Chapter 1

Rising from the heart of the vast Great Frazes Forest was the World Tree, a colossal presence whose trunk was so wide it would take days to walk around its base. Its crown was forever lost in the clouds, and its leaves shifted in hue with the changing light. Every few decades, it would bloom with flowers more breathtaking than any in the world. This living myth was revered by monsters as a sacred, ancient being, for they believed its seeds were the origin of all magical creatures.

Not far from it, a menacing structure stood—the Great Demon Hall: a gathering place for the mightiest of monsters, who would convene there several times a year. These were no ordinary beings; they were the rulers of their domains, standing at the pinnacle of their monsterkind.

“The legion ants have gone berserk, I hear,” one voice echoed through the hall.

“Apparently, someone managed to bring them under control,” another replied.

The recent disturbance in the Great Frazes Forest was a topic that fascinated all monsters, driven as they were by their insatiable curiosity. Having lived for centuries, even millennia, they found that the world had a tendency to grow dull in their eyes. Hence, these ancient beings were always hungry for change, for novelty, for ripples in the stagnant pond of eternity. And so they gathered here, time and again, to trade news, to indulge in speculation, to search for excitement.

“The legion ants are formidable creatures,” one rumbled, “but the ones in the Great Forest were supposed to be docile. What could’ve provoked them? It’s fascinating…”

“I’m more curious about whoever stopped them,” said another, voice dry and gravelly. “The western edge of the forest is where the weakest monsters live. You’re telling me something there could take on a legion ant and win?”

“That’s right… Amildrè, the western sector of the forest is under your watch, isn’t it? Mind telling us what happened?”

“Hmm? I don’t really know much, to be honest.”

The one called Amildrè offered her response with an utterly carefree smile, as if the chaos of monstrous insects and ancient legends had nothing to do with her. The creature, at first glance, looked like an ordinary human girl; however, everyone in the room knew better. They all understood that Amildrè’s appearance was merely a façade—a borrowed form rather than her actual one.

“Sure, I’m technically in charge of the western sector, but… it’s such a pain, you know? I haven’t actually done anything,” she said with a lazy yawn. “Honestly, I bet that whole incident happened while I was asleep or something. It’s not like you guys really do much either, right?”

Her nonchalant reply was met with a simple “… I see,” and no one challenged her further. Most suspected she was lying, but no one pushed the issue.

These beings were far too ancient, too weary of war, to stir up trouble over half-truths. Pointless conflict was more exhausting than exciting. With the world so vast—much larger than the Great Frazes Forest—there were always more strange happenings and oddities unfolding across the globe, so they let the matter drop, and the meeting continued, the council stretching on like the slow turning of some great wheel of time.

※※※

“Phew… finally over.” Amildrè let out a quiet sigh as she stepped out of the Great Demon Hall.

She had debated whether to come right up until the last minute, and she now regretted her decision. While she usually looked forward to hearing stories at these gatherings from all kinds of monsters across the globe, today had felt different. Though the discussions had been dull and obligatory, something far more important had been tugging at her attention.

“Welcome back, Lady Amildrè.” Awaiting her was a male lizardman in a sharp butler’s uniform, his voice polite and composed.

“How’s Beresdral doing, Kulaak?” she asked, a flicker of genuine interest in her eyes.

Kulaak—the lizardman, one of her most competent subordinates—gave a small bow. “It continues to grow at an astonishing pace. Perhaps more so than usual.”

“I see!” Amildrè’s face lit up with excitement. Out in the western part of the Great Frazes Forest, in the area she nominally oversaw, something extraordinary was happening. The once-stagnant and obscure goblin village, now called Beresdral, was undergoing a rapid and unprecedented transformation, and at the heart of it… was a single human.

Thanks to this outsider’s influence, the goblins were no longer alone. Orcs, alraune, even the fearsome legion ants had begun to gather, forming a growing coalition under the village’s banner. The quietest, weakest region of the forest was quickly becoming something new.

Amildrè, who had watched over the sector for centuries, found herself utterly captivated. Nothing like this had ever happened. It had always been peaceful, yes—but also uneventful and dull, a corner of the world where nothing ever truly changed. Now, a single human was rewriting that narrative, and Amildrè, a being so tired of eternity’s repetition, welcomed that change.

“But you know… things have been going a little too smoothly lately,” she mused, stretching lazily as a mischievous glint flickered in her eyes. “Wouldn’t it be more fun if a little trouble popped up?”

Kulaak’s polite and composed demeanor faltered. “Um… Lady Amildrè,” he said cautiously, “a bit of trouble might be fine, but if Beresdral gets destroyed, we lose everything we’ve built.”

“Oh, right… That’d be bad,” Amildrè conceded, a slight pout revealing her disappointment.

Kulaak had succeeded in convincing her for now, but he couldn’t shake the unease growing in his chest. His mistress’s mood was a subtle but unsettling low hum, like the silence before a storm.

※※※

The Great Frazes Forest, a sprawling, primeval woodland said to be the largest in the world, was teeming with magical creatures and deadly monsters. For most humans, it was a place spoken of in warnings and appearing in nightmares, a region to avoid at all costs.

Interestingly, nestled in the western stretch of this untamed expanse was an impossible sight: a village, ringed by sturdy stone walls and lined with clean, carefully built homes of pale stone. It stood as a beacon of civilization in the heart of the wilds. Its name was Beresdral—a name given it just weeks ago by the village’s new chief, a human.

What was once a paltry goblin village, a mere handful of hovels, had rapidly become a multi-species community where orcs, alraune, and even legion ants lived together. The author of that change was a boy named Belamus, who was now sitting deep in thought inside one of the homes.

“What should I do next to help Beresdral grow?”

Though he appeared to be no older than six, appearances were deceiving: he had a reincarnated soul and carried his memories as a Great Sage, who had died peacefully from old age in a previous life.

At first, Belamus had wanted to live quietly in this new life; he’d never had time for himself as a Great Sage. But fate, as it often does, had other plans. Abandoned as a baby by his human father and left to die in the forest, he was rescued by a goblin named Arèsa. Grateful, he chose to use his vast magical knowledge to repay that kindness—to build a better life for the goblins who took him in.

His efforts had turned the village into something entirely new—an accomplishment that hadn’t gone unnoticed. It was no exaggeration to say that he was responsible for Beresdral’s miraculous transformation, so the villagers had named him their chief, and now they looked to him for guidance and vision.

Still, Belamus knew the village had a long way to go. Food, clothing, and shelter were no longer issues—but entertainment, craftsmanship, and everyday comforts were sorely lacking. Despite having the necessary tools, technologies, and ideas, the house was far from complete.

“I think we should expand it more!” someone called out, interrupting his thoughts. The voice belonged to Delarosa, the goblin girl who was as good as Belamus’s older sister. Arèsa, the goblin who had saved his life, was her mother.

Delarosa was the sort who thought in simple terms—and that wasn’t always a bad thing. This time, her suggestion came from nothing more than a vague feeling that the village was starting to feel a little cramped.

“Expand the village, huh…” Belamus murmured, mulling it over.

It was a straightforward idea, but not a foolish one, and the more he considered it, the more it made sense. Beresdral had already grown significantly since the days when it housed only goblins, but its population had outpaced its physical space. The few yet enormous orcs needed plenty of room. The small but numerous alraune collectively required even more space. Only the legion ants, who lived underground, were unaffected by the need for more land.

No one had complained yet, but Belamus had already seen the subtle signs: the cramped walkways and makeshift storage, the way the orcs had to duck under doorframes, and how the alraune had started sharing rooms in groups too large for comfort.

He knew this was the right call.

“All right,” Belamus said aloud, nodding to himself. “First things first—we need to expand the village.”

He wasted no time. With a new purpose burning in his eyes, he stood up and threw himself into action.

※※※

The process of expanding the village hadn’t changed much: first, they cleared away the trees to open up usable land for development. Then came the construction of new buildings. However, buildings alone weren’t enough. Beresdral was nestled in the Great Frazes Forest, a place teeming with powerful, aggressive monsters, so leaving any part of the village exposed was too dangerous. Defensive walls were a necessity, not a luxury.

If Belamus had to do everything on his own, it would have taken an enormous amount of time. Fortunately, he didn’t have to. The orcs, with their immense strength, cleared the trees with ease. For the actual building—homes and fortifications alike—Belamus relied on goblins like Delarosa and Medello, whose talents in magic made construction faster and more precise. The alraune contributed as well since many of them could use magic; those attuned to earth spells were especially helpful in shaping the terrain and reinforcing walls. Compared to the village’s initial construction, this expansion was progressing at remarkable speed.

Belamus wasn’t just building homes; he also intended to prepare farmland. At present, Beresdral had enough food to sustain itself, but Belamus was thinking ahead. If the population continued to grow—which he was certain it would—relying on their current food stores and production could become a problem.

Currently, Beresdral’s primary crop was Merune. This hardy fruit thrived in the forest climate, and even though a few other crops had taken root, the village’s agriculture still lacked variety. Belamus dreamed of cultivating other plants as well, but he’d need seeds—and those would likely have to be purchased from a human town.

Before he committed himself to that, there was the matter of expansion.

※※※

After several days of hard work, the new section of Beresdral was complete: the home of the alraune. The village, now larger than ever, had begun to organize itself organically by race: the goblins lived at the center, the alraune to the west, and the orcs had settled in the east.

“Thank you… for building us such beautiful homes,” said Ellency, the alraune leader, her voice soft with gratitude as she turned to Belamus.

Though much more needed to be done, Beresdral was gradually turning into a place where monsters of all kinds could actually live.

“The alraune helped build the houses and walls themselves, so you don’t need to thank me. It’s equally your work and mine,” Belamus said with a calm humility.

“No—please, allow me,” Ellency insisted, her voice firm with quiet conviction. “Without you, we would’ve had no home. We’d be dead somewhere, cast out and rotting in the forest. I truly mean it—thank you.”

The alraune had once been driven from their own homes by legion ants. Belamus had been the one to offer them shelter, to give them a second chance. To Ellency, he wasn’t just a leader—he was their savior.

“I feel bad, honestly,” she continued. “You’ve done so much for us… Is there anything we can do for you in return?”

“Something you can do, hm…” Belamus took a moment to consider her offer. He hadn’t saved them expecting anything in return, but if they were offering to help, he certainly wouldn’t waste the opportunity. He needed manpower—or rather, monsterpower—for the village’s next phase of development: expanding the farmland.

“I’m planning to open up a new field to the south of the village,” he said. “Could your people help out, like you did with the housing?”

“Leave it to us,” Ellency replied immediately. “And not just the fields,” she added, squaring her shoulders and smiling proudly. “We’ll help with anything that contributes to Beresdral’s future. Just say the word.”

Belamus nodded, though his mind was already working ahead, wondering what else he could ask of them. Before he could decide, Ellency suddenly tilted her head, thoughtful.

“By the way… for these new fields, are you planning to grow only Merune?”

It was a fair question.

Merune, by nature, was poisonous and inedible—unless it was cultivated with magically evoked water. At that point, it became safe to consume, and when it was, it was not only delicious but also rich in nutrients. Easy to cultivate, highly productive—it was the backbone of Beresdral’s food supply.

“I’ll focus on Merune, yes,” Belamus replied. “But I don’t intend to depend just on it alone. I bought a few other seeds last time I visited a human town, but not enough. I’ll need to go back and buy more.”

“I see. Actually… did you know that we alraunes have the ability to create seeds for edible plants?” Ellency said, her leafy hair rustling softly as she tilted her head, a hint of pride and playful mystery glinting in her eyes.

“… What?” Belamus blinked, surprised by the sudden news. Even though Belamus was a wellspring of knowledge, he was still ignorant of a lot, particularly regarding monsters. He had a decent grasp of goblins and orcs, but his understanding of alraunes was rudimentary at best.

“Wait… The plants you grow bear edible fruit?” he asked, brows furrowing. “I thought the seeds produced more alraune. Isn’t that how your kind reproduces?”

Ellency shook her head gently. “That’s different. Each alraune can produce seeds for new life only three times in her life. The ones I’m talking about are entirely separate—they’re just for food.”

“I see,” Belamus said, his tone shifting to curiosity. He leaned forward with genuine interest in his eyes. “And that fruit—other species can eat it too? It’s not, uh, exclusive to alraune?”

“There shouldn’t be any issue,” Ellency said confidently. “Back when we still lived in the grove, we’d sometimes trade with other races. They ate the fruit without complaint. In fact, most of them loved it.”

This piqued Belamus’s interest even further. “Then, I’d definitely like to try cultivating it. How many seeds can you produce?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” she said with a smile. “A thousand? Two thousand? There’s no problem at all.”

“That many?” Belamus blinked, momentarily taken aback.

Ellency chuckled softly at his reaction. “And caring for them is no different from any other plant. Just bury the seed in good soil, give it water, and make sure it gets sunlight.”

Belamus’s tone turned thoughtful as he asked, “How long do they take to grow?”

“If you care for them properly, about fifty days from seed to harvest,” she replied. “And the fruit is quite large, too.”

Fast-growing and high-yielding… This could be a game-changer, Belamus thought.

“When’s the best time to plant them?” he asked next.

“The plant itself grows year-round. It never withers. Some fruit ripens in the warm seasons, some in the cold,” Ellency explained in a calm, matter-of-fact tone, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

“… Wait, what? Isn’t this one plant species we’re talking about?” Belamus replied, blinking in confusion, his brows knitting together as he tried to reconcile her words with botanical logic.

Ellency smiled, then turned. “Hold on a moment.” She was gone for just a few minutes, then returned with a cloth pouch in both hands. Opening it and holding it out, she said, “These seeds were produced just yesterday.”

Inside were dozens—maybe hundreds—of tiny seeds, each a different hue, a rainbow of shapes and colors.

“The color of the seed changes depending on the flower blooming on an alraune’s head,” Ellency explained, brushing her fingers through her scarlet petals with casual pride. “The seed color determines not just the season when it bears fruit, but also the color and flavor of the fruit itself. For example, I grow red flowers—so I produce red seeds. The fruit from those plants is also red, with a bit of a spicy kick. They ripen during the peak of summer.”

“That’s great—flavor variation is a huge plus. And the fact that they don’t wither with seasonal changes… that’s really useful,” Belamus replied, nodding thoughtfully.

“How much should we grow?” Ellency asked, tilting her head slightly as she awaited his direction.

“For now, let’s focus on clearing and preparing the farmland. We can decide on the scale after that’s done,” Belamus answered, his voice firm with decision.

“Sounds good to me,” Ellency said with a smile.

This might be an incredible crop,Belamus thought to himself, the realization settling deep. Fast to mature, evergreen, easy to grow, and offering multiple flavors—he couldn’t think of another plant that checked so many boxes. It was almost too good to be true.

Once Ellency finished explaining, Belamus wasted no time. He immediately began overseeing the new farmland’s development.

To the south of Beresdral, trees were felled in earnest. Belamus wasn’t working alone—residents from across the village pitched in. With the help of magic, the work progressed quickly, and within just a few days, a vast area had been cleared and prepped for cultivation.

Then came the tilling.

Some used earth magic to soften and shape the soil, while others, like the orcs—who lacked magical aptitude—worked with old-fashioned tools, swinging heavy iron hoes to break the stubborn ground. Around the perimeter of the field, they raised a low stone wall —a simple yet effective barrier to keep stray monsters from stealing or trampling the crops.

The next critical task was securing a reliable water supply. While the village’s primary crop, Merune, required enchanted water to neutralize its natural toxins, most other plants couldn’t survive such treatment; for anything but Merune, magical water was downright poisonous.

Beresdral’s only natural water source was groundwater, drawn from a well, and its supply wasn’t nearly enough to irrigate a farm on this scale. Fortunately, a river flowed just a ten-minute walk from the village. Fetching water by hand every day was out of the question—far too inefficient for a growing village. So Belamus made a clear decision: he would divert water from the river directly to the new farmland.

Using earth magic, he began constructing an irrigation channel, a canal that would bring water straight from the river to the fields. The process wasn’t quick; he had to cut down trees that stood in the way and shape the terrain to guide the flow. But, eventually, with careful work, the water began to run, filling the new canal and providing the farmland with a steady, natural water supply.

With the land prepared and the water secured, it was finally time for planting. Thanks to the alraune, Belamus had a vast supply of seeds and didn’t need to buy any this time. He divided the land carefully: one-third of the farmland was devoted to Merune, and the rest to the new, colorful alraune-grown crops.

“Well… It’s done,” Belamus murmured, brushing dirt from his hands as he looked out over the freshly seeded soil. With the new farmland complete, all that remained was to wait for the crops to grow and bear fruit.

Belamus wasn’t one to sit idle. The alraune, familiar with the plants and their care, would handle the cultivation. That left him free to think, to plan.

What comes next? he wondered, already turning his thoughts toward the future.

※※※

After much thought, Belamus reached a conclusion. Though Beresdral had grown—its population swelled and many residents were monsters of considerable strength—he knew their defenses were nothing more than a facade. The sturdy walls gave the illusion of safety, but appearances could be deceiving.

He knew this better than anyone. The Great Frazes Forest was a place teeming with monstrous beings of overwhelming power, where the unexpected could strike at any moment. He remembered the recent battle against the legion ants—if he’d been even slightly slower in defeating Hereldyne, the entire village might have been annihilated.

No, he thought, clenching his small hands into fists. Our defenses still aren’t enough. To truly strengthen Beresdral’s defenses… we need to evolve—all of us.

This wasn’t just a physical change but a fundamental shift for everyone in the village.

Every magical creature possessed the potential to evolve, to rise to a stronger form if certain conditions were met. This often involved consuming specific other monsters. In Beresdral, many of the goblins had already reached the next stage of their species: Hobgoblins. But that was just a stepping stone. From there, a Hobgoblin could evolve into either a Soldier Goblin or a Magic Goblin, depending on its strengths.

Those who excelled in swordsmanship or archery would become Soldier Goblins, while those with a talent for spells and sorcery would become Magic Goblins. For both paths, the evolution required not only skill but a catalyst: the consumption of many Arrow Spiders, a monster species tied to their growth.

By Belamus’s estimation, five goblins in the village were already strong enough to evolve to the next level. But that process left many more still lagging behind. For those goblins, he would need to guide them, identifying whether their talents lay in blade, bow, or magic, and train them accordingly.

It wasn’t just the goblins; the orcs would need to evolve as well. Fortunately, the orcs of Beresdral had already reached the High Orc stage. But evolution never stopped at just one level. The next stage after High Orc was either Scale Orc or Elder Orc. Those with formidable defenses evolved into Scale Orcs, their bodies taking on hardened, armor-like flesh. Meanwhile, those with superior offensive power—or greater intellect—evolved into Elder Orcs, more cunning and versatile in combat.

To trigger this evolution, Belamus needed to feed the orcs a specific type of monster: the Blue Rat. These rodent-like beasts were far weaker than Arrow Spiders and existed in much greater numbers, making them relatively easy to hunt and collect.

As for the alraune, they too were capable of evolution. However, Belamus had little knowledge of how their evolution functioned, or what kind of monsters—or materials—they needed to consume to trigger it. Fortunately, even in their current state, the alraune possessed powerful magic and served as a vital part of the village’s defense. Evolution, for them, wasn’t urgent.

Then, there were the legion ants. After the defeat of Hereldyne, nearly all of them had perished, with only two survivors: their commander, Medina, and the Ant Core, a vital organism that functioned as both their heart and hive brain. The surviving legion ants now lived underground, slowly rebuilding their numbers.

Unlike other monsters, legion ants evolved through sheer numbers alone. Once their total population reached a certain threshold, evolution would occur. Even if their numbers later declined, they would never “de-evolve” or regress. They had once swelled to tens of thousands, and to evolve again, they would need to multiply tenfold, reaching into the hundreds of thousands. Such a number couldn’t be achieved in a matter of years, so for now, Belamus set aside any plans for their evolution.

Still, he understood that more ants meant more defense. Even without evolving, increasing their numbers would considerably strengthen Beresdral’s perimeter. To do that, the Ant Core needed nutrients. These didn’t have to be monsters; any nourishing material would do, including crops. Belamus had already hunted several nearby monsters and gathered enough biomass to feed the core, bringing the current population to about twenty.

Once the village’s farmland began producing steady surpluses, Belamus planned to allocate a portion of the harvest to Medina, who would oversee the feeding of the Ant Core.

Interestingly, unlike most creatures, the legion ants themselves didn’t need to eat. They could function with only occasional rest and no food intake. Only the Ant Core required nourishment to generate more ants. This fact made them a uniquely efficient force—and a quiet, growing bulwark beneath Beresdral’s soil.

Aside from Medina, the Queen Ant, and the General Ants, the individual legion ants weren’t particularly powerful. But what they lacked in strength, they made up for by not requiring food. This valuable trait alone made them incredibly useful. And it was this efficiency that drove Belamus’s desire to increase their numbers; a tireless army that didn’t drain village resources could become a cornerstone of Beresdral’s defense.

The problem, however, was timing. Beresdral’s current agricultural output was still too low. Until the newly developed farmland began producing consistent harvests, Belamus couldn’t afford to allocate food—or rather, nutrients—to the legion ants. Once the crops started to grow and bear fruit, he planned to share a portion with Medina to fuel the colony’s slow regrowth.

For now, though, he would focus on what could be done: the evolution of the goblins and orcs.

With clear purpose in his step and plans already forming in his mind, Belamus set his sights on the first task: guiding the goblins through their next transformation. The groundwork for Beresdral’s true strength had only just begun.

※※※

“Belamus, what’s this meeting about?” a goblin asked, stepping forward with a curious tilt of his head.

Belamus had gathered a group of goblins at the village’s training ground—not all of them, but the thirty he had judged to have potential. Evolution, he knew, required consuming specific monsters as a catalyst, and the Arrow Spiders weren’t abundant enough to feed every goblin. His focus, for now, would be on this select group with the most promise.

“I want to strengthen the village’s combat power,” he announced, facing the gathered group. “If we’re attacked again, as we are now, we won’t hold.”

A low murmur passed through the goblins, and some nodded solemnly. The recent legion ant incident still hung heavy in their memories; the fear from the attack had left a deep mark. Clearly, Belamus wasn’t the only one thinking about the village’s defenses.

“I’m all for it,” another goblin said. “When those legion ants swarmed us, I really thought we were gonna die.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Agreed!”

The shared feeling of agreement echoed around the space.

“But… how exactly are we gonna get stronger?” This time, the question came from a quiet goblin girl named Medello, who stood slightly behind the others.

One of Delarosa’s closest friends, she was the same age but the opposite in personality. Medello was reserved and often swept up by Delarosa’s bold momentum, rarely voicing her own thoughts. Yet, beneath her quiet demeanor, her magical talent was undeniable. Belamus believed this Hobgoblin already had what it took to become a Magic Goblin, provided she could overcome the dreaded task of consuming the Arrow Spiders.

“You’re all going to evolve,” Belamus replied plainly.

Medello’s face tensed with unease. “E-Evolve…” She had already experienced the process firsthand. It had not been pleasant; she had been forced to eat a large number of Arrow Spiders and had suffered through the ordeal. The thought of undergoing the same thing again filled Medello with dread.

Belamus continued. “Evolution requires more than just eating Arrow Spiders,” he explained. “You also need to be skilled—with a sword, a bow, or magic. Right now, the ones who meet the standard are: Medello, Navasha, Ugo, Demu, and Shireham.”

Belamus listed the names with measured certainty, knowing each would play a vital role in the future of Beresdral’s defense.

Navasha was the village’s best swordswoman—a quiet but fierce girl the same age as Medello and Delarosa. Ugo was Medello’s older brother, the second-best with a blade, known for his serious, hardworking nature. Dem was a sharp-minded male goblin, known not just for his intellect—he could even speak the orcs’ language—but for his exceptional skill with a bow. In fact, he was regarded as the finest archer in all of Beresdral. Shireham, on the other hand, was a fifteen-year-old goblin girl who had gone largely unnoticed until recently. At first, no one had thought much of her, but over time, she had shown surprising magical talent. Belamus had taken note of her rapid improvement.

He was confident in his predictions: Medello and Shireham would evolve into Magic Goblins, while Navasha, Ugo, and Demu would take the path of the Soldier Goblin.

“Everyone here will be training—either in swordsmanship, archery, or magic,” Belamus declared, standing before the gathered goblins. “I’ll tell you now which field each of you will focus on, so listen carefully.”

He then went down the list, assigning each goblin their discipline based on their talents and affinities.

“Since the Arrow Spiders we’ve stockpiled aren’t enough,” he added, “I’ll need to hunt more. In the meantime, Navasha, Medello, Ugo, Demu, and Shireham—you five will act as instructors for the others.”

The five named goblins nodded firmly, accepting the responsibility without hesitation. With that settled, Belamus turned and headed into the forest, his mind already shifting to the hunt. The future strength of Beresdral depended on the monsters he would bring back.

※※※

Currently, Beresdral had a stockpile of forty Arrow Spiders, but that was nowhere near enough. Each goblin required ten Arrow Spiders to evolve, meaning thirty goblins would need a total of three hundred. With only forty available, we didn’t even have enough to evolve the five who were already ready.

Belamus’s immediate goal was simple: gather at least ten more spiders. That would be enough to fully evolve the five most promising goblins.

The last time he had hunted for Arrow Spiders, he had found them in a cave to the northeast. But since then, the cave had been converted into a mining site, and the spiders were gone. While there were likely other caves within the vast Great Frazes Forest where Arrow Spiders still lived, Belamus didn’t know the surrounding area well enough to pinpoint them. He had intended to map the terrain eventually, but more urgent matters had kept him from it.

He wondered, Who would know the lay of the land? Then, one name came to mind: Balbora, leader of the orcs.

Ellency, the alraune leader, had only lived in the forest briefly before arriving in Beresdral. And Medina, commander of the legion ants, dwelled underground and likely knew little of the surface. But Balbora had once traveled the forest alongside King Rydos, the now-absent High Orc King. If anyone among the villagers had knowledge of the land’s hidden places, it would be him.

Without wasting time, Belamus sought Balbora out.

“Looking for caves that might house Arrow Spiders, huh?” Balbora said, rubbing his chin as he thought it over. “There’s one cave a bit further east of here. I remember seeing one back when we were moving through the area. I can’t say for sure if there are any spiders in it, though.” He scratched the side of his head with a clawed finger, his voice thoughtful and willing.

Belamus’s intent was clear. “Can you take me there?” he asked without hesitation, his tone imbued with composure yet unmistakably assertive—a proclamation of purpose rather than a mere request.

“That’s an easy favor to grant,” Balbora said with a broad grin. The orc leader admired Belamus deeply and would never turn down a request from him.

Without further delay, the two set off, with Balbora leading the way toward the unknown cave in search of the spiders needed to strengthen Beresdral’s future.

They walked for some time, and eventually, Balbora stopped in front of a shadowy cliffside opening. “Here it is… I think,” he said with a sheepish grin. He hadn’t remembered the exact location, and it had taken them some time to find it, but they had managed to get there in the end.

“You’ve been a big help. Let’s head in,” Belamus replied, already stepping toward the entrance.

“I’ll go with you, of course,” Balbora said loyally, falling into step beside him.

The cave’s interior was shrouded in darkness, so Belamus cast a Light spell, illuminating the path ahead with a soft glow. As the two of them ventured into the depths, Balbora glanced around the cave warily.

“Think there are Arrow Spiders in here?” he asked.

“I get the feeling there might be,” Belamus said, scanning the environment. The damp, web-lined air and subtle tracks along the walls gave him that familiar sense.

“Ah! L-Lord Belamus, over there!” Balbora suddenly cried out, pointing into the shadows.

Sure enough, they saw them—not just one or two, but an entire cluster of Arrow Spiders.

Unfortunately, Balbora’s shout alerted the spiders, which immediately reacted by rearing back and preparing to fire. As their name suggested, Arrow Spiders attacked by launching hardened silk projectiles like arrows. They produced silk threads, compressed them tightly, and fired the sharp, needle-like bolts from their spinnerets.

“Whoa!” Balbora yelped, dodging as a volley of silken arrows tore through the air. He managed to evade most of them, but a few came too close for comfort.

In the blink of an eye, Belamus had raised his hand and fired a Light Arrow spell, blasting the incoming projectiles out of the air just before they could strike his companion. Arrow Spiders always required a brief moment to reload after their first shot, making them vulnerable and not so dangerous if one could survive the initial volley.

Belamus took advantage of the opening and began firing Light Arrows, precisely striking the spiders one by one. Meanwhile, Balbora grabbed a nearby boulder and hurled it with orcish strength, crushing one of the larger spiders in a single blow.

Their enemies had impressive ranged attacks but poor defense. In no time at all, the Arrow Spiders lay scattered and motionless across the cave floor.

“I’m sorry, Lord Belamus,” Balbora said with a bow of his head, his tusks dipping low. “I slowed you down.” His voice was low with guilt; he clearly blamed himself for the commotion.

“That was nothing to worry about,” Belamus said calmly, brushing off Balbora’s apology. “But in caves like this, it’s best not to raise your voice; sound carries.” He cast a quick glance at the tunnel walls, voice low and instructional. “Creatures that live in dark caves usually have poor vision. They rely on sound to detect intruders. So, keep quiet when you can.”

Balbora nodded earnestly, and the two continued deeper into the cave. It wasn’t long before they encountered another cluster of Arrow Spiders. This time, they made no noise, but there was no avoiding detection—Balbora’s large frame naturally produced heavy footfalls, enough for the spiders to sense them before they could strike first.

Still, Balbora managed to dodge the initial volley again, and between his strength and Belamus’s quick casting, they dispatched the attackers with far less trouble than before. As they pushed on, more and more Arrow Spiders emerged—an almost endless stream.

“They just keep coming,” Balbora muttered in disbelief.

“This cave must be a jackpot,” Belamus said, his eyes sharp as he scanned the webs clinging to the walls. There were no other monsters here—only Arrow Spiders, and lots of them. It was clearly one of their primary nesting grounds.

Belamus went to work, methodically striking them down with Light Arrows, picking off the spiders one by one as they emerged from their hiding places. Thanks to Magic Thread, a spell that allowed for strong, flexible threads of mana, he was able to bundle up the bodies into a single, manageable clump for transport.

“That’s about thirty down,” Belamus estimated, scanning the wrapped bundle.

“I didn’t count,” Balbora said with a shrug, “but yeah, that sounds about right.”

“We’ve been down here long enough. Let’s head back to Beresdral,” Belamus said, his voice steady and composed.

“Good idea,” Balbora agreed with a grin.

Belamus hauled the bundle of corpses, wound tightly in shimmering magical thread, back toward the village. A few hours later, the two of them returned to Beresdral and made their way to the training grounds. There, a handful of goblins were collapsed on the ground, clearly exhausted from intense drills.

“ALL RIGHT! Break’s over! Back to training!” Navasha’s voice rang out across the village, fierce and commanding, echoing off the houses and trees like a battle cry.

All across the training ground, the goblins Belamus had left to train lay sprawled out, panting and drenched in sweat. Belamus took one look at their exhausted state and immediately understood: this was the result of Navasha’s Spartan-style instruction.

“Navasha,” Belamus called out, walking toward her with a questioning look.

“Oh! Belamus, you’re back,” she responded, brushing her short hair back and planting her sword in the ground.

“Isn’t this a bit much?” Belamus asked, his brows slightly furrowed as he watched the exhausted goblins, his voice calm but laced with concern.

“What do you mean?” she shot back without hesitation. “We’re training to protect the village. This level’s perfectly normal.”

“You’re not wrong,” Belamus replied with a measured nod. “But pushing them too hard, without guidance, can have the opposite effect.”

He was concerned—not about their physical weakness, but about their fragile motivation in the early stages of growth. He worried they might grow to hate the rigorous training and run from it. Building strength was one thing; building a sense of purpose was another. For a moment, he feared he was setting them up for failure. But those worries, as it turned out, were unnecessary.

“We’re not done yet!” one of the goblins shouted, clenching a wooden practice sword with trembling hands, his eyes still burning with determination.

“We won’t give up over something like this!” another added, wiping sweat from his brow, a fierce grin stretching across his tired face.

Despite their exhaustion, not one of the goblins was complaining. Their eyes burned with quiet determination, their bodies ragged but unbowed. It wasn’t forced grit—it was genuine resolve. They wanted to grow stronger; they wanted to protect their village with their own hands. That kind of willpower was essential for evolution.

Watching them, a feeling of confidence settled in Belamus’s chest. These goblins would make it. They had the drive.

With that in mind, he left the sword training to Navasha and turned his focus to another group—the ones training in magic. It was time to lend a hand where it was needed most.

Training continued until the sky began to darken, signaling the end of the day’s session. The goblins training in magic had pushed themselves until their mana was completely depleted, while those practicing with swords and bows were utterly exhausted—drained to the bone.

It had only been a single day, and of course, no one had made any dramatic leaps in ability. Still, without a doubt, every one of them had improved. Belamus watched them closely and made a quiet calculation.

At this rate… they’ll all be ready to evolve in twenty days.

The weary, starving goblins were ready to drag their aching bodies home for dinner, but five of them were not so lucky. Belamus’s voice sliced through the dusk, a sharp command that stopped them in their tracks.

“Medello, Navasha, Ugo, Demu, Shireham. You five, stay.”

“Huh? W-What is it, Belamus?” Medello asked nervously, her eyes already darting around warily.

“You’re going to eat the Arrow Spiders.” The words were delivered with a calm, matter-of-fact tone, as if he were assigning a simple chore rather than sentencing them to a grueling, repulsive ordeal.

