The Arda Forest is not a place fit for living.
Due to its vast size, monsters and bandits infested the forest everywhere. Although it was frequently purged due to its proximity to the border, the purge teams never ventured deep into the forest.
Thus, the Arda Forest was not a place fit for living, and many people preferred to pass through the thinner southern part of the forest when traveling.
After all, life is precious.
The man was someone who lived in this dangerous forest.
Though he was a commoner, he had a position: that of a forest warden.
Of course, he didn’t have much experience actually doing the job properly.
The world was a hard place to live in.
A place where people died endlessly without rest, a place where one must grope forward blindly without seeing any future.
Living peacefully with family in such a world wasn’t an easy feat. Because of this, the man developed a tendency to avoid danger and neglected the usual duties of a forest warden.
Accepting refugees fell under the same context.
These former slash-and-burn farmers needed a place to hide and fill their empty stomachs, and all the man had to do was keep his mouth shut to save them.
It wasn’t purely out of kindness. If he could receive a portion of the crops cultivated by the slash-and-burn farmers in exchange for keeping quiet, it wouldn’t be bad.
Since the man, as a forest warden, knew both the dangerous and safe areas of the forest, there would be no issues.
Of course, if they were caught by the subordinates of the Duke of Helsing, there would be problems, but those subordinates never conducted investigations inside the Arda Forest.
Knowing how perilous the forest was, they would simply ask what they needed and leave quietly. Thus, the forest warden hid the refugees and benefited from it.
It wasn’t a bad time. Though it was illegal, there were small gains, and the man’s son and daughter enjoyed playing with the refugee children.
Therefore, the forest warden mistakenly believed this time would continue indefinitely.
There were too many slash-and-burn farmers to remain hidden forever, and naturally, sightings began to occur.
Unaware of these developments, those who noticed reported to the lord and claimed their rewards.
Eventually, the lord’s soldiers arrived. They crossed the Arda Forest, hunted down the slash-and-burn farmers, and punished them.
The acting official recovered some illegally grown narcotic crops from a few individuals and imprisoned several responsible parties.
Many were flogged, and some even died. The forest warden watched all of this unfold from a distance, away from all the tragedy.
This led to a misunderstanding.
The misunderstanding that the forest warden was the one who reported them.
After the acting official left, the forest warden was captured. It was the slash-and-burn farmers who captured him. Enraged and filled with fury, they beat the forest warden’s son.
Unable to withstand the beating, the son died, and his body was hung on the largest tree in the Arda Forest.
The screams of the mother and the tears of the father mingled together. Amidst this chaos, it was the daughter’s turn next.
The daughter and wife were also hung on the trees.
While writhing in mental anguish, the forest warden asked why they were doing this, and they condemned him, saying:
“If you hadn’t reported us, none of this would have happened. Because you reported us, people are dying! It’s all your fault!”
After saying this, they hung the forest warden as well. High up on a towering tree, they hung him side by side.
As the breath was being choked out and death approached, the forest warden heard a voice.
A voice that was far too immature to belong to a human, devoid of life.
That voice whispered strength to the man.
An incomprehensible language. Unforgiving and excessively cold, mechanical tones. But the desire was simple, and the action required was straightforward.
The evil deity whispered, and the man unhesitatingly abandoned his soul for revenge.
With the mechanical voice, the man became a priest of the predator.
The first thing the priest did was to kill all the slash-and-burn farmers with a steel body.
Afterward, dozens of bodies hanging from the trees appeared in the Arda Forest.
—
“It’s a bit uncomfortable. My heart isn’t calming down…”
“Just wear it. If you get hurt now, we can’t undo it.”
At Aslan’s reprimanding words, Ereta replied with a “Ne,” while pouting her lips.
The black habit she had worn for a long time was now nothing more than rags incapable of functioning as clothing. The other members of the party were in similar conditions, and everyone except Phey had to buy new clothes and armor.
Even if it weren’t clothing, there were many things they needed to buy.
No food, no basic relief supplies, and hardly any survival items.
Ultimately, they needed to reorganize.
So, Aslan led the group to Erastide. Still within the borders of the Earl’s territory, but land unrelated to the main quest.
Feeling satisfied upon arriving in Erastide, Aslan selected suitable leather breastplates and quilted armors from a street vendor and paid for them. He spent a few silver coins, but it wasn’t bad.
‘There’s no way I can miss out on even a small chance like this. You never know when something might happen.’
Rather, if money could prevent inevitable death, Aslan was willing to pay whatever it took. He thought it was meaningless to have money and die without using it.
