"Immerfest, the legendary realm of the World Tree, where opinions split into four: Pure white holds those peerless to God, we pray it burns in our holy fire. Vibrant red clashes in skill, where the victor dictates destiny. Deep blue courageously protects the woodlands. But why, oh why, does the dark black seek to conquer?"
An old elf recounted the ancient lore of Immerfest to a group of passing children, who had gathered under a makeshift shelter to escape the sudden downpour. It was a pleasant melody to the young ones, but to the seasoned adventurers and locals seeking refuge from the rain, the tale had been repeated so many times it had long lost its charm.
A mountain lion beastman stood among the crowd, wrapped tightly in a heavy black cloak. He pulled his hood lower to keep the rain off his face. The sharp scent of rain hitting the cobblestones mingled with the savory, smoky aroma of street vendors grilling food along the roadside. He had heard these songs and legends since he was a cub. By now, the tune had crossed the line from a beautiful melody to an absolute nuisance.
This was Aloxa, a bustling trading hub within the northern realm of Blått Himmel. Because it offered the fastest and most direct route to the southern land of Rosso, the city thrived on export and commerce. It was also famous for its Adventurer's Guild tavern—a sanctuary where mercenaries, rangers, and travelers gathered to take on contracts, hone their skills, and earn a living.
In Blått Himmel, adventurers were held in high regard, enjoying a social status akin to that of government officials. In fact, many high-ranking officers had started their careers as simple sellswords. Their primary duty was vital: serving as the front-line shield against the horrific demons and monsters surging from the eastern domain of darkness, Chern Zamoroz.
The mountain lion's dark green eyes—so deep they appeared almost black—scanned the street until they locked onto a sign hanging over a rowdy establishment: The Grilled Lizard.
He pushed the swinging wooden doors open. Inside, a grand chandelier lined with flickering candles cast a warm, amber glow over the room. Long wooden tables were packed with adventurers, and a massive stone hearth crackled with fire, warding off the lingering chill of early spring. The atmosphere was rowdy yet deeply comforting, feeling just like home.
Looking around, he spotted a hulking minotaur resting a colossal greataxe against his chair, a panda beastman tuning an exotic stringed instrument, and a half-demon priestess softly reciting prayers over her meal.
"Well, well! Look who it is—the Wind Swordsman! What brings you here, cat?"
A booming voice erupted from behind the bar. The tavern owner, a stout, burly dwarf dressed in gray leather garments and a rounded, horned helmet, waved a hand in greeting. At the mention of the famous alias, a brief silence fell over the tavern as dozens of eyes shifted toward the cloaked mountain lion. He wore a striking silver necklace adorned with a brilliant gemstone. After a moment, the patrons returned to their rowdy conversations.
"Stop calling me by that ridiculous title," the mountain lion growled softly in his throat, stepping quickly toward the counter. "If you hadn't helped me out in the past, I would have knocked you flat by now."
Once his low growling subsided, he pulled back his hood, revealing his fierce features. The dwarf barked a laugh, scratching his reddish-brown beard while muttering a complaint about how he was still far too young to be called an old timer. Without further delay, the barkeep slid a formal quest scroll across the counter.
"This one's a direct request meant specifically for you. It comes straight from a high-ranking mage in Vlato."
The young mountain lion unrolled the parchment and began scanning the details. The objective was straightforward: venture deep into the southern forest of Blått Himmel and eliminate a pack of goblins that had been displaying highly erratic, frenzied behavior.
The unrest had begun shortly after a bizarre event the locals had lazily dubbed the 'Twilight Night'—a sudden, blinding flash of light that had illuminated the midnight sky. Rumors claimed that a new World Tree Guardian had manifested, and the surge of cosmic energy was driving local monsters into a bloodthirsty frenzy.
He let out a heavy sigh upon reading the signature. He harbored plenty of doubts regarding the eccentric court mages of Vlato, but if a sorcerer of that caliber was issuing an emergency decree, the threat was undeniably real—no matter how strange the employer might be.
"Where's your usual party?" the dwarf asked, leaning over the bar.
The mountain lion shook his head, crossing his arms as he closed his eyes in irritation. "They're... unavailable."