“WHAT?!” Three voices shouted in protest, echoing one another’s shock and disbelief.

All five knew what that meant. They had tasted Arrow Spider meat before, and the memory lingered in their minds like a curse. The texture, the bitterness, the stringy aftertaste… it was revolting.

“B-But we trained really hard today!” Navasha protested, her words a desperate plea to bargain her way out. “Can’t we do this some other day?”

“There’s training tomorrow—and the day after that,” Belamus replied, his voice firm and unwavering. “If you’re capable of evolving, the sooner you do it, the better. The enemy might come tomorrow. The more time you have to adjust to your evolved bodies, the better.”

His logic was sound, yet it offered them no comfort.

Thus, with a chorus of groans and dragging feet, the five goblins sat down to choke down their share of spider meat. There was no way they could consume the full required amount in a single night, but each managed to get through two whole Arrow Spiders—an impressive, if unpleasant, start.

At this pace, Belamus estimated they’d be ready to evolve in four more days.

Technically, they could evolve faster if they ate morning, noon, and night, but none of them were willing to suffer that much. So, by mutual agreement, the spider feasts would be kept to dinnertime only.

※※※

Four days passed, and the cave Belamus had discovered—the one teeming with Arrow Spiders—turned out to be far larger than he’d initially thought. Even better, the only monsters living there were Arrow Spiders. That made it ideal for harvesting them in bulk.

After the initial trip, Balbora stepped back from the hunting expeditions, his place taken by Delarosa. Undeniably talented, she had already evolved but was never great at teaching others. Whether it was her natural genius or just a lack of patience, she struggled to explain magical techniques and often ended up more of a distraction than a help.

Because of this, Belamus hadn’t even told her about the other goblins’ evolution efforts. Of course, she found out almost immediately. Upset about being excluded, Delarosa had pouted and protested until Belamus finally relented, allowing her to join the spider hunts.

“All right! Time to hunt!” she shouted excitedly, bouncing on her toes.

The adults of the village had told her time and again not to venture outside Beresdral without permission—too dangerous, they said. But now, given rare permission to head into the forest, Delarosa was thrilled. Her energy was through the roof.

“I’m gonna wipe out a whole bunch!” she cheered, and before Belamus could even stop her for a moment, she had already sprinted into the cave on her own. He hurried in after her, anxious despite her bravado.

It turned out that his worry was misplaced. By the time he caught up, Delarosa had already downed five Arrow Spiders, completely unscathed. Her movements were fluid, confident, and precise.

“Heh—pretty amazing, right?” Delarosa beamed, clearly fishing for praise as she wiped spider guts from her knuckles.

Belamus let out a sigh. “Yes, you’re amazing… but don’t go running ahead like that again. What if something other than Arrow Spiders showed up?” So far, they’d only encountered Arrow Spiders in this cave—but that didn’t mean other, more dangerous monsters couldn’t be lurking deeper inside. The spiders were weak and easily dispatched; however, if something more dangerous were to appear, even Delarosa might be in trouble.

“I can handle anything that shows up!” Delarosa declared boldly, puffing out her chest.

“No. Stay with me,” Belamus said firmly, not budging an inch.

“Hmmmph…” Delarosa pouted, clearly disappointed—but after a moment, she nodded. She didn’t like being scolded, but truthfully, she didn’t mind sticking close to Belamus either. So, she did as she was told.

She proved to be a tremendous asset. Belamus had initially estimated it would take seven days to gather the necessary number of Arrow Spiders. But with Delarosa at his side—cutting through enemies like a whirlwind—they completed the hunt in just four. By the end of that fourth day, they had amassed a staggering total of two hundred and thirty Arrow Spider corpses.

Today, a crucial milestone was reached. Medello, Navasha, Ugo, Demu, and Shireham finally choked down their tenth and final spiders. By nightfall, their bodies would begin the process of evolution.

By tomorrow morning, they should have evolved.

Meanwhile, the rest of the goblins continued their grueling training. Belamus had noticed a growing number were also nearing their own turning points, developing the strength and skill needed to reach the threshold for evolution. Everything was progressing smoothly, and the momentum was building.

The Goblin Evolution Project, as Belamus had come to think of it, was unfolding exactly as planned.

※※※

The next day arrived.

“I evolved!!”

Bam! Navasha burst into Belamus’s house, her voice echoing with excitement.

Her appearance hadn’t changed drastically, but her horns—once a dusky reddish brown—had turned a vivid crimson, a telltale mark of a Soldier Goblin.

“Whoa, red horns! So cool!” Delarosa exclaimed, beaming as she circled Navasha, clearly impressed.

“The color’s not the only thing,” Navasha said proudly. “My body feels way lighter, like I could fly!”

To prove her point, she bounded outside and leaped high into the air. Really high. Her agility and strength had clearly received a serious boost.

“Whaaat! That’s amazing!” Delarosa gasped.

“With this power, I could take on someone way stronger. Let’s go test it in the forest!” Navasha said, already turning on her heel.

“Stop right there.” Belamus cut her off sharply. She froze mid-step. Her enthusiasm was understandable, but heading into the forest unprepared—especially just after evolving—was far too reckless.

Leaving her behind, Belamus set off to check on the others who should have evolved overnight.

Belamus and his companions arrived at the home of Medello and her brother, Ugo. Navasha and Delarosa followed close behind, still buzzing with excited energy.

Without hesitation, Delarosa threw the front door open. “Medello! Ugo! Did you guys evolve?!” she shouted.

“Y-Yeah! We did!” Medello called back, emerging from inside. She had evolved into a Magic Goblin, just like Delarosa. Her horns had changed too, now glowing with a rich sapphire blue.

“Whoa! We match now!” Delarosa cheered, her eyes sparkling as she pointed to Medello’s blue horns. She looked genuinely thrilled to have a magic-gifted peer.

“Looks like Ugo’s the same type as me,” Navasha said, glancing over at him.

“Yeah, I think so,” Ugo replied with a grin, rolling his shoulder. “Still, evolution’s amazing. My body moves completely differently now. So how many more times can we evolve after this?”

Belamus stepped forward to answer. “It depends on your potential. But in theory, three more evolutions are possible.”

“Whoa… if we get that far, we’ll be insanely strong,” Ugo said, his eyes gleaming with ambition.

For Soldier Goblins, the final evolution led to one of two powerful forms: the Emperor Goblin or the God Archer Goblin. Given Navasha and Ugo’s talent with swordsmanship, Belamus predicted they’d eventually walk the path toward becoming Emperor Goblins. In his previous life, Belamus had only ever seen a single Emperor Goblin. It had been the ruler of a full-fledged goblin kingdom—an awe-inspiring figure with unmatched charisma and a commanding presence. He was a figure of wisdom, composure, and impossible dignity.

Belamus had never actually witnessed an Emperor Goblin fight, nor had he fought one himself. But even so, the aura the creature radiated left no doubt in his mind: its power was nothing short of extraordinary.

From there, Belamus went to check on Demu and Shireham. Just as he predicted, Demu had successfully evolved into a Soldier Goblin, and Shireham had become a Magic Goblin.

With all five goblins confirmed to have evolved safely, Belamus considered the next step: beginning direct training for the next group.

He paused, a new thought taking hold.

No… they don’t need me.

The goblins had shown an overwhelming desire to grow stronger on their own. And not only that—Navasha and Medello had both proven to be unexpectedly capable leaders and instructors.

They’ll be fine. They’ll reach the next stage without my help. Which means… it’s time I turn my attention to the orcs, he decided.

With that decision made, Belamus entrusted the goblin training to their new leaders and set out for the orc quarter. The next stage of the village’s evolution was about to begin.

Chapter 2

In the orc quarter of Beresdral lived two main groups: the original male warriors who once followed King Rydos, and the female orcs whom Belamus had personally brought to the village. Among the women, some had already become pregnant. Orcs were known for their high fertility, and at this rate, their numbers would likely swell significantly in the near future.

“Lord Belamus, what brings you to us today?” Balbora asked, stepping forward with a respectful bow.

“I want to evolve the orcs—take them beyond High Orc,” Belamus replied.

“Evolution? That’s great news!” Balbora grinned, his tusks gleaming with excitement. The reaction from the other orcs was just as enthusiastic.

“Finally, we get to power up again!”

“Think I can get as strong as King Rydos?”

The prospect of becoming stronger sparked cheers and chatter. For orcs, who valued strength above all else, evolution wasn’t just welcome—it was exhilarating.

“First, I need to assess where you all stand in terms of ability,” Belamus continued. “Balbora, gather everyone for me.”

“Right away!” Balbora responded with a sharp nod, his deep voice brimming with enthusiasm as he turned to rally the orcs without a moment’s hesitation.

Belamus had already grasped the goblins’ abilities, but he still needed a full measure of the orcs’ strength before guiding their evolution. Soon, Balbora returned, leading the male orcs—the village’s primary combat force. The female orcs, for the most part, did not join them, as they seemed to view battle as the men’s responsibility and had little interest in joining the ranks.

All of the male orcs present had already undergone one evolution, from regular orcs into High Orcs. While physically far stronger than goblins, they possessed a significant weakness: a poor affinity for magic. As High Orcs, their magical ability was virtually nonexistent. To use magic effectively, an orc needed to evolve into an Elder Orc. The alternative evolution, Scale Orc, enhanced physical defenses—but at the cost of losing all access to magic entirely.

The conditions for orc evolution were similar to before: they had to consume Blue Rats and develop either their offensive power or their resilience in battle. To evolve, an orc required ten Blue Rats—more than what was necessary for the initial jump from regular Orc to High Orc. Belamus’s next major project had officially begun.

To assess their offensive power, Belamus had them use their weapons to strike a large stone. He judged their defense by observing their physiques. A well-trained High Orc’s body was hard as stone, and despite their round bellies giving off a soft appearance, orcs were essentially walking mountains of muscle.

After assessing each of them, Belamus came to a clear conclusion: only Balbora, the leader, currently met the necessary conditions for evolution. He had both the offensive strength and the durability required.

In situations where both evolutionary paths were viable, the final form was determined at random. However, Belamus personally hoped for the more fortunate outcome: a Scale Orc. Between the two advanced forms, Scale Orcs were widely regarded as the better result due to their overwhelming durability in battle.

“All right,” Belamus announced, turning to address the assembled orcs. “As of now, only Balbora is ready to evolve. The rest of you need to begin physical training. You’ll focus on building strength and learning to handle your weapons—axes, hammers, anything that suits you.”

The orcs all nodded in solemn unison; their expressions revealing no hint of disappointment—only a singular determination.

Following the meeting, Belamus set off to gather the necessary Blue Rats, joined by Balbora and Delarosa, both eager to assist. Their destination was an area surrounding Belonika Village, where they had previously hunted.

To evolve every male orc in the village, they would need a total of three hundred and forty Blue Rats. Fortunately, thanks to preservation magic, the meat wouldn’t spoil, allowing them to stockpile as much as necessary in advance. Neither Belamus, Delarosa, nor Balbora found the Blue Rats challenging in the slightest; they cut them down with ease.

Blue Rats tended to swarm in large numbers, particularly in forest caves. The group moved from cave to cave, tirelessly scouting and hunting. By the end of the first day, they had already taken down one hundred and thirty Blue Rats.

As the sky darkened, they returned to Beresdral—and that night, Belamus fed Balbora his ten Blue Rats, beginning the next step of the orc evolution project. Orcs had massive appetites, so Balbora devoured all ten easily, barely slowing down between bites.

“So, this means I’m gonna evolve again, right?” he asked, licking his fingers clean.

“That’s right,” Belamus confirmed. “You’ll be either a Scale Orc or an Elder Orc.”

“Hope it’s Elder Orc,” Balbora muttered, frowning. “I’ve seen a Scale Orc before. Ugly as sin, those things.”

Scale Orcs looked like orcs covered in lizard-like scales, more or less resembling giant armadillos. Belamus knew that whether that appearance was “cool” or not depended on personal taste, but to Balbora, it was downright embarrassing.

“They might look strange,” Belamus replied, “but if a Scale Orc evolves again, it can become a Dragon Orc—the strongest known orc evolution, looking even more impressive than the others.”

“Wait—Dragon Orc?” Balbora’s eyes widened. “That’s a real thing?”

“Yes. As the name suggests, it’s like a fusion of an orc and a dragon. Scaled body, wings, it can even breathe fire.” Belamus paused before adding with a hint of dry humor, “Though… the pig-like face stays the same.”

Dragon Orcs were exceedingly rare. Their evolutionary path was unusually complex, which meant they were rarely, if ever, found in the wild.

Belamus went on to explain that a Scale Orc could evolve into either a Dragon Orc or an Iron Orc. Iron Orcs took the Scale Orc’s defenses even further—their scales hardened into metallic plating, making them walking fortresses.

After those paths, the path no longer branched; from Dragon Orc or Iron Orc onward, the evolution followed a single, linear route to the final form. As Belamus described the Dragon Orc, Balbora’s eyes began to shine with pure excitement.

“That’s insane,” he whispered, nearly vibrating in place. “An orc… that turns into a dragon?! That’s the craziest, coolest thing I’ve ever heard!”

Dragons were the apex of fear and reverence in the world of monsters. The very thought of becoming something even remotely similar clearly set Balbora’s imagination on fire.

“Of course,” Belamus added bluntly, “if you become an Elder Orc tomorrow, that path is closed to you.”

The outcome was purely random. Even Belamus had no way of influencing it. All he could do now was wait and hope.

“I-I change my mind!” Balbora blurted, a new intensity in his voice. He clasped his hands together, squeezed his eyes shut, and muttered a desperate prayer to whatever gods might be listening: “Forget Elder Orc! Please, let it be Scale Orc!”

The next morning arrived, and Belamus made his way to check on Balbora. Orcs weren’t early risers by nature, and as expected, Balbora was still sound asleep. But the evolution had already occurred.

“You really did become a Scale Orc,” Belamus muttered, his gaze fixed on the newly scaled body. Balbora’s entire torso was lined with rough, slate-colored scales—thick, overlapping plates that shimmered faintly in the morning light. There was no mistaking it: he had evolved into a Scale Orc.

“Hey, Balbora. Wake up. You’ve evolved—into a Scale Orc,” Belamus said, shaking the orc’s arm gently.

“Five more minutes… Huh?!” Balbora blinked himself awake, then jolted upright. “L-Lord Belamus?!” Finding Belamus beside his bed was enough to send him into a flustered panic. That had never happened before.

“Look at yourself,” Belamus instructed calmly.

“My… self?” Balbora rubbed his eyes. “Oh—right! I evolved!” He leaped to his feet and looked himself over with eager anticipation.

Then—a roar shook the air.

“OOOOOOOOOH!! I’M A SCALE ORC!!” Balbora bellowed, fists pumping the air. The joy on his face was pure and unfiltered, but it didn’t last long.

“Scale Orc, huh… Awesome, but… Yeah, still pretty ugly,” he muttered, his enthusiasm slightly deflating. As he stared at his reflection in a basin of water, the thick, overlapping scales gave him the look of a massive, bipedal armadillo—or worse, a reptilian boar.

Still, it was what he’d wished for.

“How soon can I evolve again?” he asked hopefully.

Belamus folded his arms. “That depends. It won’t happen quickly.”

To become a Dragon Orc, a Scale Orc had to meet several strict conditions: massively increased defense, greater agility, and the consumption of a dragon-type monster—even a weak one would suffice. The most accessible dragon-type was the wyvern, but Belamus had no idea if such creatures even lived in the Great Frazes Forest. In short, the next step wasn’t something that could be predicted or rushed.

“I seeee…” Balbora sighed, dragging his claws over his armored stomach. “Well, it feels strong at least. If I don’t think about how dumb it looks, maybe it’s not so bad… But man, I still wanna evolve again soon…”

He had gotten exactly what he asked for—and yet, Balbora now found himself caught somewhere between triumphant and unfashionable.

※※※

Several months passed, during which both the goblins and orcs had tirelessly continued their training. By the end of this period, roughly seventy percent of those who began had successfully completed their evolutions and advanced to their next forms.

Simultaneously, the fields of the village flourished. The fruit grown by the alraune had reached full maturity, and it was now time to harvest.

“Whoaaa! Look at all the colors!” Delarosa cried out, bouncing with excitement as she gazed at the sight.

Just as Ellency had described, the plants bore a stunning variety of vibrant fruit. The farmland was painted in vivid reds, blues, purples, and greens, a spectacle that looked like a field full of living jewels. Each fruit was roughly the size of a large apple, and the air was thick with their sweet, earthy scent.

“What are these called?” Delarosa asked, eyes wide as she turned to Belamus.

“They’re from the seeds the alraune gave us… but now that I think about it, we never got an official name for them. What do you alraune call these?” he asked, turning to Ellency.

Ellency shrugged in response. “Um… we usually just say ‘red fruit’ or ‘blue fruit,’ something like that…”

“So… no proper name yet, huh?” Belamus mused. “Then, why don’t we name them now? Since they came from the alraune, let’s call them Alra. We can name them by color—like Red Alra and Blue Alra. Something like that.”

Belamus’s proposal was accepted without objection, and the new naming system, though simple, was put into effect. From that day forward, the fruit was known as Alra.

Everyone in the village joined in on the harvest, gathering not only the newly named Alra but also Merune, which had ripened at the same time. The sheer volume of fruit meant they couldn’t finish harvesting in a single day, but they collected a generous amount before calling it a night.

As evening fell, it was time for the tasting.

The goblins and orcs gathered with a sense of barely contained excitement, their eyes sparkling with curiosity. This was fruit none of them had ever eaten before, and they were about to discover a brand-new flavor.

“Now that I think about it… are these meant to be eaten raw?” Belamus inquired, glancing at a vibrant fruit in his hand.

“They’re delicious cooked,” Ellency replied with a gentle smile, “but they’re just as good raw.”

“I see. Should the skin be peeled first?” Belamus asked, inspecting the fruit in his hand with a thoughtful frown.

“Yes, definitely peel it,” Ellency answered, offering a reassuring smile. “But don’t worry—it comes off easily by hand.” To demonstrate, she picked up a Blue Alra, slipped her fingers under the skin, and peeled it away with a practiced ease before nodding in contentment. Then, she took a bite of the peeled fruit, a soft smile gracing her lips as the sweet, distinct flavor bloomed across her tongue. “Just like this. Mmm… It’s really good.”

“Hey, hey!” Delarosa piped up, tugging at Ellency’s sleeve. “The colors taste different, right?”

“They do,” Ellency confirmed with a calm, confident nod.

“Then I want the sweet one!” Delarosa’s eyes lit up with eagerness. “Which one’s the sweetest?” She bounced on her heels, barely able to contain her anticipation.

“The Pink Alra. That one’s the sweetest of them all,” Ellency said, gesturing toward a cluster of pale pink fruit with a knowing smile.

“Pink, huh? Got it!” Delarosa declared gleefully, reaching out and snatching the fruit. With zero hesitation, she tore away the skin and took a massive, enthusiastic bite. “It’s so good! Super sweet! Seriously amazing!!” she exclaimed between mouthfuls, her face glowing with pure joy as she devoured the fruit as if it were the most delicious thing she had ever tasted.

The moment Delarosa bit into her fruit with delight, a horde of village children—their eyes wide with curiosity—rushed forward, clamoring for their own Pink Alra, eager to taste the sweetest variety first. It was a clear and immediate observation: even among goblins, children had an instinctive preference for sugary flavors.

“I’ll try the red one,” Belamus announced, reaching for a Red Alra. He preferred spicier tastes, and the red variant promised exactly that. He peeled the skin, brought the fruit to his mouth, and took a bite. “Hmm… never tasted anything like this before,” he mused, a thoughtful expression on his face. “But it’s… quite good.”

The flavor was a striking blend of bold spiciness and subtle sweetness, creating a beautiful balance. Belamus genuinely enjoyed it.

“Is it actually good?” Arèsa asked, eyeing the red fruit with suspicion. She followed his lead and took a small bite of her own.

“Gah—HOT!” she cried out, her face contorting as the intense heat hit her tongue.

“Is it that bad?” Belamus asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched Arèsa’s reaction, his tone laced with mild concern and curiosity.

“No, I mean—it’s really spicy… really spicy!” Arèsa stammered, fanning her mouth frantically. “But… not bad. Actually… kinda good?” Despite the intensity, she kept going, taking a second and third bite, as if the heat itself was addictive.

Belamus then moved on to sample other flavors, picking up a Blue Alra and an Orange Alra. The blue one had a smooth balance of sweetness and tartness, making it light and refreshing. The orange, by contrast, was sharp with a vibrant, citrusy acidity, strong enough to make his lips pucker.

Belamus considered sampling more, but the fruit was quite large, and after just three, he was already full. He had, however, gathered tasting impressions from the others, learning that: the Pink Alra was a favorite among children for its very sweet flavor; the yellow one was extremely sour, so much so that it was almost unpleasant raw; the purple, on the other hand, had a rich sweetness with a slight spicy undertone; the deep green was distinctly bitter; and the light green was a unique blend of bitterness and sourness.

The sheer variety of flavors was astonishing. Until now, the village’s meals had always felt somewhat plain and functional. But now, with so many new flavors to explore, Beresdral’s culinary world was beginning to blossom.

With the fruit all tasted, Belamus turned to Ellency once more, a fresh curiosity in his eyes.

“So, how else do you prepare this fruit?” he asked, folding his arms in an interested and inquisitive manner.

Ellency explained that the alraune’s use of Alra went far beyond eating them raw; they used them with great creativity. Some were cooked down into sweet jams, others were processed into flavorful sauces, and a select few were even fermented to create seasonings. It was clear that their culinary tradition was far more developed and complex than Belamus had initially imagined.

Belamus, remembering a rumor he’d once heard, felt an idea spark in his mind. He’d heard that a soup made from stewed Red Alra was incredibly delicious. Next chance I get, I’ll try making it myself, he thought, tucking the idea away.

※※※

Over the next ten days, the entire village worked tirelessly to complete the harvest. The vast farmland Belamus had developed yielded an enormous stockpile of both Alra and Merune.

They began storing the harvest in the village’s food storeroom, but it quickly became apparent there wasn’t enough space. In response, Belamus constructed an entirely new building just for surplus storage, but even that wasn’t enough to contain the overflow.

So, just as he had originally planned, he decided to deliver the excess to Medina, the queen of the legion ants.

Their nest was located underground, directly beneath the village. Belamus had long been considering constructing a network of subterranean passageways to make travel through the forest safer and more efficient. For now, however, the ant nest remained an isolated chamber below the village’s northern edge.

Loading the surplus crops into bundles using Magic Thread, Belamus made his way to the entrance of the underground colony and descended inside. After he walked through the dim tunnels for a while, a familiar figure emerged—Medina, the elegant and unshakably composed queen ant.

“Ah, Lord Belamus. What brings you here today?” she asked with polite curiosity.

Belamus often spoke with Medina. Despite her insectoid appearance, she was highly intelligent. She had lived for a very long time—so long, in fact, that even Belamus, who had lived an entire lifetime in his previous incarnation, found her insights thoughtful and surprisingly stimulating. He genuinely enjoyed their conversations.

“Not to chat today,” Belamus said with a slight smile. “I’ve brought food.”

“Food? That’s very kind of you—wait, all of that?” Medina’s eyes widened, astonished at the towering bundles of produce floating behind him, carried by glowing strands of enchanted thread. “This is… far too much! I couldn’t possibly—!” Medina exclaimed, her usually composed voice rising in surprise as she took a step back, clearly overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the offering.

“Take it,” Belamus insisted, setting the load down. “You’re a resident of the village, same as anyone else. Besides, if you eat this and increase the number of legion ants, it’ll benefit the whole village. It’s only natural.”

“I-I see…” Medina hesitated, antennae twitching, then dipped her head. “It feels a bit indulgent, but… thank you. I’ll accept it, gratefully.”

She gave a subtle command, and several legion ants marched forward from the shadows, lifting the supplies in perfect synchrony and carrying them deeper into the tunnels toward the Ant Core. The future of Beresdral’s underground guardians was about to flourish.

The bundles of food were carried into the heart of the nest, delivered straight to the Ant Core. There, the massive, pulsating core absorbed the offerings hungrily, drawing the nutrients inward. Only a few moments passed before the surface began to stir: a steady line of legion ants started to emerge, one after another, from the glowing core itself.

It was a system Belamus found fascinating—once the core absorbed enough sustenance, it immediately converted the energy into new life.

“Th-this is… more than I expected,” Medina said, her voice filled with wonder as she watched the line of newly born ants march out in perfect formation. “It must be a very nutrient-rich food.”

“Seems that way,” Belamus replied, eyes narrowed with interest. “I didn’t think they’d come out this quickly—or this many at once.”

He stood there, arms crossed, completely mesmerized as the ants continued to spring forth from the core in flawless symmetry. In total, fifty-nine new legion ants were born before the core finally fell still.

“That’s a considerable increase,” Belamus mused aloud. “At this rate, we’ll reach a thousand in no time.”

A thousand legion ants would be a massive defensive force—more than enough to shift the balance in Beresdral’s favor should the village ever come under threat.

If we keep getting this kind of surplus, Belamus thought, I’ll definitely bring more Alra here. It was a strategic use of their bounty—and one that could very well become the backbone of Beresdral’s protection.

※※※

“Belamus! Something’s wrong!”

Ugo, the gate watchman, burst into Belamus’s home in the early morning, his shout shattering the peaceful stillness of dawn. Belamus, Arèsa, and Delarosa were all still half-asleep when the yell jolted them awake.

“Mmmnnn… Ugo? What’s going on?” Delarosa mumbled groggily, blinking as she squinted toward the doorway.

“What is it?” Belamus asked, his tone sharp and alert despite having just been roused from bed. His words were crisp, though his eyes were still half-lidded, and his hair stuck out in every direction—a proper nest of bedhead.

“Well, uh—it’s… there’s a bunch of weird monsters I’ve never seen before gathered at the north gate, and I think they’re trying to talk to us,” Ugo explained, waving his hands as if trying to push the urgency into the room. “I’ve got no idea what they’re saying, but it feels like they want us to open the gate.”

“Monsters you’ve never seen?” Belamus repeated, his voice now steady and edged with curiosity.

“Yeah. I mean, I’ve seen pretty much everything that roams around here at least once, so these things must be from way farther out,” Ugo said, scratching his head with a nervous frown.

“What did they look like?” Belamus pressed, his curiosity overriding all other concerns.

“Let’s see… black tails, and a pair of horns sticking out of their heads. Other than that, they looked… well, almost like us. Like goblins, or even you, Belamus—pretty human-looking, honestly,” Ugo replied, gesturing vaguely as he tried to recall the details.

“Hm… most likely, they’re imps,” Belamus said, voice low with thought.

“Imps?” Ugo echoed, tilting his head in confusion.

“Small monsters. Even full-grown, they’d barely be taller than me. But don’t be fooled—they wield strong magic and have very high mana reserves,” Belamus explained calmly.

“So… they’re strong?” Ugo asked, a flicker of unease creeping into his voice.

“They can be,” Belamus replied. “It depends on their numbers and how far along their evolutionary path they are. We won’t know whether we can deal with them until we’ve seen them for ourselves. You said they’re at the north gate?”

“Yeah,” Ugo said with a nod, his tone firm and focused as he began to move toward the door.

“Then, let’s go take a look,” Belamus added, already moving with purpose as the weight of leadership settled squarely on his shoulders.

Without another word, he rose, shaking off the last vestiges of sleep, and made for the village’s northern gate—ready to face whatever strange guests were waiting on the other side.

※※※

Belamus climbed to the top of the northern gate and peered down at the approaching group.

“Just as I thought. They’re imps,” he muttered.

A small cluster of the creatures—around fifty in total—was gathered near the gate. None of them appeared to be wounded or panicked; this wasn’t a desperate migration like the alraunes’ arrival. It was something else entirely.

He scanned them quickly, finding no signs of evolution among them. They were just common imps, a fact that immediately put him at ease. If it came to a fight, he felt confident he could handle them on his own.

At the front of the group stood a female imp with striking blue hair. She was barely taller than a child—maybe around 140 centimeters tall—but her posture radiated a strange arrogance, and her ornate clothes set her apart from the others. Her chest was oddly large for her frame, but for imps, that was apparently within the normal range. Belamus had no doubt—this was their leader.

The blue-haired imp stepped forward and began to shout in the harsh, clipped tones of the imp tongue.

“Leader of this village! Show yourself! Open this gate!” she demanded, her voice carrying a commanding weight.

Without missing a beat, she transitioned from Orcish to Alraune, then to Vampiric, and finally to Goblin. One after another, she cycled through languages with impressive fluency.

“She’s shouting in Goblin now?” Ugo muttered beside Belamus, raising an eyebrow.

“She’s got a weird tail,” Delarosa added casually from his other side, squinting at the imps below.

Belamus blinked at her. “Why are you here?”

“She dragged me outta bed,” Medello groaned, rubbing her eyes.

“I didn’t wanna miss anything interesting,” Delarosa said with a grin.

“Same,” added Navasha, already leaning over the ledge for a better view.

Belamus sighed, his exhaustion apparent. This is going to be one of those mornings, he thought to himself, resigned to the chaos.

“I’ll go speak with them myself,” Belamus said, his voice steady.

With that, Belamus stepped down from the gate and walked out into the open field beyond the wall. As he approached, the blue-haired imp spotted him and tilted her head in mild surprise.

“Oh? A human? What’s a human doing all the way out here?” she asked, a friendly, almost disarming tone in her voice. “I like humans, you know. I had a lovely experience once—this adorable little girl was so kind to me—”

“I’m the one asking questions,” Belamus cut in, raising his voice just enough to interrupt her babbling. “What business do you have with this village?”

“Oh! My apologies. I do tend to go on. I’m Lilli, an imp—as you can see. And look at you, speaking Impish! How clever of you,” she said, her charming demeanor undiminished by his interruption.

“You’re not exactly one to talk,” Belamus replied. “You’ve been shouting in half the tongues of the forest.”

“I am quite smart, you see. How smart, you ask? Well, let me tell you—” Lilli declared with a proud grin, puffing out her chest. And just like that, she was off again, launching into a rapid-fire stream of self-congratulatory anecdotes, each more irrelevant than the last. She clearly loved to hear herself speak—especially if the topic was herself.

Belamus exhaled slowly through his nose. This one’s going to be trouble.

“That’s enough,” he said firmly, cutting off her monologue.

“Oh goodness, you’re right. I really do ramble, don’t I?” Lilli sighed, tapping her lips in mock chastisement. “Just the other day, my little brother Liji scolded me for it. We were in the middle of—”

“… Enough,” Belamus cut in flatly.

“Right, right,” Lilli said, waving a hand dramatically. “Anyway, this place is quite lovely. Those sturdy walls, the quaint buildings—it’s practically a human town. So… we’ve decided to take it. Hope you don’t mind.”

Belamus narrowed his eyes. “Take it? You mean invade?”

“Oh, you can call it that if you like,” she said with a sweet, unapologetic smile.

“Then, the answer is no. Absolutely not. This village is home to hundreds of alraune, a hundred goblins, and sixty orcs. You won’t win.” Belamus’s voice rang out clear and resolute, leaving no room for negotiation.

Lilli giggled. “You really are underestimating us,” she said. “Let me explain something, darling. Great Frazes Forest is divided into four territories—north, south, east, and west. The strongest monsters live in the north, while the weakest scurry around here in the west. We came from the north, you see, which means the weaklings of the west stand no chance against us.”

Belamus’s expression remained unreadable. He’d heard that before—how the north bred stronger monsters, while the west was considered the backwater of the forest. Still… this wasn’t his first life, and he knew better than anyone: strength alone doesn’t decide who wins.

Time had passed, but some things never changed. That much, Belamus thought, is obvious.

Evolved imps were no joke; he’d fought enough of them to know.

“You’re not hiding a single evolved one among you,” he said, eyeing the ragtag group before him. “Sure, imps are tough. But if they haven’t evolved, they’re hardly a threat. Let me guess—your group used to belong to a pack of stronger, evolved imps. But something went wrong. You were cast out. Alone, you couldn’t survive in the forests of the north, so you fled. Ran west, hoping to find easier prey. Am I wrong?”

Lilli’s silence was all the confirmation he needed. Her lips twisted in frustration, eyes flicking downward for the briefest second. She couldn’t deny it.

“So what?” she spat. “It doesn’t change the fact that you’re weak. And we’re taking this place—now.”

She was already stepping forward, magic crackling faintly at her fingertips. It wouldn’t take much to start the fight.

Belamus could have handled all of them alone if he really wanted to. However, a full-scale confrontation would be tedious, unnecessarily destructive, and frankly, a bit pointless. A cleaner solution came to mind.

He’d been watching Lilli carefully—this self-proclaimed leader of the imps. She was smart enough to talk, yes, but far too proud for her own good.

She’d bite if you dangled the right bait, he thought, and decided to do just that.

“How about a duel?” he offered, voice calm, almost casual. “You’re their leader, aren’t you? And I’m the chief of this village. If you win, we’ll honor your claim—you can have it. But if I win, you and your imps leave. Immediately. No second chances.”

Lilli narrowed her eyes. “A duel? What’s the catch? Sounds like a trap. You think I’m that stupid?”

“Scared you’ll lose?” Belamus tilted his head slightly, the faintest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

That did it. The way her expression tightened—it was almost too easy.

“Fine,” she hissed. “I’ll flatten you. I won’t kill you—humans are fragile things—but I will make sure you never forget who you tried to defy.”

Her arrogance was so comically easy to provoke that Belamus nearly sighed. Impressive vocabulary, but not much going on upstairs, is there?

