"Appletree Dragon?" Dante repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Sounds . . . oddly peaceful for a dragon."
He imagined a Dragon with multiple apples growing on its branch. Old, ancient, and wisdom that mostly sleep his entire lifetime.
"He is," Bluenose said with a small smile. "Sagara is the ancient protector of Applewood Forest. He's not like most dragons. But every few hundred years, he goes into a deep sleep. Nagi knew this, and attacked during the slumber. Took the forest in one swoop."
Dante clicked his tongue, arms crossed. "And no one's tried to wake this Sagara up? Or deal with Nagi themselves?"
Bluenose's expression darkened again. "Oh, the villages tried. But after several failed missions, countless lives lost, and entire caravans swallowed by fog and venom, they gave up. Eventually, a pact was made."
Dante narrowed his eyes. "A pact?"
"Yes. Nagi promised to keep its corruption contained within the borders of Applewood. In return, the neighboring towns and villages agreed to leave it alone."
"And they trusted a dragon to honor that?" Dante asked dryly.
"Not a dragon," Bluenose corrected. "A wyrm. There's a difference. But . . . Nagi has kept its word, as of now."
Dante scoffed lightly. "That sounds like living beside a burning house and calling it peace just because the fire hasn't jumped the fence."
Bluenose flinched. "W-well . . . yeah."
Dante tapped his knuckle against his chin, thinking. "So the villages around here chose survival over war. Cowardly? Maybe. But understandable. Dragons—sorry, wyrms—aren't exactly something you throw sticks at."
"Exactly," Bluenose said. "Even Sagara, in his prime, had to rest for centuries fighting a dragon according to old tales. You don't mess with beings like that lightly."
Dante gave a slow nod, taking it all in. His inner Library had already begun updating with this lore, recording everything from the names to the pact's terms. Handy.
"Still . . . ," he muttered. "A poisoned forest, a sleeping guardian, and a dragon with a deal. Sounds like the kind of mess fate usually throws our way."
This was exactly the kind of tale that echoed across every corner of the realm—heroes rising, destinies unfolding, prophecies fulfilled.
But not for him. Not anymore.
He wasn't a hero, at least he proclaimed that he wasn't going to be in this world.
This sort of thing no longer concerned him. Let the bards sing the other heroes name. He had his own path to carve—one that didn't involve destiny's leash.
Bluenose blinked up at him nervously. "Y-you're not thinking of going into Applewood, are you?"
Dante flashed a crooked grin, the kind that usually came right before something dangerous or incredibly dumb. "No. But I am curious about what kinds of rare materials and items I could forage there."
He wasn't foolish enough to march in and try to slay a dragon—unless he had a death wish. Even with the Hero's Mark etched on his skin, he could still die. And once he was dead, that was it. No amount of summoning, magic, or miracles could bring him back.
Dead was dead.
But harvesting magical herbs and rare minerals under a wyrm's nose?
That was a different kind of thrill entirely.
Bluenose shuddered. "Humans . . . always poking sleeping wyrms. And then acting surprised when they get roasted into snacks."
Dante chuckled. "Fair point."
As they walked, he tilted his head in thought. "By the way . . . do humans here have wars with demons or something?" He asked it casually, but the question was loaded.
In most of the otherworld summoning stories he was threw at, that was usually the go-to explanation—summoned heroes fighting to protect humanity from evil beasts or invading demon lords.
Bluenose looked puzzled for a moment before answering. "Well, this is a war-torn world. Has been for ages. A minor disagreement over fishing rights or mushroom territory can turn into a full-blown magical conflict. As for humans and demons—yeah, they've been at each other's throats since the First Sundering."
"The First Sundering?"
"Big boom. Ancient gods. Betrayal. Real messy." Bluenose waved a stubby arm. "Anyway, humans and demons hate each other by tradition. But both sides also have about ten other enemies each. Fey, beasts, elementals, corrupted titans—pick your poison."
"So . . . no 'chosen one summoned to fight evil' kind of thing going on?"
Bluenose gave him a look. "Not that I know of. You're not from around here, are you?"
"Something like that," Dante replied smoothly. "Let's just say I came from way farther than the next continent over."
Bluenose narrowed his eyes but let the subject drop.
They continued their journey in relative peace, the stars beginning to glitter over the treetops as the moon climbed into view.
Thanks to Bluenose's guidance—and the fact that Dante didn't randomly poke anything glowing—they reached the outskirts of Purpleleaf Town safely before midnight.
The moment they stepped into the clearing, Dante paused.
"Whoa . . ."
Purpleleaf was like something out of a dream—or a dangerously aesthetic RPG map. It was nestled among massive flowering trees with vibrant lavender leaves that shimmered under the moonlight, casting a soft purple hue over everything.
Tiny glowing motes floated lazily in the air, like fireflies made of magic.
The village itself blended seamlessly into nature. Sprites had built their homes inside tree trunks, mushroom clusters, and enormous flower buds, their lights twinkling like stars nestled into the earth.
"It's quiet," Dante murmured.
"Sprites sleep early and wake up early," Bluenose said in a whisper, almost as if afraid to break the tranquility. "They live very productive lives. Farming, tending to plants, brewing spirit tonics, whispering to roots. That kind of thing."
"Hardworking little guys, huh?"
"Very. Sprites are delicate, but diligent. Their entire vitality depends on Spirit Energy, which they absorb from healthy plant life and soil. The more they farm, the more energy they generate. It's like—work fuels their soul."
"Huh." Dante scratched his head, curious. "So farming here literally keeps them alive?"
"Exactly. The crops and herbs they grow are shipped all over the Fey continent, and in return, Spirit Energy flows back to them. It's a cycle. Beautiful and weird. Like most fey stuff."
"That's . . . kinda brilliant." Dante's eyes lit up. "I'd love to study the whole process. Maybe replicate it. Set up my own Farm."
Definitely needed those little guys if he ever wanted to start a farm. It'd be a totally new endeavor for him—farming wasn't exactly in his skillset—but hey, with magic vegetables and spritely farmhands?
Might just be worth a shot to make his goal come true.