'No One Spared'

The dense canopy of the Dead Forest loomed overhead, suffocating what little moonlight tried to pierce through.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and decay, and every step the knights took was muffled by layers of fallen leaves. Their horses had been left behind—the risk of triggering hidden traps was too great.

Lancelot took the lead, his senses sharpened by instinct and years of training. Behind him, six knights followed, their movements slow and deliberate. Among them were Arcaniors, their robes slightly fluttering as they moved with caution.

They were visibly tense, their hands glowing faintly with mana as they probed the surroundings for magical traps and hidden mana stones. Every now and then, one would pause, murmur a few words, and adjust the group's path, ensuring they remained undetected by the tracking map the rogues were supposedly using.