“What’s your name?” she demanded, squaring up.

“Belamus,” he said evenly, meeting her gaze without a hint of fear.

“Belamus,” she repeated, like she was etching it into memory. “All right then. Let’s do this. And you lot—don’t interfere. Got it?” Lilli tossed the order to her underlings before beginning to chant, weaving her first spell into being.

Why is she chanting for so long? Belamus tilted his head, frowning slightly as he observed her.

Casting magic didn’t require a lengthy incantation. As long as the caster could clearly picture the spell and say its name, that alone was enough to activate it. In fact, reciting drawn-out chants was mostly a crutch—an old-fashioned way to bypass the mental effort of forming a magical image.

There were rare exceptions, of course. A spell too complex or unfamiliar to visualize might warrant a verbal invocation. But in almost all cases, mages relied on image-based casting. It was faster. Cleaner. Smarter.

Right now, Lilli was clearly trying to cast Light Arrow—a basic light-element spell so low tier that Belamus himself used it regularly. There was no reason to chant for that. None.

So, they don’t know how to cast without chanting, Belamus realized.

That explained a lot. Belamus figured this little band of imps had never learned non-verbal casting. Maybe that was why they’d been driven out of the northern forests—they simply couldn’t keep up with evolved spellcasters.

He could end this easily. Too easily.

Something about killing her would have left a bitter aftertaste in Belamus’s mouth. Not fear. Not mercy. Just… a faint sense of pity. She wasn’t worth the trouble. Besides, at his level, defeating someone like her didn’t even require lethal force.

Belamus raised a hand, whispering no words. He didn’t need to. A tremor passed through the ground beneath him. In the next instant, thick iron chains erupted from the earth and wrapped around Lilli’s body, from her shoulders to her ankles, in a crushing bind. One coil even snapped up over her mouth, silencing the incantation mid-chant.

“Mmmph—?!” Lilli gasped, completely caught off guard. She had no time to react. One moment, she was swirling with magical energy in her hands, and the next, she was completely immobilized, trussed up like a bundle of firewood.

“You’ve lost,” Belamus said coolly, stepping forward.

The chains didn’t touch her ears—he’d been careful of that—so she could hear him just fine. Instead of conceding, she thrashed violently against her bindings, glaring at him with wide, furious eyes.

“Mmm! Mmmhhh!!” she tried to roar, her voice muffled.

She wasn’t giving up. Not yet. But the Bind spell held firm. No matter how she struggled, there wasn’t even the faintest sign she could break free.

Belamus didn’t even need to turn around to know what was happening behind him. The moment their leader was captured, the lesser imps had forgotten all about the duel. They started inching forward, hands crackling with magic, clearly preparing to interfere.

“Take one more step,” Belamus barked, his voice sharp enough to cut stone, “and I’ll strangle her where she stands!”

The threat landed like thunder. The imps froze mid-motion, eyes darting between Belamus and their bound leader. None dared to cast a spell, not with her life on the line. They fell back, their teeth grinding in frustration, glaring daggers his way—but no one moved to help her.

Belamus turned his attention back to Lilli, his tone softening just slightly.

“Enough. Admit defeat. If you’re surrendering, stop struggling and hold perfectly still for ten seconds. That’s all it takes.”

“Mmm—! Mmmhhh!!!”

She showed no compliance. If anything, she fought harder—legs kicking, shoulders twisting, eyes blazing with pure fury. She had no intention of giving in.

Belamus simply watched, quiet and still.

She looked absurd like that, writhing and helpless. And yet, something about the scene gave Belamus pause. The way she strained against the chains, desperately trying to reclaim her dignity… It felt less like he was subduing an enemy and more like he was bullying a child. And with her petite frame and flushed cheeks, she resembled a girl throwing a tantrum more than a demonic threat.

Get it together. This is the cleanest way to end this without bloodshed, he told himself and held firm. The chains remained.

Minutes passed. Slowly, the fire left Lilli’s limbs. Her breathing grew ragged. At last, she stopped moving altogether—limp, trembling, utterly spent.

“Good. That’s ten seconds,” Belamus said calmly. “You’ve surrendered.”

With a motion of his hand, the chains clattered to the ground and vanished. The sound was a final punctuation mark to the duel. Lilli’s knees gave out, and she crumpled to the ground, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. She stayed there, hunched and heaving, her chest burning for air. Slowly, she lifted her head, and Belamus met a glare that was no longer arrogant but hot with tears and raw humiliation.

Belamus didn’t flinch. “A deal’s a deal. Go home. Now.”

“Grrnnnhhh…” A low, guttural growl escaped her. It was a sound of pure frustration, and her entire body trembled with it. The facade of the powerful leader had completely shattered, leaving only the image of a child caught in a tantrum. “You’ll regret this!”

It was the kind of line a petty villain might spit before fleeing the scene—and flee she did, storming off with a swish of her cloak. Her subordinates scrambled to follow, their heads whipping back to cast wary glances at Belamus as they vanished into the dense tree line.

Belamus watched them go, arms crossed. “What a noisy bunch.”

A soft sigh escaped his lips. He turned away from the forest and walked back toward the village gate. But the uneasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach like a stone.

“She’ll be back,” he muttered, a sense of grim certainty taking hold. “Should’ve roughed her up a little more, maybe.”

He hated repeat confrontations. They were tedious.

Next time, he decided, I’ll make sure the lesson sticks.

※※※

That night, deep within the forest, a furious voice shattered the silence.

“Uuugh, who is that human?! So infuriating! Infuriating!!! To beat me that easily… What was that spell?! He didn’t even chant! That shouldn’t be allowed—it’s cheating, plain and simple!”

Lilli stomped in circles, her pacing frantic, her voice rising to a furious whine that echoed faintly through the darkness. She glared daggers at the distant walls of Beresdral, which she could barely make out through the dense trees. She was like a child throwing a tantrum.

A few paces away, her younger brother, Liji, watched, wringing his hands nervously.

“C-Come on, sis. Let’s just go already,” he urged, his voice trembling. “That guy… he was crazy strong. Not even you could land a hit. I don’t wanna stay in this forest forever…”

Unfortunately, Lilli wasn’t listening. Not really. The sting of defeat still burned too hot in her chest, and the humiliation—being chained, silenced, dismissed—refused to leave her mind.

The other imps loitered nearby in uneasy silence, stealing glances at one another. They were lost and directionless. They needed a new plan—a new home—but with their leader stuck wallowing in wounded pride, they had no path forward.

They hadn’t come west by choice. They’d been driven here—forced out of the north by monsters too powerful to resist. Now, if they wanted to survive, there was only one option left: take.

That was the law of the Great Frazes Forest: the strong seized; the weak lost. There was no middle ground. They had been the weak, and their home had been seized. To survive, they would now have to become the takers, stealing a den from creatures even weaker than themselves. Luckily, imps were far from the bottom of the forest food chain.

Beresdral had been an anomaly—an erratic, fortified village with an absurdly powerful human at its core. But elsewhere in this western backwater of the forest, where the weakest monsters clustered, there had to be a soft target ripe for the taking.

They had to move —and do it fast. But with Lilli like this, moping and muttering in circles, they couldn’t even begin to plan.

Then, suddenly, her muttering stopped.

“… All right,” Lilli said and stood up. Her body moved with a new, sudden purpose, and the imps tensed, watching her warily.

Beneath the cool gaze of the moon and the hush of the trees, her humiliated pride festered like an open wound. She couldn’t let it go—that she, an imp from the North, had been shackled, dismissed, and humiliated by a single human. Pacing near the tree line where the distant walls of Beresdral shimmered faintly in the dark, she grumbled to herself in a rising spiral of fury and frustration. The others had hoped she’d calm down, but those hopes were crushed the moment she spoke again—her voice was sharp, her eyes burning with a reckless resolve.

She wasn’t finished. Not by a long shot.

“I’ll use it,” she declared, almost to herself, a terrifying whisper in the night.

Liji flinched. “Use what?”

“The Sealed Grimoire,” she said, voice low and resolute, as if the words themselves carried weight.

The words hit like thunder. Liji’s cry of alarm rang through the trees as sheer panic washed over his face. That scroll was forbidden for a reason. Even their mother had warned them of its power—an ancient artifact said to contain a monstrous being too dangerous to unleash. It had been locked away, buried beneath rules, warnings, and fear. And now Lilli, freshly beaten and still bruised in spirit, intended to break its seal.

She brushed aside his protests with maddening calm. Yes, their elders had warned them of the destruction such a beast could bring—but hadn’t they also said that true power could tame it? And didn’t she have that power?

Liji tried to argue, but Lilli’s ego flared too hot to be cooled. She refused to listen. With a proud toss of her head, she pulled the scroll from her cloak, its weathered bindings glowing faintly with the magic sealed inside. She raised it like a banner before the others and began to chant.

The language was old, dense with power. Each word echoed in the still night air, resonating with the pulse of ancient magic. The other imps watched in tense silence, no longer able to stop her, not daring to try. All they could do now was pray that the beast within would recognize her strength—or at least her intent—and submit.

The chanting continued through the night. Even as exhaustion set into her limbs, Lilli stood unwavering. Her voice grew hoarse, her breath ragged, but she didn’t stop. Hours passed. The others began to doze, waking now and then to the rhythmic cadence of her voice. Only Liji remained fully alert, eyes wide with dread, helpless to intervene.

At last, just before dawn, she whispered the final line.

The scroll erupted with brilliant, searing, unnatural light. It pulsed with pure, unbridled magic, and the ground beneath them began to tremble. A wave of raw power surged through the clearing, sending chills down the spines of every imp present. Lilli raised her arms, her face illuminated by the ethereal glow as defiance and triumph mingled in her expression.

“Now,” she breathed, her body trembling with both fatigue and anticipation, “come forth.”

The summoning had begun.

Every imp watched with bated breath. For a fleeting moment, they believed. Perhaps this would be Lilli’s redemption—proof of her strength, a new weapon for their survival.

Unfortunately for them, the world rarely rewarded pride.

What emerged from the light… was not something meant to be controlled.

Chapter 3

Beresdral’s imp incursion had stirred up a brief buzz of excitement in the morning that followed. For a few hours, the villagers murmured about the strange monsters that had appeared at the gates, but as nothing more came of it, the thrill quickly fizzled out. By midday, the encounter was all but forgotten.

Even Belamus, who had stood at the heart of that tense encounter, barely gave the imps another thought. As he lay down to sleep that night, their defeat was already a distant memory.

Alas, the following morning would not be so quiet.

Rising earlier than usual, Belamus stepped outside for a walk, letting the cool air and quiet hum of the forest settle around him. It wasn’t long before he made his way toward the northern gate. And then—A deafening roar shattered the stillness.

GROOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRR!!

It echoed from beyond the forest’s edge, a low, guttural sound that made the very earth tremble beneath his feet. Belamus froze. What in the world was that?

Whatever it was, he couldn’t ignore it.

He sprinted for the village wall, vaulted onto the fortification, and planted his feet on the topmost ledge. His eyes swept over the vast expanse of the forest, and there—looming above the treetops—he saw it: a massive, towering beast, jet black, its body rippling with muscle. Its mouth split into rows of jagged fangs, and a single brutal horn jutted from its forehead. There was no mistaking it.

A Behemoth.

One of the deadliest magic beasts in the known world. It possessed low intelligence but was unmatched in brute strength, a living siege engine. Even Belamus felt a prickle of alarm crawl down his spine.

Why? Why had a creature like that suddenly appeared here, of all places?

He didn’t know, and at that moment, the reason didn’t matter. If the Behemoth turned its attention to Beresdral, it would bring unimaginable devastation. Belamus wasn’t even sure if he could defeat it without incurring casualties. If it passed them by, that would be ideal. But if it didn’t…

Belamus narrowed his eyes, silently hoping—for once—that brute instinct would lead the beast elsewhere.

Then a voice rang out, high and triumphant: “Go, my Behemoth! Attack that village!”

Belamus’s head snapped toward the sound.

Someone… is commanding it?

His expression darkened when he saw Lilli. Things had just taken a dangerous turn.

Standing tall in front of the monstrous Behemoth, she didn’t flinch. There was no sign of fear, only smug determination as she barked orders at the towering beast as if it were hers to command.

From atop the village wall, Belamus narrowed his eyes.

So, it was her. She’s the one who summoned it.

There was no mistaking it now. Lilli was trying to set the creature on Beresdral. Her voice rang out, proud and imperious, commanding the Behemoth to destroy the village.

Much to Belamus’s dismay, the massive beast actually began to move—slowly, deliberately—toward the village.

So much for hoping it would leave peacefully.

Just as Lilli opened her mouth to praise it—“Yes, that’s it, good beast, now go and…”—the Behemoth turned its head… and lunged straight at her.

“Aaahhh!”

She barely managed to dodge, tumbling to the ground in a heap. Dirt scattered as she scrambled back in terror, her confidence evaporating.

“W-What are you doing?! I’m your master! Obey me!” Lilli shrieked as she scrambled backward, her voice cracking with panic.

The Behemoth answered with a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the earth itself. Then it lunged again at Lilli. She rolled away just in time, but the truth was written across her face now: pure panic. The beast didn’t recognize her as anything. It certainly didn’t see her as its master.

The other imps, who had until now clung to a shaky faith in their leader’s power, went deathly pale simultaneously. Even the slowest among them could understand what was about to happen. If they stayed here, they were going to die.

“Uhhh… that one’s in trouble, huh?” Delarosa’s voice came from beside Belamus. The curious girl had somehow climbed up onto the wall to watch the chaos with wide, fascinated eyes.

Belamus glanced her way, brow furrowing. “It’s dangerous. Get back.”

“No waaay! If that thing comes here, I’m fighting!” she chirped, her fists clenched with a kind of giddy, defiant energy.

“You don’t get it,” Belamus muttered. “That’s not something you fight. That’s something you survive—if you’re lucky.”

“I’m in too!” Navasha appeared next, bounding up to the wall with wild energy in her step. “It’s time to put my Soldier Goblin power to the test!”

“Me too! I’ll fight!” And now Ugo had arrived, fists raised, eyes gleaming with excitement.

Belamus let out a quiet sigh. So much for handling this alone.

Word of the approaching catastrophe spread quickly. Soon, Balbora, Ellency, Medina, and even the normally timid Medello had gathered near the northern wall. The sight of a Behemoth bearing down on the village left little room for hesitation.

Belamus had hoped to avoid involving the others. He didn’t want to risk the villagers’ lives if he could help it. But the truth was, he couldn’t say with confidence whether he could drive the beast back alone. Not without consequences. For now, he would have to accept their help.

“Looks like the Behemoth’s still fixated on the imps,” Belamus murmured, eyes trained on the chaos beyond the wall. “If it finishes them off and wanders off after that, we might not even have to fight.”

“I-I hope it works out that way,” Medello said softly, clearly praying for a miracle.

“Boooring. I want to fight,” Delarosa declared, practically bouncing with excitement.

“Same here!” Navasha added, her grin widening.

Even with the monster looming before them, neither showed the slightest sign of fear. Medello, in stark contrast, looked like she wanted to disappear into the stone.

Belamus shook his head. “You shouldn’t want to fight something like this. Trust me—if we can avoid it, we should. For now, stay calm and wait. We’ll see how this plays out.”

From the top of the wall, they watched. Down below, the imps were in full retreat.

“R-Run for it!!”

They had clearly given up any hope of controlling the beast. What had begun as arrogance was now sheer panic. The shift was so dramatic that it was almost hard to believe they were the same creatures who’d swaggered up to the gates just the day before.

Frustratingly, their flight presented a new problem: the imps were no longer running into the forest; now they were running straight toward the north gate, screaming for help.

“H-Help us!!”

Lilli’s desperate cry pierced the air. Gone was the pride, the bravado. She sprinted for the gates with wild, terrified eyes, her voice cracking with raw fear. The Behemoth followed right behind them. It barreled after them like a living avalanche, and now it was headed straight for Beresdral.

“… So much for waiting,” Belamus muttered. “Looks like we don’t have a choice.”

“All right!” Delarosa shouted, already pumped.

“Let’s gooo!” Navasha cheered, raising her fists.

“N-Nooo…” Medello whimpered, already regretting her life choices.

It was too close now; there was no more room for strategy or hope. Belamus leaped from the top of the wall, his cloak snapping behind him as he dropped to the ground. The battle had started; it was time to drive the monster back.

While Belamus remained on the front lines, the others poured out from Beresdral’s gates to join him. Without hesitation, they unleashed the first volley—a barrage of Light Arrows aimed directly at the Behemoth’s head. One struck its forehead with a flash, and the creature recoiled, growling in pain as it stumbled back a few steps. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

Belamus, quickly analyzing the situation, realized they needed every fighter they could get. Even the panicked imps. He turned to them, his voice laced with scorn and a calculated challenge.

“You there! After all your bragging, you’re running away with your tails between your legs? Have you no pride?! If there’s anything left of it—fight!”

That struck a nerve. No one reacted faster than Lilli. Still breathless from fleeing, she spun around with a defiant glare and shouted, “I-I wasn’t running! Don’t be ridiculous!”

It was a bold claim, considering that she’d been bolting for the gate moments earlier. But her body followed her words—she turned fully to face the Behemoth, magic rising in her palms. Her subordinates, seeing their leader stand tall again, found the courage to do the same. One by one, the imps joined the fight.

Belamus conjured his next spell—something far more powerful than Light Arrow. A blade of radiant energy formed above his hand, then shot forward with force: Shining Sword, a high-grade light-element spell. The glowing slash tore through the air and struck the Behemoth dead on.

It staggered, but only slightly. Even under a direct hit, the monster showed no signs of faltering. It was still holding back, still brimming with raw, destructive power. Then, it retaliated.

With a roar, the Behemoth raised one clawed limb to strike Belamus down—but just before the blow landed, a volley of magical energy crashed into its flank. Ellency had arrived, leading a squad of alraune spellcasters, and together they unleashed a synchronized barrage of elemental attacks. The others followed suit.

Delarosa, Medello, and the imps joined the fray with their own spells, hurling bolts of fire, light, and earth at the colossal beast. Even the long-range goblins—like Demu and his squad—took aim from behind, loosing arrows that thudded into its hide from a safe distance.

Still, the Behemoth stood. Battered, yes, but nowhere near broken.

Its eyes gleamed with fury as it twisted its massive body and swung its tail in a wide, punishing arc—an attempt to flatten everyone within reach.

“Raaaghhh!!!”

Balbora stepped forward. Now in his Scale Orc form, his body covered in heavy reptilian armor, Balbora braced himself against the incoming blow. The tail slammed into him with bone-rattling force, striking his plated chest and throwing sparks on impact.

“Guhhh!!!” he grunted, stumbling from the sheer power.

The scales held—but just barely.

Even enhanced, even shielded, the Behemoth’s might was crushing. And it was far from finished. Despite the flurry of attacks, the Behemoth still hadn’t taken a truly fatal blow. Its body bore deep cuts and scorched flesh, but none of the damage was enough to bring it down. It was staggering, yes—but it was far from finished.

Navasha, Ugo, and the rest of the melee-trained Soldier Goblins surged forward with a roar, joined by Balbora’s fellow orcs. Their blades flashed in rapid succession, hacking into the beast’s legs and flanks, carving open weak spots with relentless coordination. The Behemoth howled and bucked, weakening under the sheer volume of sustained assault.

Then, Belamus stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. He raised one hand, gathering a massive surge of radiant energy. The air pulsed with pressure as his voice rang out—sharp, commanding, final.

“Saint Breaker!”

A spear of pure light, blazing with divine power, erupted from his palm and streaked through the battlefield. It struck the Behemoth square between the eyes. In the next instant, its head exploded in a brilliant flash of white-gold energy. The monster collapsed without a sound.

It was dead.

“We did it! We won!!!” Delarosa cried, throwing both arms in the air with uncontainable joy.

The cheer spread like wildfire. One by one, the villagers who had risked everything in the fight began to celebrate, laughter and relief rising into the sky.

Belamus didn’t join in.

His eyes, now cold and sharp, were fixed on the group of imps standing off to the side. Their magic had helped in the final assault—but it didn’t change where this had all begun.

His voice cut through the noise, silencing the cheers. “That Behemoth… you summoned it, didn’t you?”

“Ugh…” Liji winced. His expression screamed guilt. He knew there was no defense, no excuse that would make this disappear. But Lilli… didn’t look ashamed. She was staring at Belamus with wide, gleaming eyes, her mouth slightly open as if she were stunned—not by fear, but by awe.

Then, without warning, she dropped to her knees, raised both arms dramatically, and shouted: “Please! Let me be your servant!”

“What… are you saying?” Belamus blinked, caught completely off guard. The chaos had just ended, the dust still settling, and now this?

Lilli, who had only moments ago been screaming for her life, was suddenly kneeling in front of him, eyes gleaming with sincerity and awe. “That battle just now—the way you handled the Behemoth, your masterful spellcasting, and that final divine attack… I was truly, deeply impressed!” she said, her voice rising with dramatic fervor. “You are clearly on a completely different level from someone like me! A magnificent sorcerer! Please—allow me to become your servant! I wish to remain by your side!”

It was a complete turnaround. In the blink of an eye, she had transformed from a haughty tyrant to a groveling worshipper. Belamus stared at her, utterly baffled by the sudden change. It seemed Lilli, for all her outward pride, possessed a very peculiar personality—fiercely arrogant toward those she considered beneath her, yet absurdly submissive to anyone she perceived as stronger.

“… I’m not really looking for a servant,” he said cautiously.

“Oh, your shoes! Shall I lick them?!” Lilli exclaimed, already leaning forward with an alarming, almost disturbing eagerness.

“What? No! Stop pouncing at my boots! I never said anything about licking them!” Belamus recoiled instinctively, stepping back in genuine alarm. Lilli had already launched herself forward, eyes blazing with disturbing determination. Belamus instinctively took another swift step backward, trying to maintain distance.

She was already strange before, he thought, a flicker of exasperation crossing his mind, but now she’s reached a whole new, unprecedented level.

Lilli looked up at him, her face beaming with an unsettling intensity. “So? What’s your answer? Will you graciously take me in? I should warn you—if you dare to refuse, I might get a little forceful.”

“That’s… not how servants work,” Belamus muttered.

“So?” she pressed again, eyes unblinking.

Belamus hesitated, a complex calculation unfolding in his mind. Taking Lilli in would undeniably mean assuming responsibility for the rest of the imps as well. He harbored no personal objection to potentially gaining new allies, but the villagers’ collective opinion certainly mattered too. The imps had technically caused no direct harm, but that fact alone offered no guarantee of their forgiveness or trust.

Then, from directly behind him, his gaze fell upon them—his fellow villagers—all nodding in silent, firm, and unwavering support.

With the consensus of his people, Belamus gave his answer.

“All right,” he declared, his voice firm. “But not as a servant. If you and your imps are going to stay here, you’re becoming residents of Beresdral.”

Lilli’s eyes lit up with pure, unadulterated delight. She threw her fists into the air in celebration.

“Understood! I’ll become a resident of Beresdral—as your loyal servant!” she proclaimed with fervor.

“… You missed the point,” Belamus sighed, weariness evident in his tone. He was, however, too exhausted to argue. He had just fired off Saint Breaker, after all, a spell that had drained a significant amount of his mana. He simply let Lilli’s peculiar interpretation slide. And just like that, the imps officially became residents of Beresdral.

That night, the entire village gathered to feast on the spoils of their hard-fought victory. The Behemoth’s meat was surprisingly tender and richly flavored, roasted to perfection over the open flames. Spirits were high, and laughter echoed under the stars. For the first time, even the goblins and orcs sat side by side with the imps in perfect peace.

As for the Behemoth’s other parts—its jagged fangs, thick hide, and raw magical materials—they were carefully packed away into the village’s storage. Belamus knew that those materials would fetch a hefty price if sold to human merchants.

In the end, while Lilli had undoubtedly released the destructive beast out of sheer arrogance or spite, her recklessness had—strangely enough—benefited the village. Whether she’d meant to or not, her actions had brought both danger and a significant reward.

All things considered, Beresdral came out ahead.

※※※

“Lord Belamus! Please, allow me to tend to your every need today!” Lilli announced brightly, suddenly appearing at Belamus’s side with a conspicuous sparkle in her eyes and an unsettling amount of energy for the early hour.

It had been several days since the imps had been officially welcomed into the village, and Belamus was beginning to harbor a few quiet regrets. He had successfully built proper, functional housing explicitly tailored for their size and habits. He had even made Lilli’s a little larger than the others, just to preempt any future complaints.

Not that any of that effort ultimately mattered. Because, despite all his efforts, Lilli had somehow ended up living in his home. She had essentially invited herself in and made herself comfortable, insisting that she manage his daily domestic affairs. Cooking, cleaning, organizing—anything remotely domestic, she threw herself at it with a strange, boundless fervor. To Belamus’s surprise (and great frustration), she had even managed to charm Arèsa, the goblin who ran most of the household tasks, into liking her.

To any outsider, everything probably looked fine. But for Belamus, it had become a daily exercise in endurance. The issue wasn’t her menial chores or her mere presence. It was the constant, excessive, and frankly embarrassing praise.

The moment he woke up in the morning, she would be at his bedside, practically glowing with uncontained admiration. “You woke up all by yourself today! How simply amazing! As expected of the magnificent Lord Belamus!” she’d declare. When he finished his meal—nothing out of the ordinary, just a basic breakfast—she would applaud. “You ate everything! No picky eating at all! How incredibly admirable!”

That was merely the beginning of his ordeal. She praised him for walking upright, for remembering things, for breathing. It was always delivered with the same wide-eyed enthusiasm, and always at full, booming volume.

Delarosa, normally quite difficult to irritate, had already voiced a complaint once. “That one—too loud,” she had grumbled, glaring at Lilli from across the room.

Belamus had seriously considered tossing Lilli out more than once. However, there was also the undeniable fact that Arèsa was accomplishing more work with Lilli’s zealous assistance. The entire house was cleaner and more organized. Meals were prepared faster, and laundry even seemed to sort itself. So, in the end, he sighed and resolved to simply endure it. It was just another trial of his patience.

One morning, as he prepared to leave the house for his rounds, Lilli suddenly popped up beside him like a loyal shadow.

“And where are we going today, Lord Belamus?” she chirped, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

He adjusted his cloak but did not alter his pace. “I’m inspecting the training grounds to see how the goblins and orcs are progressing.”

“Oooh! Vital work! May I accompany you? I’ll carry your bag! Or perhaps I could fan you while you walk?” Lilli said with a gasp, practically bouncing beside him.

“You’re not fanning me while I walk,” Belamus replied flatly, without even bothering to glance in her direction.

“Awww,” she pouted. “Well… can I at least take notes?”

Belamus offered no response. He simply continued walking, mentally preparing for a day filled with weapon drills, commands, and a pervasive, distracting noise.

At first, Lilli had attempted to follow him everywhere—even outside the house. However, it quickly became apparent that having her glued to his side every single waking moment was proving more of a hindrance than a help. After a series of increasingly strained conversations, he had issued a direct order: when he left the house, she was to remain behind and assist Arèsa with household tasks, no exceptions.

Naturally, she had initially resisted his command. But after a prolonged, surprisingly civil bout of persuasion, she had finally relented and agreed to be put on household duties during his outings.

With peace now secured, Belamus left his home—but not before clearly stating his destination to Lilli. He wasn’t alone, however. Delarosa, as was her custom, was tagging along. She had no particular interest in monitoring the training progress, but simply enjoyed the company and the opportunity to join in the fun. Besides, the training grounds were where Medello and Navasha spent most of their time, and that was more than enough reason for her to show up. For Delarosa, “train” was simply another word for “play.”

Upon their arrival at the training grounds, they found the goblins deep in practice, their forms and abilities more refined than when they had first begun. Belamus watched with a quiet, satisfied look. The next evolution wasn’t their final destination; there were still higher stages yet to reach, and he wanted them to grow as strong as they possibly could.

Just as he turned to head toward the orc training grounds, a voice echoed behind him, sharp and commanding.

“Saint Breaker!”

Belamus spun around just in time to see a streak of blinding light shoot skyward from the clearing, brilliantly illuminating the clouds above in a sudden flash of power.

“Wooow!”

“That’s amazing, Delarosa!” Navasha and Medello clapped excitedly from the sidelines.

Belamus stared, his expression unreadable. There was no mistaking that spell. It was Saint Breaker, the ultimate light-element attack spell. It was his spell, and Delarosa had just cast it.

Granted, her version was rough and incomplete, its output far weaker than the spell Belamus had cast against the Behemoth—but the foundational structure was undeniably present. It had worked.

Belamus’s eyes widened slightly.

She had pulled it off.

“Delarosa,” Belamus said, audibly still trying to process the impossible feat he had just witnessed. “When did you learn to use that?”

Delarosa tilted her head, as if the question genuinely puzzled her. “Huh? I saw it twice. That’s enough to use it, right?”

Belamus blinked.

That’s enough…

Saint Breaker was not some simple, novice-level spell. It was the pinnacle of light-element attack magic—an exceptionally complex, wildly demanding, and nearly impossible spell to replicate without direct instruction and months of dedicated training. Even an incomplete cast required a tremendous amount of precise control and immense power.

Somehow… she had done it. Not with perfect form, and certainly not with stable control—but she had undeniably and unmistakably activated it. And Belamus hadn’t taught her how.

Unbelievable as her explanation was, Belamus had no choice but to accept it as the truth. She wasn’t lying.

“Aaah… but now I’m tired,” Delarosa groaned, plopping down onto the ground where she stood. She slouched into a squat, her arms hanging limply at her sides, visibly drained of all energy. It figured; she barely possessed enough magical capacity to launch the spell even once. It was clearly a move that pushed her to the very edge of her limits.

Still… her innate talent was undeniable. Belamus narrowed his eyes in thought. This girl… her potential is genuinely frightening. At this rate, she might be ready to evolve beyond a Magic Goblin.

There were two possible evolutionary paths for Magic Goblins: Witch Goblin and Druid Goblin. The direction of evolution depended on magical inclination. Those who favored offensive spells typically progressed into Witch Goblins, while those who specialized in healing or support magic were destined to become Druid Goblins. In Delarosa’s particular case, there was no question. She exclusively cast offensive magic. She was, without a doubt, a Witch Goblin in the making.

Belamus turned to her. “Delarosa, do you want to evolve?”

Her ears perked up, and her eyes widened in surprise. “Huh? Can I still evolve?”

“You can,” Belamus affirmed, nodding his head. “If you want to, I’ll find the right materials for it.”

Evolving into a Magic Goblin had only required the material from one creature, an Arrow Spider. But ascending to a Witch Goblin was a far more complex and demanding process. Belamus would need to track down the appropriate monster to acquire the components.

Delarosa’s face lit up instantly. “I do! Please—” she began, her voice bubbling with excitement before she suddenly cut herself off. A rare flicker of uncertainty flashed across her features, and she hesitated, her hands settling on her hips with dramatic resolve. “I changed my mind! I’m going to hunt the evolution monster myself!” Delarosa declared.

“What?” Belamus arched an eyebrow, completely taken aback by her unexpected outburst.

“That’s right!” she said, puffing out her chest. “I have to be the one to get it! If I don’t take down the thing I’m supposed to eat to evolve, then how can I even know I deserve to evolve? Doesn’t being strong enough to defeat it mean I’m ready in the first place?”

Belamus hesitated. For Delarosa, the logic was surprisingly sound.

The usual protocol was to retrieve the evolution material himself—after all, it was a dangerous undertaking. None of the creatures involved was to be underestimated. Delarosa was not wrong in her assessment. Evolution should genuinely reflect an individual’s readiness, and earning it through a hard-won battle gave the achievement a weight that simple gifting never could.

“… Fine,” he conceded at last, the word a simple exhalation of defeat. “You may fight the creature. But I will remain close by. If things turn dangerous, I will step in and end it.”

“Got it!” Delarosa cheered, her excitement uncontained. “I’ll do my very best!”

Then, with a slight tilt of her head, she added, “Sooo… what am I hunting again? And where is it?”

Belamus tilted his head thoughtfully. “We aren’t sure of the precise location, but creatures similar to the Arrow Spider are known to inhabit deep caves. You’ll be looking for a monster known as a Hellhound.”

“A Hellhound?” she repeated.

“A black, wolf-like beast,” he explained.

“A wolf?” Her ears twitched. “What’s that?”

He blinked. “Right, you wouldn’t know… A wolf is sort of like a large, wild dog.”

“A dog?” Delarosa echoed, tilting her head in confusion.

Belamus let out a soft sigh. “You don’t even know what a dog is, do you?”

Of course, he realized. There were no dogs, cats, or any kind of domesticated animals in Beresdral. The Great Frazes Forest simply wasn’t the kind of place a house pet could ever survive. It made perfect sense that no one had ever introduced them here.

Still, he couldn’t help but offer a small, wistful smile. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea, he thought, to bring in a little of that culture, someday. But for now, they had a Hellhound to locate.

Keeping animals as pets might be a distant goal for Beresdral, but Belamus decided that introducing riding animals—such as horses—was something worth pursuing sooner rather than later. They’d offer mobility, logistical support, and genuine tactical advantages. He quietly added it to his mental list of future projects.

“For now, we’ve got to find a Hellhound, right?” Delarosa said, her fists clenched in anticipation.

“That’s right,” Belamus nodded.

“Then, let’s go now!” Delarosa shouted, already bouncing on her heels with barely contained excitement.

“Not just yet,” he replied, calmly reining her in. “First, we ask around. Someone in the village might know where a Hellhound has been spotted. If no one does… then we’ll search the forest ourselves.”