Betax, the yellow-spotted cat pirate from Rosso, was currently rotting in a dungeon within the White Kingdom after picking a foolish fight with the local King. He was stuck there for at least a month. Serves the idiot right, he thought bitterly. Meanwhile, Lanta, their reliable Doberman companion, had traveled south to Rosso to train for the upcoming World Tree Championship. As Blått Himmel's champion, Lanta's victory would secure crucial military backing from the south. If he failed, their forces would be severely weakened against the Demon King.
Realizing he had no backup, the lion accepted his solo reality.
"I'm on my own, old man. I'll handle it myself. It's just a few goblins; how hard could it be?"
The dwarf let out a worried sigh but said nothing more. The mountain lion signed his name upon the ledger, grabbed the scroll, and strode out the back door toward the carriage station.
He caught the attention of a human driver, who gestured toward his transport. "To the southern forest of Blått Himmel," the lion ordered, tossing a single gold coin—one Minz, the official currency of the northern realm. They agreed the carriage would drop him off strictly at the forest perimeter.
As the carriage rattled along the dirt road, the mountain lion pulled a weathered journal from his pack. It belonged to Lanta, filled with meticulous notes regarding their past travels and world lore.
He flipped to a page detailing the legend of the World Tree Guardian. According to the text, the true World Tree was hidden deep within Festwald, the colossal primordial jungle resting at the absolute center of Immerfest. The area was notoriously hazardous, teeming with savage orcs, feral goblin tribes, and malicious forest spirits.
The Guardian was an entity of supreme power, utilizing a unique discipline known as Natural Magic to maintain absolute balance over the global ecosystem. In the eyes of the forest-dwelling Druids, the Guardian was nothing short of a living god. However, this divine status drew immense hostility from nations like the White Kingdom, whose strict religious dogmas refused to acknowledge any deity outside their own orthodox faith.
Suddenly, the carriage jerked to a violent halt. The driver's terrified scream shattered the silence.
"Goblins! Young man, we're surrounded by goblins!"
The driver scrambled into the back of the wagon for cover. The mountain lion vaulted from the vehicle, pushing the panicked man safely into the passenger cabin. Stepping into the clearing, he drew two elegant swords from his waist, holding them in a reverse grip as he channeled his mana.
"By the power of the wind, transform into blades, cleave the foe's flesh. In the name of Lima Meč Vietor!"
A localized tempest swirled around his steel blades. With a burst of feline speed, Lima lunged forward. His swords blurred through the air, carving through the first two goblins before they could even raise their crude weapons.
"Perfect timing," Lima muttered, flicking the black goblin blood from his steel. "I needed a good workout."
The two creatures fell to the earth, deep crimson slashes opening across their chests and throats. Suddenly, a sharp whistle cut through the air. Relying on his razor-sharp feline instincts, Lima twisted his torso, narrowly evading a stray arrow that hissed past his ear.
"Hiding in the canopy? Clever, but pathetic!"
Detecting the archer's position, Lima unclipped a throwing dagger from his belt and hurled it with pinpoint accuracy. The blade sank deep into the goblin's chest, sending it crashing out of the tree onto the hard earth. The final surviving goblin broke into a panicked run, fleeing deeper into the dense brush.
"Go back home, old man! I'll clean up the rest!" Lima shouted to the driver before sprinting into the woods after his prey.
"Where do you think you're going, coward?!"
Lima sheathed one sword, keeping his right hand locked onto the other as his swift footwork closed the distance effortlessly. With a singular, fluid strike, he slashed the fleeing monster across the back, sending it skidding face-first into the dirt.
"Hmph. A low-tier contract like this is a waste of my talents," Lima muttered, deactivating his wind aura and returning his weapon to its scabbard.
The forest grew unnervingly quiet. But the silence was short-lived. Lima's ears twitched as a heavy, rhythmic vibration shook the earth from the left side of the thicket. He instantly drew his blade, wrapping it in a fresh cloak of howling wind as he dropped into a low combat stance.
A massive, crimson-skinned Hobgoblin stepped through the foliage. It wore heavy steel plate armor emblazoned with a sinister black dragon crest—the unmistakable military insignia of Chern Zamoroz. This was no ordinary feral monster; it was an elite warlord.
