Colin marched through the vastness of the forest, his determined yet gentle steps barely leaving a mark on the forest floor.

  The sun cast its rays through the tangled branches, embroidering the ground with golden light.

  Suddenly, he stopped and closed his eyes, seeking a deeper connection with the world around him.

  The songs of birds became clearer—each trill and chirp forming a natural orchestra that resonated through the open woods.

  Colin inhaled deeply, the air rich with the scent of fresh grass and damp earth after the rain.

  “Can I recreate that feeling I had when I faced the bear? That tingling in my palm?”

  He stretched out both hands, palms open, and focused.

  “Magic exists in this place. If I’ve survived this long, then it must already be in me... remember the feeling, come on, Colin...”

  He longed to relive the adrenaline, fear, and thrill he had felt in the cave.

  That electrifying sensation of being on the edge—the thin line between life and death—when every second stretched into eternity and every decision carried weight.

  “This isn’t going to work... I’d better get out of here.”

  The forest, with its wild and indifferent beauty, seemed to mock his helplessness.

  With every step, the earth beneath his feet echoed his own growing frustration.

  Driven by a mix of stubbornness and hope, he kept moving forward, aimless.

  It was still too early to return to the village and endure a day of torturous boredom.

  It wasn’t long before something caught his eye—an ancient stone, completely shattered, lay ahead.

  His gaze scanned the runes, and he promptly pulled the ring from his pocket. As he slipped it onto his finger, the air around him shimmered, as though awakening from a deep slumber.

  Suddenly, a trail of mana—thin and trembling like the first ray of sunlight after a storm—appeared before his eyes.

  It was fragile, almost evanescent, but undeniably real.

  “A trail...? Is this one of the stones that protected the village?”

  The trail led deeper into the forest. He hesitated—he might run into a Bugbear, and he didn’t yet know how strong those creatures were. But his curiosity spoke louder.

  Determined, yet cautious, he followed the path.

  Eventually, he emerged onto a dirt road—and was immediately struck by a pungent stench of death.

  Just ahead lay a dead horse beside an overturned cart.

  Instinctively, Colin drew his sword.

  Whatever had done this could still be nearby.

  Upon inspection, he noticed precise cuts on the animal’s body—clean, efficient, surgical.

  The wagon had been completely ransacked.

  “There’s nothing here.”

  Just then, the sound of hooves echoed down the path, breaking the silence.

  An elegant carriage appeared, driven by an old man with gray hair and round glasses.

  Despite seeing Colin standing with a drawn weapon, the old man showed no fear and calmly stopped beside him.

  “You all right, lad?”

  Colin lowered his sword slightly.

  “I think so... and you?”

  “You shouldn’t wander around alone. The forest creatures have been restless these past few months. You don’t want to run into one of those freaks out there, do you?”

  Colin narrowed his eyes, suspicious.

  “A gentleman traveling around in these conditions...?”

  “Haha! I understand your suspicion. But I was once a soldier of the empire—I can handle myself. You seem capable too.”

  Colin didn’t respond, but the old man looked over at the dead horse and ruined cart.

  “Where are you headed, boy? As far as I know, the nearest village is at least two hours from here.”

  “I was just... wandering.”

  “Are you a mercenary?”

  Colin stayed silent.

  “My village is looking for mercenaries. But I heard the mercenary village near the ghost castle was destroyed by a demon. No survivors, they say.”

  “And what’s happening in your village? Just monsters?”

  “Why don’t you hop in? I’ll explain everything on the way. Don’t worry, I’m just an unarmed old man—I wouldn’t stand a chance against a young warrior like you.”

  Colin thought.

  “Why offer a ride to a stranger you found beside a looted carriage?”

  The old man nodded thoughtfully.

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  “Like I said—I used to be a soldier. I can tell who’s dangerous and who isn’t. You’re not the type to harm me.”

  “All right,” Colin said, sheathing his sword. “Take me there, old man.”

  However, when the old man left, the demon returned, demanding offerings to leave the villagers alone.

  The demon’s resurgence had thrown all the surrounding creatures into turmoil, forcing them to move in ways they rarely did. Bugbears began hunting in the mountains, goblins stalked the roads, basilisks emerged from their caves, and witches started abducting children from beyond the swamps.

  The region had descended into complete chaos.

  With his experience, Betidor had been tasked with fetching supplies from other villages, since nothing would grow on their land anymore.

  As Betidor’s carriage rolled slowly down the dusty road that cut through the village, a small crowd of children followed closely, whispering and pointing at Colin with wide-eyed curiosity.

  More than Betidor’s presence—a veteran marked by tales and battles—it was Colin who captured their imagination.

  For the first time, they laid eyes on someone with the unmistakable features of a Dark Elf: skin with an almost mystical dark hue, black hair, and golden eyes that glistened beneath the midday sun.

  For children who had only known of such beings from bedtime stories and fireside fables, Colin was a dream pulled from legend.

  “Mr. Elf!” they shouted. “Look over here, Mr. Elf!”

  “The little ones seem to like you,” Betidor joked.

  “…”

  The village they entered was a portrait of poverty and desolation, not unlike Renovich’s own.

  The houses—if they could be called that—were fragile constructions of wood and stone, with thatched roofs that sagged beneath the weight of damp air.

  The streets, little more than muddy paths, were riddled with puddles that hadn’t dried since the last rain. Here and there, emaciated animals searched the dirt for scraps, indifferent to the strangers passing by.

  It was a place forgotten by time and untouched by fortune.

  As the carriage made its way into the heart of the village, the expressions of the adults became clearer.

  Unlike the innocent curiosity of children, the villagers’ gazes were hard, unwelcoming.

  Lines of distrust creased their foreheads, and thin lips pressed together in silent judgment.

