The ancient Veilwood was damp and heavy, like the breath of a dying patient. A thick fog clung to the moldy trunks of the elder trees, blocking the sunlight and turning the day into an eternal twilight.
The group had left their boat at the coast to cut through the forest, heading toward the river city of Morlind. The "road" was non-existent; instead, there were knee-deep marshes tangled with roots and thorny vines.
Sinhara walked with great difficulty. His leather boots were soaked and felt as heavy as lead. Celles, in his black cat form, had wisely jumped onto Ardyn's shoulder to avoid the mud, leaving his master to struggle with the dark swamp blocking their way.
Sin stopped, frowning as he calculated.
"Estimated depth is about two meters," Sin muttered, poking the mud with a branch. "High sinking rate. If we go around the solid land on the left bank, it will take an extra half hour. But if we wade through, the risk of getting stuck is..."
Before he could finish his sentence, the ground beneath his feet suddenly vanished. Not because he sank, but because he was lifted into the air.
Eric, walking directly behind him, had stepped forward. Without asking or seeking permission, he slid one arm under Sin's knees and the other behind his back, hoisting Sin over his shoulder like a sack of supplies.
"What are you doing?" Sin gasped, his hand instinctively grabbing Eric's cold shoulder plate. "Put me down. This violates the rules of independent movement."
"Silence," Eric said, his voice deep and firm. He stepped directly into the marsh. The mud reached his calves, but with the strength of a trained knight, he walked as steadily as if he were on solid ground.
"My weight will reduce your travel speed," Sin argued, his voice flat as usual, though his fingers gripped Eric's cloak a bit tighter. "Furthermore, this posture lacks dignity."
"If I let you wade through yourself, your short legs would sink into toxic mud," Eric replied, looking straight ahead. "You would catch a chill, leading to a relapse of your fever. Then we would lose three days caring for you instead of a half-hour detour. In terms of time and energy, this is the optimal solution."
Sin fell silent.
He wanted to argue, but Eric's logic was... perfectly sound. No percentages, no emotions—just a clear calculation of gain and loss.
Eric smirked inwardly. He realized that to deal with a "machine," he had to become a superior machine—one that knew how to care and protect. He tightened his grip slightly on Sin's leg, feeling the weight of the one he loved on his shoulder. It was a pleasant weight.
After two hours of struggling with the ancient forest, they reached the village of Hollowbark.
The village hung suspended among the giant ancient tree canopies, its wooden houses connected by rotting rope suspension bridges.
Silence.
That was the first thing Sin noticed. No birds singing, no dogs barking, and no smoke from chimneys. The village was completely empty of people, as if life had been drained from this place years ago.
"The Forest Spirit here is dead," Ardyn said. Celles jumped to the ground, sniffing a withered tree stump and hissing.
"We need clean water," Ardyn said, unhooking the empty wineskin from his hip. "Check the temple. The villagers usually hide holy water there."
They entered the ancient temple at the center of the village, carved directly into the trunk of the greatest Mother Tree. Inside, it was dark, with only thin rays of light leaking through cracks in the ceiling. On the wooden walls were ancient bas-reliefs depicting the 12 Constellations and the 12 Divine Artifacts.
Sin took out a glowing stone and shined it on the wall. His gaze stopped at the fourth relief: the image of the White Ram. Something should have been held in the statue's hand, but that spot had been crudely carved out.
"It has been taken," Sin traced the marks with his finger. "The scars are old. I estimate it was excavated several decades ago."
He shined the light on the ancient runes at the foot of the statue.
"When the trumpet falls silent, it shall sound in the place where intellectuals gather, to serve the ambition of bending nature."
"The place where intellectuals gather..." Sin muttered, then turned to Ardyn. "The Aethelgard Academy of Magic."
Ardyn raised an eyebrow. "The school we're planning to visit to 'borrow' the travel pass?"
"Exactly," Sin nodded, his dark eyes flashing with deduction. "This text implies a deliberate excavation. Aethelgard sent people here to take the Horn. They aren't just studying it; they want to use it to 'bend nature.' Perhaps a chimera experiment or climate manipulation."
"Two birds with one stone," Eric said, his hand remaining alert on the hilt of his sword. "Get the pass, and get the Divine Artifact."
CRACK.
The sound of a dry branch breaking echoed sharply from the temple entrance.
The air in the temple suddenly grew heavy. The thick scent of killing intent rushed in. Eric reacted instantly, spinning around and drawing his sword to block the path to Sin. From the darkness of the forest surrounding the temple, dozens of dark figures stepped out. They wore gray cloaks that matched the bark of the trees and masks made of animal bone.
But the most terrifying part was the pulsating fleshy lump on each of their backs—a parasitic magic beast pumping power into its host.
"Shadow Hunters," Ardyn noted, his voice bored. "The hounds of the Secret Society. You lot have a fast scent."
"Hand over the Mirrakyn stone and the head of the traitorous General," the leader hissed, his voice distorted like metal scraping on stone.
Eric gripped his sword tight. He had just fought at the casino; his strength hadn't fully recovered. Sin, on the other hand, had no hand-to-hand combat ability.