Aslan was not the type of gamer who conserves potions until the final boss fight to see the ending.
He was the type who thoroughly calculated and allocated resources, and when risks seemed imminent, he boldly used them.
Thus, Aslan ignored Ereta’s murmurs of dissatisfaction about how “this doesn’t look good” and managed to wrap the leather breastplate around her body. Thanks to her somewhat full chest, the shape protruded slightly.
“Ugh, it’s so suffocating.”
“Bear with it. If suffocation can save your life, it’s worth it.”
“But… it’s not pretty.”
“Clothes don’t make an ugly person just because they’re not pretty. You already have a pretty face, so it doesn’t really matter.”
While Aslan was scolding her, Ereta, hearing the mixed words, looked at Aslan with wide eyes in slight surprise. Her expression, startled enough to catch her breath, seemed momentarily bashful.
“Did you just…”
Aslan, ignoring the vivid emotion flashing in her pink eyes, said,
“If you really don’t like it, maybe you can buy a cloak to cover up. That might be better.”
“…Ne.”
Ereta smiled faintly and wrapped herself in a cloak while humming a little tune.
“How does it look? Is it pretty?”
When Ereta emphasized the question about prettiness, Aslan nodded without hesitation in response to her overt inquiry.
“It suits you. You look pretty.”
The sight of Ereta twirling with her cloak draped over her gave off an impression of being rather amateurish as a mercenary.
She wore leather pants and a linen shirt under her body, topped with a leather breastplate and draped in a cloak, creating a somewhat balanced appearance between practicality and non-practicality.
Compared to the other two companions, Aslan found her relatively intact appearance satisfactory.
Ereta happily accepted Aslan’s evaluation, grinned smugly, and hugged Aslan.
The sound of sturdy leather breastplates rubbing against each other echoed as Ereta buried her forehead under Aslan’s chin and rubbed her face.
“I’ll borrow Aslan’s scent a little since I bought new clothes.”
“Sure, do as you please.”
Aslan instinctively reached out to stroke her head but stopped mid-air, allowing Ereta to bury her nose in his chest and sniff while glancing around.
The people passing by were diverse.
There were mercenaries, merchants, and even guards occasionally glancing their way. This thorough vigilance proved the high level of security in Erastide.
Just as Aslan thought, fittingly, Erastide was a city responsible for the granary of the Helsing Earldom. Around that time, the voices of two farmers stopping in front of a fruit stall reached his ears.
“Did you hear? All the slash-and-burn farmers in the Arda Forest disappeared.”
“Slash-and-burn farmers? Those bastards?”
“Yeah, those guys. They say they’ve all disappeared from the Arda Forest.”
“Maybe they fled to the Mountain Kingdom or the Border Baron? They’ve already received harsh punishment before, so they probably ran away knowing their shame.”
“That’s right. But still, it’s strange that so many of them disappeared all at once. There’s also a rumor that the Earl himself visited…”
Their casual conversation sounded like trivial chit-chat.
If it weren’t for the mention of the Arda Forest, it wouldn’t have stood out.
Aslan frowned and thought.
‘There were slash-and-burn farmers in the Arda Forest? How?’
The Arda Forest was not a place fit for living. Regular raiding parties went there because the forest was vast and dense, with many monsters, making it impossible for humans to live there for long.
Certainly, it was odd, but the two farmers discussing rumors treated the existence of slash-and-burn farmers as fact. Rumors aren’t always baseless, and since there were even mentions of punishments, it seemed plausible that slash-and-burn farmers had existed.
Of course, the strangest part was at the end of the rumor.
Fleeing to the Mountain Kingdom or the Border Baron.
It was implausible.
The Border Baron that Aslan knew did not tolerate border intrusions, and the Mountain Kingdom repelled outsiders. It seemed unlikely that the slash-and-burn farmers had fled to another country.
Aslan gently pushed away Ereta, who was breathing warmly against his chest, with a hazy gaze and approached the farmers.
“…So, what about the master’s daughter… at the mill… uh!”
“Geez, what, what is it? You there?”
“About the slash-and-burn farmer story you just mentioned. I have a question.”
Startled by Aslan’s sudden appearance, the farmers dropped the apple they were biting on, which rolled on the ground and got muddy.
Aslan glanced at the fallen fruit, pulled out two silver coins from his pocket, and spoke.
“Could you tell me again, please?”
—
On the map, the Arda Forest resembled a large hammer.
Because of this, the handle part corresponding to the south was narrow, and many people usually entered other regions through the southern part of the Arda Forest rather than the northern part resembling the hammerhead.
