The wheels of the carriage churn steadily through the mud as the storm transitions into a soft, low-hanging mist. For hours, the road winds through a landscape so breath-taking it feels entirely detached from the grim realities of Liveria.
Towering, jagged cliffs of obsidian rock flank the path, cut through by massive, roaring waterfalls that plunge into crystal-clear basins. The earth is carpeted in a vibrant, emerald grass that ripples like the tide under the afternoon breeze, releasing a faint, pale-green dust wherever the carriage wheels press down.
Elsbeth leans her painted cheek against the glass, her eyes wide. She has only ever seen landscapes like this bound in leather and ink within the royal archives, reduced to flat drawings. To see it breathing, vast and untamed, pulls a faint murmur from her carmine lips.
"It's so beautiful..."
But the world does not stay beautiful forever.
As the hours press on, the sun begins its slow descent, bleeding the sky into deep oranges, then bruised violets, and finally a hollow grey. The open meadows gradually begin to narrow. The vibrant emerald grass thins out, suffocated by thick, ancient roots that burst through the damp earth like skeletal fingers.
The majestic roar of the distant waterfalls fades into a muffled, echoing hum, completely swallowed by the rising shadows of towering, gnarled trees.
By the time night falls entirely, the fresh, alpine air has turned heavy and cold, thick with the damp scent of decaying leaves and old moss. The canopy above weaves together so tightly that it chokes out the stars, plunging the carriage into pitch blackness.
Suddenly, the carriage grinds to an abrupt halt, the horses snorting in exhaustion.
Grace raps her gloved knuckles against the front partition. "What is the meaning of this? Why have we stopped in the dead center of a thicket?"
The young guard outside pulls back the leather viewport, his face slick with sweat. "My Lady, the horses are tired. We've been pushing them through deep mud since afternoon. The terrain shifted too fast, and the incline is heavy. We must let them rest, or they'll collapse before dawn."
Grace sighs, a flicker of genuine distaste crossing her sharp features as she looks out into the oppressive treeline. "This forest gives me the creeps."
The guard offers her a hand as she steps down into the damp moss. Leonard follows, dropping from the carriage with an effortless, heavy thud. He claps a hand onto the guard's shoulder. "Bring the gear out. We camp here tonight."
Working with practiced efficiency, the two men pitch two durable leather tents. Leonard strikes his flint, sparking a bright, crackling campfire that cuts through the dark. He steps over to the carriage door, knocking gently.
"My Lady, everything is prepared. Come out and warm yourself by the fire. It's better than the cabin."
The carriage door swings open. Elsbeth steps down, her small hand resting briefly in Leonard's calloused palm as he helps her down. The air here is freezing, but as she breathes it in, it feels strangely soothing and fresh against her lungs—a primal stillness she had never felt within the suffocating walls of the Central.
The young guard, who had been setting down a final bundle of wood, turns around to offer a proper greeting. The moment the amber firelight illuminates her face, he freezes entirely. His breath hitches in his throat.
He expected a royal majesty of silk and gold; instead, he is staring at a pale specter with hollow eyes, framed by a jagged, blood-red carmine smile and dark kohl borders. The sheer, haunting weight of her presence paralyzes him.
Recovering his senses, Henry instantly drops to one knee in the damp moss, his head bowing so low his chin nearly touches his collarbone.
"Y-Your Highness," Henry stammers, his voice trembling with a mixture of reverence and sheer, unadulterated shock. "An honor to serve you on this path."
Elsbeth doesn't answer. She walks past him like a ghost drifting through the trees, her fingers tightly clutching the black book. Grace seamlessly steps forward, taking Elsbeth's hand. You should get some sleep, Your Highness. The journey has only just started." Grace guides her toward the larger tent to rest by the heat of the entryway.
"I'm cooking," Leonard calls out, squatting by the flames as he unhooks a cast-iron pot from his pack. "We need nutrition if we're going to survive the march tomorrow."
For the next hour, the forest is filled with the rhythmic *thwack* of an axe chopping dry wood and the bubbling of a thick, savory root stew. The young guard scurries into the brush, rolling over several heavy, petrified tree blocks to serve as makeshift chairs around the hearth.
Leonard watches him with a faint, amused smile. The guy can't be older than 19. "Good work," Leonard says.
The guard's face practically glows with pride at the brief praise.
Leonard approaches the tents. "My Lady, Grace—the food is ready. Let us eat together."
Throughout the meal, Elsbeth remains a silent ghost. She eats mechanically, her eyes fixed on the dancing flames, the black book resting safely in her lap like an anchor.
Henry slowly rises, his eyes wide as plates, carefully keeping his distance.
When the plates are cleared Elsbeth steps into tent first, Grace dabs her lips with a silk handkerchief, her eyes glinting with playful malice. "Well, your culinary skills are surprisingly adequate, Leonard. Though, standard adventurer gruel served to highborn ladies... one might call it terribly disrespectful, don't you think?"