"You cut down my scouts quite easily. You possess decent skill," the Hobgoblin sneered. He casually drove his massive greatsword through the corpse of one of his fallen subordinates, lifted the blade, and slowly licked the dark blood from the steel. He clearly held zero affection for his troops.
With a sudden burst of surprising speed, the warlord lunged, swinging his heavy blade toward Lima's neck. Lima parried the blow, but the sheer force of the impact rattled his bones. The Hobgoblin's reach was immense. Before Lima could recover his stance, the massive greatsword tore through his defense, sinking deep into his right shoulder, slicing dangerously close to the bone.
Lima gasped, staggering back as a torrent of blood soaked his sleeve. He lost his grip on his left weapon, his hand instinctively flying to cover the deep gash.
He's too strong... Lima realized, his mind racing. Even as an elite adventurer, he knew he couldn't overpower this brute in a direct clash of strength. He took a calculated step backward, preparing to retreat.
"Bwahaha! Go ahead and run!" the Hobgoblin laughed maniacally, raising his blade. "I live for the thrill of the hunt. I'll give you a count of thirty. Run as far as your pathetic legs can carry you!"
It was a humiliating insult to his pride as a warrior. Blood poured from Lima's shoulder, refusing to stop. Genuinely outmatched, he turned and sprinted through the dense trees, cursing his own weakness.
"Make sure you run straight toward that pathetic World Tree!" the warlord shouted from behind, his voice dripping with malice. "Lord Alfaros will reward me handsomely for your heads!"
*
"Welcome to the world of Immerfest. I am Puluna. You have finally found the World Tree."
Poon stood frozen, completely overwhelmed by the surreal sight of an alternate version of himself standing right before his eyes. Seeing the boy's blank stare, Puluna stepped forward and sharply snapped his fingers, breaking the trance.
"A-Ah! Uh... Hello, Mr. Puluna!" Poon stammered, bowing frantically in a flurry of nervous politeness.
Puluna offered a warm, comforting smile, stepping closer to take Poon's hands in his own. Though the physical contact felt completely weightless—like touching thin air—a profound, genuine warmth radiated into Poon's chest.
"Do not be afraid, Poon. I am here to guide you," Puluna said gently. "While I cannot assist you in physical combat, I will serve as your mentor, imparting the vital knowledge required to survive this world."
With a soft glow, a massive stream of information began flowing directly into Poon's consciousness.
"Let us begin with the basics," Puluna explained, tracing his fingers through the air. "This continent is known as Immerfest, named after the grand landmass that houses the World Tree. The universal language spoken across all borders is called Mensch—the tongue of humans."
Puluna began sketching strange, mystical runes in the air, which bore a passing resemblance to complex English characters.
"Now, you must memorize the four major territories. First is Blått Himmel in the east—a lush, fertile realm dedicated to agriculture and nature. It is inhabited by skilled hunters, elves, and beastmen. Though they suffer from occasional monster raids, they possess an Adventurer's Guild to keep the peace. They are the sworn protectors of the World Tree."
Poon nodded, deducing that this peaceful eastern realm would likely serve as his starting point.
"To the south lies Rosso, a land of eternal festivals, fierce warriors, and lawless pirates. The region is defined by its vast oceans and brutal combat tournaments. They maintain an Adventurer's Guild primarily for trading rare monster materials and buying foreign quests. To them, the legend of the World Tree matters very little."
Puluna paused, his expression turning grave as he continued.
"To the north is the White Kingdom, a highly prosperous empire governed by wealthy nobles, holy knights, and orthodox clergymen. They are a devout, superstitious people who heavily tax their citizens and enforce strict tariffs on foreign goods. Crucially, they violently reject the existence of the World Tree Guardian, viewing our magic as a form of heresy. You must exercise extreme caution if you ever step foot in their territory."
Poon absorbed the warning silently.
