New Evolution and The Outer Ring

[Congratulations! You have evolved into a Philovant!]

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[A few skills have evolved]

[Mana Infusion → Mercury Infusion]

[Arcane Sensibility → Grand Arcane Sensibility]

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[A few stats have changed]

[Visual Intelligence: 15 → 25]

[Kinesthetic Intelligence: 25 → 30]

[Interpersonal Intelligence: 15 → 12]

[Naturalistic Intelligence: 10 → 20]

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『Status』

[Name: Ophelia von Aubessec]

[Race: Philovant] 

[Level: 1/30] (0/100) XP Needed

[HP: 30/30 | MP: 15/15 | SP: 20/20]

[Visual Intelligence: 15] 

[Linguistic Intelligence: 25]

[Logical Intelligence: 25]

[Kinesthetic Intelligence: 30]

[Musical Intelligence: 5]

[Interpersonal Intelligence: 12]

[Intrapersonal Intelligence: ERROR]

[Naturalistic Intelligence: 20]

[Skills: [Golden Tongue] [War Rallying Cry] [Mercury Infusion] [Alchemical Genesis] [Immaculate Flow] 

[Passive Skills: [Regressor's Memory] [Regressor's Active Recall] [Grand Arcane Sensibility] [Eternal Circuit]

[Parasite Skills: [Parasitic Hardening] 

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[Additional Sections]

[Main Section - Servant Control Panel]

[Main Section - Dukedom Control Panel]

[Sub Section - Parasitic Growth]

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"[Mercury Infusion, huh?" she scratched her chin. "That is quite useful. I can use mercury without having to enter the parasitic form…"

Ophelia stepped out of her cart and into the quiet embrace of the early morning darkness. The moment she crossed the threshold, the world struck her in a way it never had before. Every sensation—every detail—was heightened.

The cool air wrapped around her like a living thing, the crisp scent of damp earth and aged bark filling her lungs. The distant rustling of unseen small critters echoed sharper, layered beneath the soft crackling of the dying bonfires. Even the ground beneath her feet seemed different, every grain of dirt and shift of grass more distinct.

And the mana—

She exhaled slowly, watching as the formless energy floating through the air took shape before her eyes. It wasn't the vague shimmer she had grown used to in her past evolution. Now, it was defined, weaving and pulsing like strands of living light, effortlessly understood rather than deciphered. This new perception settled into her as though it had always been there. 

It just felt… natural.

Tilting her head back, she gazed at the vast night sky. The stars burned bright, scattered across the heavens in an endless sea. They felt closer now, clearer as if she could reach out and touch them.

But she didn't linger. With one last deep breath, she turned and stepped back into her cart, closing the door behind her.

Inside, the dim glow of her small lamp cast flickering shadows across the wooden walls. She moved to her desk, fingers grazing the surface before settling on a pen. Holding it between her fingertips, she focused, drawing upon her mana.

The air around the pen shifted, a faint shimmer of energy coiling around it. Slowly, the material responded, reshaping under her will. The smooth, lightweight structure thickened, lengthening into something sharper, denser. Within moments, the pen was no longer a pen. A dagger, no larger than its original form, rested in her grasp, cool to the touch.

[Alchemical Genesis] worked.

She turned it over, examining the blade. It was stable, solid—temporary, but real. With a flick of her fingers, she released the transmutation, and the dagger melted back into the original pen as if nothing had changed.

Next, she tested her body. [Immaculate Flow].

She flexed her hand, concentrating. Her fingers blurred, softening into liquid silver before seamlessly reforming. There was no pain, no resistance. It was as effortless as breathing, although when she checked her status, she noticed it had taken her stamina and not mana which meant she needed to use this sparingly. 

However, she wanted to test it again. So, she shifted again, letting the change travel up her arm. The sensation was strange but not unsettling—her body no longer bound by rigid flesh, no longer constrained by a single form.

Satisfaction curled through her.

