Ursulyn replied, his tone calm though his eyes swept every shadow with sharp precision. "But they are not ordinary wolves. Their aura… it is overwhelming. This pressure blankets the whole forest."
While the Adventurer faltered, trying to grasp the situation, a slashing force shaped like a claw tore through the distance, racing straight toward him. Whoooshh!
Craaaackkk!
In the blink of an eye, Ursulyn raised his hand, summoning thick roots from the earth. They rose and entwined, forming a shield of ten layers before the Adventurer. But the strike was monstrously strong, shredding layer after layer until only one remained.
Ursulyn turned to him. "Adventurer, can you make it out of this forest on your own?"
The Adventurer nodded, though hesitation clouded his face. "Honestly, yes! I know this part of the Rimbasauria Forest."
"Then I'll hold them off. You must run, and quickly—before the potion's effect wears off."
"But—" the Adventurer's voice wavered.
"There's no time for doubt! You have to go, Adventurer. I'll be fine. What matters now is you. Time itself is hunting you."
"Ugh—"
Without warning, another wave of attacks descended. This time, the claw-like slashes came from every direction—fast, unpredictable, as though tearing the night apart.
Swishh! Swishh!
Ursulyn reacted instantly, summoning a vast dome of roots that encircled them both. This time the shield was forged from a hundred layers, each woven tighter than the last.
Inside the living fortress, Ursulyn pressed his hand to the earth, reinforcing the walls as endless blows rained down. Every strike shook the dome, as though the roots themselves were racing against time.
The Adventurer stood within, torn by doubt. Useless—that was all he felt in this battle. If he chose to fight, who knew how many foes lay in wait? And if the potion wore off before he escaped the forest, there would be no hope left.
Should he truly abandon the Greenwood Witch who had saved his life?
At last, the relentless strikes ceased. The dome stood battered and riddled with gaping holes.
From the darkness, a pack of wolves emerged. Yet as Ursulyn had warned, they were nothing like ordinary beasts. Their bodies were massive, each crowned with a pair of curved horns. Their black hides blended into the night, while their twisted violet horns glowed with a sinister aura—predators made of nightmare.
"A-are those truly wolves?" the Adventurer whispered, disbelief in his eyes. These were no mere animals; they were monsters.
Without pause, the horned wolves charged, hurling themselves forward to devour both the Greenwood Witch, Ursulyn, and the Adventurer.