“Got it! Then, let’s go ask!” Delarosa said with a grin, already turning on her heel to march toward the village.

The two of them began making the rounds, speaking with every villager who might have a clue. Their first stop was Medina, the most well-informed among them.

“I’m sorry,” she said with a gentle shake of her head. “I’m afraid I’ve never encountered one.”

“I see,” Belamus said quietly, giving Medina a slight nod before turning away.

They went next to Ellency, then Balbora, and even to the former village chief. Each of them recognized the name "Hellhound," but none could point to a specific location. The creature was known, but sightings were rare and unconfirmed.

“We’ve spoken to everyone who seemed promising,” Belamus muttered. “No leads. Looks like we’ll have to track it down ourselves.”

“Hmmm… Oh! Wait, we haven’t asked Lilli yet!” Delarosa exclaimed, snapping her fingers as the thought struck her.

Belamus paused. “… Lilli?”

It hadn’t even occurred to him to include her in their search, perhaps out of sheer instinct. But as the former leader of the imps, there was a decent chance she might possess some useful information.

Deciding it was worth checking, he and Delarosa returned to his house, where Lilli was still stationed.

“A Hellhound?” she repeated, her head perking up in an instant. “Yes, I know about them.”

“You do?” Belamus raised an eyebrow.

She nodded earnestly. “I stumbled across one by accident. I was looking for a quiet cave to rest in, and there it was. Honestly, for a moment, I thought I was going to die.” She gave a theatrical shiver, hugging her arms tightly as if the chill of that past fear still clung to her.

It was abundantly clear that the close encounter had truly shaken her.

“Where is it?” Belamus asked, his tone calm but direct.

“You’re… really going?” Lilli replied, her voice faltering slightly. “T-The Hellhound is a terrifying creature, you know!”

“I need to eat it to evolve,” Delarosa said with firm resolve, her fists clenched at her sides.

“Evolution, huh…” Lilli murmured, then gave a small, understanding nod. “Well… I suppose if it’s you, Lord Belamus, you’d defeat a Hellhound in an instant, wouldn’t you?”

“It’s Delarosa who’ll be fighting it,” Belamus corrected. “Now, where’s the cave?”

“I believe it’s northeast of here,” Lilli answered. “Though just giving directions might not be enough to find it. I’d better guide you there myself.”

“Understood. I’m counting on you,” Belamus said with a nod. “Approximately how long will the round trip take?”

“It’s not that far. We should be able to make it back by nightfall,” Lilli replied, tapping a finger to her chin.

“All right, let’s gooo!” Delarosa cried, already bounding toward the door.

Before setting out, Belamus informed Arèsa, Balbora, and Ellency of the mission—just in case—and then departed from Beresdral, leading the small group into the forest to hunt the beast that would mark Delarosa’s next step forward.

※※※

Northeast of Beresdral, nestled in a mining area, lay a place known for its luminescent, light-gathering stones. According to Lilli, the cavern where she had encountered the Hellhound was much deeper within the forest, far beyond these initial deposits. With Lilli leading the way, the group pressed onward.

The further they ventured from the village, the more hostile and dangerous the forest became. Several powerful monsters crossed their path, a clear sign that they were entering high-risk territory. Belamus remained on high alert, his gaze sweeping the surroundings, but for the time being, no serious incidents occurred.

They walked for quite a while, longer than Belamus expected. As the minutes stretched on, a nagging doubt crept into his mind.

Does she really remember where it is?

It wasn’t an unreasonable question. She had claimed to have found the cave by accident—how likely was it that she’d retained its exact location? Unless she had an unusually good memory, it seemed more probable that the details would have blurred over time.

Just as he was considering asking her to double-check their route, Lilli turned and declared cheerfully, “We’re here! This is where the Hellhound is.”

There it was—a cave entrance nestled among the rocks, exactly as she’d said.

So, she really did remember.

Her memory was, without a doubt, above average.

“All right! Time to take it down!!” Delarosa shouted, bouncing on her toes with energy.

“R-Right,” Lilli said, blinking. “Come to think of it… you did say it wouldn’t be Lord Belamus fighting, but Delarosa. Are you sure she’ll be okay?”

“Delarosa may not look it, but she’s incredibly strong,” Belamus replied calmly. “The Hellhound should be within her ability to defeat. And I’ll be watching closely the entire time. If anything goes wrong, I’ll intervene immediately.”

“I see… Well, I’ll step in too if things get bad!” Lilli declared bravely—but her voice quivered slightly, and she was visibly trembling.

Then, without warning, Delarosa charged straight into the cave at full speed.

“IN WE GO!!!”

Belamus blinked, then sighed—and hurried in after her.

“Idiot. Don’t run off on your own,” Belamus muttered as he brought his fist down lightly—but firmly—on Delarosa’s head.

“Ow! W-What was that for?!” she yelped, clutching her skull and scowling.

Lilli, who was still at the entrance, clung to Belamus’s arm, trembling violently. “I-I’m scared…” she stammered. Stepping into the cave had pushed her over the edge. She was shaking so hard it was a wonder she could stand. A few minutes earlier, she’d promised to help in a fight. Now she showed barely a shadow of that confidence. The cave itself was pitch black.

Belamus summoned a Light spell, illuminating the tunnel with a pale glow that spilled across jagged stone walls.

“Delarosa. Walk carefully,” he warned. “No running.”

“Got it,” she replied, her voice now lower and more serious. She heeded his command, moving with careful steps as the group ventured deeper.

Then—a sound echoed through the tunnel.

“Awoooooo!”

It was a howl—long, low, and predatory like a wolf’s cry magnified by stone.

“Eek!” Lilli flinched violently and buried her face in Belamus’s sleeve. She had heard that voice once before—when she’d nearly died here—and her body remembered the fear all too well.

“It’s coming,” Belamus said calmly.

“Right!” Delarosa replied, magic already beginning to surge within her hands.

Footsteps echoed through the cave—swift, heavy, and getting closer with every beat.

And then—out of the dark—a shape emerged.

Its form was enormous, wrapped in dense, pitch-black fur. Its eyes glowed a deep crimson, and its entire body radiated a raw, predatory aggression. This was no ordinary beast.

The Hellhound had arrived.

“Fireball!” Delarosa shouted, hurling a crackling orb of flame straight at the creature.

The Hellhound leaped to the side with terrifying ease, dodging the spell as though it had been expecting it.

Delarosa gritted her teeth. She couldn’t afford to let it get close. Unlike Belamus, she had no spell for enhancing her physical strength. In a close-quarters fight, she wouldn’t stand a chance.

So, she kept her distance—firing off spell after spell, desperate to keep the beast at bay.

The fact that the Hellhound was actively dodging her attacks was an important clue. It meant the creature saw her magic as a legitimate threat. It wasn’t charging in recklessly. It was waiting, watching. The moment it found an opening, it would strike. But if things continued like this, Delarosa would exhaust herself and run out of mana before she landed a single meaningful hit.

She needed something stronger, something that could hit a wider area and not be dodged so easily. A wider-area spell would corner the Hellhound—this cave was far too cramped for it to run. The thought of using Saint Breaker crossed her mind, and she immediately dismissed it. That was far too risky; one misfire, and she’d be completely drained.

Then, suddenly, she remembered.

Not long ago, Belamus had taught her a high-powered fire spell. It wasn’t as devastating as Saint Breaker, but it packed serious heat and had solid area coverage.

Delarosa raised her hand, her magical power flaring to life with newfound purpose.

“Dragon Flame!!!” Delarosa shouted.

A roaring torrent of fire surged forth, shaped like a dragon mid-flight. The blazing inferno swept through the tunnel, completely swallowing the Hellhound in an instant. The beast let out a strangled cry before collapsing into the flames, its body consumed by fire, then falling silent. It was dead.

“I did iiit!” Delarosa squealed, bouncing on her heels with uncontainable joy.

“Incredible,” Lilli breathed, wide-eyed. “That was a high-level spell… Delarosa, you’re really talented.”

Delarosa grinned ear to ear, chest puffed up with pride.

Belamus, meanwhile, stepped forward to examine the remains, one brow slightly raised.

It’s dead, yes, but is it edible? That was the question. If it had been burned to a crisp, they might not be able to harvest anything from it. Delarosa had a habit of… overdoing things.

Much to Belamus’s mild surprise, the Hellhound was perfectly roasted. Charred on the outside but not incinerated. With a bit of butchering, it could actually make a decent meal.

“Well then,” he said, summoning a few quick incantations and getting to work. “Fresh off the fire. Want a bite?”

“Yes, pleeease!” Delarosa cried, her eyes gleaming with anticipation.

She didn’t wait for a second invitation—she pounced on the first piece Belamus handed her and bit in with gusto.

“Hey! Not bad! It’s actually really good!” Delarosa exclaimed between bites, her cheeks stuffed and eyes sparkling with delight. Despite the large quantity of meat, she tore through it bite after bite, delighted by the unexpected flavor.

“Mmm… It smells so good… kinda makes me want a bite,” Lilli mumbled, drawn to the lingering scent of roasting meat. She shot a longing gaze at the spectacle of a gourmet feast, watching Delarosa eat from behind.

Belamus shot her a glance. “It’s for her evolution. You’re not eating any.”

“I know, I know,” Lilli replied with a dramatic sigh, backing off. “Just saying.”

She continued to stare wistfully as Delarosa devoured the roasted Hellhound with unrestrained enthusiasm. Watching Delarosa stuff her cheeks with such joy, Belamus made a mental note to repay Lilli later with something nice. After all, she had led them to the Hellhound cave.

“That was delicious!” Delarosa declared, licking her fingers. “But whew… full now.” She leaned back and patted her stomach with satisfaction. “So, how many of these do I need to eat to evolve?” she asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, still brimming with energy despite the massive meal.

“Two,” Belamus replied. “You’ve got one more to go.”

“Got it! Then, let’s bag the next one! I’ll eat it once we’re back in the village. Oh, and this time I’m starting with Dragon Flame!” Delarosa declared, fists clenched and eyes blazing with determination.

With a new sense of resolve, Delarosa marched back into the cave. The second Hellhound went down even more easily than the first, roasted cleanly with her now go-to spell. Belamus used Magic Thread to wrap up the corpse and carry it back to the village.

By the time they returned to Beresdral, night had already fallen.

“All right, let’s cook this one up!” Delarosa cried.

She was hungry again, and the meat had rested just enough to be perfect for roasting. Once again, Belamus prepared the meal, and Delarosa dug in without hesitation.

“Yup, still tasty!” she said, her voice muffled by mouthfuls. “So, I’ll evolve again now, right?”

“You should,” Belamus said with a nod. “By morning, you’ll be a Witch Goblin.”

“Then, I’m going to bed right now!” she declared, already sprinting toward her room.

The next morning came quickly, but it wasn’t as dramatic as Delarosa might have hoped.

“Huh… you don’t look all that different,” Arèsa said, tilting her head as she studied the freshly evolved Delarosa. She had a point—Delarosa didn’t look dramatically changed. Aside from her horns, which had grown slightly longer and curved more sharply, she was still her usual energetic, short-tempered self.

Power wasn’t always about appearance. And as everyone in the village was quickly learning, when it came to Delarosa, it was better not to judge by looks alone. Despite her outward appearance remaining mostly the same, Delarosa could feel it—the change, the power.

“You just don’t get it, Mom,” she huffed, planting her hands on her hips. “I feel way stronger than yesterday! Can’t you tell?”

Arèsa tilted her head, examining her daughter. “Your horns are a little longer, but that’s about it.”

“Mmm…” Delarosa puffed out her cheeks, clearly frustrated. She knew she’d grown stronger, but it wasn’t something she could prove just by standing there.

“Fine! I’ll show you!” she declared, spinning on her heel and marching toward the door.

“At least eat breakfast first—wait, she’s already gone…” Arèsa sighed.

“She never skips meals,” Belamus murmured, folding his arms. “She must really be determined to show off her new strength. Come on, let’s see what she’s up to.”

They stepped outside and followed her to the training field. On the way, Delarosa had grabbed both Medello and Navasha, dragging them along with barely a word of explanation. The two looked half asleep, blinking groggily as they shuffled behind her.

“All right! Watch this!” Delarosa beamed, bouncing on the balls of her feet. Then, with a swift flick of her arm, she launched a Fireball spell skyward.

What should’ve been a simple ball of flame erupted in a searing orb far larger than expected—twice the size of her usual ones, maybe more. It hissed through the air with a deep, roaring whoosh before dissipating harmlessly into the sky.

“Woooah!” Navasha’s eyes lit up.

“Way bigger than my Fireballs…” Medello breathed, her voice tinged with awe. “Delarosa, you really have gotten stronger.”

“Looks like it’s not just her horns that changed,” Arèsa murmured.

“Tch… Delarosa’s not leaving me behind! I’m gonna train even harder now!” Navasha pumped her fists.

Delarosa stood with her chest out and a smug grin stretching across her face. “Heh heh. Told you I was awesome.”

Belamus, arms still crossed, said nothing, but inwardly, he was stunned. That was no ordinary Fireball. The boost in power from her evolution to a Witch Goblin was far greater than he had ever thought possible.

This is beyond what I imagined. Delarosa’s talent for magic is astounding. If she keeps evolving—if she reaches the level of a High Sage Goblin—she might actually surpass my magic power one day…

Watching the young goblin beam with pride, Belamus couldn’t help but feel a flicker of awe. She was reckless, loud, and still had a lot to learn—but she was growing stronger at a terrifying pace.

She’s going to become someone truly formidable, he thought, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. A real asset to this village… and maybe even more than that.

Chapter 4

Belamus had expected solid results, but not this fast. Within mere minutes of his demonstration, the training clearing was glowing with flickering lights from conjured spells. Dozens of tiny sparks came into existence without a single chant, and the faces of the gathered imps lit up with pure delight. Their attempts were clumsy and unstable, yet real and, most importantly, replicable.

“L-Like this? Light… Just Light!” one of the younger imps cried, eyes wide as a faint orb shimmered to life in her palms.

“Whoa… it actually worked!” another gasped, nearly dropping his spell in shock.

None progressed quite as fast—or with as much enthusiasm—as Lilli.

“I did it! I really did it!” she cheered, bounding in a little circle, her fingertips still glowing with a soft luminescence. “Look, Lord Belamus! No chant, no nothing! I’m amazing, aren’t I?!”

Belamus gave a quiet nod of approval, though his gaze lingered thoughtfully on her spellwork. She had grasped the fundamentals nearly as fast as Delarosa had. The raw potential was unmistakable.

“You picked that up quickly,” he said, arms crossed. “Impressive.”

Lilli puffed out her chest like a peacock. “Well, of course I did! I am your most loyal servant, after all. I just needed a brilliant teacher to unlock my genius.”

Belamus sighed inwardly but didn’t argue.

Still watching the growing sparks of spellcraft, he nodded to himself. At this rate, we’ll have a full squad of competent casters before long. This village is… really getting stronger.

Once Lilli had broken through that first barrier, she was unstoppable.

“Got it! Once it clicks, it’s all about feeling the shape of the spell!” she cried, snapping her fingers as a gust of wind shot past her. “Now let’s try… Ice Spear! No wait—Thunder Jolt!”

One by one, spells burst to life around her—smaller and less stable than Belamus’s, of course, but undeniably effective. Lilli’s experience with chant-based casting had given her an intuitive grasp of the structure and intent behind each spell, and now she no longer needed incantations to make them appear. Watching her work, Belamus nodded slowly to himself.

She’s not just loud. Not just annoying. This girl is dangerous—in a good way. With discipline, she’ll be a real powerhouse.

Around her, the other imps were beginning to catch up. Flashes of light, bursts of flame, and tremors in the dirt demonstrated that without the constraint of chanting, even the most timid casters were gaining confidence.

Belamus folded his arms and surveyed the field of glowing spells and eager expressions. The imps might have arrived in the village as trouble, but now? They were turning into an asset.

At this pace… once they’re ready, I’ll guide their evolutions myself. The potential here is too great to ignore.

※※※

Deep within the western reaches of the Great Frazes Forest lay a massive, yawning chasm known as the Robaldol Cavern. It wasn’t just any dungeon; this was one of the most notorious in the world—an abyss that had devoured more adventurers than anyone could count. The few who made it out alive spoke of the horrors within in hushed tones; their tales turned into legends. And so, most wisely steered clear, leaving the cavern in heavy silence.

At the very heart of this dark maze, cloaked in a throne-like gloom, Amildrè reclined lazily as her subordinate, Kulaak, delivered his report.

“That is the current status of Beresdral. There have been minor incidents, but on the whole, it’s growing steadily.”

Amildrè pursed her lips, a distinct look of boredom on her face. “Mmm. Sounds a little too steady, don’t you think?”

Kulaak blinked, caught off guard. “Is something the matter with my report, my lady?”

“Oh, no, not with your report. It’s just… growth without conflict is so boring,” she said with a sigh. “Wouldn’t it be more fun if they ran into something a bit more… catastrophic?”

“There was the Behemoth attack, if you recall,” Kulaak offered, his tone calm and precise. He maintained his steady voice despite his master’s unpredictable whims.

She waved a hand, scoffing. “That barely counts. I’m talking about a real crisis. Like a full-scale legion ant assault! Now that’s exciting. A real near-death experience might push Beresdral to evolve even faster!”

Kulaak sighed heavily. “With all due respect, my lady, your idea of excitement is… uniquely hazardous. If Beresdral were to be destroyed entirely, wouldn’t that defeat the purpose?”

“True, that would be a shame,” Amildrè admitted, twirling a strand of her hair, “but I’m sure they’d figure something out. Probably.”

Kulaak muttered under his breath, barely hiding his dismay. “Utterly reckless…”

“What was that?” Amildrè narrowed her eyes, her voice dropping with suspicion.

“Nothing at all, my lady.” Kulaak straightened at once, clearing his throat with impeccable composure.

She narrowed her eyes, then grinned. “Good. So, how do we spice things up for our dear Beresdral?”

Kulaak exhaled sharply. She hasn’t thought this through at all, he realized grimly. But with Amildrè, thinking things through was rarely the point.

“I wouldn’t say I can’t think of a way to put them in a tight spot…” Kulaak murmured, choosing his words carefully.

“Oh? So, what can you think of?” she leaned in, her eyes glittering with a predatory curiosity.

“The leader of Beresdral—Belamus—is human. But not just any human. He’s the son of Count Astorius. For reasons unknown, the count cast him aside, and a tribe of goblins took him in. That incident was the foundation of what later became Beresdral,” Kulaak began.

“Right, I remember that. Still, abandoning your own child? What a bastard. Total trash,” Amildrè said, crossing her arms and scoffing.

Kulaak wanted to point out how rich it was for her, of all people, to call someone trash—but he knew better. Saying that would only earn her wrath.

“A while back, Lady Amildrè ordered me to dig deeper into Belamus’s background. I did a thorough investigation—both of him and of the current state of the count’s household,” Kulaak explained, his tone measured and professional. “Turns out, things there are… rather interesting.”

“Oh? How so?” Amildrè asked, tilting her head with interest.

“After abandoning Belamus, the count had another son. But the boy is… Well, let’s just say he’s not exactly living up to expectations. He may have been born with talent, which is probably the only reason he wasn’t thrown out too—but aside from that? His personality, his studies, his combat skills—he’s a disaster. The count’s at his wit’s end,” Kulaak explained.

“Ha! Serves him right.” Amildrè smirked without a shred of sympathy.

“Which means, if we let him know Belamus is alive and thriving, there’s a chance he might try to reclaim him. After all, leading goblins at that age—and leading them well—is proof enough of exceptional ability,” Kulaak continued, voice lowering slightly.

“Mm. Maybe. But… can he really take back a kid he tossed aside?” Amildrè murmured, tapping her chin in contemplation. “Wouldn’t that be hard to justify? He’d basically be admitting he abandoned his son.”

“There are ways around that,” Kulaak replied smoothly. “He could say Belamus was kidnapped by goblins, not abandoned. Supposedly, the count has a reputation as a man of virtue. People would believe it.”

“Huh. So that’s how it is,” Amildrè said, giving a noncommittal shrug. “But even if we sic the humans on them, would it really put Beresdral in that much danger? Humans aren’t exactly used to fighting in forests. Wouldn’t they just get lost and give up?”

“True enough… which is why I’ll make sure we have a few backup plans in place,” Kulaak conceded, fingers steepled in front of him.

“In any case, Kulaak—I’m counting on you. Do whatever it takes to push Beresdral into crisis mode, all right? I know you can pull it off. I believe in you,” Amildrè said, leaning back in her chair and flashing a too-sweet smile.

Those words sent a cold chill straight down Kulaak’s spine. To most eyes, Amildrè looked like nothing more than a child. But Kulaak knew better. He had felt her terrifying power firsthand.

Kulaak’s loyalty to Amildrè had nothing to do with admiration or gratitude. It wasn’t affection, nor debt. It was survival. He understood—on a bone-deep level—the sheer, insurmountable gap in strength between them. If he ever made the mistake of angering her, he’d be dead in seconds.

With that sobering thought in mind, Kulaak exited the chamber where Amildrè waited and moved swiftly through the corridors, his cloak whispering behind him. Already forming in his mind were pieces, contingencies, leverage points. He would put every available asset to work.

Among Amildrè’s many subordinates, Kulaak ranked near the top—second-in-command, practically—and with that authority came the power to command others as he saw fit. He intended to wield it ruthlessly.

There was one operative in particular—someone made for this kind of task. Kulaak turned down a narrow stairwell and headed straight for him.

A figure straightened at his approach.

“Lord Kulaak… is there something you need?” The voice belonged to Barth, calm and resonant, with the unmistakable discipline of a soldier awaiting orders.

Kulaak came to a stop in front of him, hands folded behind his back. “Barth,” he said, his tone low and firm, “I have a mission for you.”

Barth inclined his head slightly, his reptilian eyes focused and unblinking. “What are the mission parameters?” he asked, voice as steady as his stance.

“We’re going to put Beresdral under pressure. A calculated trial. Here’s what I want you to do…” Kulaak explained without hesitation. His voice sharpened as he laid out the operation, each step articulated with surgical precision. Barth listened without a single interruption, absorbing the plan with quiet intensity.

When Kulaak finished, Barth nodded once. “Understood.” His voice held no fear, only purpose.

Then, without another word, he closed his eyes and raised one clawed hand. A subtle glow enveloped his body—magic, ancient and fluid. Scales melted into skin, claws became fingers, and in moments, Barth no longer looked like a lizardman at all. He stood tall, broad-shouldered, and unmistakably human.

“I’ll be on my way, then,” he said, his new voice eerily smooth, like a man who had worn this disguise a thousand times before.

Without waiting for dismissal, Barth turned and strode off into the shadows—his destination clear: the lands of Count Astorius.

※※※

The territory of Count Astorius lay far from the kingdom’s bustling heart, nestled near the vast Great Frazes Forest. The region’s population was sparse, scattered across quiet towns and mining villages, but what it lacked in people, it more than made up for in wealth. A massive gold mine nestled within its borders ensured the land would never lack for riches. Gold flowed freely here—an ever-reliable source of prosperity that had, for generations, kept the domain comfortably afloat.

The Astorius family had long ruled over these lands, their stewardship continuing from one generation to the next. Among the common folk, their reputation was more than decent. The current head, Count Renest Astorius, was seen as a reasonably capable man, and most believed the house's future was secure under his leadership.

Unfortunately, those who truly knew the inner workings of the Astorius estate… knew otherwise. They understood all too well: the house was anything but stable.

In a lavish chamber adorned with gilded carvings and opulent drapery, Count Renest Astorius sat hunched in a high-backed chair, his fingers buried in his hair.

“… What am I supposed to do?” he muttered, voice raw, almost hoarse.

The golden room offered no answers—only silence.

Of all the burdens weighing on Count Renest Astorius lately, none loomed larger than the question of succession. He had four children in total: two sons and two daughters.

In House Astorius, tradition was ironclad: the eldest son must inherit the title.

That rule had existed for generations, born of blood and betrayal. Long ago, a brutal inheritance dispute between brothers had torn the family apart. The victorious elder had executed his younger sibling to secure his claim. In the aftermath, a decree had been carved into the house’s very foundation: no matter what, the firstborn son would become the next head of the house. The younger sons would serve in support, never challenge.

It was a law meant to prevent future tragedies—and it was absolute. Unchangeable.

Which meant Renest was bound by it. And his eldest son… was a disaster.

The boy was born with considerable natural talent. That alone had been enough for Renest to choose not to abandon him at birth. But every other aspect—his development, his intellect, his physical coordination—was hopeless, utterly beyond redemption.

At five years old, the boy still couldn’t speak in complete sentences. He clung to his mother like a toddler, unable to run or follow simple instructions. Even basic physical movement seemed to strain him. To Renest, it seemed all but certain that the child suffered from a congenital issue—perhaps neurological, perhaps physical, likely both.

No amount of aging could fix that.

The second son was two—still too young to judge—but already showed promising signs. He had started speaking, moved well for his age, and displayed none of the worrying symptoms his brother had. But fate had played a cruel trick: the second son had been born with a magical aptitude of the dud type, a “missed roll” in the eyes of nobility. If he had been the firstborn, Renest might have cast him aside. But he wasn’t. And because of that, he had been spared.

He had no claim to the title.

That was the heart of it. No matter how badly the firstborn failed, he was still the heir. The law said so. The law demanded it.

Renest had considered the unthinkable.

Should I just kill him? Quietly… discreetly. End the line before it weakens the house…

He couldn’t bring himself to do it. No matter how grim the logic, the thought of murdering his own child turned his stomach. Once—long ago—he had already discarded a son. He didn’t want to walk that path again.

So, he sat in that gleaming, suffocating room, head in hands, gripped by indecision.

What am I supposed to do?

He had asked the question before—but no answer ever came.

He was thirty-two years old. Still young. Not at death’s door by any means.

But life had taught him: tomorrow wasn’t promised. And if something were to happen to him before a proper heir was secured… the House of Astorius would be thrown into chaos. In this world, dying in one’s thirties from illness wasn’t rare. It was disturbingly common.

If I die before putting anything in place… House Astorius will collapse.

Renest knew that. He understood the stakes. And so he thought—obsessively, relentlessly—searching for some kind of solution. But no matter how many possibilities he ran through in his mind, everything circled back to the same grim conclusion.

There was no effective answer—none except killing his own son.

Is that what it’s come to? Am I really going to do this?

Just as the unthinkable took shape in his thoughts—

“Lord Renest. You have a visitor,” the butler announced from the doorway.

Renest turned toward the voice, brow furrowed. “Who is it?”

“He gives his name as Barth Robertson.”

“Barth… Robertson?” The name meant nothing to Renest. He prided himself on his memory. If the visitor were someone notable, or even someone he’d met once before, he would have remembered.

Which meant this Barth was a nobody. A man of no consequence. And right now, he didn’t have time for nobodies.

He opened his mouth to give the order to send the man away—when the butler hesitated, then added, “He’s saying strange things, my lord. Something about seeing a six-year-old child in the Great Frazes Forest. He insists on speaking with you about it.”

“A six-year-old child?” Renest frowned.

At first, the words barely registered. A tremor of recognition. And in the next instant, his eyes went wide.

No… it couldn’t be… Or could it?

There was a child he could think of. One who matched that description all too well.

Renest hesitated no longer.

“… Bring him in,” he said.

The butler blinked, clearly startled. He had expected to be dismissed, not sent off to receive the guest. But a command was a command.

A few minutes later, he returned—a man who moved with smooth, deliberate steps trailing behind him.

“An honor to meet you, Count Astorius,” the man said, bowing with a calm and polished voice. “My name is Barth Robertson.”

Barth stood before him, a man of composed and polished mien, with a demeanor suggesting either a privileged upbringing or the studied art of winning trust. For all the courtesy the man offered, Renest was certain they had never met; the man was a complete stranger.

There was no time for idle pleasantries, though. The moment the man introduced himself as Barth and spoke of the forest, Renest’s calm shattered. His voice sliced through the tense air, sharp as a blade.

“You’re certain? You saw a human child in the Great Frazes Forest? Around six years old?” His voice was an accusation rather than a question, fueled by a storm of emotion he was barely able to contain. Fear, doubt, and a gnawing dread he hadn’t felt in years twisted inside him, all at once.

Six years ago, Renest had made a choice. A brutal, necessary choice. The child he’d abandoned in that vast, unforgiving forest had been born with a magical defect—an incompatible trait that disqualified him from inheriting the family’s legacy. There had been no room for sentiment. A child like that would’ve tainted the bloodline, weakened the name. So, he had done what tradition demanded. And he had never looked back… Until now.

The timing was exact. If by some impossible miracle the boy had survived, he would be precisely six years old—the exact age of the child Barth claimed had been found. This coincidence gnawed at Renest’s reason. There was no evidence, not even a hint of it. It might be a lie, a carefully laid trap, or a simple error. Yet he couldn’t dismiss it entirely—not until he had more information. That gnawing uncertainty was precisely why he had allowed this man onto his grounds. He had to know the truth, no matter how much it might hurt.

Barth responded with a cold, almost clinical precision, though the cryptic glint in his eyes was impossible to read. “It wasn’t me who saw the child; one of my subordinates found him. From our observations, he was likely taken in and raised by goblins after being abandoned. That would explain how he managed to survive.”

Renest stared at him, incredulous. “Goblins? You expect me to believe that?”

“I understand your skepticism,” Barth said smoothly. “Most believe all monsters are wicked by nature. But there are rare exceptions—creatures capable of compassion, even kindness. I believe this child had the luck to encounter such a goblin. And that chance encounter is what saved him.”

Renest didn’t respond right away. The words hung in the air, foreign and absurd. Kind goblins? It sounded like something out of a child’s fable. Monsters didn’t raise children—they devoured them.

Still… despite the absurdity of it all, a part of him paused. If there was even a shred of truth to Barth’s account, it meant the past hadn’t remained buried. It had clawed its way back from the forest floor, alive and untamed, demanding to be confronted.

“If you came here to peddle lies,” Renest growled, “then get out.”

“I assure you, I’m speaking the truth,” Barth replied smoothly, undeterred by the threat in Renest’s voice. “My subordinate is someone I trust completely. His report is not a fabrication.”

Renest scoffed, his eyes narrowing. “And I have no idea who you are. Why in the world would I believe a word you say?”

Barth didn’t flinch. “Then, perhaps you should send someone you do trust to confirm it. I can provide the location where the child now resides.”

“… What?” Renest’s voice was low, sharp—more reaction than question.

For a moment, he fell silent, suspicion curdling in his gut. Something was off about this whole situation. Why come to him with this information at all? A human child living in the forest was hardly a reason to involve a lord, much less show up uninvited at his estate.

No. This wasn’t a mere coincidence.

Does he know? The thought came sharp and unbidden. Does he know I abandoned a child in that forest six years ago?

Paranoia surged. Renest could feel the trap closing in, even if he couldn’t yet see its shape.

His eyes turned ice-cold as he locked them on Barth. “Tell me this—why did you bring this tale to me? Of all people?”

Barth gave a small, calculated shrug. “If you must know… the goblin village has made the child their leader. Under his guidance, they’ve begun expanding rapidly. They may try to encroach on human lands. I simply thought a lord would want to be informed, in case precautions were necessary.”

Renest stared at him. “You’re saying a child—a six-year-old—is leading goblins?”

“Yes,” Barth said, calm as ever. “He’s shockingly intelligent for his age. Not just goblins, either—he’s brought in orcs and other monster tribes as well. Their settlement is growing fast.”

Renest’s first instinct was to laugh. The absurdity of it all stretched credulity past its limit. A child barely older than a toddler commanding monsters? Forming alliances? It was ludicrous.

So ludicrous, in fact, that for a moment he considered having Barth executed for insulting his intelligence. But no—death was too hasty. Better just to cast him out, at least for now.

“Leave,” Renest said coldly. “And pray I don’t reconsider. I’ve no time for delusional nonsense. This is a busy season, and I have more pressing matters to think about.”

“It’s not nonsense,” Barth replied calmly, almost serenely. “If you verify it for yourself, you’ll see the truth soon enough.”

“I said leave,” Renest growled, a flicker of exhaustion in his tone. He didn’t want to hear another word.

Barth gave a slight bow, though his smile carried a quiet menace. “I’ve given my warning.”

The edge in his voice made Renest’s pulse hitch—not fear exactly, but a sense of unease, sharp and instinctive. Barth wasn’t bluffing. Or if he was, he played the part with unnerving conviction.

“I’ll be staying at the Amastend Inn for the time being,” Barth said smoothly as he turned to go. “If you change your mind and decide you want to know where the child lives… feel free to reach out.”

With that, he left the estate.

Renest stood frozen in the silence that followed, the echo of the door closing behind Barth lingering longer than it should have. He had ordered the man to leave. He had spoken with authority, with certainty. And yet, that certainty was already unraveling inside him.

What if he was telling the truth?

The question burrowed deep, dragging old fears to the surface.

If the child really had survived—if his child was still alive in that cursed forest—did he hate his father? Did he remember what had been done to him?

Logically, the boy shouldn’t know who had abandoned him. He had been an infant—barely able to hold his own head up. There was no way he could remember. But fear didn’t obey logic, and Renest found himself unable to chase the thought away.

What if he does know? What if he’s waited all this time, growing strong, just to come back for revenge?

The panic simmered… then slowly began to cool. Renest’s mind, at last, clawed its way back toward reason.

No. That’s ridiculous, he told himself. He was a baby. He couldn’t possibly remember.

Another thought followed, quieter but harder to dismiss. If the child really is leading goblins and other monsters… isn’t that a good thing?