Unless one wanted to bypass the forest entirely, the only option was to take a detour towards the northern permafrost region, which most merchants avoided by quickly passing through the south with escorts.
Moreover, traversing the permafrost was not an easy journey, and getting injured or dying during the process was not uncommon.
Thus, those who lacked preparation to cross the permafrost or had reasons to avoid the south, or those confident in their abilities, often passed through the northern part of the Arda Forest, corresponding to the hammerhead, to reach the Mountain Kingdom.
This was the case with Aslan.
Since the shortest route to the Mountain Kingdom was through the hammerhead and he always had confidence in his skills.
“So, we need to go through the forest.”
Aslan explained this, and upon hearing it, Angie and Ereta made slightly sulky or disgruntled expressions.
Among them, Angie muttered while sticking out her lip.
“If we’re going to the Mountain Kingdom, you should have said so earlier. I thought we were heading back to the Earl.”
“Sorry, it just came to me suddenly. Sorry I didn’t tell you earlier.”
It was true; the idea had come to him suddenly, and everyone was asleep, so it wasn’t a lie. When Aslan apologized late, Angie scratched her cheek and placed her hands on her hips, declaring confidently.
“I’ll let it slide since you apologized.”
“I’ll let it slide if you hug me.”
On the other hand, Ereta seized the opportunity and made a request without hesitation, causing Angie to gasp in surprise and utter an “Ah.”
Ereta grinned at Angie and approached Aslan.
Aslan chuckled awkwardly and opened his arms, and Ereta embraced him. The act of nuzzling her face against his chest and sniffing was now familiar.
With Ereta nestled against his chest, Aslan spoke.
“The forest is vast, so it will take some time to traverse. But there’s no need to worry. We have a forest expert among us.”
“Right, trust Phey!”
Phey confidently nodded with a clear expression, and soon after, the group entered the forest.
The Arda Forest was a typical coniferous forest.
Needle-like leaves densely covered the trees, breaking the sunlight into fragments scattered across the forest floor. The trees were thick and numerous, and occasionally, the cold wind from the permafrost blew between them.
At the moment the cold wind swept along the ground and rose, violently shaking the leaves, Aslan spotted a village between the trees.
“To Aslan! There’s a village over there!”
It was not quite a village.
Most of the houses standing were not even made of logs; many were hastily constructed with just wooden frames and hastily laid leaves.
The sparse living conditions revealed the stark reality of human habitation here. A refuge for those living worse than animals—this was the land of the rumored slash-and-burn farmers, as seen by Aslan.
Upon arriving at the village that wasn’t quite a village, the group scanned the surroundings, and what caught their eyes were faint traces. It seemed they had been vacated not long ago.
“Aslan! Check the surroundings and let me know if you find anything.”
“Got it, I’ll be back!”
As Phey lightly leaped onto a tree and bounded from branch to branch, disappearing into the distance, Aslan quickly found clues.
Traces of combat.
One-sided combat traces.
Some farming tools were neatly arranged, but others were broken and scattered on the ground. Bloodstains sporadically decorated the floor.
Initially, Aslan thought they might be traces of monsters or bandits, but no other weapons besides the broken farming tools were found.
Nor were there any signs of monster carcasses or peculiar feeding marks.
The village was eerily clean, without a single corpse, as if a powerful entity had either incinerated everything or carried it all away.
Aslan grimaced at the familiar yet unsettling feeling and then stiffened.
At the edge of the village, remnants of a makeshift palisade split apart.
The trace was extremely familiar.
It looked as though it had been cleanly cut by something intensely hot, like a branding iron.
There was only one existence in this world that possessed such a weapon:
A priest.
‘A martial priest, perhaps? Or…’
As Aslan pondered, his hand moved toward the longsword at his waist. At that moment, Phey, leaping from tree to tree, spun in mid-air and landed beside Aslan.
Phey informed Aslan of what she had seen, and Aslan followed her through the forest with a stern expression. Angie and Ereta also drew their weapons and walked tensely.
Not far from the slash-and-burn farmers’ village, less than five minutes away,
Following Phey, they reached the end of the path where a massive ancient tree stood.
Standing roughly 20 meters tall, countless humans were hanging from the tree like fruits.
Unlike the tree’s fruits, these decayed humans remained suspended by wires around their necks, showing no signs of falling despite decomposition.
Seeing dozens of such corpses, Aslan looked upward and felt dizzy. Beneath the great tree, he saw someone sitting.
A body made of steel, joints of steel.
Contrasting with the futuristic and mechanical appearance one might call robotic, this stranger wore linen shirts and pants.
It was the priest of the predator.
—