Leonard lets out a dry cough, stoking the fire with a branch. You manage to compliment me and complain in the exact same breath. The food has nutrients, it tastes fine, and the Princess actually ate. That's all that matters. Don't pull my leg, Grace."
Grace lets out a melodious laugh, turning on her heel. "A fair point." She slips away into her tent, leaving the two men to watch the dark.
The silence stretches until the young guard breaks it, shifting nervously on his wooden block. He extends a hand toward Leonard, his eyes wide with a deep, reverent admiration.
"I... I haven't properly introduced myself, Sir. My name is Henry. I'm a rookie adventurer with Lord Azik's guild."
Leonard blinks, looking down at the kid's trembling hand before taking it in a brief, slightly uncomfortable grip.
"I left everything the moment I saw this request posted on the high-rank board," Henry rushes out, his voice hushed but ecstatic. "When I found out *you* were the one leading the vanguard... I couldn't believe it. You're the entire reason I picked up a sword! I can't believe I'm sitting across from the man who cleared dungeons nobody else would dare step foot in."
Leonard clears his throat, a bit shy beneath the praise. "That's all in the past and i didn't accomplish all that alone, Henry," he says, his voice dropping into a stern, grounded tone. "This quest is incredibly important. We are escorting the Princess and a noble adviser. Stay on your guard at all times. That is my first advice to you."
Henry's shoulders slump slightly. About the p-princess "Sir Leonard... by the gods, the Princess..." Henry glances nervously back at the tent, his knuckles white as he grips his own knees. "Her face. Is... is she cursed? Is that a ritual of the high court? She looks like a... like a dead fool. It made my blood run cold."
Leonard doesn't look up, his expression hard and unreadable in the flickering shadows.
"It's not a curse, Henry," Leonard says, his voice dropping into a low, warning register. It's a vow. A reminder of what the capital stole from her.
Leonard finally locks his dark eyes onto the younger guard. "You are here to protect her life, not to judge her grief. Do not stare at her face again, and do not speak a word of this to anyone ever. Am I understood?"
Henry gulps, the sheer intensity of Leonard's gaze forcing him to nod quickly. "U-Understood, Sir. I apologize. I didn't mean any disrespect. S-Sir Why don't you go ahead and rest first? If we both stand guard, we'll both be exhausted by morning. We should take turns."
"You go ahead," Leonard counters.
"With all due respect, Sir, you look almost dead," Henry insists, pointing to the deep shadows under Leonard's eyes. "Your eyes are completely deprived of sleep. Go ahead. Trust me, I might be a beginner, but my sword skills are exceptional. Lord Azik wouldn't just appoint anyone to a vital quest like this, right?"
Leonard stares at the kid for a long moment, then taps his shoulder. "Fine. Wake me up soon. And don't hesitate to yell if something feels off."
"Understood!" Henry beams, standing tall by the fading embers of the campfire, his unsheathed sword resting against his knee.
As Leonard slips into the secondary tent, Henry practically vibrates with excitement. *I can't believe it's actually him. You lucky bastard, Henry,* he thinks to himself, staring out into the pitch-black tree line, completely losing himself in his own thoughts as the hours bleed by.
A sound pierces the gloom.
It is a soft, melodic sobbing. It doesn't sound dangerous; it sounds tragically beautiful, echoing through the hollow trunks like a sad lullaby.
Henry snaps to attention, his skin prickling. The sheer pleasantness of the sound makes it uniquely creepy in a place like this. Griping his shortsword in one hand and hoisting an oil lantern in the other, he steps beyond the boundary of the camp.
He tracks the weeping deeper into the gnarled roots. Through the thick fog, his lantern light catches a flash of stark color.
A young girl in a pure white dress is curled against the base of an ancient oak, her face buried entirely in her arms as she cries.
"Hey!" Henry shouts, his heart hammering. "Are you okay? Are you lost?"
The girl doesn't reply. She just keeps weeping.
"Answer me," Henry continues, taking another step forward, his knuckles white on his hilt. "Are you hurt?"
Still, nothing. Henry hovers his hand over his mouth, wondering if he should rouse the others. *No,* he thinks. *They need the rest. I can handle this.*
He approaches within five paces, raising his lantern high. Suddenly, his eyes drop to the mud. His blood instantly turns to ice.
There are no footprints anywhere around the tree. Furthermore, despite sitting directly in the wet muck, her white dress is flawlessly clean. Not a single speck of dirt touches the fabric.
Terrified, Henry points his sword, his voice shaking. "One final time... who are you?!"
The beautiful sobbing instantly stops.
The forest goes dead silent.
Then, a hideous, wet laughter erupts from the figure. She jerks her head up, snapping her spine backward. Henry gasps, falling backward into the mud in sheer horror.
Where her facial features should be, there is nothing. Her head is a smooth, unbroken canvas of featureless, pale skin. Yet, from that blank, mouthless void, a supernatural, ear-piercing shriek explodes into the night.