It was unbelievable. A six-year-old unifying rival monster tribes under a single banner—that wasn’t just any child. That was leadership. That was raw power.

Yes, the boy’s inherent magical talent had been dismissed as a failure, which was why he had been cast aside. But if he had found another way—if he had cultivated a different kind of strength, one that defied his “defect”—then maybe Renest had been mistaken from the very beginning.

He had always been convinced that only those born with the natural talent for a sword or the ability to command were fit to carry on the Astorius name. Their bloodline demanded strength, vision, and authority. But perhaps—just perhaps—innate gifts weren’t the only way to measure potential.

If this child, this boy living among monsters, actually existed… and if he was truly Renest’s son… then bringing him back into the family was more than a possibility. It might be a necessity.

He was, after all, the rightful firstborn. By law and blood, the title was his. No other son—not even one born later with more “acceptable” talents—could claim that legitimacy.

There would be obstacles; no doubt about that. But those could be dealt with. Problems could be solved.

Renest’s mind was already turning, calculating, planning. He knew one thing with absolute certainty: the truth could never be made public. The fact that he had abandoned his own child—left him to die in the depths of the forest—was a stain no amount of power or wealth could wash away. That truth would remain buried. Officially, the boy had died in the womb—a stillbirth, a tragic but dignified end. That had always been the story.

Oddly, now that the child had apparently been found alive, thriving among goblins of all things, Renest saw a new path forward. If the truth was reworked—if the child had not been stillborn but kidnapped, snatched from his crib by monsters in the dead of night—then the scandal became a tragedy. A misfortune. A father’s grief, not his disgrace.

Yes, the idea of a noble heir being taken by goblins was deeply shameful, and it would reflect poorly on the Astorius family’s prestige. However, compared to allowing the current heir to inherit the title, it was a small price to pay. People would gossip, certainly. But time dulled the sharpest rumors. Eventually, the scandal would fade—especially if the child returned strong, capable, and ready to lead.

Renest could already see how the story might be shaped. The boy, who was thought dead, was discovered alive in the monster lands and rescued in a timely manner by his father’s unwavering efforts. He had been kidnapped—not abandoned. A miracle of fate, not a legacy of sin.

It was viable. Manageable.

There remained, however, one unavoidable complication: the current heir. Technically, the second son, but in public and in practice, the recognized firstborn.

The boy himself wouldn’t be an issue—he was still too young to understand the implications, let alone object. The real obstacle was his mother.

The woman who had borne Renest’s true firstborn had taken her own life not long after the child’s abandonment. It had been… unfortunate. Renest had married again shortly after, out of political necessity more than anything, and his second wife had given him another son. That boy had become the presumed heir.

Renest had no particular fear of his current wife—not personally. But her family held considerable influence. Though her rank was lower than his, her house commanded superior military strength and regional power. A political rupture there could prove costly.

Still, not all hope was lost. Even his wife had voiced concerns in recent years, questioning whether their son truly had the qualities needed to lead the Astorius family. Her doubts, carefully stirred, could be turned to Renest’s advantage. With the right persuasion, he believed she could be brought around.

The final question was the abandoned child himself.

Would he accept it?

If the boy had truly survived and was now leading goblins as Barth claimed, it was possible he held a deep hatred for humanity—and for the father who had abandoned him. But Renest doubted such resentment would last once the child was shown what life as heir to a noble house could offer.

Luxury. Power. Safety. Education. The lifestyle of a true aristocrat.

Compared to that, life in a monster village—primitive, disorderly, and dangerous—would surely seem wretched. Renest had never seen such a place himself, but he was certain it could only be squalid. Rough shacks. Filthy food. Constant danger from rival tribes or human adventurers with blades. A miserable, dirty existence.

No rational child would choose that over the wealth and privilege of the Astorius name.

What if, by some twist of character, he did?

Renest’s expression darkened.

There are other ways to ensure the outcome I want. If it comes to that, Renest thought, a cold smile curling at the corners of his lips, a child can be molded however I see fit… provided I don’t bother with the niceties.

He wasn’t naïve. Manipulating adults took finesse. But children? Children could be shaped, steered, broken, and rebuilt into whatever suited them best—especially if they’d spent their lives surviving in the wild, desperate for something as simple as structure.

Still… Renest leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. None of this matters if the boy doesn’t exist. Or if Barth was otherwise lying through his teeth.

Either was entirely possible.

Renest hadn’t trusted him. There was something about Barth that reeked of pretense—too slick, too confident. He had told a story too outrageous to be accepted at face value. And yet…

If it’s true, Renest mused, the advantages would be enormous. A single discovery could unravel half my burdens in one stroke.

At the very least, it was worth verifying.

He stood, decision made; the time for speculation had passed.

“Send for Liza,” he ordered sharply.

“At once, my lord,” the steward replied, bowing before hastening from the room.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and the steward returned—this time with a tall woman at his side.

“You summoned me, Lord Renest?” she said, voice crisp and composed.

Liza Ludress. A knight of twenty-two with long, golden hair that gleamed like polished metal in the sunlight pouring through the arched windows. Her beauty was striking—unmistakably so. But it was her presence that drew the most attention: tall, poised, and radiating strength. She must have stood well over one hundred eighty centimeters, her body honed like a blade. She had toned arms, a sculpted waist, and eyes that could turn cold as ice in an instant.

“You’re here. Good,” Renest said, nodding once, his focus already shifting to business. “I have a task for you.”

Of all the warriors in House Astorius, Liza was indisputably the most capable. Despite her youth, her prowess on the battlefield had forged a reputation few dared to challenge, and Renest’s trust in her was absolute. He knew with certainty that she would succeed in circumstances where many others would hesitate. Without wasting another moment, he began to carefully lay out the situation, relaying the critical information from Barth: the staggering possibility that a child might be alive in the Great Frazes Forest, and the profound implications that heir would have for the future of their house.

Liza listened to the entire explanation without interruption, her gaze remaining steady and unreadable. Renest did not sugarcoat the details; he laid out the high stakes, the pervasive uncertainty, and the absolute need for discretion. If the child truly existed—if he was alive and genuinely his—then finding him was paramount. Of course, Renest deliberately omitted the whole truth. He told Liza only what was necessary: that a child long thought dead after a goblin raid six years ago may, astonishingly, have survived.

For the first time, Liza’s formidable composure faltered, her eyes widening in shock. “Is that… Is that truly possible, my lord?” she asked, her voice sharp with disbelief.

Renest let out a quiet sigh, affecting the air of a man burdened by the weight of hope. “The information originates from a questionable source, so I cannot say I trust it completely. But if—if it turns out to be true…” He looked away then, allowing the words to trail off as though he was overcome by the sheer emotion of it all. “It would be a miracle. A joy beyond words.”

He turned back to face Liza, his tone becoming measured and serious. “I do not send you on this mission lightly, Liza. It may all amount to nothing. But I must ask—will you go and see for yourself?”

Liza’s response came without a moment’s hesitation; she straightened her spine and offered a crisp, decisive nod. “If there is even the slightest possibility that this is true, it changes everything for House Astorius. Consider it done, my lord.” The words had barely left her lips before she pivoted on her heel, already striding toward the door with an urgency that suggested she intended to depart that very instant.

“Wait!” Renest’s voice cut through her momentum, his hand raised to stop her. “You are not yet aware of the village’s location. Where precisely were you intending to go?”

Liza halted abruptly mid-stride, glancing back over her shoulder with a sheepish but charming smile. “Ah, an excellent point. I had assumed the location was simply somewhere within the Great Frazes Forest, but I take it you can provide a more specific destination?”

“I do not have the location,” Renest admitted frankly, “but the man who does, Barth, is presently staying at an inn known as Amastend. Your first task is to find him there; he will provide you with the exact coordinates.”

Liza repeated the name, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “Amastend. I know the place. I’ll head there at once.”

With a final, approving nod, Renest gave his consent. “Then go, and may fortune favor your journey.”

Offering a quick salute, her eyes now gleaming with renewed determination, Liza turned and strode purposefully from the room. Moments later, she was gone from the estate and already on the road to Amastend.

※※※

In the village of Beresdral, a rare and welcome quiet had settled, offering Belamus a brief respite from his usual duties. He had sunk into a steaming bath, magically heated and carved from stone, allowing the immense weight of his responsibilities to finally dissolve from his limbs.

Unfortunately, peace, he was quickly reminded, was a luxury reserved for adults. Children knew no such thing. The very moment he stepped out of the bath, water still dripping from his hair, his door flew open with a bang, revealing Navasha on the threshold, panting with excitement and clutching a pair of wooden swords.

“Belamus! It is time for a duel!” she shouted, her eyes blazing with an unshakable determination.

Belamus blinked, still half-drenched and wrapped in a towel, his hope for a break completely evaporating. He understood the source of Navasha’s fervor; she had been burning with a competitive fire ever since Delarosa’s third evolution. Where Delarosa pursued the path of a magic user, Navasha was forged for aggressive, close-range combat, wielding steel while her counterpart honed spells. This relentless, daily training was fueled by a desperate need to reach her own next stage of growth. Belamus suspected that if her current trajectory held, she would evolve into a Knight Goblin, the premier melee form. Had her focus been on ranged weapons, she might have shifted toward becoming an Archer Goblin, but it was clear where her ambitions lay.

Unfortunately, she was not yet ready for such a change, lacking the necessary skill and essential refinement. The path to evolution demanded more than sheer effort; it required precision, proven mastery, and an ultimate demonstration of strength. For Navasha, this meant that when the time was right, she would need to hunt and consume a Hellhound to trigger the transformation, just as Delarosa had before her.

Belamus exhaled slowly, toweling the last of the steam from his skin. He had intended to rest, but the look in Navasha’s eyes—a fierce and honest hunger for greater strength—left no possibility of refusal. This was not a simple request for a favor; it was a demand for a true challenge. And he respected that.

“All right,” Belamus said with a small smile, giving his consent. “Let’s go.”

They proceeded to the training ground together, their feet moving over the soft dirt that had been stamped smooth from years of sparring. Taking their stances with wooden swords raised, Navasha charged forward without a signal. Though known primarily as a magic user, his talent with the sword was nothing to scoff at. Belamus met her advance, his own swordsmanship—honed in a past life—serving as a perfect complement to the enhancement spells that bolstered his physical prowess. He moved with graceful precision, easily parrying and redirecting her fierce but unrefined attacks. Navasha was fast and immensely strong, but her technique remained raw.

Still, her passion couldn’t be denied.

She threw herself into each exchange with her entire being, breath coming in ragged gasps, eyes locked on her opponent with blistering focus. Though he defeated her again and again, she kept coming back, never flinching or faltering. Her spirit was overwhelming, and with each bout, Belamus could feel her growing, her skills sharpening.

She isn’t ready yet, he thought, watching her rush in with a new angle of attack. But the day she surpasses me… it’s coming.

He wasn’t sure if that realization filled him with pride or a subtle unease.

Watching her charge at him again, sweat flying from her brow, Belamus considered that Navasha might actually be ready to evolve into a Knight Goblin after all. Yet even as the possibility crossed his mind, a more cautious thought followed. If she evolves now, in this moment of triumph, will she lose the very fire that drives her? She had been training so hard, pushing herself every day with relentless focus. Achieving her goal too soon might dull her ambition.

Her energy finally spent, Navasha flopped onto the ground in a sprawling heap, panting heavily. “Aaagh… I’m wiped out… Can’t move another inch…”

Belamus, for his part, was nearly as exhausted. He’d started the day determined to relax—and now his muscles ached from head to toe. Sparring with Navasha, even with a wooden sword, had proven to be no light exercise.

Despite her exhaustion, her eyes glittered with hopeful excitement. “Hey! Did I…” she gasped between breaths. “Can I evolve?! Can I do it now?!”

The pure joy in her voice made the decision difficult, but Belamus knew it was for her own good. Steeling his expression to be unreadable, he delivered the necessary lie. “Not yet,” he said simply.

Just as he had hoped, the denial did not discourage her. A determined grin spread across her face as she sat up, wiping the sweat from her forehead, already fired up for another round—just not today. “Still no, huh? Then I gotta push way harder next time!”

Exactly the response he wanted. Maybe she wasn’t ready yet, but with that unyielding attitude, she soon would be.

Wiping his own brow, Belamus finally turned for home, craving nothing more than to collapse and rest. Fate, however, had other plans. Before he could even reach his door, a familiar voice rang out. “Belamus!”

This time, it was Delarosa, with a curious Medello trailing quietly behind her. “I just evolved, right?” Delarosa announced, bouncing on her toes. “So, I wanna learn all the new spells I can! And while we’re at it, can you teach Medello too?”

“I-I don’t really need you to, but I guess if you’re teaching anyway…” Medello added with a sheepish shrug.

Belamus hesitated, every muscle in his body protesting. He was beyond tired. But then Delarosa tilted her head, her bright violet eyes gleaming with anticipation, and he found his resolve faltering. He had never been good at turning people down—especially children with that kind of eager sparkle in their gaze. Besides, he saw their immense potential—Delarosa’s sharp, instinctive talent and Medello’s quiet, formidable grasp of magic theory. Someday soon, he’d need to give them both formal, structured training. They had promise.

With a soft sigh of resignation that was part weariness and part pride, he nodded. “All right. But just for a little while.”

“Yay!” Delarosa beamed. Medello smiled too, a bit more reserved but clearly pleased.

Tired as he was, Belamus couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride as he stepped inside with the two young magic users at his heels.

“All right,” Belamus said again with a small nod.

Shifting into teacher mode, he considered where to begin.

Maybe… Physical Boost, he thought.

It was a support spell, an enhancement that boosted the user’s physical abilities. For mages, like Delarosa and Medello, who relied on distance, it might not seem immediately useful, but Belamus knew better. Good mages weren’t just spellcasters—they were survivors. Offensive spells were useless if an enemy closed the distance unexpectedly. Physical Boost enhanced speed, reaction time, jump height, reflexes—everything a mage needed to escape danger when spells failed or the front line broke.

I’ve used it in front of Delarosa a few times, he mused. Given how she managed to copy Saint Breaker just by watching it, there’s a decent chance she’s picked up on this one too… But just in case, I should teach it properly.

He turned to the two expectant goblins, who both waited with wide eyes.

“I’ll teach you a spell called Physical Boost,” he announced.

Delarosa tilted her head. “What’s that?”

“It’s a spell that boosts your body’s physical power,” he explained. “It lets you run faster, jump higher, and dodge quicker. It doesn’t create fire or light, but it makes your body better at what it already does.”

“Whoa! I wanna learn that one!” Delarosa said, even her voice somehow bouncing with excitement.

Belamus glanced at her, curious. “Delarosa, can’t you already use it?”

She blinked. “Nope. Never tried!”

He raised an eyebrow, surprised.

He was sure she’d seen him use it—multiple times, even. She had an uncanny ability to learn magic just by watching, and usually, it didn’t take more than once. So why hadn’t she picked this one up?

Then, the reason struck him.

Of course. Physical Boost doesn’t have any flashy visuals.

Unlike offensive spells, which flared with fire or shimmered with light, Physical Boost was subtle, invisible. There was no dramatic explosion or arcane glow—just a quiet shift in the body’s performance. To someone watching, it might not even look like magic at all.

She probably never realized I was casting it.

Belamus smiled faintly. “All right then. Let’s go over it step by step.”

Just like that, the lesson began—no longer a battle, but a different kind of training altogether.

Still, Belamus thought, Delarosa’s been with me since she was a baby. She should have a solid sense of my usual speed and strength. If I suddenly moved faster, she ought to realize it’s magic.

Apparently not.

“Now that you mention it,” Delarosa said, tilting her head, “there was a time when you suddenly got all fast and zippy. I just thought it was some weird human power or something.”

So that was it. She’d seen him use Physical Boost, but she hadn’t recognized it as a spell. To her, it was just another strange trait from the mysterious world of humans.

“I wanna learn it,” she added brightly.

Belamus blinked. That was expected; what surprised him was the voice that followed:

“M-Maybe I wanna learn it too…” Medello mumbled, her hands clasped in front of her, gaze shifting shyly to the floor.

She was quiet, cautious. It was rare for her to volunteer to learn spells unless Delarosa pushed her into it—and even then, she dragged her feet. But this time, she spoke up on her own, however shyly.

Belamus turned to her, curious. “Why the sudden interest?”

“If I can use it…” she said, eyes downcast, “then maybe it’ll be easier to run away. From scary monsters, I mean.”

Not the most heroic motivation—but honest. And pragmatic.

Belamus offered a faint smile. “It’ll definitely help with that.”

“How do we use it?” Delarosa asked, her voice snapping back into high-energy mode. “Do we shout and pose or something?”

“It’s the same as most spells,” Belamus explained. “You picture your body getting stronger—faster, lighter, more agile. Then you say ‘Physical Boost’ and push the energy outward from inside.”

“Got it!” Delarosa chirped.

Belamus was sure Delarosa would nail it instantly. She always did. However…

“Mmm…” she frowned, lips pursed in frustration.

She wasn’t getting it.

That alone was surprising. Delarosa could usually replicate any spell after seeing it once—twice at most. Belamus watched her closely. Her expression wasn’t bored or distracted. She was trying. Genuinely.

“… Is it hard?” he asked.

“Kinda. I mean, it’s not like water or fire, you know?” Delarosa grumbled. “There’s nothing to imagine. It’s just… a feeling. That’s way harder.” She looked up and then added, “Belamus, show me again this time. Properly.”

He nodded. “Physical Boost.”

Energy surged through his limbs, tightening the fibers of his muscles and making him feel lighter on his feet. He crouched low, then leaped upward, twisting in midair before landing with a swift, fluid roll. Then he jogged in place, his movements crisp and clean, exaggerated enough to showcase the effect of the spell.

Delarosa watched intently, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“Mmm… MMMMMM…” she grumbled, her eyes narrowing even further.

She still wasn’t satisfied.

“Try running in a circle! And do a flip! And maybe jump higher! Like really high!” Delarosa exclaimed, eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Belamus gave a resigned sigh and complied, breaking into a sprint and then launching into a full acrobatic flip, landing without breaking stride. He made sure Delarosa could clearly see the boost in his physical capabilities.

She continued to stare, squinting hard. “Hmm… It’s still hard to tell.”

No sparks. No flames. No visible energy. Just movement… and improvement.

It makes sense, Belamus thought. Her brain’s used to magic looking magical. She’s struggling with something that hides its effect inside the body.

He stepped forward and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t overthink it. Just imagine your body getting faster, like you’re weightless. You don’t need to see anything. Just feel it.”

Delarosa nodded slowly. “Okay… I’ll try again.”

Beside her, Medello was already whispering the spell under her breath, brow furrowed, eyes shut tight in concentration.

It seems… if the magic doesn’t produce some visible effect, she can’t pick it up right away, Belamus thought, watching Delarosa wrestle with frustration.

Teaching magic was never easy. It wasn’t just about explanation or demonstration. Magic, at its core, relied heavily on the caster’s imagination. And that wasn’t something that improved overnight—no matter how well you taught it.

As he watched Delarosa struggle, Belamus felt a twinge of guilt. He was reminded of himself—back in his previous life, as a child, when magic hadn’t come easily. The frustration, the confusion, the quiet sting of failure. He knew exactly how that felt.

Still, he told himself, this is part of the process.

If anything, it might be a valuable experience for Delarosa. Up until now, she’d picked up every spell almost effortlessly. A little struggle might be good for her in the long run. After all, true growth came from hitting walls—and then breaking through them. That was a lesson Belamus had learned the hard way, many times over.

“B-Belamus!” Medello called out suddenly after a few minutes, her voice breaking through the tension. “I think I did it! I can use it now!”

Belamus turned, and sure enough, Medello was bounding in place—light on her feet, her movements noticeably sharper. She darted back and forth, then leaped into the air with surprising height. The spell had taken hold.

“I did it! Yay!” she cheered, uncharacteristically exuberant. “Now if I run into a scary monster, I can escape for sure!”

It was rare to see Medello this excited. She spun around with a small hop, a smile on her face, but…

“Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…” Delarosa growled a few paces away, arms crossed, her entire face scrunched in frustration. Her eyes were locked on Medello, and her lips pressed into a tight, trembling line.

She had always been the first to master everything. The idea of being second—of being left behind—was entirely foreign to her. And she hated it.

Medello, sensing the tension, let out a soft gasp. “Ah—”

She immediately stopped jumping, her hands folding awkwardly in front of her. Her expression turned sheepish.

“D-Don’t worry, Delarosa! You’ll get it soon! You’re way better at magic than I am!” Medello said quickly with a gentle, reassuring voice. She had always been remarkably good at reading the room.

“O-Of course I will!” Delarosa snapped, though her voice shook slightly. “I’m gonna learn it right now!”

Her eyes lit with fierce resolve as she channeled all her energy into a razor-sharp focus. She clenched her fists, staring down at the ground like she could burn the spell into it with willpower alone.

Even as the sun dipped behind the trees and the village quieted for the night, Delarosa didn’t stop.

When Belamus finally said, “We should head home,” she didn’t respond.

She was still training, still pushing herself harder than ever before. And Belamus, watching her from a distance, couldn’t help but smile.

Yeah. This, too, is part of growth.

“W-What should I do?” Medello murmured, shifting uneasily as she glanced between Delarosa and Belamus.

“Medello, you should head home,” Belamus said gently. “Ugo’s probably getting worried about you. I’ll stay here.”

“But… I think Arèsa’s worried about you too,” Medello replied, voice tinged with concern.

Belamus nodded. “You’re right… Your house is near mine, so could you stop by and explain the situation to her?”

“Y-Yeah, I can do that,” Medello said, giving a quick nod before turning and hurrying off into the night.

A few minutes passed in silence before Arèsa appeared at the edge of the training ground, a small basket in hand. Her eyes immediately landed on Delarosa.

“Wow… she’s really focused,” Arèsa muttered, watching the young goblin with quiet awe.

“She is,” Belamus said simply beside her.

“When she gets like this, there’s no pulling her away,” Arèsa added with a fond sigh. “I’ll stay and keep watch with you. Oh—and I brought food.”

“Thank you,” Belamus said gratefully, accepting the meal.

Arèsa had packed enough for both him and Delarosa, but it quickly became clear that Delarosa wasn’t planning to eat. She barely acknowledged them, fully immersed in her training.

Patiently, they waited.

Hours passed. Belamus sat quietly beside Arèsa as the moon climbed overhead, the night air growing cooler. They watched Delarosa cycle through movement drills over and over again, her concentration unshaken. But as the hour grew late, fatigue began to creep in.

Belamus yawned. His eyelids were starting to droop. He leaned back, shoulders heavy, and was just beginning to nod off when—

“I did it!!!” Delarosa shouted.

The shout tore through the training field like a thunderclap, loud enough to rattle the trees. Belamus jolted upright, instantly awake. He turned toward the source—and sure enough, Delarosa was beaming, launching into a jump that soared higher than ever before and darting across the ground with blinding speed. With Physical Boost amplifying her agility, she moved like a force of nature, circling the field in a blur of motion. The burst of energy was, however, finite. After a final, dizzying lap, she abruptly collapsed with a loud thump, landing flat on her back in the dirt.

Both Arèsa and Belamus ran over in concern, but as they got to her, they froze, giving her a look that was half smile, half sigh.

“Looks like she finally ran out of steam.”

Delarosa was sound asleep—snoring softly, completely out cold.

“This girl…” Arèsa muttered, exasperated. “She scared the life out of us.”

Belamus let out a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. “Let’s head home. I’m starting to feel it too.”

Without another word, Arèsa crouched down and gently lifted the sleeping goblin onto her back. Carrying their charge piggyback, they made their way quietly through the moonlit village, returning home together at last.

Chapter 5

The next morning, Delarosa practically inhaled her breakfast before bolting out the door. She ran straight to the village square, eager to show off her new skill to anyone who’d watch.

“Look at this, everyone!” Delarosa’s voice was as bright as the morning sun, overflowing with bubbling excitement. The night before, she had finally mastered Physical Boost. Now, she was practically flying, leaping and bounding through the village square, her every step a spring-loaded testament to her new skill. Her joy was a contagious force, spreading a radiant, gleeful energy to everyone around her.

Belamus, however, just sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. How does she still have so much energy after last night? he wondered, still sore from what was supposed to be a rest day. Instead, he had sparred with Navasha, taught magic, and then stayed up for hours with Delarosa, all without a moment’s peace.

Still, he couldn’t afford to take too many rest days. Not with everything piling up.

“I’ll make up for not being with you yesterday, Lord Belamus!” The cheerful voice of Lilli broke into his weary thoughts. She appeared beside him, a portrait of determination.

“You were working yesterday, weren’t you?” Belamus asked, blinking at her. “You should take a break.”

Lilli’s lips immediately curled into a pout. “A break without you isn’t a break at all! Don’t say such things, please!”

Faced with her teary-eyed sincerity, Belamus could only let out a sigh of defeat. “… Fine. Let’s work together.”

There was always an endless list of tasks to complete in Beresdral. The farmlands required constant maintenance and expansion, while combat training remained a daily necessity—not only for defense, but to help residents evolve. The village’s perimeter was constantly being pushed outward to make room for new homes; trees were felled to clear land for housing, crops, and future infrastructure. Recently, several orcs had begun having children, and with their rapid growth and intense reproductive cycle, the demand for housing was quickly becoming a serious concern. The scale of the work was ever-expanding, and so was the strain on the villagers.

Though everyone in Beresdral contributed to the effort, the ultimate responsibility for coordinating it all fell on Belamus. He was the one giving the orders, and it was his shoulders that carried the greatest burden.

Just as Belamus stepped out to begin his day, a goblin lookout came sprinting toward him, breathless and wild-eyed. “Belamus! It’s bad—really bad!” he gasped, struggling to catch his breath.

“Calm down,” Belamus said, steadying his tone. “What happened?”

The goblin gulped down a few more frantic breaths, then blurted out, “A human! There’s a human at the gate! And they’re hurt—badly hurt! What should we do?!”

“A human?” Belamus’s eyes narrowed. The Great Frazes Forest was not a place known for human visitors. Those who did venture this deep into the woods seldom returned.

So, what were they doing here?

However, the details didn’t matter now. If someone was injured, there was no time for questions.

“If they’re wounded, we must help them. Go, bring them to me, quickly,” Belamus commanded, his tone calm yet firm. The goblin lookout vanished, only to reappear moments later, carefully supporting a tall, armored figure. It was a woman, her steel-plated armor scratched and stained with blood. Unconscious, she was a slack-limbed portrait of pain, her matted blonde hair streaked with dirt and gore. But even despite the pallor of blood loss, she had a beautiful face.

Belamus knelt beside her, his focus laser sharp as he examined the wound on her abdomen. It was a deep, terrible gash, far worse than he had anticipated. Blood had soaked through her clothing, but a faint, steady pulse told him she was still alive. Barely.

“Belamus!” a familiar voice cried.

It was Delarosa who came running across the square, clearly having heard the commotion. A worried stillness had replaced her usual energetic movements as she took in the sight. “Are they human like you? Are they dangerous? Are you okay?”

Belamus knelt beside the woman, his face calm but focused.

Lilli, too, arrived and crouched beside him, her gaze moving over the severe wound. “She’s badly hurt,” she said softly. “She won’t make it without immediate treatment.”

“I’ll use healing magic,” Belamus said, already channeling power into his hands.

Lilli blinked, then smiled. “Of course… Lord Belamus can use healing spells too. As expected.”

Her voice held quiet admiration—but her eyes stayed on the dying woman, the urgency not lost on her.

Belamus could use healing magic—but this wasn’t a spell just anyone could master. Recovery spells were notoriously difficult to learn, and even harder to apply effectively. This wound, though severe, was still within his ability to treat if he moved quickly.

Extending his hand over the gash, he murmured, “Healing,” and a gentle white glow radiated from his palm, wrapping around the injury. The light pulsed, slowly closing the wound, first the outer layers, then the deeper tissue, until the bleeding ceased and fresh skin sealed the gash completely.

“Whoa!” Delarosa gasped, eyes wide with amazement.

“That’s incredible, Lord Belamus!” Lilli added, watching the spellwork with shining admiration.

The spell he’d just used was one of the more basic forms of healing—effective for sealing wounds, but not for restoring lost blood or vitality. Healing magic came in many forms, each tailored to specific needs: restoring stamina, replenishing blood, rekindling life force. Belamus moved seamlessly into the following, more advanced techniques, layering restorative energy into the woman’s core.

Bit by bit, color returned to her face. Her breathing steadied. The tension in her body began to ease.

“She’s still unconscious,” Belamus said, checking her pulse again, “but she should be out of danger now.”

“She looks much better,” Lilli said with relief. “I expected nothing less of you, Lord Belamus.”

“But… why was a human just lying there?” Delarosa asked, frowning. “That’s super weird, right?”

“We won’t know until she wakes up,” Belamus replied calmly. The question, however, gnawed at him. The human was clearly a warrior, perhaps an adventurer drawn by the Great Frazes Forest’s deadly but valuable resources—magical beasts, rare herbs, ancient ruins. A place where a desperate soul might risk everything.

It wouldn’t be the first time someone got in over their head chasing gold.

In any case, for now, there was nothing to do but wait.

Belamus stayed at the human’s side, continuing the treatment and monitoring her condition. Hours passed. Eventually, she stirred.

“Mm…” Her eyelids fluttered. She blinked several times, unfocused, scanning the ceiling with dazed eyes. Then, in one swift, pained motion, she sat bolt upright.

Belamus tensed slightly, ready to intervene if she panicked.

“Ugh…” The woman groaned as her body tensed. Her hand flew to her abdomen, face contorted in pain.

“Don’t move too much,” Belamus began, stepping forward in alarm. He thought the wound might have reopened, but before he could stop her from doing anything, a loud gurgle echoed from her stomach. She clutched her midsection again, this time with a grimace that was… less pained, and more annoyed.

“… I’m starving,” she muttered.

Belamus blinked, a small, exasperated smile touching his lips. He let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

“Of course,” he said, turning to the goblin girl beside him. “Delarosa, get her some food and water.”

“Got it!” Delarosa chirped, darting off. She returned moments later with a bowl of rice and a flask of clean water. Belamus helped the woman sit upright as Delarosa passed the food over, and she tore into the meal without a moment’s hesitation, as though she hadn’t eaten in days.

Belamus stood nearby, arms crossed, watching her with a mix of caution and quiet curiosity. Whatever her story was, one thing was clear: she wasn’t going anywhere for a while.

※※※

“Thank you so much!” the woman exclaimed, her voice full of fervent gratitude. She immediately bowed low, her forehead touching the ground in deep obeisance. “I will never forget this kindness for as long as I live!”

Belamus regarded her quietly for a moment, then gave a calm reply. “I only did what anyone should.”

The woman looked up at him in surprise. “You’re so composed… for someone so young.” Of course, she saw only a child standing before her—a boy with unusual maturity. She couldn’t know that the soul of an adult resided within him. She straightened up, placing a hand over her chest. “My name is Liza Ludress. I swear, I will not forget what you’ve done.”

Belamus’s eyes narrowed slightly at the name—but he gave no immediate response.

Liza… Ludress.

It was a name he hadn’t heard in person, but one he instantly recognized.

Belamus returned the gesture with a polite nod. “I’m Belamus.”

Liza tilted her head slightly. “That’s… an unusual name.”

He knew it was. To humans, Belamus was a goblin name, one that would sound foreign and strange. Liza, of course, was still unaware of this. Belamus’s tone shifted, becoming more inquisitive. “So, why exactly were you collapsed at our gate?”

Liza’s brows furrowed as she tried to recall the events. “Let’s see… I was traveling through the Great Frazes Forest, heading to a specific place. But somewhere along the way, I was attacked by a pack of monsters. I think I was injured, and then…” She trailed off, glancing down at her body. Her armor was still scratched and blood-stained, but her skin beneath was whole and flawless. “Wait a minute… I’m not hurt?”

“You were,” Belamus said plainly. “I healed you.”

Liza blinked, her voice full of disbelief. “Healed me? But the wound felt so serious…”

“It was. I used magic,” Belamus replied calmly, his expression unreadable as he watched her reaction.

“Magic?” she echoed, her voice trailing off. “I didn’t know magic could do that.” Though she sounded unconvinced, she let the matter drop. Her gaze shifted, taking in the unfamiliar village before returning to Belamus. Her brow furrowed as she asked, “More importantly, where am I?”

“This is Beresdral,” Belamus answered steadily.

“… Excuse me?” Liza blinked, clearly caught off guard, as if she hadn’t heard him correctly—or didn’t want to believe what she’d heard.

“Beresdral,” he repeated, slower this time.

Her face paled. A strange tension crept into her expression. “Could you… say that again?” she asked, her voice tight with unease.

Belamus said the name a third time, watching her closely. Something about it had clearly rattled her. Liza’s eyes flickered past him, settling on someone over his shoulder. She stared at Delarosa, who tilted her head curiously. “What’s wrong?”

Liza’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Th-That’s not a human. Is she… a goblin?”

Delarosa beamed. “Yep! Goblin all the way!”

Belamus watched realization dawn on Liza’s face. She looked from Delarosa to the other creatures nearby—orcs, goblins, monsters. It was then that he remembered something he often forgot: in human society, goblins were considered enemies, monsters without rights. A human knight had just awakened in a village of monsters, healed by a child she thought was one of her own kind.

In Belamus’s previous life, goblins had been regarded as relatively benign creatures—some even integrated into society. That old familiarity had dulled his awareness of the more common perception of goblins in this world.

He could now see the fear on Liza’s face. He needed to defuse the situation—carefully.