"And finally, to the west lies Chern Zamoroz—the scorched domain of the Demon King. It is a barren, desolate wasteland born from a fractured branch of the World Tree. Driven by an ancient grudge against the heavens, the Demon King and his legion of monsters tirelessly hunt for the Tree's hidden location, seeking absolute vengeance against us. To avert cosmic ruin, you must unite the factions of the other realms and slay the Demon King once and for all."
Hearing the sheer scale of the conflict, Poon raised his hand tentatively. "Um... what exactly did the Demon King do to break the laws of heaven?"
Puluna leaned in close, softly whispering a forbidden secret into Poon's ear.
Poon's green eyes widened in astonishment. "Wait, if that's the case... then I think I have a plan to—"
Before he could finish his thought, a loud crashing noise echoed from the edge of the clearing. Puluna's spiritual form began to flicker, fading rapidly into the air.
"Our time is short. I must grant you your first spell," Puluna's voice echoed urgently. "Grab the gemstone staff resting against the roots, now!"
Poon scrambled to lift the elegant wooden staff, turning his gaze toward the source of the noise. A heavily injured mountain lion beastman broke through the brush, holding his bleeding shoulder. Poon's breath hitched—the man looked identical to his older brother, Lim.
"A civilian?! Run, kid! There's an elite vanguard from Chern Zamoroz right behind me!" Lima shouted, coughing violently as he collapsed onto the mossy earth.
Hearing the name of the dark kingdom, Poon knew this man was an ally of the World Tree. Ignoring the order to flee, Poon rushed to the fallen warrior's side, lowering the tip of his staff over the deep shoulder wound.
"Repeat after me, Poon," Puluna's voice resonated within his mind.
Poon cleared his throat, channeling his intent into the gemstone:
"By the power of the woods, heal the wounded. In the name of Puluna Liečiť!"
A brilliant green light enveloped Lima's shoulder. To the veteran adventurer's absolute shock, the flesh and muscle knit themselves back together in a matter of seconds, leaving behind nothing but a fading scar. Ordinary healing magic or high-tier potions took hours to achieve this level of recovery.
Before Lima could voice his astonishment, the heavy foliage parted. The massive, red-skinned Hobgoblin warlord stepped into the light, his iron armor clanking ominously.
"Oh? A tactical retreat to find an accomplice? And here I thought it was just some stray brat," the warlord cackled, raising his massive sword. "You're out of luck, little cat. You'll make a fine ghost to haunt these woods."
Sensing the immense danger, Lima dragged himself to his feet, throwing his uninjured left arm out to shield Poon. "Listen to me, kid. I appreciate the heal, but you need to get out of here on my signal. Run and don't look back!"
Looking at the broad back of the warrior before him, Poon felt a profound surge of emotion. Even though this man was a complete stranger in an alternate world, he possessed the exact same protective soul as his older brother.
"No! I am not leaving you behind!" Poon cried out, his voice trembling with fear but locked with absolute determination.
"Are you deaf?! This doesn't concern you, brat! Move!" Lima shouted, trying to push Poon away.
"How touching!" the Hobgoblin interrupted, his face twisting into a sadistic grin. "Allow me to sever the older brother's head first, then I'll take care of the little one. Die!"
The greatsword came down in a lethal arc. Reacting entirely on instinct, Lima threw himself over Poon, absorbing the full force of the blow. The heavy blade carved a horrific, deep laceration across Lima's back.
Poon's eyes dilated in sheer terror as a spray of warm, crimson blood splattered across his clothes. The warrior collapsed face-first onto the earth, his consciousness rapidly fading.
"Brother!" Poon screamed, tears bursting from his eyes. The sight of his brother's double lying motionless in a pool of blood shattered his innocence. A raw, ancient power awakened within his chest.
"Haha! A pathetic display of weakness! Now, it's your turn, boy!" The Hobgoblin raised his blood-stained sword, aiming squarely for Poon's neck.
"Speak the words, Poon!" Puluna's voice commanded.
Poon raised his staff high, his voice echoing with absolute authority:
"Roots of the earth, awaken and grow. In the name of Puluna rast viniča!"
The ground erupted. Thicker-than-average wooden roots and iron-hard vines burst from the soil, wrapping violently around the Hobgoblin's massive frame. The vines pinned his arms, bound his legs, and locked his greatsword in mid-air, rendering the colossal warlord utterly immobile.
