chapter 7.6

After a long and tense journey, Alcard and his group finally reached the last location needed to complete their second bag of supplies. The area was a narrow plateau filled with sprawling Rotrofila Roots, dark red veins pulsing faintly under the dim mountain light. However, this place offered no sense of safety. Surrounded by towering cliffs and thorny, hazardous bushes, it felt like a natural trap—difficult to enter and even harder to escape if something went wrong.

Alcard dismounted his horse, scanning the surroundings with keen vigilance before issuing a command. "This is it. Work quickly and carefully. We don't have much time."

Without hesitation, the Outcasts crouched down, carefully extracting the roots with small knives to avoid making too much noise. They worked faster than before, driven by an overwhelming urge to leave this unsettling place as soon as possible. However, despite their focus, Alcard began to sense something deeply disturbing.

Normally, the forest was filled with natural sounds—the rustling of leaves, the calls of nocturnal birds, or the distant roars of wandering monsters. But now, everything had vanished. The air was heavy with an unnatural silence, as if the entire world was holding its breath. The only thing that remained was a dry wind carrying a faint, putrid scent—something denser and more pungent than the Rotrofila Root's earthy odor.

Alcard narrowed his eyes, his body tensing. "Something's wrong," he murmured, almost as if speaking to himself.

The Outcasts who heard him immediately paused their work, exchanging anxious glances. The air around them grew heavier, and unease spread through the group.

Alcard quickly issued a sharp order. "Finish it. Fill the bag and prepare to leave. We can't stay here."

Hearing their captain's tone grow sharper, the Outcasts resumed their work, though their hands now trembled slightly.

However, the most alarming sign was not from them—it was from the horses. If earlier the animals had shown signs of unease by pawing at the ground and glancing around nervously, now they were completely still. Not a single one moved, even their tails had stopped swishing. Their eyes were wide, filled with sheer terror, as if they were staring at something horrific but were too frozen to react.

One Outcast approached his horse with a pale expression. "Captain… this isn't normal. They should be neighing or trying to run if there was danger. But now… they're just stiff, shaking uncontrollably."

Alcard heightened his alertness. His gaze traced the ground carefully, searching for any clue as to what could be causing the suffocating tension. That's when he saw it.

Tracks.

Not just any tracks.

They were massive, far larger than the footprints of the Ogres they had fought before. The imprints were deep, indicating a creature of immense weight, and the surrounding bushes were crushed, as if something colossal had stomped through them.

Alcard frowned. He knelt, touching one of the prints. The soil was still soft, meaning…

"This is fresh," he whispered to himself.

He quickly stood, straining his ears toward the distant trees. Everything was still unnaturally quiet, but that only deepened his worry.

"We need to leave," Alcard said firmly. "Now."

One of the group members, still securing the Rotrofila bag to his horse's saddle, called out, "But the bag isn't full ye—"

Alcard turned sharply toward him, cutting him off before he could finish. "It's better to return with what we have than to die here. Move!"

No one argued. With hurried hands, they secured the second bag to their saddles. But something was shifting in the air. If the previous silence had been unsettling, now it felt like a looming presence closing in on them.

The wind, which had been faintly blowing, suddenly stopped. The leaves hanging from the trees were eerily still, as if time itself had frozen. Even the Outcasts' own breathing felt too loud in the oppressive quiet.

"What… is happening?" one of them whispered, barely audible.

Then, the sound came.

Boom… Boom… Boom…

A deep, thunderous noise echoed from the distance, reverberating through the ground like a massive impact approaching steadily. The vibrations could be felt beneath their feet, subtle at first but growing stronger with each passing second.

Alcard instantly raised his hand, signaling for silence. He closed his eyes briefly, focusing on the source of the sound, then snapped them open, his gaze sharp.

"Mount your horses! Now!" he commanded.

Without hesitation, every Outcast scrambled onto their mounts. But just as they were about to move, one horse suddenly lost control. It reared back violently, kicking its front legs into the air, refusing to obey no matter how much its rider tried to calm it.

"Control that horse!" Alcard ordered, his voice firm but urgent. "We must not draw attention to ourselves!"

But before they could do much, the rumbling sound grew louder—closer. From behind the trees, a massive shadow began to emerge. The silhouette moved slowly, but it was enough to reveal its sheer, overwhelming size.

Alcard stared at the approaching figure, tension etched across his face. His hand instinctively reached for his sword, ready to draw it at a moment's notice. Behind him, his group did the same—some still struggling to steady their panicked horses, while others gripped their weapons tighter, their bodies tensed for battle.

The tension in the air reached its peak.

Something was there.

Something far larger and far more dangerous than anything they had ever faced before.

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