“Listen,” Belamus said, raising both hands in a calming gesture. “I need you to hear this without panicking. This isn’t a human village. It’s a village of monsters. But we bear no hostility toward humans. You’re safe here.”

Liza stared at him, her expression unreadable. Then, her eyes widened slightly. “And you’re… the only human here. Which means… I made it. I found you…” She stood up with sudden resolve. “I came to rescue you from these wicked goblins!” she declared, gesturing to Delarosa and the others. “You must have suffered terribly. But fear not! I swear I’ll get you out of here!”

What is she talking about? Belamus blinked, momentarily speechless.

The word “wicked” hit him like a slap—an echo of old prejudices he’d forgotten even existed.

There had clearly been a misunderstanding—a deep one.

“… Rescue me?” he asked slowly. “From what, exactly?”

Liza lifted her chin proudly, hand pressed to her chest. “You are the firstborn son of the House of Astorius. After your birth, you were stolen away by monsters—taken into this forest. I was sent here to bring you home. I… I failed to defend myself and was injured, but I won’t leave without you. I will find a way to sneak you out of this place, even if it costs me everything!”

Belamus didn’t respond at once. His mind raced.

House of Astorius… Never heard of it. But maybe—just maybe—that’s the noble house that abandoned me. And this story she’s telling… being taken by goblins? So that’s how they explained it. A convenient lie. Easier to claim a kidnapping than admit they discarded a newborn for being “useless.” But why now, after all these years? Had circumstances changed so drastically that they suddenly needed the child they once threw away?

None of it added up yet, but one thing was certain: Belamus had no intention of leaving Beresdral—no matter what bloodline he came from.

He knew he had to refuse Liza, but if he did it forcefully, there was a risk she’d see it as hostile and draw her sword. She had to leave willingly. He had to make her understand. “Listen carefully,” he said, his gaze calm but serious. “I believe you are operating under a serious misunderstanding. Let me explain everything from the beginning.”

And so, he told her his story. He told her how he’d been abandoned as an infant. How a goblin had found him in the depths of the forest and taken him in. How that goblin—his adoptive mother—had raised him with kindness and care. How he’d grown up here, in Beresdral, a village built by monsters who wanted more than just to survive.

When he finished, silence lingered.

Liza looked stunned. Her brows knitted together as she tried to absorb what she’d heard.

“You were… abandoned? And… raised by goblins?” Her voice trembled with disbelief. “Picked up by one of them? That’s… no, that’s not possible. Goblins are evil. That’s what we’ve always known.”

“Belamus,” Delarosa chimed in, puffing out her cheeks, “what does she mean, ‘goblins are evil’?”

“It means… they’re bad,” he replied dryly.

“Well, that’s dumb,” she huffed. “Why would goblins be bad just for being goblins?”

Liza’s gaze flicked to Delarosa, and for the first time, she really looked at her. “This goblin is…”

“She’s Delarosa,” Belamus said. “The daughter of the one who took me in. So… technically, my older sister.”

“Goblin not evil!” Delarosa declared proudly, folding her arms. “Goblin nice!”

The sincerity in her voice made something falter in Liza’s expression.

More goblins began to gather, drawn by the commotion. They kept their distance, watching with curious, non-hostile eyes, some even whispering about Liza’s injuries and wondering if she needed more food. They didn’t feel like monsters. Liza realized, with growing unease, that many of them seemed gentler and more considerate than most nobles she had met.

She didn’t know what to believe anymore.

“W-Wait,” Liza stammered. “Are you saying the count lied? That he wasn’t telling the truth about you being kidnapped—that you were actually abandoned?”

Belamus nodded without hesitation. “Without a doubt.”

Liza’s face paled. “That… That can’t be. Do you have any proof of that? Anything at all?”

It was a fair question, and one Belamus had no easy answer for. The memory of his abandonment was seared into his mind, but he couldn’t exactly show someone a memory—or even explain one from when he was just an infant. From a logical standpoint, claiming he remembered such a thing at his age would only make him sound delusional.

After a moment of careful thought, he spoke in a quiet, firm voice. “Maybe I don’t have a document or a witness. But look at me. I’m alive. I’m healthy. I’ve grown up surrounded by goblins who treated me like family, not a prisoner. That, in itself, should tell you something. If I’d truly been kidnapped, would they have raised me as one of their own? Let me build a village with them? Wouldn’t I have been enslaved, or worse—eaten?”

His words hung heavy in the air, difficult to refute. Liza fell silent, her eyes troubled. After a long moment, she lifted her head. “… Would it be all right if I stayed here for a little while?” she asked quietly. “I… I think if I see this place for myself, I’ll understand.”

Belamus studied Liza’s expression, still uncertain—given what she’d been taught all her life—but sincere. “I don’t mind,” he said finally. “But in return, I’d like to hear more about your mission: why you were sent here, what your orders were, everything.”

Liza nodded, her posture straightening as she adopted the composed tone of a knight on duty. “Of course. As I mentioned earlier, I serve the Count of Astorius—Lord Renest. He received information that a human child had been seen in the Great Frazes Forest. A child who would now be around six years old. He thought… that it might be the son he believed lost. So, he ordered me to investigate—to find the child and confirm the truth.”

Belamus folded his arms. “And did this count say anything about why he suddenly cares now? After all this time?”

Liza hesitated. “He didn’t say it directly, but he mentioned the boy was abducted by goblins right after his birth and thought to be dead… But a dubious source informed him that his son might be alive, so he wanted me to investigate and bring him back. That’s what I believed to be true, but after hearing your side of the story…” She trailed off, visibly disturbed by the realization.

Belamus slowly exhaled. It seemed the Count of Astorius, the man who had abandoned him six years ago, had discovered he was still alive and now, for some reason, had decided he was worth retrieving. Belamus didn’t know his intentions, but one thing was certain: he wasn’t a tool to be discarded and then reclaimed at someone’s convenience.

Could it be… that the Count of Astorius truly did lose a child to goblins, and simply mistook me for his long-lost son?

He considered the remote possibility that Liza’s mission was based on a misunderstanding rather than a lie, but quickly dismissed it.

What were the odds of goblins successfully infiltrating a noble household with proper defenses and stealing a newborn? Practically nonexistent. In all Belamus’s knowledge and past life experience, such cases were incredibly rare—and almost always steeped in exaggeration or legend.

It was far more plausible that his father had discarded him and was now using a false narrative to reclaim him.

Which means… Renest, the Count of Astorius, really is my father.

He couldn’t say it with absolute certainty—no physical proof, no test of blood—but deep down, he had already accepted it. The pieces fit too cleanly. And yet…

Why now? Belamus glanced toward the distance, toward the quiet edges of the village beyond his window. What could he possibly want from me after all this time?

Liza didn’t seem to know the real reason. She’d been convinced she was rescuing a kidnapped heir, not retrieving a discarded one.

Not that it matters, Belamus thought with a quiet finality. Whatever the reason, I’m not going anywhere.

※※※

Over the next few days, Liza remained in Beresdral, and her world was turned upside down. It began with the realization that this was no ordinary goblin village. In fact, it wasn’t even just a goblin village. She watched in astonishment as orcs, alraune, and imps—monsters she had been taught to fear—lived together in peace. They built homes, raised children, and worked together like a civilized community. Liza had been taught that monsters were inherently evil, that they existed only to be slain or subdued. But what she saw here—sharing meals, lending aid, laughing, arguing over nothing in the streets—was something else entirely. It was civilization.

At the center of it all was Belamus, their leader—not a captive. He wasn’t a figurehead or a spoiled noble child playing at authority. He issued commands, settled disputes, taught magic, and trained the next generation. The precocious boy she had first met was, in fact, a true leader.

She hadn’t been prepared to watch him walk through the village with dozens of eyes turning to him—not in fear or obedience, but in trust and respect.

This boy… no, this leader… was more than a noble’s cast-off son.

Belamus’s magic, his command, his intellect—everything about him spoke of exceptional talent. Not just as a mage, but as a leader. A child, yes, at least in appearance. But he had built something here, in Beresdral, something real, that defied everything she thought she knew. And she could no longer pretend she hadn’t seen it.

She had watched goblins tending crops, alraunes teaching children, imps and orcs building homes side by side. Not savages, not beasts—people. With fears, and hopes, and kindness in their hearts. Living under a boy who led not with violence, but with vision.

She had seen enough to know.

“… Everything you said,” she said quietly one morning, standing before Belamus in the heart of the village, “it was all true, wasn’t it, Belamus?”

He looked up from where he’d been reviewing lumber plans with a pair of goblin carpenters. A quiet breath escaped him. “So, you finally believe me.”

“I do.” She gave a small, apologetic smile. “I only regret it took me so long.”

Belamus’s shoulders relaxed. He hoped this meant she could return without causing conflict. But Liza didn’t leave.

“… I know this is selfish,” she said, taking a step forward, “but can I make one final request?” She lowered her head. “Now that I know the truth—that the count was wrong, that you weren’t kidnapped—I still… I still want to ask. Won’t you come back with me to the Astorius estate? You’d make a fine noble, a better heir than anyone could wish for. I’d follow you without hesitation.”

Belamus didn’t answer immediately. He simply looked past her, toward the village, toward his people.

The smithy’s forge crackled in the distance. Laughter from the training grounds echoed faintly. Children dashed past, chasing one another, carefree. This place—this strange little village of monsters—was his world.

“I’m the chief of this village,” he said at last, calmly. “If I left, they’d fall into disarray. They depend on me. And I chose them. So, no—I cannot leave. Not now, not ever.”

Liza closed her eyes. She had expected it, but the rejection still weighed heavily on her.

“… Understood,” she said finally. “I’ll return to the count alone.” She offered no further argument, but deep down, it saddened her. Because in another life—one where he had accepted that title and returned to the manor—she was sure Belamus would’ve become a noble any knight would be proud to serve.

With her head held high and resolve set firm, Liza left the village of Beresdral behind and began the long journey back to the count’s estate.

※※※

“—That concludes my report.”

Liza stood tall in the lord’s study, her voice steady despite the tension twisting in her chest. She had returned to the Astorius estate with a heavy heart, having decided—after agonizing debate—not to lie. It would have been easy to say the boy hadn’t been there, that no such human lived in the monster village.

But she couldn’t do it.

Not as a knight sworn to truth. Not even to prevent what might come next.

If Renest decided to take Belamus by force, she would do everything in her power to stop him.

Renest’s voice cut through the silence, low and dangerous. “He truly said… he would not return?”

“Yes. Belamus has become the village chief of Beresdral. He’s devoting himself to its growth and well-being. That is where his heart lies,” Liza said firmly, meeting Renest’s gaze without flinching.

Renest’s hand tightened around the armrest of his chair. “And you… heard this, and simply returned? You didn’t even try to bring him back?”

Liza did not flinch. “Lord Renest… may I ask you plainly—was Belamus truly taken by goblins?”

Renest’s gaze sharpened. “… What are you implying?”

“In Beresdral, the monsters claimed they found him abandoned. That he was left in the forest, and they took him in,” Liza continued, her voice steady but probing.

“And you believed them?” Renest’s voice was incredulous.

“I did,” she answered without hesitation. “They had no reason to lie, and nothing in their behavior suggested deception.”

“You speak as if you trust monsters more than your own kind,” Renest said coldly, his eyes narrowing as his voice took on a sharper edge.

“I trust what I saw,” Liza said quietly. “Belamus was not a prisoner. He was their leader. They looked to him not with fear, but with respect. He was raised there, not enslaved. If your claim is true, and he was kidnapped, then none of that should be possible. But the truth I saw… it doesn’t match your story.”

Renest didn’t respond. He sat, silent, his eyes narrowing.

Liza pressed further. “If you truly never abandoned a child… if there is no such past… then perhaps he isn’t your son after all. He shares some of your traits—his eyes, his hair—but there’s always a chance.”

Still, no response came, and Liza could tell her lord knew the truth deep down. The similarities were too many, too aligned. Renest could deceive others; he could even deceive her, but he couldn’t lie to himself.

Thanks to her report, it was now almost certain—the child in Beresdral was his own son. With so many undeniable links, the idea that it could be anyone else had become laughable.

Renest had no doubt: Liza was not a liar. That fact alone was enough to convince him that not all monsters were completely evil. And if she reported that the child in Beresdral had become the village chief, then it was almost certainly the truth.

His child… living with monsters… leading them. The thought should have been absurd, yet it wasn’t.

Renest was now convinced: whoever this was, he possessed incredible talent. Even if he had been born with the wrong trait, power and potential of that magnitude could overcome any inherent disadvantage. Such strength, such presence… it was exactly what he had always wanted in an heir.

Back then, he had deemed it impossible. A child born with a useless innate trait had almost no chance of becoming someone truly capable. That had been the logic behind his decision to discard the infant.

Maybe… he’d been wrong.

If he has refused… then we’ll have no choice but to take him by force. But what will Liza do?

Liza was the strongest knight in House Astorius—bar none. Many among their retainers admired her deeply, and if she stood against Renest, they would too. The way she was acting, she’d almost certainly oppose any attempt to abduct the child.

Without her strength, launching an assault on that monster village deep in the Great Frazes Forest would be far riskier.

Perhaps it’s time I admit it… that I really did abandon the child in the forest. As for the reason—well, I can lie about that. It won’t matter.

It was a dangerous gamble, but there was no denying it—Liza’s trust in him had already begun to crumble. No matter how insistently he claimed innocence, she’d never believe he hadn’t left the child to die.

Then maybe… maybe it was better to admit to abandoning the baby, but paint it as something unavoidable. A tragic necessity. That might actually earn her sympathy.

The real problem was crafting the why.

Even Renest knew—casting a child aside simply because of their innate trait was morally indefensible. If the truth got out, it would destroy his reputation. He couldn’t afford that. He couldn’t say it out loud.

Instead of “I abandoned the child,” I’ll say something else. I’ll twist it. Yes… that could work.

A plan formed in his mind—clean and convincing, and best of all, it would let him preserve the illusion of innocence.

If this worked, he wouldn’t need to admit to anything. And Liza… she just might believe him.

“Then I guess I have no choice. I’ll tell you the truth,” Renest said solemnly. “There was no goblin who stole the child. But I did not abandon him, either.”

“… What do you mean?” Liza’s voice was tight, cautious.

“There was a knight in my household… one with darkness in his heart. He was the one who took the baby. We captured him later and, under torture, he confessed—he’d cast the child into the Great Frazes Forest. Sadly, our search turned up nothing. I believed, at the time, that some monster had already claimed the child. That’s why I gave up. A shameful betrayal by one of my own… I couldn’t bear for that disgrace to be known. So, I had the knight executed under a different pretense, and I told the world a different story about the child’s fate.”

The lie came easily, too easily. Renest spun it with such practiced grace that it sounded like the gospel truth.

“… A knight stole a baby?” Liza’s brow furrowed. “But why would anyone—?”

“He said… he hated House Astorius,” Renest answered, sighing with pained gravity. “It shocked me as well. I never saw it in him. That failure was mine.”

“Wait… six years ago… That was when Sir Ambus was executed. The reason was never disclosed… You don’t mean—was it Ambus?” Liza’s eyes widened.

“… Yes, it was,” Renest said quietly, his expression carefully composed.

Ambus, the knight Renest had once trusted enough to task with abandoning his own child. And when the fear that Ambus might talk began to gnaw at him, Renest had ordered his execution. The man had said nothing in protest—only bowed his head and murmured, “If this brings you peace, Lord Renest…” before accepting his death without complaint.

Looking back, Renest had to admit—he’d acted too rashly. There had been no need to silence him so quickly. And yet now, that very execution served as the perfect keystone to this fabricated truth.

Liza’s face softened. “If only you’d told me this from the beginning… You could’ve trusted me.”

“I apologize. Ambus… he was my friend. Even after I had him executed, I didn’t want his name tarnished. I see now that I was the one who tormented him the most,” Renest said, his voice low and thick with false regret.

“Lord Renest…” Liza whispered, her voice wavering with emotion. She believed him. He could see it in her eyes—the doubt and the anger dissolving into sorrow and sympathy. As the realization took hold, a slow, cold smile crept onto Renest’s lips.

“If he’s alive… then I must bring him back,” Renest said, his voice low and deliberate. “Will you lend me your strength?”

“I understand how you feel, Lord Renest,” Liza replied carefully, “but the monsters in Beresdral are undeniably good people. Taking him back by force… that would be wrong. The only reason Belamus is even alive today is because they raised him with care and compassion.”

“That may be true,” Renest conceded with a slow nod. “However, the child—Belamus, as they call him—is still human. And humans are happiest living among their own kind. Here in House Astorius, we have wealth, comfort, and safety. I only want him to live the life he deserves—not among beasts, but as a noble. That’s not cruelty—it’s a parent’s love.”

“I understand,” Liza said, her voice tinged with hesitation, “but as I said, using force to retrieve him would be a mistake.”

“Not resorting to force,” Renest replied, his tone tightening, “is not a promise I can make. If they’re willing to return him peacefully, then I’ll do nothing. More than that, I’ll repay their kindness. They’ve kept him alive, after all—that deserves gratitude. But if they refuse to hand him over… then I’ll do whatever must be done.”

“It’s not a matter of whether they’ll hand him over or not,” Liza insisted. “Belamus himself told me he doesn’t want to leave. He said he can’t return—not while the village still needs him.”

“Hmph. He’s only six years old. What does a child know about what’s best for him? He says that because he’s never known another life,” Renest scoffed.

“I thought the same at first,” Liza admitted. “But he isn’t like other children. I honestly felt like I was speaking to a grown man. His mind… it’s mature in a way that’s hard to explain. I truly believe you won’t be able to convince him.”

Renest raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you say you’re exaggerating just a bit?”

“It’s the truth,” Liza said firmly. “Belamus feels a deep sense of duty to the people who raised him. He’s grateful to them—profoundly so.”

Renest didn’t buy it. A six-year-old with a mature mind? At best, the boy might speak with a hint of precociousness, but he was still a child. Liza had simply been dazzled by a clever kid and overestimated him.

“In any case,” Renest said, brushing her words aside, “we’ll try to negotiate one more time. But if he still refuses to come… then we’ll take him by force. Return to Beresdral and give them my message.”

Liza stood silently for a moment. She disagreed with Renest’s decision, but she understood his desire to reclaim his child. And so, without further protest, she turned and set off once more for the monster village in the depths of the forest.

※※※

“—And that’s everything,” Liza finished quietly.

She had returned to Beresdral once more and relayed Renest’s words to Belamus. This time, the journey had gone more smoothly—perhaps because she was already familiar with the route—and she arrived without injury.

After listening to her explanation, Belamus let out a long, exasperated sigh.

I figured as much… but it seems my so-called father truly isn’t right in the head.

No one knew better than Belamus just how absurd Renest’s story about a traitorous knight truly was. He remembered it all too clearly—those first moments after being reborn into this world. The cold proclamation that he’d been born with a useless innate trait. The decision to discard him in the forest like unwanted refuse. That despair… it wasn’t something he could ever forget.

“My answer hasn’t changed,” Belamus said flatly. “I have no intention of going to the count’s estate. Not now, not ever.”

“… Lord Renest said that if you won’t agree to come willingly, he’ll take you by force,” Liza admitted, her tone stiff with reluctance.

“He’s planning to send an army?” Belamus asked, his eyes narrowing.

“I believe so,” Liza replied, her voice subdued.

Belamus had no idea the full extent of the count’s military strength, but even so, the thought of invading the Great Frazes Forest seemed reckless. Still, if Renest actually sent a large force, there was a real chance that Beresdral would suffer a devastating blow. Belamus couldn’t let that happen. A battle had to be avoided at all costs.

“Tell me,” Belamus said, turning to Liza, “do you really believe the count told you the truth?”

He didn’t ask out of anger. He was looking for a way out—a path to prevent bloodshed. If he could help Liza see through Renest’s deception, she might become an ally. And with her on his side, they might still have a chance. Whether that meant feeding false information to Renest or convincing him to back down completely, there were still moves to make.

Even if it comes to war, Belamus thought, having Liza on our side might still be an advantage. At the very least, she could provide intelligence on the enemy. Gaining her trust wouldn’t be a loss.

“Do you truly believe it’s a lie?” Liza asked suddenly, turning the question back on him.

“I do,” Belamus answered without hesitation.

“Why?” Liza asked, her gaze fixed on Belamus, searching for the truth in his eyes.

He hesitated. How could he explain something so unbelievable? Telling her he retained memories from infancy would likely sound absurd. And yet… he saw no better option.

“I remember,” he said at last. “I still have memories from when I was a baby.”

Liza blinked. “Y-You… truly?”

“I’m still very young,” Belamus replied calmly. “So those memories haven’t faded yet. Maybe they will, in time. But for now… I remember.”

It was a flimsy explanation. He knew that. But to his relief, Liza didn’t immediately dismiss it. From her expression, Belamus could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced—she seemed caught between belief and doubt—but she wasn’t rejecting it outright either.

“Then… if you remember your infancy,” she said cautiously, “do you also remember the real reason why you were abandoned?”

“I do,” Belamus said, his voice growing colder. “I was born with magical aptitude. And because magic is considered a useless gift—a ‘dud’ birth—I was thrown away. That’s the truth. And after being cast out like that, do you really think I’d ever go back?”

“That’s… unforgivable…” Liza murmured, her brows drawing together. “Magical innate traits are indeed seen as misfortune, but still…”

She fell silent, troubled.

“If you still don’t believe me,” Belamus said, his tone firm but not accusatory, “then I’ll prove it. I’ll describe the people I saw back then—the man who abandoned me, the one who gave birth to me, and the one who ordered it all.”

He closed his eyes, sifting through the distant images burned into his mind, and began listing the features of each person he’d seen in that manor. His mother. The knight. And his father.

Liza’s eyes widened.

“Those… match Lord Renest, Sir Ambus… and the late Lady Astorius.”

Renest’s face was widely known, of course. But Ambus and the count’s wife had died long ago. Their features were barely remembered by most. Liza had known them both well. She had served alongside Ambus and had spoken with the count’s wife many times. And everything Belamus described matched perfectly.

It was undeniable—if Belamus hadn’t retained memories from his infancy, there was no possible way he would have been able to describe people who had died when he was only three months old. Since the day he was abandoned, he’d been raised by goblins. There were no secondhand stories, no portraits to reference. The only explanation was his own memory.

“My mother… she’s dead?” he asked, his voice softer now.

“Y-Yes,” Liza replied, a bit startled by the sudden change in tone. “She passed away shortly after giving birth to you…”

“I see,” Belamus murmured.

He remembered her—not her voice or her kindness, but her defiance. She hadn’t wanted to abandon him. Because of that, he couldn’t bring himself to hate her. They had shared hardly any time together, not enough for any real connection, but still… she was blood. The knowledge that someone who shared what ran through his veins had passed away left a faint but genuine sadness in its wake.

“… Are those really your memories from when you were a baby?” Liza asked quietly, her voice tinged with disbelief.

“I don’t lie,” Belamus said simply.

“But… if that’s true… then why would Lord Renest suddenly want you back?” she pressed, frowning.

“You tell me,” he said, folding his arms. “Shouldn’t you know his motives better than I do?”

Liza fell silent.

She did have a theory.

The current heir.

She’d seen it herself—how uncertain his future looked. Immature, unremarkable, lacking presence. He was still a child, true, and there was room to grow, but…

If Lord Renest doesn’t believe in that potential, then…

If Belamus were reinstated as the eldest son, the current heir would be demoted to second in line. From the outside, it would look like a noble’s decision to correct a past mistake. But the truth was uglier: they had cast Belamus aside for political convenience, and now they were trying to reclaim him for the same reason.

They threw him away for being born with the wrong fate—and now they want him back because he suits what they see as their new one. There’s no love in this, no remorse, just strategy.

The thought turned her stomach. And with it, her trust in Renest—the man she’d once called master—continued to crumble.

Yet even now… part of her didn’t want to believe it. Could the man she had sworn loyalty to really be such a cold-blooded schemer?

She didn’t want the answer to be yes.

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is this,” Belamus said firmly. “I have absolutely no intention of returning. What I want from you is simple—go back to House Astorius and tell the count that I’ve died. Say it was an illness, or an accident. Whatever you like. If he believes I’m dead, he’ll have no reason to attack this place. We can avoid a pointless war.”

“You’re asking me to lie?” Liza replied, her brow furrowing.

“It’s the cleanest solution, isn’t it?” Belamus said, his gaze steady and unwavering.

Liza fell silent, clearly conflicted. Too many revelations at once had shaken her—Renest’s deceit, the truth about Belamus’s abandonment, the possibility that everything she believed in might have been built on a lie.

She stood there for a long moment, weighing her loyalty against her conscience.

At last, she gave a slow nod. “Understood… I’ll tell Lord Renest that you’ve passed.”

With that, she rose to her feet and quietly took her leave, departing from Beresdral without another word.

※※※

“Are you sure about this? Letting her go?” Ellency asked. She had been silently observing the conversation from the sidelines. “There’s no guarantee she’ll lie for you. And honestly, keeping her here might be more useful.”

“If we don’t let her return, they’ll almost certainly attack,” Belamus replied calmly. “And not just to retrieve me. They’ll have a second reason—to ‘rescue’ Liza. That alone could rally their troops. Many of their soldiers likely know her and hold her in high regard.”

“… Fair point,” Ellency muttered. “But even if she does lie for you, there’s no guarantee they won’t come anyway, right?”

“I agree,” Belamus said with a nod. “We need to start preparing for that possibility. If it comes to war… I may have no choice but to surrender myself.”

At those words, Ellency’s expression darkened.

“Absolutely not,” she snapped. “Listen to me. This village doesn’t work without you, Belamus. While it is true that you are the one driving us forward, that is not all you are. You’re also the reason all these different races are living together in peace. Without you here, it would’ve fallen apart ages ago. Fights would’ve broken out, sides would’ve formed, and the village would’ve splintered.” She paused, then added more gently, “If you really want to go live with the humans, I won’t stop you. But if you’re only saying that for our sake, then no—I can’t accept it.”

“… I have no desire to live among humans,” Belamus said, his voice steady. “You’re right, Ellency. I can’t leave Beresdral. Not now.”

He knew it as well as she did—his presence was the thread holding the village together. The fragile trust between species, the progress they’d made… it all hinged on him.

“Then, let’s focus on driving them back,” he said. “We can’t wait until they’re already here. We need a plan now.”

With that, Belamus summoned Balbora, Medina, Ellency, Lilli, and Ugo. Together, they began laying the groundwork—preparing for the possibility of an invasion by the forces of House Astorius.

※※※

“How many soldiers do these humans have?” The question came from Ugo, the goblins’ representative and the one currently commanding their fighting force.

Belamus shook his head. “I don’t know the exact number. It’s likely over a thousand, maybe even ten thousand.”

“Ten thousand, huh…” Ugo grunted. “So about as many as those legion ants we fought off last time?”

“Roughly, yes,” Belamus replied. “But unlike the ants, these soldiers won’t be used to fighting in the Great Frazes Forest. I doubt they’ll pose as much of a threat as their numbers suggest.”

The forest itself was a powerful natural defense, filled with dangerous monsters—some territorial, some predatory, all dangerous to outsiders. Belamus expected that many of the weaker enemy troops would fall before they ever reached Beresdral.

Still, Belamus couldn’t be complacent. A full-scale assault would still bring chaos, and the risk to the villagers was real. He needed a way to drive the humans back without endangering lives.

“If I may…” Medina stepped forward, voice calm but resolute. “What if I deploy the full force of my legion ants to strike them down before they can get close? Thanks to your efforts, Lord Belamus, their numbers have grown considerably. I believe I could make a difference.”

“The legion ants?” Belamus asked, surprised. “You mean an open assault?”

“Yes,” she said with a nod. “If we can eliminate their general, we may be able to rout them entirely. Even if we can’t strike down the commander, thinning their ranks will make the battle much easier. And I know exactly how to maneuver the ants in this forest—I’ve done it before.”

“Wait,” Belamus said, frowning. “Wouldn’t that put your ants in danger?”

Medina gave a small smile. “The ants, aside from my Ant Core, are like extensions of myself—arms and legs, you might say. And even that’s generous. Unlike your limbs, mine can be replaced. None of the legion ants possess independent will. There’s no need to mourn them if they fall.”

“Is that… really how it works?” Belamus asked.

“Of course,” Medina said with a shrug. “Though I admit, it would still be painful to lose them. It’s taken time to grow the colony to this size. But if I don’t act now—if I can’t protect Beresdral when it matters most—then what am I even here for?”

Belamus looked at her, his mind weighing the risks. Medina’s logic was sound, but he couldn’t help but hesitate. Deploying the legion ants could make a real difference… but it also meant accepting sacrifice, even if Medina herself dismissed it.

He remained silent for a moment, eyes narrowing in thought.

The decision wasn’t easy.

Wouldn’t that place too much of a burden on Medina?

The thought tugged at him—but at the same time, he couldn’t deny the tactical advantage. Relying on the legion ants could wear down the enemy’s forces before they even reached the village.

“… Very well,” he said at last. “We’ll move forward with your plan. Medina, I’ll leave the first phase to you.”

Medina gave a crisp nod, her eyes gleaming with purpose.

“How many legion ants do you have right now?” Belamus asked.

“Approximately seven hundred,” she replied without hesitation.

“That many already?” he blinked. “Then I’d like to ask something else of them—can we use them as scouts to gather intel?”

“Of course,” she said with a small, confident smile. “I’ve already bred a class of General Ants specialized for speed. Perfect for reconnaissance.”

“Good. Then I’ll leave that to you. The count’s estate lies to the west, so I want eyes on any likely entry points from that direction,” Belamus said, nodding decisively.

“I’ll have them watch the western edge of the forest,” Medina said. “And since I can directly see whatever the General Ants see, I’ll be able to report any movement right away.”

Belamus nodded in approval. That’s a damn useful ability.

“Um, Lord Belamus…” Balbora raised a hand, voice deep and uncertain. “What should the orcs be doing?”

“Not just the orcs,” Belamus replied. “Everyone who isn’t part of Medina’s swarm should focus on training. Hone your skills, no matter how small. I’ll start reinforcing the village’s defenses myself, and I want the help of those with a talent for magic.”

“I’m good with magic!” Lilli said, her hand shooting into the air. “And the other imps will help too!”

Belamus gave her a small smile. “Perfect. I’ll be counting on you.”

Since their last training, the imps had continued honing their craft. Their ability to cast magic without incantation had improved dramatically.

“I’m fairly skilled with magic myself,” said Ellency, a hint of modesty in her voice. “But as an alraune, I’m limited to specific elemental types…”

“If you can lend me a few alraunes who use earth magic and some who can use water magic, that would be a big help,” Belamus replied.

“Earth magic and water magic, huh? Got it,” Ellency replied with a nod, already considering which alraune to send. Within their species, flower color indicated magical affinity—alraunes with ochre flowers could wield earth magic, while those with blue blooms specialized in water-based spells.

With the planning complete, the legion ants moved out, scattering into the forest and heading west to scout the likely paths of human incursion. Meanwhile, Belamus turned his full attention to fortifying their base—laying the groundwork to defend Beresdral from the coming storm.

※※※

“Let’s begin the fortification of our base immediately,” Belamus declared, taking a step forward to address the crowd. Arrayed before him were the magic-users: Delarosa, Medello, Lilli, and all the other imp spellcasters. They were joined by the alraunes, whose petals were a mix of ochre and deep blue, signifying their mastery of earth and water magic, respectively. The total number of magic-users was over eighty.

“So, what exactly are we doing?” Delarosa asked, tilting her head curiously.

“We’ll start by building a formidable double-layered wall,” Belamus explained. “Given our numbers, extending the fortifications this far shouldn’t be a problem. After that, we’ll erect a series of high towers. The elevated position will give our spellcasters an incredible advantage in combat.”

From a high point, those wielding earth magic could launch projectiles with immense destructive power. Even without magic, the goblins’ skilled archers would find the increased elevation beneficial. Constructing these towers was a fundamental part of the plan.

“Once the walls are completed, we’ll excavate a wide moat around them,” he went on. “A simple wall might suffice against mindless beasts, but to deter humans, we’ll need far more than that.”

“A what?” Delarosa asked once more, her expression confused.

“A moat is a deep, water-filled trench that encircles the walls,” Belamus patiently clarified. “It makes it significantly more difficult for enemy soldiers to approach the fortress.”

The earth-wielding alraunes would make digging the moat an effortless task with their magic. While an opposing mage could potentially fill it back in, Belamus highly doubted their enemies would have such a plan. This was, after all, the same noble house that had abandoned a child simply for possessing a magical affinity. It was probable that they had a widespread neglect for magical training.

There was a secondary benefit to this task as well—it would serve as a form of combat training. Having the casters repeatedly use their magic for a practical purpose would refine their control and enhance their power. Without a moment to spare, Belamus joined the others, and together, they commenced the crucial task of reinforcing the Beresdral defenses.

※※※

“He’s… dead?” Renest stared at Liza, his mind struggling to process the words.

Liza had returned to the Astorius estate and, as promised, delivered her report: Belamus had perished. A part of her ached to confront the count about the truth of his abandonment, but she knew that to do so now would reveal her lie. So, she bit her tongue.

“Are you absolutely certain? This is the truth?” Renest demanded, visibly shaken. His voice trembled with disbelief as he leaned forward, his eyes wide with a fragile hope.

“Yes,” Liza replied, her tone unwavering. On her journey back, she had grappled with her decision, questioning if deceiving the very man she served was right. But she had made her choice.

Because I swore loyalty… I have to stop him from making a terrible mistake.