"What is this magic?! How can a simple binding spell be this tight?!" the monster roared, thrashing wildly against the constraints.
Poon didn't waste a single heartbeat. He dropped to his knees, pressing both hands against Lima's catastrophic back wound.
"Power of the flora, restore the warrior's wounds. In the name of Puluna liečiť z prírody!"
A blinding emerald aura erupted from Poon's palms. The massive gash on Lima's back fused instantly, revitalizing his depleted life force. Lima's eyes snapped open as he gasped for air, completely cured of his mortal injuries.
Seeing the boy weeping with joy above him, Lima offered a fierce, grateful smile. He reached up, gently patting Poon's head. "Hold that thought, kid. The fight isn't over yet."
"Damn you! Filthy pests! Let me loose!" the Hobgoblin screamed, using his immense raw strength to rip through the vines one by one.
Lima vaulted to his feet, retrieving his dual swords and crossing them in a deadly X formation. "You won't get a second chance, beast!"
With a burst of gale-force speed, Lima blitzed forward. His swords spun like a cyclone, slicing cleanly through the warlord's thrashing left arm. The severed limb crashed heavily onto the mossy ground.
"My arm! You wretched cur, you severed my arm!" the warlord bellowed in agony.
"Keep him locked down, Poon!" Lima called out.
Poon raised his staff once more, weaving a new incantation:
"Thorny vines, transform into a lash. In the name of Puluna tŕňový bič!"
Two thick, thorn-lined vines manifested like whips, lashing violently across the Hobgoblin's chest and forcing him to drop his massive greatsword into the dirt.
"Curse you! This is dishonorable!" the warlord spat, his eyes burning with rage as he glared at Lima. "This is a cowardly way to fight! You possess no honor as a swordsman!"
Lima glided past the creature's guard, his face an emotionless mask. "In a formal arena, honor dictates the match. But in a survival struggle against demons like you? Honor means absolutely nothing. Tell me... did your legion show any honor when you slaughtered our people?"
Lima executed a lightning-fast sequence of strikes, sheathing his dual blades with a sharp click the moment he anchored his feet behind the monster.
A split second later, a barrage of vacuum-like wind slashes erupted across the Hobgoblin's entire body, shredding his iron armor and flesh into ribbons. The warlord collapsed onto the earth, completely lifeless.
Lima turned around and immediately pulled Poon into a fierce, tight embrace.
"Kid... is your name really Puluna?" Lima asked, his voice cracking with an intense, hidden sorrow.
Wrapped in the warm, protective embrace, Poon hugged the warrior back tightly. The lingering fear and homesickness washed over him, making him feel closer to his family than ever before. He gently pulled away, holding Lima's scarred hands as he looked up with a bright, comforting smile.
"I might not be the exact Puluna you are looking for, brother... but I promise you, I am on your side!"
Lima's fierce eyes softened, a genuine smile breaking across his features. "Then we are brothers in arms from this day forward. But... what should we do with that repulsive pile of meat?" He pointed toward the shredded remains of the warlord.
Poon channeled a fresh spell from his inherited memories, pointing his hand toward the corpse.
"Fire, incinerate the enemy. In the name of Puluna vyrábať oheň!"
A burst of bright orange flames erupted from Poon's palm, reducing the remains to a neat pile of gray ash within seconds. A savory, smoked-meat aroma wafted through the clearing.
"Don't even think about eating it," Poon warned, remembering Puluna's mental notes. "Monster meat in this world is highly toxic."
Lima raised an eyebrow, deeply impressed by the boy's cold efficiency and resolve. He clearly possessed the makings of a true survivor.
Suddenly, the ethereal, translucent form of Puluna manifested before them once more. Lima took a frantic step forward, desperate to speak to his lost companion, but Puluna raised a gentle hand to halt him.
"I am overjoyed to see you reunited with my brother, Poon," Puluna said softly, his form shimmering under the forest canopy. "But your true journey begins now. Together, you must traverse the lands, gather powerful allies, and march upon Chern Zamoroz to vanquish the Demon King. Brother Lima..."
The warrior stepped forward, standing at absolute attention.