  Dark Elves—or anything resembling them—were not welcome here.

  The stories of old, tales of dark-skinned beings bringing ruin and misfortune, still clung to the stone walls and echoed in the hearts of those who had endured.

  “There’s no need to be afraid. They’re just not used to seeing other races, but I promise you—they’re good people,” said Betidor.

  Colin shrugged. “That doesn’t worry me, old man.”

  “Well, we’re here!”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” asked a short, dark-haired man. “Why is he here?”

  “It’s been two days on the road and the first thing you ask me, Trunyson?”

  The boy gulped. “My apologies, sir…”

  Betidor dismounted and tossed the reins into the boy’s hands.

  “You can unload. And that man over there is Colin—he’s here to help with the creatures.”

  “I didn’t say that, old man.” Colin jumped down from the carriage. “I haven’t named my price yet.”

  If there was one thing people hated more than monsters, it was mercenaries. Their loyalty was always to coin.

  Colin followed Betidor through the narrow alleyways of the village, until they reached a cottage that stood out only by the fact that it didn’t stand out at all.

  The door, barely hanging on its hinges, creaked open to reveal a modest interior.

  Inside, the house was just as humble as its exterior. A dirt floor, sparse furniture, and a small stone fireplace in the corner. Crude shelves held basic kitchenware and a few personal belongings.

  “Take a seat. Let’s talk about your contract.”

  Colin approached a chair that looked older than Betidor himself. Made of rough wood, its back was slightly crooked and its seat worn from years of use. It creaked as he sat.

  Betidor moved with ease in the small space, revealing his familiarity with the place. He retrieved two ceramic mugs from a shelf—old, but clean—and walked to a small barrel beside the fireplace.

  Carefully, he poured a golden mead into each mug, the sweet, alcoholic scent quickly filling the air.

  The amber liquid glowed in the dim light.

  With a nod, Betidor handed one of the mugs to Colin.

  “What were you doing out on that road alone, Elf?”

  Colin took a sip—the golden liquid touched his lips with a flavor that was both complex and strangely comforting.

  “To be honest, I’m on a mission. Still am. I’m hunting down a group of Bugbears that’s been tormenting my client. Sounds like your problem and his have the same cause.”

  Betidor took a sip of his own mead.

  “Hmm… sounds like you’ve got your hands full.”

  “Yeah. But I’m not alone—I’ve got a companion, camped near where you picked me up. I’ll be charging for both of us.”

  “Of course you will… typical mercenary. So—how much are we talking?”

  “Well… you said it was a demon, right? A demon turning this entire region into a living hell. I want two thousand gold coins—one thousand for me, and one thousand for my companion.”

  Betidor remained silent for a moment—then burst into laughter.

  “I don’t even have a hundred gold coins to my name, kid. I I had two thousand. That’s the price you'd pay for a trio of the Emperor’s elite soldiers.”

  He leaned forward. “What I give you is information… if you're interested, of course.”

  That caught the false elf’s attention.

  “What kind of information?”

  “It’s good information.”

  I’d say, if it’s true—if it’s really confirmed—it’s worth at least ten thousand gold coins.

  Ten thousand?

  “Spit it out, old man.”

  Betidor raised an eyebrow, a sly smile forming on his lips as he leaned back in his chair, which creaked under the shift of weight.

  “Witches. They’re part of an ancient coven, known for their arcane rituals and… let’s just say, unique acquisitions.” He paused, watching Colin carefully. “My informants say they spotted a creature in a cage. If the rumors are true, it’s a fairy. Rare. Powerful.

  They say their dust can cure any illness—or grant magical powers beyond human comprehension. Some even say their knowledge is vast enough to make a man a king.”

  Colin leaned forward, interest gleaming in his eyes.

  “And where can these witches be found?”

  Betidor smiled, sipping his mead before answering.

  “They hide in the mist near the lake. But they’re not fools—they move often and only appear during the new moon.”

  He placed the mug on the table with a dull thud. “But I know how to find them. And that information, my dear Colin… is worth gold.”

  Colin sat in silence for a moment, weighing the decision.

  “All right, Betidor. I accept your offer. Information for service. But that means you’ll owe me too.”

  He held out his hand to seal the deal.

  Betidor nodded, extending his wrinkled hand and shaking firmly.

  “A fair deal. But be warned, Elf—witches aren’t the only things you should fear in the mist. There are older… and far more dangerous beings that lurk in those shadows.”

  His tone had shifted—serious now, almost grim.

  Colin smiled, confidence glowing in his yellow eyes.

  “I like a good challenge. When do we leave?”

  Betidor finished his mead and stood, reaching for a heavy cloak hanging near the door.

  “At dawn.”

  “I can’t stay—I still have to finish the job for my other client.”

  “Don’t worry. The Bugbears you’re after have gone further east.”

  Betidor reached into his cloak and pulled out a small metal insignia, tossing it through the air.

  Colin caught it effortlessly, studying the emblem: a broad-winged hawk engraved on the surface.

  “This is the symbol of my order. Show it, and you’ll have more than just a roof over your head—you’ll have allies,” Betidor said, his voice laced with pride. “But be patient. Villagers can be… wary. Especially of elves.”

  Colin turned the insignia in his hand, feeling the cold weight of the metal.

  “And how will I know where to stay?”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Betidor replied with a cryptic smile. “Wherever you go, I’ll know. My network is vast—and our eyes are everywhere.”

  Colin nodded, carefully pocketing the insignia.

  “Understood. Now, if you’ll excuse me… I need to prepare for the hunt.”

  Betidor nodded in return.

  “Of course. But remember— the mist hides more than just witches and Bugbears. Be ready for anything.”

  With one final glance at the old mercenary, Colin stepped out of the hut and into the unknown.