By lying, she wasn’t betraying her oath—she was honoring it, trying to prevent a catastrophe.

“He’s really and truly gone?” Renest asked once more, his voice now desperate, full of the panic of a man watching his last hope slip away. It was easy to understand his despair. In Belamus, he had seen the perfect resolution to his succession problem—a discarded son, now a prodigy, returned. And just as quickly, that light had been extinguished.

Liza gave a solemn nod. “It’s true. He left the village and was killed by a monster. The Great Frazes Forest proved to be far more dangerous than we had anticipated.”

“I… I see…” Renest murmured, his shoulders slumping as if a physical weight had been laid on him. He sank into his chair, the fire gone from his eyes. Because Renest trusted Liza implicitly—because the thought of her lying was inconceivable—he accepted her words as truth. Belamus was dead.

Despair settled deep in Renest’s bones. The hope he had so fiercely held for a worthy heir had vanished like smoke. All that remained was the grim reality of his current son, and the terrible realization that perhaps the only solution was to remove him entirely.

Just then, a retainer appeared in the doorway. “My lord, Lord Barth has arrived to see you.”

“Barth?” Renest muttered, his brow furrowing. “Tell him I’m not in the mood to—” He stopped himself mid-sentence, a bitter thought twisting in his gut. This whole ordeal had started with Barth. He was the one who had delivered the initial report, who had filled Renest with false hope.

If I hadn’t heard that damn story, I wouldn’t be feeling like this.

It wasn’t fair—Barth had simply been doing his job—but fairness held no sway over Renest’s foul mood. “No. Let him in,” he said flatly.

Barth was ushered into the room, his usual cheerful demeanor on full display. He bowed and offered a pleasant smile. “Good day, Lord Renest. And Lady Liza,” he greeted, his voice smooth and polite. “I heard a rumor that the child in the Great Frazes Forest might be your son. What a surprise! I trust he’s already been brought back?”

The rumor of a potential heir had not been widely shared, but a few retainers knew. Apparently, word had leaked. It was annoying, a sign that someone in Renest’s house was too loose-lipped, but that was a problem for later.

“Dead?” Barth blinked. “Did you say… dead?”

“Yes. And it’s thanks to you—”

Barth cut him off with a sudden, forceful shout. “That’s impossible!” His voice, loud and certain, sliced through the gloom like a blade.

“Lady Liza confirmed it,” Renest insisted.

“Yes,” Liza added, her posture rigid. “I personally verified Belamus’s death. There is no mistake.”

“That’s a lie,” Barth stated flatly, stepping toward her with an air of calm but undeniable certainty.

Liza stiffened. “Wh-What are you suggesting?”

“If the boy in the Great Frazes Forest truly died, what was the cause?” Barth pressed, his voice low and intense.

“H-He was… killed by a monster,” Liza stammered, faltering under Barth’s unblinking stare.

“Impossible,” Barth said without hesitation. “That boy possessed the strength to defeat a Behemoth. Nothing on the western edge of that forest should be able to kill him.”

“I… I confirmed it,” Liza insisted, though her voice now wavered.

“No. You’re lying,” Barth said coldly, his gaze locked on her with unerring conviction. His words struck Liza like a physical blow. She flinched, her composure visibly crumbling. She was a knight, not a deceiver, and under this pressure, her inexperience showed.

“Enough,” Renest interjected sharply. “Liza is not the type to lie. She is telling the truth.”

Barth didn’t back down. “That child has managed to unite multiple monster species. That kind of influence requires more than raw strength; it demands charisma, leadership, and an extraordinary gift for communication. I’d wager Lady Liza was swayed by him and lied to stop you from marching on Beresdral.”

Renest fell silent. Normally, he would have dismissed the claims of a lower-ranking man like Barth in favor of his most trusted retainer. But this time was different. Liza had delivered a truth he didn’t want to hear, and Barth was saying precisely what he wanted to believe. Renest’s conviction began to waver.

“Believe what you want,” Barth said with a shrug. “But even if the boy is dead, Beresdral remains. A settlement where once-fractured monster tribes have formed a civilization is, in itself, a serious threat to your domain. If they continue to grow unchecked, the damage will eventually reach your lands, Lord Renest. I suggest we crush them now, before it’s too late.”

Barth had given him a new justification, one that didn’t depend on Belamus’s existence. Renest, still reeling with uncertainty, found himself tempted.

Liza says they’re good people… but is that really true?

He trusted her, but she was also painfully earnest, naive—the kind of person who could be easily fooled by a clever monster. And so, Renest’s doubt intensified.

“P-Please wait!” Liza pleaded, her voice laced with desperation. “The monsters of Beresdral are good people! They would never attack unprovoked!”

“Why are you so determined to defend them?” Barth asked, his eyes narrowing.

“Because I saw Beresdral with my own eyes,” she replied, trying to steady her voice. “I’ve been there. I saw how they live.”

“They are monsters,” Barth said flatly. “At their core, they are fundamentally different from us. How can you claim to understand them after just a few days? You don’t know what they are truly thinking.” He stepped closer, his gaze piercing. “You can’t possibly know.”

“Th-That’s not true!” Liza protested, but her voice faltered.

“You’re far too desperate,” Barth said coolly. “It only makes you look more suspicious. You were persuaded, weren’t you? Convinced to come back here and lie?”

Liza bit her lip, her fists clenched. She was a knight, not a debater, and she was losing badly. Barth turned away from her and faced Renest directly.

“Lord Renest. Why not go and see for yourself whether there’s truly a human child in the Great Frazes Forest?”

Renest remained silent, thinking hard. Even if Belamus was dead, Barth was right: an organized monster settlement on his borders was a threat he could not ignore. And Liza’s frantic defense was deeply troubling. He trusted her, but her behavior had cast a shadow of doubt. Perhaps her judgment had been clouded. Considering all the factors—the potential danger, the unknowns, the possibility of deception—Renest made his decision.

“We will march on Beresdral,” he declared.

“A wise decision, if I may say so,” Barth said with a pleasant smile.

“Lord Renest!” Liza burst out, panic rising in her voice.

“Liza…” Renest turned to her, his voice weary and wounded. “Did you lie to me? Why are you so desperate to protect them? I don’t want to doubt you, but don’t say anything more. My decision is final. Whether your words were truth or lies, we will march on Beresdral.”

Liza’s breath caught in her throat. Renest’s declaration was absolute, leaving her speechless.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Barth chimed in cheerfully. “Since you’ll be heading to Beresdral, why not hire us? I’m sure we can be of use.”

“Hire you?” Renest narrowed his eyes. “Who exactly are you?”

“Oh, have I not said?” Barth asked innocently. “I am the leader of a mercenary company.”

Renest blinked in surprise. Barth was well-dressed and polished, far from the rough-and-tumble image of a mercenary. Renest had assumed he was a well-to-do merchant, perhaps a minor noble. “You’re a mercenary?”

“My company specializes in monster-slaying,” Barth explained. “We rarely take contracts involving humans, but for a campaign like this, I believe we’d be especially valuable.”

“Monster-hunting specialists…” Renest murmured. House Astorius didn’t have a massive army, but they were wealthy and experienced in fighting monsters due to their proximity to the forest. Still, having a specialized mercenary company on their side could be a huge advantage if their skills were legitimate. The real problem was this: Barth’s company was a complete unknown.

“How much do you charge? And how many men do you have?” Renest asked.

“We’re a thousand strong,” Barth replied smoothly. “The price is fifty thousand Lin.”

“Fifty thousand?” Renest raised an eyebrow. “That’s… quite cheap.” The price was suspiciously low, making him question the group’s competence. Still, even if their combat skills were lacking, a thousand swords couldn’t be completely useless. And for fifty thousand Lin—a sum Renest could discard without blinking—it was worth the risk.

“… Very well. I’ll hire you,” Renest said after a pause, his voice cautious but decisive.

“Excellent,” Barth said with a pleased smile. “We’ll do our part, I assure you.”

Renest’s voice took on a commanding edge. “We begin preparing for deployment immediately. Liza. Barth. Ready your forces.”

“Understood,” Barth answered crisply.

“… Yes, my lord,” Liza replied, her voice faint. She bowed and turned away, her heart heavy, already desperately searching for a way to stop the impending conflict.

※※※

“It’s finished. Everything’s done,” Belamus declared, his gaze sweeping over the transformed village. The fortification of Beresdral had been completed in just twenty days, a truly astounding feat. The village now boasted formidable double-layered walls, fifteen defensive towers, and a wide moat surrounding the outer perimeter, rendering a direct assault nearly impossible. Beresdral was no longer a simple collection of monster dwellings; it had become an intimidating fortress.

“Whoa… It’s incredible now, isn’t it?” Delarosa breathed, her eyes wide with awe. While she didn’t grasp the intricate details of their newfound defensive strength, she could plainly see the magnitude of the change.

We used a tremendous amount of magic during the construction, Belamus mused, noting that his own magical capacity had nearly tripled. With this larger reserve, he could now cast high-level spells multiple times in succession, rapidly approaching the immense power he had once wielded in his past life.

This growth wasn’t limited to him, either; every single person who had participated in the construction had grown immensely. Delarosa’s already impressive magical power had been pushed even further, and Medello’s reserves had expanded to the point where she would now be capable of evolving into a Witch Goblin. She hadn’t done so yet—mainly because they hadn’t had time to hunt the necessary Hellhounds—but the potential was there.

Even those who weren’t particularly gifted in magic had been training harder than usual during the past twenty days. As a result, the entire village had grown stronger.

With this much power… we might actually stand a chance, Belamus thought, a flicker of hope lighting in his chest. We might be able to drive them back.

“ALRIGHT! BRING IT ON, HUMANS!” Navasha roared, her voice brimming with confidence.

“Allow me to remind you,” Belamus said, giving her a stern glance. “We still don’t know for certain they’re coming. It’s still possible they won’t, and that, frankly, would be the best outcome.”

“Y-Yeah…” Medello nervously agreed. “F-Fighting humans sounds absolutely terrifying…” Her usual timidness was amplified as she trembled.

“The construction’s done, right?” Navasha grinned, cracking her knuckles. “Come on, let’s spar! It’s training time!”

“Wait! Belamus is supposed to teach me and Medello magic today!” Delarosa interjected, throwing her arms out. “Training comes after that!”

“What?! I get him first!” Navasha snapped.

“No, I do!” Delarosa retorted, and the two began to bicker fiercely, their voices escalating as they circled one another.

“That’s enough,” Belamus sighed. “Stop fighting over something so pointless. Navasha is first today. Delarosa, you’ll have to wait your turn.”

“Aww, fine!” Delarosa pouted, folding her arms with a dramatic huff. But before the next round of arguments could begin, a sudden voice rang out:

“Emergency!”

Medina came rushing up the hill, her breath short and her voice urgent. The fact that she was above ground at all was highly unusual, as she typically remained in her underground nest. Belamus knew immediately that something was wrong.

“They’re coming, aren’t they?” he asked calmly, even as a knot of tension tightened in his stomach.

“Y-Yes,” she nodded. “A massive human force has entered the Great Frazes Forest from the western edge. They’ve begun their advance.”

Belamus let out a slow exhale, a sense of grim resolve washing over him. He had always known this was a possibility. Liza was a good person, but she was a terrible liar, and if her deception had been discovered, this would have been the inevitable result.

“I see. Then we proceed as planned,” he said. “Send out the legion ants. Focus on reducing the humans’ numbers and gathering intel. And Medina—buy us as much time as you can. If we slow their advance, they’ll be stuck in the forest longer. That’ll wear them down, drain morale. If their spirits falter before they reach us, they won’t be able to take Beresdral.”

“Understood,” Medina said, bowing slightly before turning to leave.

“They actually showed up! Let’s take them down!” Navasha was already fired up, her fists clenched and her eyes burning with excitement.

“I’m scaaared…” Medello whimpered, clutching her staff with trembling hands.

“Belamus, I’ll do my best!” Delarosa’s voice was full of determination.

What should I be doing right now? Belamus pondered, folding his arms. With Medina buying them time, he couldn’t afford to sit idly by. He considered going out to hunt for the monsters needed for his villagers’ evolution, but the situation was too volatile. He needed to stay at Beresdral, ready to respond to any immediate changes on the battlefield. For now, he decided to stay in the village.

That leaves teaching magic to our casters, he thought. Or finding ways to further reinforce the defenses.

“Navasha,” he called out, “gather the Soldier Goblins and get them training—now.”

“Got it!” she barked, already turning on her heel and sprinting toward the barracks.

“What about us?” Delarosa asked, tugging on his sleeve.

“I’ll be teaching you and Medello some defensive spells—things that’ll help protect the base. But I also want to include Lilli and Ellency in the lesson. Wait here while I go get them,” Belamus said, already planning the lesson in his head.

“Okay!” Delarosa replied cheerfully, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

“U-Understood…” Medello stammered.

Belamus nodded and set off, gathering the village’s magic-users one by one. Once they were all assembled, he began teaching them spells specifically chosen to defend Beresdral—barriers, area denial magic, and reinforcement wards. The battle had not yet begun, but the foundations for their survival were being laid, one incantation at a time.

Chapter 6

Liza let out a heavy sigh as she marched through the Great Frazes Forest. She was at the front of the army, leading one of the forward units toward Beresdral. Her detachment was composed of elite soldiers, a testament to her experience and her personal knowledge of the village. Barth’s mercenary company, experts in monster-hunting, was also positioned in the vanguard with her.

Beside her, Barth walked with an expression she couldn’t read.

Behind them, Count Renest himself led the main force. It was rare for a noble of his rank to fight on the front lines—dangerous, even—but Renest was an exceptional field commander whose combat skills were said to rival Liza’s. Whenever House Astorius faced a battle it couldn’t afford to lose, Renest would fight alongside his troops. For this invasion, he had mobilized six thousand of his soldiers, bringing their total force, with Barth’s mercenaries, to over seven thousand.

Beresdral wasn’t a massive stronghold, so Liza had objected to such a large army, arguing that a smaller, more agile force would be better suited to the dense forest. But her advice had been dismissed. Now, here they were, a massive army lumbering through the treacherous wilds.

“… What else could I have done?” she muttered to herself, her thoughts racing.

Should I have pleaded harder? Chosen better words? Fought to the bitter end to stop this before it began?

Now that the wheels were turning, she knew—there was no stopping it. The momentum was too great. The invasion was happening.

If it’s come to this… do I have to fight them myself? Stand at the front and raise my sword against the people of Beresdral?

The thought made her stomach twist.

Yes, she told herself. I am a knight of House Astorius. Serving Lord Renest is my duty. Following his orders is what a knight must do.

Even as she recited those truths, her heart rebelled.

And as a person… I know this is wrong.

She had seen the kindness in those so-called monsters. She had lived among them, shared food, laughter, and life. They had even saved her when they’d had every reason to let her die.

If the war had been built on a righteous cause, Liza might have been able to endure it. But there was no such cause here. No great evil to defeat. No urgent threat to neutralize. Only the ambitions of a man she had once sworn to serve—and the illusion of control he sought to reclaim.

Liza knew better than anyone that Count Renest was in the wrong. The monsters of Beresdral were not enemies of humanity. She had seen them with her own eyes—how they lived, how they treated each other, how they welcomed her, even when they had no reason to. They were better, in many ways, than the very humans who now marched to slaughter them. If relations had been handled with care, they could have been allies. Trade partners. Neighbors.

Then there was Belamus. To discard a child at birth, deeming him worthless, only to demand his return once he’d grown powerful… and to drag him back against his will for political convenience? It was grotesque. It had nothing to do with family, nothing to do with love. It was a transaction—one Renest now intended to finalize with force.

Liza had lied to prevent this, to protect a child who deserved more than to be a pawn. Now, that lie was on the verge of unraveling. She would likely be punished, even stripped of her title, but she didn’t regret her decision—until now, as thousands marched toward a village that had shown her nothing but kindness.

What was the right path? The one her oath demanded? Or the one her conscience whispered?

Before she could answer that question, the forest came alive with screams.

“Enemy attack! We’re under attack!”

Liza’s thoughts snapped back into focus. Shouts echoed through the trees, and she turned just in time to see a group of ant-like monsters break from the undergrowth. They were armed with spears and moved with terrifying precision. In mere seconds, several soldiers were down—struck before they could react.

Then, just as quickly as they had appeared, the attackers retreated, vanishing into the dense forest before any organized retaliation could be mounted.

Some soldiers began to give chase, their discipline breaking.

“Stop! Do not pursue!” Liza’s voice cut through the chaos, firm and commanding. “Stay in formation!”

She had seen how dangerous it was to lose cohesion in the Great Frazes Forest. The terrain was a death trap for the undisciplined. One misstep, and a unit could vanish without a trace.

“They looked like legion ants,” someone muttered beside her.

Liza frowned. She had heard of them—seen their aftermath in war reports—but never encountered them during her time in Beresdral. It made sense; if they were subterranean, they could have easily avoided detection.

The creatures were rare—so rare that most humans had never seen one before. To the untrained eye, the legion ants might have seemed like just another forest-dwelling monster, but to those with experience, they were something far more dangerous.

“They’re incredibly troublesome creatures,” Barth said, his voice low with caution. “Unlike most monsters, they coordinate their attacks like we do, and they know this forest better than any of us—they’ll be perfectly adapted for combat here.”

Liza nodded grimly. “We’ll need to proceed carefully.”

Charging forward recklessly would only invite more ambushes like the one they’d just endured. The thick forest reduced visibility, and the enemy had clearly mastered the terrain. Liza issued orders to slow the march and keep the troops in a heightened state of alert. They advanced cautiously, ready for anything.

Thanks to that extra caution, the second ambush was thwarted. A formation of legion ants attempted another strike, but the troops were prepared this time and managed to take down several of the attackers before they could retreat.

The next danger didn’t come from weapons—it came from beneath their feet.

Hidden pit traps had been dug throughout the path ahead. Liza was lucky enough to avoid them, but many of the soldiers behind her were not. Cries were cut short as entire rows of men vanished into the earth. When Liza called down to them, no voices answered. The pits were deep, and by all signs, deadly.

Now, with traps to avoid as well as ambushes, their pace slowed even further. Each step had to be measured. Each inch of progress became a gamble.

“If we keep moving at this pace,” Barth said, shaking his head, “we won’t reach Beresdral for months. No army can keep morale that long in the wild. This is becoming a problem.”

“Agreed,” Liza answered. They paused beneath the thick forest canopy, both Liza and Barth wearing equally troubled expressions. For Liza, the delay was a minor relief; in fact, she secretly hoped it would last longer.

The more time we buy, the better the chance I have to convince Renest to turn back.

She turned to Barth. “Perhaps we underestimated the Great Frazes Forest. I suggest we halt the march here and regroup. I’ll return to Count Renest and advise a full retreat—at least until we can reevaluate our strategy.”

Barth raised a hand. “Hold on. There’s another way.”

Without elaborating, he summoned a group of his men. Then, stepping forward, he began to chant under his breath—a sharp, arcane incantation. Moments later, the ground around them began to shake. Across the path ahead, hidden pit traps started to collapse as if the forest floor had been ripped away. It was a special detection spell, one that exposed pre-laid traps by forcing the ground to shift just enough to reveal them.

“This spell will nullify any pitfall traps the enemy has laid,” Barth said with a self-satisfied smile, gesturing to the earth now riddled with exposed craters. “Ah—but do be careful not to fall in.”

“… Wouldn’t it have been better to use that spell from the beginning?” Liza asked, raising an eyebrow.

Barth let out a sheepish chuckle. “Well, it does consume quite a bit of mana…”

“I see.” Her reply was curt, and she didn’t press the matter further—magical theory wasn’t her domain. Still, unease stirred in her gut.

Who exactly is this man?

His skills were undeniable, and the magic he’d just used wasn’t something a common mercenary would possess. What troubled her most was the absence of any prior rumors or recognition. A mercenary company this competent should have been widely known—spoken of in hushed awe or wary respect across the noble courts and military halls.

The price? Fifty thousand Lin. That was a pathetic price for a thousand elite fighters. Something didn’t add up.

Still, her suspicions gave her nothing to act on. Barth hadn’t done anything obviously wrong. In fact, he had been incredibly helpful. So, swallowing her doubt, Liza gave the signal, and the march continued.

The advance became more secure now that the traps were exposed—though the pace was still slow, it was no longer dangerous. But the enemy quickly changed tactics. The subsequent attacks came directly from the traps that had just been revealed. Legion ants began bursting from the open pits, using them as ambush points. The first of these surprise attacks was aimed right at Liza, but she met it without a second thought. With a smooth, practiced motion, her blade sliced through the air—clean, certain, and vicious. The creature fell at her feet without touching her.

The fight that followed was quick and sharp. Liza’s commands cut through the chaos like steel, and her soldiers reacted with trained discipline, taking out the ambushers without a single injury. Not even a scratch.

The moment of peace was short-lived.

More traps. More ambushes. Arrows from unseen angles, pitfall snares reinforced with vines, flammable oil slicks ignited by stray sparks. The legion ants harried them endlessly, never showing themselves for long, always retreating before a full engagement could be established.

Though the casualties remained low, the cost was mounting, not in blood, but in resolve.

Even in the early stages of the march, the soldiers’ nerves had begun to fray. Now, eyes darted at every rustling leaf, and boots hesitated with every step. The oppressive weight of the forest bore down on them until even the air felt thick with dread.

Even with their numbers dwindling and morale hanging by a thread, Renest refused to retreat.

He pressed onward, unwavering in his obsession. The legion ants, for all their cunning and coordination, were not infinite. As the days dragged on, their ambushes became less frequent, their numbers thinned by steady counterattacks and attrition. With every clash, the human army pushed a little further, carving a bloodstained path through the forest.

The cost was staggering.

Over three thousand soldiers had already fallen—nearly half the army. Their corpses fed the forest floor, left behind in shallow graves or none at all. The survivors marched on with hollow eyes and trembling hands, the fear and fatigue etched into every line of their faces.

※※※

Medina stood before Belamus, her expression tense with guilt. “Lord Belamus, I’m sorry. We can’t hold them off any longer.” Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with frustration. The legion ants had done everything they could; their numbers had been decimated.

“You’ve done more than enough,” Belamus said, his tone steady. “Three thousand of the enemy are dead—that is a feat worthy of praise. You stalled them for over half a month, in a forest where every shadow is a threat and every rustle a trap, there isn’t a single soldier among them who isn’t sick with dread. Their morale is shattered. Their bodies are worn down. What you’ve inflicted on them goes far beyond numbers.”

Even with that reassurance, the reality was grim. Nearly half of Beresdral’s frontline strength had been legion ants. With so many lost, the burden now fell on the rest—evolved monsters, yes, many powerful and loyal, but still vastly outnumbered. Four thousand human soldiers remained. Weak and weary, yes, but still armed and marching.

Can we survive this? Even Belamus didn’t have the answer.

He wasted no time. Orders were issued swiftly and efficiently. The western towers, the most likely point of assault, became the main stronghold. Belamus stationed himself there with Delarosa and other skilled mages, ready to rain down spells or disrupt siege engines. Orcs clambered up the walls with massive stones ready to hurl at invaders, and goblin infantry took positions behind the inner barricades, prepared to overwhelm any who breached the defenses. Every monster knew its role.

Hours passed in tense preparation. Then, figures emerged from the trees. Their armor glinted dully under the gray light, their weapons were drawn, and their eyes were hollowed by exhaustion. The enemy had arrived. At the front of the vanguard was a familiar figure—Liza.

Belamus narrowed his eyes, and his voice boomed across the field. “What business brings you here, humans?!”

His voice echoed over the walls like a war drum, and at the sound of it, Liza faltered. She looked up, saw him alive, and her guilt was unmistakable. She didn’t raise her weapon or answer right away.

She met Belamus’s gaze only for a fleeting second—then looked away, her expression twisting with silent pain. “Charge!” she shouted, her voice sharp and commanding, and the soldiers surged forward, clattering and pounding toward the outer wall.

Belamus’s jaw tightened. So, she won’t speak. Then there’s nothing more to say.

He had hoped—desperately—that Liza might be able to stop this, that her presence signaled a desire to negotiate. But she’d given her answer. Whether out of duty, fear, or doubt, she had chosen to act. And in doing so, she had left him no choice.

If you march here as invaders, then I will show you no mercy.

The weight of Belamus’s past life settled on his shoulders like an old cloak. He had killed before. Not just once, not in desperation—but many times, and with cold precision. He had ended lives for less than this. And if blood had to be spilled to protect Beresdral, so be it.

The first wave came fast—soldiers sprinting across the field, ladders in hand, aiming for the ramparts.

Belamus raised his hand, his voice a whisper beneath the growing thunder of war.

“Meteor.”

The sky split open, and a massive stone, conjured from the heavens themselves, plummeted down, striking the earth with a deafening crack. Dozens of soldiers were instantly crushed. The shockwave tore through the surrounding ranks, tossing bodies like rag dolls. For a brief, terrible moment, silence fell. The soldiers, stunned, stared at the scorched crater. They had never seen magic of this scale before, but they were living it now.

The air trembled with pressure as Belamus summoned another Meteor, the sky cracking open above him like the breath before judgment. A boulder the size of a house came hurtling down, crashing into the enemy ranks with a bone-rattling roar. Stone and blood exploded skyward. Screams followed—raw, panicked, human.

Belamus didn’t hesitate. Again and again, he raised his staff, the magic surged, and another Meteor answered his call. Soldiers who’d once marched with order now faltered, their formations breaking under the shock of sheer magical power.

“What the hell is that?!”

“Is that… magic?”

“No way—how can anyone cast something that massive?!”

Fear spread like wildfire. The soldiers, already weakened by the long, brutal march through the forest, now faced a power beyond comprehension. Some turned and ran, even knowing that escape through the forest was nearly impossible. Still, anything was better than the horror raining from the sky.

“Hold the line! Fight! Advance!” Liza’s voice rang out above the chaos. She tried to rally them, blade drawn, leading by example. But her voice, once inspiring, was swallowed by the sounds of collapsing morale. Too many had seen friends turned to red mist. Too many had reached their limit.

They wouldn’t—couldn’t—fight anymore.

“Tch… fall back! Everyone, fall back!”

Reluctantly, she gave the order. The retreat was chaotic, more a rout than a withdrawal, and Belamus made no effort to pursue. He stood atop the tower, cloak snapping in the wind, eyes cold as he watched the enemy retreat into the trees.

They thought this village would be an easy target.

Of course they did. Liza had come before, and she hadn’t seen Beresdral fully fortified. They likely believed the settlement was weak, naive, and unprepared. Belamus narrowed his eyes.

They’ll come back better organized next time.

A few hours later, they did; a new wave appeared, but this time, they didn’t charge blindly. A line of robed figures—mages—advanced cautiously. They raised their hands and began chanting, clumsy and loud compared to the seamless, silent magic Belamus preferred. The earth rippled in response to their spellwork as sections of the defensive moat began to collapse, filled in by compacted soil.

So, they do have mages after all, Belamus thought, watching closely from the tower. They must be newcomers, I’d wager.

He hadn’t seen them during Liza’s first visit, and the soldiers of the Astorius household weren’t known for their magical prowess. That meant these spellcasters had to come from another group. That, too, was worrying.

As quickly as they had appeared, the mages withdrew once their task was done. And then, from multiple directions at once, new troops surged forward—this time smarter, more disciplined. Ladders slammed against the outer walls at several points simultaneously. The defenders didn’t have the luxury of focusing on a single front anymore.

Fortunately, Beresdral had planned for this.

Every tower—fifteen in total—held trained magic-users. Goblins and imps, evolved monsters, and other races stood ready. And Belamus, already drawing in his next spell, wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.

Waves upon waves of enemy soldiers surged at the walls, pushing from all sides with ladders, spells, and sheer numbers. While Belamus and Delarosa were the only two capable of casting the devastating Meteor spell, Belamus had made sure others were prepared. Defensive magic—earth walls, gravity traps, explosive bursts—had been drilled into every caster’s mind. As long as their magic held, the walls would stand.

Unfortunately, even the strongest defenses had limits.

As the enemy forces pressed harder, weak points began to emerge. Belamus, ever watchful from the central tower, saw the danger before it unfolded. He didn’t hesitate. Empowering his body with a strengthening spell, he vaulted from the tower, landing amid the churned earth with supernatural ease. His cloak snapped around him like a shadow given form, and then he was gone—racing toward the faltering flank with blinding speed.

Wherever the enemy threatened to break through, Belamus was there. Spells cracked the sky, earth swallowed ladders, and soldiers were sent flying like leaves in a storm. The enemy had come with thousands. Now, each advance only fed the ground with their dead.

Belamus wasn’t alone.

Navasha and Ugo had taken charge of the goblin melee squads. Veteran soldiers all, the Soldier Goblins far outclassed the average human fighter. And Navasha—brilliant, brutal Navasha—cut through the enemy like a whirlwind, her sword a blur of steel and instinct. No one could stand before her. Bodies piled wherever she passed.

Still, no victory came without cost.

Though the invaders had already lost over a thousand men, morale among their ranks continued to bleed away with every failed assault. Yet inside Beresdral, the toll was also growing. The spellcasters’ mana reserves were thinning; physical exhaustion set in for the fighters. Weapons dulled. Limbs ached. Wounds accumulated. Even Belamus, with his vastly improved magical reserves, began to feel the creeping weight of depletion.

And yet… they held.

With every charge they repelled and every wall they held, their hope surged. Their home still stood. After hours of desperate fighting, the enemy finally understood the truth: Beresdral wouldn’t fall today. The forest had bled them dry, and this monster fortress—these beings they’d dismissed as savages—had proven to be more disciplined, more united, and more resilient than they could have imagined.

The order was given, and the enemy retreated.

Watching from the ramparts, breath ragged and robes scorched, Belamus exhaled slowly.

“They’re pulling back… We drove them off.”

Exhaustion surged up behind the relief, but his voice remained steady. He glanced to his side, where his allies stood bloodied but proud, and allowed himself the smallest of smiles.

After the battle, Belamus turned his attention to tending to the wounded. There were many with minor scrapes and bruises, a few with broken bones, and some with burns from stray magic—but astonishingly, no one was severely hurt. Not a single life had been lost. Considering the sheer size of the attack they had just repelled, that fact alone made this a triumphant victory.

“Will they come again?” Balbora asked, voice low with unease.

Belamus paused in wrapping a bandage, his golden eyes narrowing slightly. “Hard to say. I’d like to think they’ll give up. But…”

The truth was, they couldn’t afford to be complacent. Everyone in Beresdral was running on fumes. Even with morale high and spirits lifted by their success, their bodies were worn thin. If the humans launched another attack without delay—especially within the day—it was possible their defenses wouldn’t hold, not twice in a row.

Belamus stood and stretched his aching limbs. He could already feel the exhaustion pulling at his bones, but his mind remained sharp.

“We need to strike first,” he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else.

He knew the pattern well. In his past life, he had seen it often enough. An army that suffered a crushing defeat would retreat to lick its wounds—but that retreat was temporary. Give them a night to rest, a commander to rally their courage, and they would be back, angrier and more desperate than before.

What would happen if they were hit again before they could regroup? If their weakened ranks were thrown into chaos once more? That might break them entirely. We should attack before they can breathe. Break their will before they can rebuild it.

The forest was their greatest ally, and Belamus knew how to weaponize it.

If he could find where the enemy had retreated to—if they had set up camp in a clearing, or huddled around a bonfire somewhere in the western woods—then a single spark could do what even magic and walls could not. Fire, in a place like this, would spread fast and sow chaos faster. Panic, not force, might win the war.

“Do we know where the enemy is now?” he asked, turning to Medina.

The insectoid queen inclined her head. “Not exactly. I was focused on the defense until the very end, so I lost track of their movements.”

“Do any legion ants remain?” Belamus asked, his tone calm but edged with urgency.

“A few. Most were destroyed, but some scattered before the last assault,” Medina replied, antennae twitching slightly.

“Then send the remaining scouts. I need the enemy’s position—and fast,” he ordered, already turning toward the lookout post.

Medina gave a sharp nod. “Consider it done.” With that, she went back underground to relay the command.

Belamus, meanwhile, turned to the townsfolk and raised his voice. “Rest. Recover your strength. Eat, drink, tend to your wounds. That was only the first wave.”

As they dispersed with weary nods, Belamus allowed himself to sit, closing his eyes finally. For a few precious minutes, all he could do was wait—for Medina’s report, and for the next move in this deadly game of war.

※※※

“Such strength… I never imagined it would be this overwhelming.”

Leaning heavily against a tree just beyond the smoldering edge of the battlefield, Liza muttered the words through clenched teeth. The pain in her leg throbbed with every breath. She had been at the forefront of the charge, ready to see the confrontation through to the end, but a precision magical strike had shattered her resolve and her ability to fight.

The wound wasn’t fatal. After some quick field treatment, she could walk again. But fight? That was no longer an option.

Farther back, untouched by the chaos of the front lines, stood Renest and Barth, both unscathed and expressionless. They had remained with the command units throughout the assault, and from their safe distance, they surveyed the disheveled and shaken army. The troops’ morale had plummeted entirely.

The men had been assured—by Liza herself—that the enemy force was small, poorly organized, and lacking in serious fortifications. They’d expected to crush resistance within the day. Instead, they’d been picked apart in the forest by ambushes, starved for rest, and forced into a suicidal charge—only to be met with overwhelming magic and near-impregnable defenses.

The shock of it lingered in their hollow stares and slow movements.

This isn’t a setback, Liza thought grimly. This is a collapse. We need to pull back before we lose everything.

Her inner calculus—free of pride or politics—told her the only sensible choice was to retreat.