The concussive force of the sound rings violently in Henry's ears. Panicking, he channels every ounce of his strength and hurls his sword directly at it's head.
Thwack!
The blade sails cleanly through her featureless skull, burying itself deep into the tree trunk behind her. It didn't hit flesh—it passed through her like smoke.
The faceless girl begins to glide forward, her laughter echoing in his mind as Henry crawls backward through the mud, utterly paralyzed.
"He's not alone, you fucking freak!"
A thunderous roar shatters the canopy. Leonard bursts from the treeline, his massive broadsword swinging in a lethal arc. He doesn't strike the girl—he slices through the air directly between Henry and the apparition.
The moment the steel cuts the space, the faceless girl vanishes into thin air, her mocking, creepy laughter echoing from the deep woods before fading completely.
Silence returns to the forest.
Leonard stands over the young guard, his breathing heavy, extending a hand down to him. "That was close."
Henry gasps violently, clutching his chest as he lets Leonard pull him out of the mud.
"What... what the absolute fuck was that?!"
Leonard walks over to the oak tree, effortlessly tearing Henry's sword out of the wood and tossing it back to him. "A MUJINA," Leonard explains, his voice entirely devoid of panic.
"They rarely kill physically. They target isolated people, sniffing out anyone whose mind isn't completely focused. They feed on terror and love to torment people mentally until they break."
Leonard looks back into the dark woods. "The moment someone else interferes between the beast and the prey, they run. They aren't physically strong enough to fight a crowd, and you can't harm them with a normal blade anyway."
Henry takes his sword, his hands shaking violently. "That is fucking creepy."
Leonard turns, his expression hardening as he pats the kid's mud-stained shoulder. "I told you to stay on your guard at all times. You should have woken me the second you heard anything. The world is full of things you've never imagined."
Henry lowers his head, "I'm sorry, Sir... I just thought I could take care of it myself."
As the two men trek back into the perimeter of the camp, the flap of the main tent pulls back. Grace steps out into the firelight, waving her hand slightly against the smoke. "Everything fine out here? I heard a racket."
Leonard waves back dismissively, kicking a fresh log into the dying coals. "Yeah. It was nothing. Go back to sleep, Grace—we leave at the first light."
As the tent flap falls shut and Grace steps back inside, the heavy silence of the forest crashes down on the camp once more. Henry stands shivering, his knuckles white around the hilt of his shortsword, his eyes darting frantically to the pitch-black wood line.
"Sir Leonard," Henry whispers forcefully, his voice cracking with a mix of residual terror and desperate determination. "You—you need to go back inside. Go back to sleep. Please. I'm fine! I won't do anything reckless again. I swear it. I won't move from this spot. Just... go rest, Sir. You look exhausted."
Leonard looks at the shaking rookie and lets out a soft huff. He steps up pushing him gently toward the smaller tent.
"No. Your watch is over, Henry," Leonard counters, his voice leaving no room for argument. "You've just had a brush with a psychological predator. If I leave you out here, your own shadow will have you swinging by dawn. Go get some rest. I'll stand guard."
Henry wants to protest, but the sheer fatigue and cold dread win out. He nods reluctantly and sheepishly crawls into the secondary tent, clutching his shortsword tightly against his chest.
Hours bleed away in total stillness. Leonard sits immovable by the hearth, a lone sentinel under the choking canopy. Slowly, the oppressive blackness of the night softens into a pale, watery grey. The sun rises, its first rays piercing through the dense, gnarled branches and turning the heavy mist into a shimmering golden haze.
Leonard stands up and stretches his stiff joints. Methodically, he begins the morning routine. He turns the fire off, kicking dirt over the remaining embers until the smoke dies down completely. With practiced, silent efficiency, he loads the heavy gear back into the carriage. A few yards away, the horses are calmly eating grass. Leonard walks over, leads them back, and ties them securely to the carriage.
With everything prepared, he goes around to wake everyone up.
He pulls back the canvas flap of the secondary tent and pauses. Henry is spread out flat on his back, his sword discarded to the side, snoring loudly. After literally experiencing death just a few hours ago, the kid is sound asleep.
Leonard stares at him and chuckles to himself at how incredibly reckless the rookie is. He shakes his head and gives Henry's boot a firm kick. "Wake up, kid. The sun's up. Move out."
Henry bolts upright, blinking wildly. "S-Sir! I'm awake!"
Within twenty minutes, everyone gets onto the carriage, packing up the final few items. The horses pull the heavy wooden cabin forward with a steady, rhythmic groan, leaving the dark woods behind.
Inside, the atmosphere is quiet. Elsbeth sits by the window, her face perfectly still as she watches the gnarled trees slowly pass by her.
Grace unrolls a weathered piece of parchment across her lap, her finger tracing a faded ink line.
"Looking at the map, there'll be a town ahead, four hours from here," Grace says, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "We'll stay there for a while and have breakfast."
Leonard leans back against the carriage wall, closing his eyes to finally catch a few moments of peace as they travel onward.