Forest of dead

The horses stopped abruptly.

A thin mist rose around their hooves, dense and cloying, as if the very air protested their presence. The forest ahead loomed, dark and craggy, its twisted branches clawing at the sky like the skeletal fingers of a corpse left to rot. The silence was stifling —too absolute, too unnatural.

Mischel's gaze swept across the terrain, his voice steady but laced with caution. "From here onward, we proceed carefully. If any dungeon creatures remain, we'll find out soon enough. This is the Forest of the Dead—the only path leading to the Dragon Kingdom."

Lars and Shelly looked at each other, their expressions uncomprehending.

"So this is the infamous forest that has claimed countless lives," Lars murmured, tapping his fingers against the hilt of his weapon.

Luck, ever the careless prince, picked his nose with an air of utter boredom. "Come on, we have Senior Sheng with us. And the famous Rose Guild Master's disciple, Mischel. What's there to worry about?"

Alex remained silent. His eyes were closed, his breathing steady—immersed in meditation.

Mischel ignored Luck's remark, but her voice grew heavier. "I'm not joking, Prince Luck. Things are changing. Dungeon monsters are no longer confining themselves to their domains—they've begun preying on mana beasts."

A subtle shift. A tightening of shoulders. The group listened quietly.

"Five years ago, this forest was nothing more than a hunting ground," Mischel continued. "Then the dungeons appeared—one after another, as if summoned by some unseen force. Some collapsed. Others multiplied. But the real concern isn't just their numbers." His voice lowered, as if wary of something unseen. "It's the rumors. A Red Gate was sighted in this forest."

Lars' fingers curled slightly. "A Red Gate? Are you certain?"

Shelly's eyes narrowed. "Dungeon appearances increasing is one thing. But a Red Gate… if that's true, its not just an anomaly."

Mischel exhaled slowly. "I know. And that's why we can't afford to be careless. Do you remember the last battle of the heroes? The golden gate that appeared twenty years ago?"

Lars and Shelly stiffened.

"The rise of the heroes," they murmured.

Mischel nodded. "Exactly. That was the last time something like this happened. So from this point on, be ready for anything."

Alex had initially ignored their discussion. He had no interest in their speculations. But the moment golden gate was mentioned, his eyes snapped open.

They think this is just a dungeon anomaly… how naive.

He pieced the timeline together in his mind.

The first recorded dungeon had emerged 200 years ago.

Ten years later, the gods appeared. That left a gap of 190years.

For 170 years, the world remained unchanged. Then, suddenly, another disruption—a golden gate. The so-called heroes claimed a Demon King resided within. But Alex had his doubts.

If what Leon told me about the tower is true… then this is far more likely connected to it rather than any dungeon.

His eyes darkened he clenched his fist.

And then, there was that thing.

The creature he had fought. The one that spoke of a deadline.

Eight years.

Five had already passed.

That left three.

Three years until the truth revealed itself.

And whatever it was…

It could be far worse than any dungeon..

The past five days had been eerily peaceful. Too peaceful.

Not a single monster had appeared. Not even the lowest of goblins.

At first, it had seemed like fortune. But now, as the carriage rolled deeper into the Forest of the Dead, a realization settled over them.

This silence was unnatural.

It was not the absence of danger.

It was the prelude to something else.

The air thickened, pressing down like an invisible weight. The scent of blood clung to the wind—rich, metallic, suffocating. It was not the stale stench of old carnage, but something recent. Fresh.

The trees loomed on either side, their bark blackened and warped. Knots formed grotesque faces, twisted in expressions of agony, as if the forest itself had suffered and remembered. Shadows stretched unnaturally, shifting even without a source of light.

Then—

The horses.

They snorted violently, stamping their hooves. Their ears twitched. Their muscles tensed beneath their coats, their breath ragged and uneven. Normally obedient creatures, they now trembled, restless, spurred by an unseen terror.

Luck, who had been lounging casually moments ago, straightened slightly. His expression remained relaxed, but his gaze sharpened. "Even the horses are nervous… That's not a good sign."

Weapons were drawn. Hands rested on hilts, fingers curled around staffs.

The forest was not large—a two-kilometer stretch between the mountains, a direct path to the Dragon Kingdom. At their current pace, they should have been nearing the end.

Yet, as they advanced, the path only seemed to lengthen.

And then—

Two figures appeared in the treetops.

Not gradually. Not with the slow approach of hunters.

They simply were.

The moment they materialized, the horses skidded to a stop, snorting violently, their breath ragged. The air grew heavier. Lars and Shelly tensed, hands inching toward their weapons.

Shadow warriors.

Mischel was the first to move. He narrowed his eyes, scanning them carefully. "They're from the Dragon Kingdom."

No hostility. No aggression. Just… watching.

Before anyone could speak, a monstrous roar shattered the silence.

A massive shadow lunged from the mist. The ground quaked beneath its weight.

And then—steel met flesh.

A shriek. A sickening crack.

The next thing they saw, a colossal severed orc head came crashing onto the road ahead, rolling to a halt just inches from the carriage. Blood seeped into the ground, steaming against the cold air.

The horses reared in terror. The carriage rocked. Luck, who had been lounging casually, nearly fell off his seat.

"What the—"

And then, she landed.

A warrior draped in black and gold, her long crimson hair whipping in the wind. Her golden eyes burned, her blade still dripping with fresh blood.

For a moment, she did not acknowledge them. She simply flicked the blood off her weapon, her stance poised, her gaze locked onto the corpse before her.

Then, slowly, her eyes lifted.

The moment she saw the carriage, something shifted in her expression.

One by one, they stepped down.

Mischel was the first, her grip firm on her sword. Lars followed, unreadable. Shelly stepped out next, scanning the surroundings.

Alex remained seated.

The warrior's gaze swept over them—until it landed on one person.

Her posture loosened. Her lips curled slightly.

"You reckless idiot."

Luck blinked, then grinned, not bothering to hop off the carriage. "Ember! What are you doing here?"

She sheathed her blade with a sharp click, crossing her arms. "Nothing. Just protecting ants like you. Though, I should've let that thing crush you first."

She closed the gap between them. "But enough about me. What are you doing here?"

Mischel exhaled, easing her stance. "So you were expecting us?"

Ember scoffed. "Expecting? No." She nudged the orc's head with her foot. "But I did notice a bunch of dungeon creatures swarming toward this path, so I figured something interesting was happening."

Luck smirked. "We're not here for the forest. I have a humble request as the Prince of Leventha."

Ember sighed. "Fine, fine. What humble request does His Infant Majesty have?"

Luck laughed. "I'll tell you later. First, why don't we leave this gross atmosphere and head to your home?"

She paused. Her gaze flicked back to the carriage.

To the only one who hadn't stepped out.

Alex.

She studied him for a moment.

But he merely closed his eyes once more.

She was strong.

But not a threat.