"From this moment onward, you are officially ordained as the Hero of the World Tree. Your sacred vow is to protect Poon with your life. For he is no longer just a traveler... he is Puluna, the current Guardian of the World Tree. Take this gift."
A brilliant green ring set with a flawless emerald materialized on Poon's finger. Simultaneously, a wave of green light washed over his modern clothes. His blue T-shirt and jacket dissolved, replaced by a flowing, leafy-green sage cloak layered over a sea-blue tunic. His trousers shifted into rugged brown traveler's pants, anchored by sturdy leather boots. He looked exactly like a high-tier Nature Mage from a fantasy RPG.
"My time is officially spent. May fortune favor your path," Puluna whispered. Before Lima could utter a single word of farewell, the spirit dissolved into a cluster of shimmering green particles, vanishing into the night.
"To leave without even a proper goodbye... you're as heartless as always, Puluna," Lima muttered, dropping to one knee as sorrow threatened to overwhelm him again.
Poon walked over, kneeling beside the mountain lion and placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.
"Don't worry, Lima. I know this contract doesn't offer any coin... but I'm looking forward to working with you. I'm counting on you to keep me safe." Poon offered a brilliant, cheerful smile, fully accepting his new identity as the Guardian.
Lima looked at the boy, seeing the perfect blend of his old friend and a new, precious younger brother. He stood tall, his sorrow replaced with absolute resolve. "Understood, Puluna. I will serve as your ultimate shield."
With night falling over Festwald, the two set up a secure camp beneath the grand Bodhi tree. Safe within the strong arms of his new protector, Poon slept peacefully throughout the night, preparing his heart for the arduous trials that awaited them at dawn.
*
Deep within the dark, jagged spires of Chern Zamoroz, a small goblin messenger trembled violently as he knelt before a grand obsidian throne.
"R-Reporting, Your Majesty! General Jokel's life signs have completely vanished within the Festwald perimeter! Our vanguard has been entirely wiped out! H-How should we report this failure to Lord Alfaros, Demon King Phinox?"
Sitting upon the throne was a terrifying, hulking entity with the skeletal features of a demonic goat. Demon King Phinox turned his gaze toward the grand window, looking out over his desolate, colorless kingdom. Ever since they had severed a branch of the World Tree, their land had been cursed with eternal decay, matching the withered black flora surrounding his castle.
Furious at the incompetence, Phenox lunged forward, his clawed hand wrapping tightly around the messenger's throat, lifting the screeching goblin into the air.
"You dare return to my court alive after such a pathetic failure? Your existence is utterly worthless."
Tendrils of black, unholy fire erupted from Phenox's palm, consuming the goblin's neck. Before he could turn the creature to ash, the heavy iron doors of the throne room swung open. A warrior clad in pristine, impenetrable dark steel armor strode inside, his heavy footsteps echoing against the stone walls.
"Still wasting your breath on the lower trash, I see, Lord Phinox. I almost feel pity for your subordinates," the warrior mocked smoothly.
Phinox sneered, tossing the choked goblin out of the chamber window into the abyss below. He returned to his throne, resting his chin on his fist as he crossed his legs. "They failed to meet expectations; death is the only logical conclusion. What brings you to my chamber, knight?"
"Tomorrow, I shall personally venture forth to capture the new World Tree Guardian," the armored warrior declared, a cold confidence radiating from his visor. "You need not worry about the blunders of a pathetic Hobgoblin warlord."
A dark, amused chuckle rumbled in the Demon King's chest. "Hmph. If it is you, I harbor no doubts. But exercise caution."
The warrior let out a short, sharp laugh. "Are you worried I might suffer defeat, Your Majesty?"
Phinox slammed his fist onto the armrest, his booming laughter echoing through the rafters. "Bwahaha! You possess an excellent sense of humor. No... I am warning you not to accidentally kill the boy. The current Guardian is vital for our master's grand ritual. Do not ruin our plans."
The knight bowed his head smoothly, turning around as his dark cape billowed behind him. "Consider it done."
Phinox watched the iron doors close, a cruel smirk playing upon his lips. "I place my absolute trust in you... Roline."