"Ardyn, protect Sin," Eric ordered, preparing to lunge.
But a large, rough hand landed on his shoulder, holding him back. Ardyn stepped forward. The bearded old man stretched, his bones cracking. He tossed his empty wineskin aside.
"Save your strength, young man," Ardyn said, his voice deep and authoritative like an old lion. "Let the elder warm up his joints a bit."
He did not draw the massive black sword on his back. Instead, he reached into his tattered breast pocket and pulled out a stack of... paper.
They were yellowed charm papers and tiny origami figures: cranes, frogs, tigers. The hunters laughed in contempt. "Is the senile old man planning to use toilet paper to fight?"
Ardyn smirked. A smile that made a chill run down Sin's spine.
"The art of war is to turn the most fragile things..." Ardyn tossed the stack of paper into the air. "...into the sharpest blades."
He snapped his fingers.
VROOOM.
The air vibrated. A massive, heavy, and overwhelming amount of mana exploded from the drunkard's body, flowing straight into the hovering papers. The tiny paper cranes suddenly hardened, their edges becoming as sharp as steel razors. They lunged with speed invisible to the naked eye.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
The sound of paper cutting through flesh was sickening. The three hunters in the lead collapsed instantly, brought down by the paper wings.
The leader roared and lunged to strike Ardyn. Ardyn didn't flinch. He pulled out a charm and slapped it onto the leader's forehead.
"Heavy as a mountain."
The thin paper suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. The leader was crushed against the wooden floor—the planks cracked, and he coughed up blood, unable to move. The remaining hunters panicked, sending their magic beasts forward.
Ardyn calmly took out a folded paper tiger that fit in the palm of his hand. He blew on it gently and tossed it out.
"Paper Tiger."
The paper tiger expanded in mid-air, turning into a two-meter-tall beast made of thousands of tightly pressed paper layers, harder than a steel shield. It let out a soundless roar and tore through the enemy formation, tossing the large hunters aside like ragdolls.
It was a brutal display of art. Not a single drop of the group's blood was spilled—there was only the deadly rustle of paper and the screams of the enemy.
In less than the time it took to finish a cup of tea, the entire hunting party was defeated. They were bound tight with ropes twisted from old newspapers. Ardyn dusted off his hands and snapped his fingers. The giant paper tiger disassembled, turning back into a tiny folded paper that fell to the ground.
"Job done," he yawned.
Sin watched, his dark eyes showing no fear or naive admiration—only the cold analysis and extreme curiosity of a scientist. He walked over, picked up a fragment of the paper used in the attack, and examined it under the dim light.
"Reinforcing cellulose structure with high-density mana... altering local specific gravity to create impact force," Sin muttered, his brain decoding the magic into physical formulas. "An advanced variation of the 'Scapegoat' technique."
He turned to Ardyn, his tone calculating: "General, I need the folding diagram for that tiger."
Ardyn raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised. "For what? You planning to play with paper toys?"
"The Veylan family cannot use magic; I know my limits," Sin said quickly, taking out his notebook to sketch. "But if I use paper made from Magic-Wood fibers, soak it in an alchemical conductive solution, then..."
Ardyn looked at the boy rambling about turning his art into an industrial production line. He burst into a deep laugh that echoed through the dead forest. Sin paused for a moment. He looked at his notebook, then closed it with an unchanged expression.
"A soulless machine that obeys orders perfectly is safer than a living creature capable of making mistakes due to emotion," Sin replied dryly. "Regardless, thank you for the reference data. I will optimize it later."
With that, he turned and walked away, showing no disappointment—simply moving on to a more effective alternative.
Eric observed the whole conversation. He saw the pitiful stubbornness hidden behind Sin's arrogance. Sin was always trying to use intellect to fill the void of power that fate had taken from him.
The group left the temple, heading toward the edge of the forest as evening began to fall. In the distance, below the foggy valley, the river city of Morlind appeared with its intricate canal system and massive, slow-turning waterwheels.
Eric walked close to Sin. He said nothing of magic or alchemy. As he walked, he silently tore a piece of paper from an old map in his pocket, his fingers moving quickly.
"Hey," Eric called softly.
Sin turned, his face still deep in thought about paper structures. Eric held out a tiny paper crane—clumsy, distorted, and much uglier than Ardyn's.
"I can't breathe life into it, and I don't know anything about your alchemical solutions," Eric said, smiling gently—a rare smile that held no mockery, only sincerity. "But I folded this for you. It can't kill anyone, but it's... quite durable."
Sin looked at the crooked paper crane in the knight's calloused palm. His logic screamed that this was a useless object. It was waste. it had no combat value, nor any artistic value.
But Sin's hand reached out instinctively and took the crane. His fingers brushed lightly against Eric's.
"The folding technique is off by three millimeters; the axis of symmetry is skewed," Sin remarked dryly, his voice cold as usual. He put the crane into his breast pocket, right next to the sleeping Mirrakyn stone. "Next time, fold it properly, Knight."
Eric watched Sin's slender back as he walked away, the smile on his lips growing brighter. He knew the iceberg was starting to crack. Not because of magic, but because of a "useless" thing Sin always rejected.