After about an hour or so, as the first rays of sunlight stretched across the horizon, the caravan moved forward once again. Their passage through the rest of the Jagged Pass was effortless. No bandits remained to harass them—only the lingering echoes of the now-disbanded Steel Faction. A few beasts crossed their path, but they were hardly a threat. The Holy Knights executed them almost immediately. 

The jagged cliffs that had loomed over them for days began to thin, gradually giving way to a dense, shadowed forest. Towering trees stretched high above, their thick canopy blotting out much of the sky. The deeper they went, the darker it became. Weathered signposts, their wood warped with age, guided them along the singular path carved through the hilly wilderness.

An eerie sensation settled over the group. Eyes—many, unseen, and patient—watched them from the depths of the forest. The feeling never faded, lingering in the air like a phantom whisper. Yet, nothing revealed itself. Not yet.

This unsettled the group, especially the Workers. Even Steven came up to Ophelia to discuss that something was wrong, and Ophelia agreed, however, they decided not to make any rash decisions and instead proceeded through the forest.

When night fell, they stopped in the widest clearing they could find along the path. Even so, it was barely enough to accommodate them all. Without hesitation, they set up camp, lighting two bonfires despite the danger. Fire was both a beacon and a necessity—without it, the cold would gnaw at them, and their reflexes would dull against any sudden attack. Although, it also drew many threats from the surrounding darkness. 

But the Workers Ophelia hired, were seasoned workers, veterans of the Sunbolt Mountains. They knew what had to be done. Each one moved quickly, scattering a fine white dust around the perimeter. It was made from the ground bones of a Gutling, one of the deadliest creatures lurking in these woods. The scent alone was enough to keep most beasts at bay, ensuring them a night of undisturbed rest—at least for now.

In the early stretches of the Cragstone Outpost, the weakest monsters prowled. The powder would be enough to deter them. But in the coming days, as the caravan pushed deeper, the creatures would grow stronger. The night watch, which now stood at two, would soon need to double, then double again. In the heart of the forest, death could come in an instant.

For tonight, though, the fires burned, and the camp lay quiet. Bodies curled into sleeping bags, exhaustion overtaking them one by one.

But just at the edge of the camp, only two Holy Knights remained awake, their watchful eyes scanning the trees.

And the forest watched back.

Inside Ophelia's cart, the air was quiet but a bit cold, the dim glow of a lamp casting long shadows along the wooden walls. Alexandra sat against the couch, a small book in her hands, flipping through its pages to keep herself entertained. Ophelia sat beside her, gaze locked onto the ceiling, her thoughts distant and unreadable.

Alexandra glanced over, taking in the blank stare. With a small sigh, she closed her book and leaned toward Ophelia. "Babe, haven't you planned enough? Get some rest."

Her voice was soft, but it was the warmth of her body pressing close that pulled Ophelia from her trance. Blinking, she lowered her gaze, her face softening as she exhaled. Alexandra took that as an invitation, shifting to lay across Ophelia's thighs, nestling in. Ophelia lifted a hand, fingers trailing gently through Alexandra's hair. A small hum of contentment escaped her as she nuzzled into the touch, cheek pressed into Ophelia's palm.

After a moment, Ophelia spoke. "Have you heard of The Blinded?"

Alexandra lifted her face slightly, still resting against Ophelia's lap. "I've heard of them. Aren't they basically the native inhabitants of the Sunbolt Mountains?"

"Well…" Ophelia's voice trailed off. Her eyes drifted to the corner of the room, her thoughts pulling her away again, deep into contemplation. Alexandra watched for a few seconds before huffing lightly.

"Didn't they get driven to extinction, though? By the bandits?"

Ophelia blinked once, her mind snapping back. "Indeed."

Then, just as quickly, she slipped back into silence, lost in thought. Alexandra frowned. With a slight pout, she lifted a hand, cupping Ophelia's cheek, gently pulling her face downward. Their eyes met, Alexandra's gaze holding her still.

"If it's something we don't need to deal with immediately, let's get some rest. Unless…" Her lips curled, her expression shifting into something more playful. Her thumb drifted over Ophelia's lips, brushing against them lightly. Her free hand tugged at the neckline of her shirt, just enough to reveal a hint of cleavage. "Wanna do something else?"

Ophelia chuckled, low and amused. Leaning down, she pressed a brief kiss to Alexandra's lips before murmuring, "Let's just get some sleep, you sly fox."

Alexandra pouted but didn't push further. As Ophelia reached over the edge of the couch, she tugged at the cord of the lamp, shutting off the light. Darkness settled over the cart as the two curled up against each other. 

But even as her body relaxed, a thought lingered in the back of Ophelia's mind, following her into the depths of unconsciousness…

Or not. 

Ophelia waited in silence, her fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns against Alexandra's back. The steady rhythm of her breathing soon softened, her body fully relaxing into sleep. Carefully, Ophelia pulled the blanket over her, tucking it around her body. She lingered for a moment, watching her face in the darkness before she rose.

Moving to the corner of the room, she retrieved the heavy cloak draped over a wooden chair. The fabric settled over her shoulders as she fastened it in place, its dark folds swallowing her form. Slowly, she approached the door, turning the handle with care. The door creaked faintly as it opened, and she slipped through the gap, shutting it just as silently behind her.

Outside, the camp was quiet. The bonfires burned low, their embers casting flickering light over the sleeping caravan. Most lay still in their bedrolls, lost in slumber, but the two Holy Knights standing watch remained alert. As Ophelia walked, her footsteps barely stirred the dirt beneath her. The Knights turned as she approached, their eyes sharp, but they did not speak. She met their gazes and lifted a single finger to her lips, then gestured for them to follow.

They obeyed without hesitation.

She led them to the far edge of the camp, opposite the road they traveled. Here, at the very boundary of the bone powder ring, they stopped. The forest loomed before them, its depths shrouded in a blackness untouched by firelight. The Holy Knights flanked her, their grips tightening on their weapons as they peered into the void. Each creak of unseen movement set their muscles rigid, the weight of the unknown pressing down on them.

But Ophelia remained still. Unshaken. Her gaze never wavered.

Then, she spoke.

"Beasts on the outer ring do not have the control to stalk us till dark. Come out."

The Holy Knights stiffened, and in the silence that followed, their breaths grew shallow. Then—a sound. The rustling of leaves, the faint snap of twigs. And then, all at once, the darkness before them came alive.

Hundreds of red eyes glowed from the depths of the forest.

A sharp gulp resounded from one of the Knights, loud in the stillness. Their grips turned white-knuckled, tension radiating from their forms. But Ophelia did not flinch. She simply watched.

From the sea of glowing eyes, a single figure emerged.

She stepped from the shadows as if she had always been there, her form materializing from the darkness itself. Her long coat billowed with her movement, its deep black fabric adorned with gold embroidery tracing elegant, almost arcane patterns along the sleeves and hem. High boots, polished yet worn with use, carried her forward just to the edge of the ring of powdered bones, their golden trim catching the faint firelight. A wide-brimmed hat, matching the dark richness of her coat, rested at an angle upon her head, casting a portion of her face into shadow.

But what the firelight did reveal was striking.

Her skin was a dusky bronze, smooth and without blemish as if sculpted from an amber stone. Against the darkness, it held an eerie, ethereal glow, making her seem almost unreal. Her eyes, sharp and gleaming like shimmering rubies, burned with an unsettling edge, their gaze unwavering and unreadable. Her hair—long, thick waves of deep, vanta black—flowed past her shoulders, loose strands framing her face, their color shifting subtly as they caught the dim light.

And then there was that weapon. A black scythe gleamed, its curved blade absorbing what little light reached it.

The Holy Knights tensed, their breath hitched.

Ophelia met the woman's gaze, her voice steady, certain.

"As I thought. The real reason as to why The Blinded were eradicated to near extinction... The Gloomtaurs are now the shadow rulers of these mountains in this day and age."