“Lady Liza.” A soldier jogged toward her campfire, armor streaked with ash and blood. “Lord Renest requests your presence.”

Of course he does. She exhaled, steeling herself, and limped toward the main tent.

When she arrived, Renest was already seated, hands folded, gaze flat. His silence weighed heavily in the air.

“I apologize for the delay,” she began, keeping her tone measured.

Renest didn’t return the courtesy. His voice was low and cold.

“… Your report painted a very different picture. You told me the village was underdeveloped. Lacking in proper defenses.”

Liza flinched, though she fought to keep her expression neutral. She’d given him that information, yes—truthfully, at the time.

“It was,” she said carefully. “When I visited, their defenses were rudimentary. But… something changed. They’ve grown rapidly in a very short time span. Their fortifications, their coordination, even their magic capacity… It’s all far beyond what I observed.”

Renest’s eyes narrowed. “You expect me to believe that?”

The suspicion in his voice was unmistakable—and sharp.

“I can hardly believe it myself… but it’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Liza’s voice was quiet but resolute. There was no point in resisting the truth any longer.

Renest leaned forward slightly, his gaze growing sharper. “Enough. Tell me plainly—when you claimed my child was dead… that was a lie, wasn’t it?”

Renest’s voice wasn’t raised, yet the weight of his words was palpable. Liza felt the shift—a subtle change in power, the air tightening between them. She hesitated for only a moment. “Yes. He’s alive.” No evasion, no softening, just the blunt truth.

Renest didn’t flinch. “Then why lie?”

The question cut like a blade, and for a moment, silence fell between them. But Liza had already decided: she wouldn’t run from this. Not anymore.

“Because you lied first, didn’t you?” Liza stepped forward, voice steady despite the storm behind her eyes.

Renest’s eyes narrowed.

“You told me,” she went on, voice rising just slightly with conviction, “that you never abandoned your child. That you had no part in it. But that was a lie. Belamus remembered everything. He told me about the snow, the cold, the voice that ordered him left behind. He remembered the colors of your robe. The cut of your sword. He even described Sir Ambus and the former countess… in perfect detail.”

She took a breath and met his gaze squarely.

“He wasn’t abandoned by some passing stranger. You ordered it because he was born with a magical affinity. And for that alone… you cast him aside.” Liza’s voice trembled now—not from fear, but from fury barely held in check.

Renest remained silent for a long, tense moment, his gaze fixed on Liza. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes—was it guilt, regret, or the cold calculation of a noble who had made a decision and never looked back? Liza stood tall, her hands clenched at her sides.

“So please, Lord Renest. Tell the truth. You gave the order. And now, you would destroy him a second time… for the same reason.” Liza squared her shoulders and looked Renest dead in the eye. “I don’t want to betray my code as a knight—or as a human being. What you’ve done, what you’re trying to do now… it’s wrong. You cast him aside for your own convenience. And now you want him back for the same selfish reason. That can’t be allowed.”

She could feel the words settling in her chest like a weight lifted, a conviction that had taken root too late—but not, perhaps, too late to matter.

Renest let out a cold scoff. “You’re right. I gave the order. The child was abandoned because I deemed it the best course of action, as head of the Astorius house. You wouldn’t understand what that entails.”

Her voice tightened. “And if it was the right decision, why try to reclaim him now?”

“Because I was wrong about him,” Renest snapped. “He turned out to be more capable than expected. Magical affinity is unpredictable—usually useless. I acted on reason. He just happened to be an exception.”

“Don’t you regret it at all?” Liza looked up at him, her voice quiet but firm.

“I acknowledge it was inhumane,” he said, without flinching. “But it was the best decision I could make—for the house. I won’t apologize for that.”

Liza stared at him, stunned into silence by the sheer callousness of his conviction.

After a tense pause, Renest continued, his tone sharpening. “You want the invasion halted now, don’t you?”

“Yes. I do. We have to withdraw, immediately,” Liza stated, straightening her posture and fixing her eyes on him.

“But even if I set aside the matter of the child, I can’t ignore a stronghold of monsters forming in our forest. One this powerful could become a threat to the entire region.” Renest folded his arms, gaze hardening.

“Lord Belamus would never allow that. As long as we don’t provoke them, they will not strike,” Liza insisted, her voice unwavering.

Renest narrowed his eyes. “You place a great deal of trust in this child… though he knows I had him cast out like refuse. Are you so sure he won’t seek vengeance?”

“I’m certain. He isn’t that kind of person.” Liza nodded without hesitation.

“Hmph. He must have a silver tongue to win over even a knight like you. And at six years old, no less… it’s terrifying.” Renest gave a low scoff, folding his arms.

Liza clenched her fists. No matter what she said, he wouldn’t budge. He refused to see anything beyond power and advantage.

“Even if you don’t believe he’s just,” she said firmly, “you know as well as I do that we can’t win this war. Not in the condition we’re in.”

Renest didn’t answer. But he didn’t deny it, either.

Liza could see it clearly in Renest’s eyes—he understood the odds, understood that this battle might end in disaster. Even if they managed to seize victory, the cost would be staggering. That much, she was sure he’d already calculated.

“Our army’s in terrible shape, I won’t deny that,” he said with a grim smile. “But the enemy’s just as worn down. They’ve taken heavy losses, too. Victory isn’t out of the question.”

“They’re fighting for their home,” Liza replied, her voice cold and steady. “Even if they’re exhausted, they’ll throw everything into defending it. But our troops? They have nothing. No cause. No hope. Nothing is driving their morale upward. We’re at a clear disadvantage.”

“Morale can be bought,” Renest snapped. “Raise the pay and they’ll find plenty of motivation. Gold, after all, is something we have in abundance.”

That was it, then. He wasn’t planning to retreat, to negotiate, to preserve life. He was determined—desperate, even—to bring down Beresdral no matter the cost.

Liza said nothing, but inside, her thoughts churned. She had hoped, even now, that there might be room to reason with him. But this… this wasn’t someone willing to listen. And that forced her to confront the question she’d been avoiding.

Am I truly willing to follow this man?

Renest showed no regret, not for the war, not for the lost lives, and certainly not for leaving his own son to die in the wilderness. He wore his cold choices like armor, never once questioning if they were right. And that, more than anything, made Liza’s stomach twist.

She remembered something her father used to tell her, back when he served as a knight under the same house—back when she had still idolized everything the Astorius family represented.

A knight cannot choose their lord. No matter who they serve, it is their duty to give everything for that master.

Those words had defined Liza’s entire life. She had accepted them as truth, lived by them without a single doubt. But now—standing here, listening to Renest speak about war and money with the same cold indifference—those words started to ring hollow. For the first time, she found herself questioning everything she had been taught.

Is this really the kind of master I’m willing to give my life for?

The doubt took root in her heart, spreading like frost. She had always assumed her future would remain tied to House Astorius, that she would walk the same path as her father, loyal to the end.

Now… she wasn’t so sure. And that uncertainty, that silent crack in her resolve, frightened her more than any battlefield ever could.

“Regardless,” Renest said with a dismissive wave of his hand, “you lied, and I lied. Consider us even. I won’t hold it against you—this time. I can understand why you did it. But if you voice any more objections to this invasion… there will be consequences.”

Liza lowered her gaze. “Understood.” Her answer was calm, but inside, the conflict only deepened.

“Actually,” Renest added, his tone shifting to something more calculating, “I’ve come up with a little strategy.”

“A strategy?” she echoed warily.

He nodded, his expression twisting into a cruel, self-satisfied grin. “Yes. And I’ll need your cooperation.”

“What kind of strategy?” she asked, though a part of her already dreaded the answer.

“It’s simple,” he said, almost gleeful. “You pretend to betray us—feign defection. Ingratiate yourself with the enemy, earn their trust, and once they lower their guard—signal us. When the opportunity presents itself, you open the gate from the inside. I imagine you’re more than capable of slipping into their ranks unnoticed, aren’t you?”

Liza’s breath caught. “That’s… that’s cowardly.”

“There’s no such thing as cowardice in war,” Renest replied, chuckling without a hint of shame. “Victory defines justice. That’s all that matters in the end.”

The smile he wore chilled her. It wasn’t just cruel—it was proud. He believed every word he spoke. And with that final, twisted declaration, something inside Liza broke.

All her doubts, all her silent questions—they crystallized into certainty.

This was not a man she could respect. Not a lord she could serve.

And yet, when she raised her head again, her voice was clear, resolute.

“Very well. I’ll carry out the mission.” Liza drew a slow breath, steadying her voice.

※※※

As Belamus waited for Medina’s report, a commotion stirred outside the walls. “Belamus! Trouble—big trouble!” Navasha came running, breathless and wild-eyed. “That human woman’s back again!”

At the mention of a human woman, only one name sprang to Belamus’s mind.

“Liza?” he asked, already certain of the answer.

Navasha nodded vigorously. “Yeah, it’s her!”

Belamus’s expression darkened, though not with fear—more with suspicion. What now? he wondered. Perhaps she had come to propose a ceasefire. It wouldn’t be surprising. If the enemy feared retaliation or wanted time to regroup, offering a temporary truce would be a convenient way to buy breathing room.

If they truly want to end the fight, they can just withdraw. There’s no need for diplomacy. Or maybe they want something more formal—to keep us from pursuing them afterward.

Either way, the only way to find out was to meet her. He gave the command, and soon after, Liza was escorted through the defensive barrier and into the heart of the village. She bowed low the moment she was permitted to enter. “Thank you for granting me an audience.”

“There’s no need for thanks,” Belamus said flatly. “Let’s get straight to the point. Why are you here?”

Liza paused for a moment, then lifted her head, her voice clear and firm. “I’m not here as a knight. Not this time. I have come as a person—a human being—who believes what Renest is doing is wrong. I have struggled with this decision, but… I have made my choice. I intend to betray him.”

Betrayal?

Belamus narrowed his eyes, a flicker of caution moving through his mind. He showed no outward reaction, but every instinct told him to be wary. Could a knight like her—so principled, so seemingly loyal—truly betray her own lord?

Belamus studied her face, watching every shift of expression, every breath. Yet no matter how he searched for it, he saw no falsehood in her eyes.

“You’re serious about betraying him?” he asked, his voice steady but edged with caution. “I won’t pretend I can just take you at your word. This could easily be part of an elaborate trap.”

Liza nodded without hesitation. “Yes. I understand. And I won’t hide it—Renest did give me a mission. He ordered me to feign betrayal, infiltrate your stronghold, and open the gate from within when the time is right.”

Belamus’s eyes narrowed. “He told you to betray us—and you’re telling me that yourself?”

“Because I’m not pretending,” she said firmly. “I don’t plan to carry out that mission. I plan to betray him truly.”

“I see,” Belamus murmured, watching her closely. “So rather than pretending to defect… you mean to turn against him for real?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” Liza replied.

Belamus fell silent, folding his arms as he considered her words. She might still be lying—might be laying the groundwork for a perfectly executed ruse. But somehow, he didn’t believe that was the case. No… she didn’t speak like someone following a script. She looked like a woman standing at the edge of a decision she couldn’t take back. There was conviction in her voice. Not pride, not performance—conviction. A profound, quiet certainty that only came from disillusionment too raw to fake.

She’s done with him, Belamus thought. Done with Renest.

Belamus trusted his judgment. His instincts about people had kept him alive through too many battlefields to doubt now. If she was truly willing to signal them when the enemy breached the walls, it would open the perfect opportunity for a decisive counterstrike. He could arrange an ambush, turn their trap into a slaughter. If executed well, the enemy forces would be annihilated.

Of course, there were other plans—more destructive ones. He could burn them out, for example. But magic users on the enemy’s side could conjure water easily enough to douse the flames. Fire lacked certainty. A trap… didn’t.

Which has the higher chance of success? he asked himself, weighing each option with grim precision.

Then, finally, he looked up.

“All right,” Belamus said. His voice was quiet but final. “I’ll trust you.”

He had made his decision. He would gamble on Liza’s sincerity—and use her to lure the enemy into the jaws of their own deception.

※※※

Belamus listened carefully as Liza laid out the plan. The method was simple yet elegant: when an opening presented itself, she would toss a coin—one minted exclusively for the House of Astorius—outside the fortress walls. Scouts, constantly watching Beresdral, would spot the insignia, and a runner would be dispatched to Renest. This would trigger the assault.

So that’s their system, Belamus mused, already forming a counterstrategy. First, we let her throw the coin. Once the enemy gathers at the gate, we strike—hard and fast. A coordinated ambush should rout them in one blow. If I position a team outside ahead of time, we can hit them from behind as well. Caught between two fronts, they’ll break. They’ll have no choice.

The more he considered it, the more confident he became. If this plan worked, the enemy would be crippled—devastated beyond recovery.

Of course, the rear assault would be the riskiest part.

I’ll handle that myself, Belamus decided. Even alone, I can cause enough chaos from behind to throw their ranks into disarray. Meanwhile, the defenders here will unleash hell from the walls—arrows, magic, everything we have.

As for command in my absence… Medina will take it. She had plenty of combat experience, and her leadership of the legion ants proved she could manage her troops under pressure. Even if the legion ants weren’t deployed this time, those skills would serve her well.

The plan came together quickly. Belamus gathered a council of Beresdral’s leaders, including Liza, and they worked out every detail. Timing, positions, signals—nothing was left to chance. The attack would happen at night. Anything else would be too suspicious. If the signal came during the day, it might look too convenient, too planned. At night, they had the element of surprise. The rear attack would also be far more effective under the cover of darkness.

When the meeting was finally over and the plan was set, Belamus turned to Liza, his expression serious. “Liza,” he said quietly. “Are you sure you want to go through with this?”

It was a final check, one last chance for her to step back.

“Yes. I’m ready,” Liza said, her voice firm. “There’s no turning back now.”

She nodded once as she spoke, steady and determined. To Belamus, there was not even a hint of deceit in her words. She had truly committed to this path.

A few hours later, under the cover of night, the operation began. Belamus oversaw the final preparations with methodical precision. The tower was manned first—Delarosa, Medello, Lilli, and Ellency, all capable magic users, took their positions high above the gates, ready to rain destruction on the enemy. Behind the closed gate, a contingent of armed orcs and goblins waited in silence, every weapon polished, every muscle tense.

Liza would join the fight as well once the assault began. The injury she’d carried—an ugly gash along her leg—was no longer an issue. Belamus had healed it himself with recovery magic, restoring her mobility completely.

When the moment came, Liza approached the outer wall and flicked the Astorius coin into the darkness, sending it spinning beyond the fortifications. Now, they waited.

Soon enough, the enemy would see the signal and begin to gather at the gate. Under Renest’s plan, Liza would have opened it for them. But not tonight. Instead, the gate would remain sealed. As soon as the enemy clustered close, the mages in the tower would strike first, unleashing waves of magic into the packed ranks below. Simultaneously, the orcs and goblins stationed behind the gate would move to the ramparts, taking position to rain arrows down on the disoriented attackers.

Belamus had intentionally kept the ramparts empty until the last moment. If they’d placed archers there from the start, the enemy might have suspected a trap.

Once the coin was sighted and the plan was set into motion, Belamus slipped out beyond the walls, moving swiftly and alone into the night.

He would carry out the rear assault himself.

With spells like Saint Breaker and Meteor at his command, he needed no army to inflict devastating damage. Even on his own, he could tear through enemy formations and sow chaos from behind.

If only Renest shows himself, Belamus thought coldly. If I can eliminate their commander, this entire battle may be over before it truly begins.

Blood ties meant nothing to him. Renest may have been his biological father, but Belamus had never once regarded him as such. The idea of killing him stirred no hesitation, no conflict in his heart.

A short time later, he spotted movement. The enemy was approaching cautiously, their heavy boots moving with measured steps to minimize noise. They advanced like a hunting pack, wary of the shadows.

Belamus mirrored their restraint, moving silently through the darkness as he circled wide. With practiced stealth, he worked his way around their flanks and then even further until he was behind the enemy column.

There…

From the shadows, his eyes found a familiar figure—one he hadn’t seen in years but would never mistake. Renest. His father. Belamus’s eyes narrowed.

Renest was a master of battlefield command, renowned for his ability to orchestrate complex maneuvers. Normally, he would have remained behind the lines, issuing orders from a safe distance. But not tonight. With Liza embedded inside Beresdral, Renest had chosen to lead his forces personally, ensuring that no misstep compromised the mission.

Belamus watched him carefully, considering his options. It would be so simple—one attack, one spell, and Renest would fall. Without their commander, the enemy would crumble instantly. But not yet.

Timing is everything, Belamus reminded himself. If he struck too soon, the soldiers might rally. Better to wait—let them walk into the trap first. Let the chaos of their own making consume them. Only then would he move.

With quiet patience, he followed them, always at the edge of their awareness, unseen. Before long, the enemy column halted. They had reached Beresdral. Moments later, the first screams rang out—sharp and panicked, rising over the walls like a warning bell.

“What’s happening?!” Renest’s voice cut through the dark, sharp with urgency.

No answer came. Around him, his men looked just as lost, their heads snapping toward the front, faces pale and uncertain. Then a lone soldier burst through the ranks, breathless and wide-eyed. “An ambush! The enemy was ready for us!… It’s hard to believe, my lord, but… Lady Liza—she has betrayed us!”

“What?!” Renest’s shout rang with disbelief. His composure visibly cracked as he staggered back a half-step, shock and fury battling for control.

From the shadows, Belamus watched him—cold, focused.

Liza’s betrayal sent shockwaves through the enemy ranks—far more than Belamus had anticipated. The ripples of uncertainty spread not just through Renest but through the soldiers clustered around him as well. Their formation loosened. Faces turned pale. Discipline frayed in an instant.

A perfect opening, Belamus thought coldly.

Without hesitation, he raised his hand. “Light Arrow.”

A gleaming shaft of magic formed instantly, humming with deadly precision. He could have used Saint Breaker, of course—it would have wiped out everything in its path. But that wasn’t the goal tonight. If he completely vaporized Renest, the soldiers might not grasp their loss so quickly. No, they needed to see their commander fall. They needed a body to mourn.

So, Light Arrow it was.

Renest remained frozen in the chaos, his eyes darting frantically as he barked orders no one could follow. The glowing arrow shot through the air—too fast, too accurate. He never even turned to see it coming. The bolt struck home, piercing the center of his chest.

“Guh…” The sound burst from Renest’s throat, half cry, half gasp. Blood splattered as he pitched forward, collapsing onto the earth. A growing pool of crimson spread beneath him—far too much for even the most optimistic healer to hope against.

“Lord Renest!” a nearby soldier cried, voice breaking.

Panic surged through the ranks. Shouts rang out—disorganized, frantic. “An assassin! Find them! Find the mage!”

Belamus remained hidden, watching calmly from the shadows. He had planned to follow this with a barrage of devastating spells, meant to destroy the enemy’s rear ranks. But now? With Renest dead, the battle was already lost for them. Without a leader, chaos would do more damage than any spell. The enemy would soon be in full retreat.

Satisfied, Belamus made his decision—time to pull back.

Activating Physical Boost, he flooded his body with raw energy. Muscles surged, speed multiplied. The enemy’s scouts caught a glimpse of him darting through the darkness—but it was useless. No human soldier could hope to match his pace. Within moments, he had left them far behind.

He slipped through the night, breath steady, movements fluid. By the time he reached Beresdral’s walls once more, the pursuing soldiers were long gone.

“I’m back,” he announced calmly as he entered.

“Lord Belamus!” Medina hurried over, eyes wide. “The enemy forces… they suddenly began retreating. We barely engaged them. What happened?”

Around her, some defenders wore the same puzzled expressions, while others couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The enemy had barely pressed the attack, and yet they had fled. Had the plan succeeded completely, or was another assault lurking just beyond the trees?

Sensing their doubts, Belamus stepped forward and spoke plainly. “I’ve eliminated the enemy commander.”

A murmur rippled through the room.

“I see,” Medina said, nodding thoughtfully. “Then it’s safe to assume they won’t be attacking again anytime soon?”

“That’s likely,” Belamus replied. “Without their commander, continuing this campaign would be impossible. Still—don’t grow complacent. There’s always a chance they’ll regroup under new leadership. We’ll need to keep strengthening our defenses.”

At the news of Renest’s death, a visible sense of relief washed over the assembled defenders. Shoulders eased. Breath came easier. For the moment, at least, they could rest.

“I’ll keep an eye on their movements until I’m sure they’ve cleared the Great Frazes Forest,” Medina offered.

“Good,” Belamus said. “Do it.”

At the side of the room, Liza stood silent, her expression clouded. She seemed almost lost in thought, her gaze unfocused.

“So… Renest is dead,” she murmured. The weight of it was settling on her now. The man she had once sworn to serve had fallen—and by her own betrayal, no less. Though her reasons had been clear, her heart struggled to process what it all meant.

Belamus approached her without pretense. “Liza. You helped us. Thanks to you, we protected Beresdral.”

She looked up, her gaze uncertain.

“You’ve betrayed your lord,” he continued, “which means you likely have nowhere to go. If you wish, you’re welcome to stay here.”

“To live here?” she echoed, her voice faint. “It’s true. I have nowhere else. And there will be those who see this not as betraying Renest but as betraying all of humanity. A knight who turns on her master is already disgraced. A knight who crosses sides…” She trailed off, her brow furrowing. “Would I even deserve a place here?”

Belamus met her eyes. “Liza. You acted according to your own sense of justice. Didn’t you?”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes… I couldn’t allow what Renest was doing. It was wrong.”

“Then you have nothing to be ashamed of,” Belamus said.

His words struck her harder than she expected. Warmth, faint but undeniable, spread through her chest. For the first time since the betrayal, she felt something other than guilt. Something closer to hope.

“Lord Belamus…” she whispered, her voice unsteady. But her heart, for the first time in a long while, felt just a little lighter. Liza straightened her back, resolve burning in her eyes. “I understand. From this day forward, I will serve you, Lord Belamus. I will devote this life to your cause.”

Belamus blinked. “That wasn’t… exactly what I meant.”

He had only intended to offer her a place to live, a chance to find peace. He hadn’t expected her to swear herself to him as a knight. But then again—what else could she do? A life of service was all she had ever known. It was her identity, her purpose. Stripped of that, she would be adrift.

Oddly, though Belamus hadn’t asked for it, Liza now stood before him as his knight.

In the end, he let it be.

A short while later, the entire village gathered for a victory celebration. Relief and joy filled the air. Laughter echoed across the walls of Beresdral, and wine and food were passed freely among the defenders. They had survived. They had protected their home.

But none of them—not even Belamus—knew the truth.

The battle was not yet over.

Chapter 7

The army once led by Renest fell into disarray the moment news of his death spread. With no strong leader left, their morale crumbled like dry leaves. Liza’s betrayal only deepened the wound, and the loss of so many soldiers left the force battered and hollow. In the end, it was Renest’s lieutenant, Palaon, who ordered the retreat.

Watching the somber withdrawal, Barth, the mercenary, couldn’t help but murmur, “How unexpectedly fragile… I didn’t think the House of Astorius would fall apart this easily.” But even as he spoke, his mind turned.

This alone won’t please my true master. Not after such a paltry show of resistance… If it’s come to this, then I’ll have to use the last option.

He approached Palaon calmly.

“Is this really the time to retreat?” Barth asked, voice low and deliberate. “Shouldn’t we strike now, for our fallen lord’s honor?”

Palaon shook his head. “Of course, Lord Renest must be avenged—but now is not the time. We’ll return to the estate and regroup first.”

Barth gave a slow, pointed smile. “By then, it will be too late. The defenders of Beresdral will be ready for us. They’ll expect another invasion.”

“Even so, there’s no helping it. The army has no fight left in it.” Palaon’s voice was tired now. “And as for you, mercenary—whether we win or lose, your pay is guaranteed. You’ve no reason to risk yourself further.”

Barth’s smile deepened, an unsettling gleam in his eye. “I don’t care about victory. I’ve been ordered only to cause Beresdral as much pain as possible.”

Palaon blinked. “What?” Before he could process the words, Barth raised a hand—and with a sharp snap of his fingers, the air shifted.

From the shadows of the surrounding forest, a tide of monsters began to emerge. At first, the soldiers braced, thinking it was a small scouting force. But as the moments passed, their numbers kept growing. Dozens became hundreds, then thousands. The terrifying truth became clear: they weren’t facing a scattered few. They were facing thousands of monsters. The creatures varied wildly, some hulking and brutish, others nimble and serpentine, but all of them had one thing in common: bloodlust in their eyes.

※※※

“Lord Belamus! Trouble!”

It was early morning, just a few days after Renest’s defeat, and Medina burst into Belamus’s home, breathless and pale with urgency. Belamus jolted awake, his instincts immediately kicking in. Medina had never come to his house like this before—something was very wrong.

“What happened?” he demanded.

Medina drew a shaky breath. “I’ve been monitoring the enemy’s movements as planned. At first, they were retreating. But now… they’ve turned. They’re marching back toward Beresdral.”

“What?” Belamus stared at her, stunned. His military instincts told him this made no sense. The enemy should have been broken. With their commander dead and morale shattered, and after exhausting themselves in repeated battles, they should have needed months to reorganize. Marching back through the dangerous depths of the forest alone should have been deterrent enough—never mind returning to fight again so soon.

Of course, he had prepared for the possibility of a future attack. Strengthening Beresdral’s defenses had already been a priority. But for them to be advancing again already? That had not been part of any rational scenario.

Is this really another decision from the House of Astorius? Or… something else?

It was possible that outside forces—other nobles—had intervened, pushing for Beresdral’s destruction. Perhaps fresh reinforcements had arrived. But even so… if that were the case, surely Liza would have warned him. The fact that she hadn’t suggested otherwise.

“Lord Belamus… there’s more,” Medina said, voice tight. “The enemy force—it’s not just humans anymore. There are monsters mixed in with their ranks… and what’s more, it was a monster leading them.”

Belamus’s brow furrowed. “Monsters? Explain.”

“I don’t know the details,” Medina replied, shaking her head. “It all happened so fast. But… that force—humans and monsters alike—is marching toward Beresdral. I can’t say for certain whether they intend to invade, but from what I saw… they didn’t look like they were coming for a peaceful talk.”

Belamus fell silent, mind racing. Humans and monsters fighting side by side? That was unheard of—even goblins were shunned by most humans. For a proper army to willingly ally with monsters… it defied all norms of this era.

With the monsters leading the force, what was their true goal? If they were coming to conquer, why? Was it for territory? Were they simply enraged by the existence of a village in Great Frazes Forest? Or was there something deeper at play?

Speculation won’t help, Belamus thought grimly. Whatever their reason, they’re coming—and we must be ready.

He shoved the questions aside for now and focused on action.

“Medina,” he said, sharp and calm, “you mentioned monsters. What kinds did you see?”

Medina nodded and began listing them. “Lizardmen. Succubi. Lycanthropes… those were the ones I could clearly identify.”

Lizardmen, succubi, lycanthropes… all highly dangerous creatures, Belamus thought, his stomach tightening. Not the kind of foes that can be dispatched easily.

The threat was worse than he had imagined. This was no ragtag force. It was a coordinated assault led by powerful monsters.

“Medina,” Belamus ordered, voice clipped, “for now, keep watching their movements. Report any change immediately.”

“Understood,” Medina replied, bowing swiftly before turning to leave.

Belamus wasted no time. He needed more information—and only one person in the village might have a clue. Liza. He hurried through the village streets, weaving between the buildings as the first light of dawn began to creep over the treetops. They had recently built several new houses, and Liza had been given one of them.

When he arrived, he found her already awake, training in the yard, her sword flashing through the air in precise arcs. “What is it, Lord Belamus?” Hearing the urgency in his face as he rushed in, Liza immediately stopped her training and lowered her sword.

Belamus wasted no time. “Listen carefully…” He explained everything: the enemy’s sudden advance, the presence of monsters in their ranks, and the unsettling fact that a monster was now leading them.

“What? Monsters… fighting with the human army? They’re marching here?” Liza’s eyes widened, voice tight with disbelief. “H-How is that possible?”

“I don’t know either,” Belamus said grimly. “Do you have any idea? Could the humans have developed some means of controlling monsters?”

“No! Such a thing is impossible!” Liza shook her head, clearly rattled.

“I thought as much,” Belamus said. “If they had that sort of power, they would’ve used it from the start.”

Liza opened her mouth to insist further—but then stopped, her expression shifting.

“Actually, I can’t say for certain that there’s no connection…” She hesitated, then continued, her voice more guarded. “Lord Renest hired a mercenary group not long ago. They were led by a man named Barth. I’d never heard of their company before, yet their strength was… exceptional. Too exceptional for a band with no name or reputation.”

“A mercenary group?” Belamus echoed.

“Yes,” Liza said. “Barth commanded them. Now that I think about it… it could be connected. I can’t prove anything, but if any humans were involved with monsters, that group would be my first suspect.”

Belamus frowned. “Barth… I see.”

“And there’s more,” Liza added, her brows furrowed. “It was Barth who first brought information about Beresdral to Renest. I reported your death, and it was Barth who pressed Renest to attack at once anyway. Looking back, it seems suspicious—as if he wanted this conflict to happen.”

An intrigue, Belamus thought. Did this Barth feed information to manipulate the count’s army into attacking Beresdral? And now he’s leading the monsters himself? But why? What is he after?

Questions swirled, but there was no time to chase them. Whatever Barth’s motives, the threat was real—and approaching fast. No matter the plot, no matter the odds, Belamus’s resolve remained ironclad.

“Whatever their reasons, we’ll drive them back,” he said firmly. “I’ll need your help, Liza.”

“You needn’t ask,” she replied without hesitation, eyes blazing with resolve. “Command me as you see fit, Lord Belamus. I stand ready.”

※※※

Afterward, Belamus gathered the residents of Beresdral and explained the situation clearly—another enemy force was approaching. He had feared that some might panic and flee, but to his quiet relief, no one did. Not a single person chose to abandon the village. It seemed life in Beresdral had become something they valued—something worth fighting for.

From there, all they could do was wait. Belamus relied on Medina’s scouts to bring back more detailed intelligence. It wasn’t long before word arrived. The enemy force numbered over three thousand strong—humans and monsters combined. The majority of the monsters were lizardmen, and the army was being led by an especially large one who, according to reports, appeared extremely powerful.

“Lizardmen… this could be troublesome,” Belamus murmured.

Among monster races, lizardmen were unusually intelligent—on par with goblins or higher. They possessed strong magic potential, were highly capable in close combat, and had very few exploitable weaknesses. In short, they were one of the more well-rounded and dangerous species.

Fortunately, their strength was often tempered by a lack of discipline. Lizardmen usually operated alone or in small, scattered bands. The fact that so many were now moving in a coordinated army… that was alarming.

Medina’s next report provided more insight. “It seems the human soldiers are being forced to march under threat,” she said. “They’re terrified of the monsters and only fighting out of fear.”

“So, they’re driving them forward with nothing but terror,” Belamus muttered. The enemy’s quick recovery now made perfect sense. He had wondered how they managed to rally their shattered human troops so fast—now he knew the reason. It wasn’t loyalty keeping them together; it was the promise of death if they refused to fight.

It was a dangerous tactic, to be sure. Soldiers driven by fear would fight with reckless desperation. But it also meant they had no true loyalty to their supposed allies. Belamus’s gaze darkened. That could be our opening.

If the human soldiers were being coerced, they could be convinced to turn. Especially with Liza here, a living example that it was possible to break free. It would be difficult, but not impossible.

If I can turn even a portion of their ranks against the monsters, he thought, this battle could change before it even begins.

After receiving the latest report, Belamus wasted no time. He called together the leaders of Beresdral’s monster clans, along with Liza, to discuss their next move.

“Liza,” Belamus began, addressing her directly, “the enemy’s human soldiers are advancing under threat from the monsters. If we could turn them to our side, it would shift the battle in our favor—there are still over a thousand human troops left. What do you think? Is it possible?”

Liza frowned, her mind already working through the possibilities. “So, the soldiers are being forced to fight… I see.” She thought for a moment. “It won’t be easy. I imagine word of my betrayal has already spread among them. They may not trust me enough to listen. And from their perspective… Beresdral is defended by monsters as well. They might not see us as allies.”

She glanced around the room, the weight of the responsibility settling on her shoulders. “But… if I don’t try, this fight will become far more difficult. We must at least attempt it.”

Belamus watched her closely. “Is it too difficult a task?”

Liza shook her head. “Not impossible. Before the monsters took over, the one leading the soldiers after Renest’s death would likely have been Palaon. He’s one of the senior knights—Renest trusted him deeply. I trained under him for a time… if anyone among them would listen to me, it would be him. And if I can convince Palaon, the rest of the soldiers would likely follow.”

“Then can I trust you to try?” Belamus asked.

Liza took a steadying breath. “Yes. I can’t promise success… but if I speak honestly and tell them why I turned on Renest… I believe there’s a good chance.”

Belamus nodded. It wasn’t a guarantee, but it was a chance worth taking. “If we can turn the human soldiers, we’ll be left facing only the monsters,” he continued. “That alone will still be dangerous. Lizardmen are powerful, and there are other strong monsters among their ranks as well. Even with superior numbers, victory isn’t assured.”

“We should aim to take out their leader again,” suggested Balbora, his voice low and steady. “Like before—that will break them.”

“Agreed,” Belamus said. “Defeating their leader is critical—and that task will fall to me.”

Unfortunately, there was a problem. According to Medina’s intelligence, the leader of the lizardmen appeared to be an Emperor Lizardman—a rare, fully evolved variant of their kind. An Emperor Lizardman was a fearsome opponent. Even for Belamus, it would be a deadly fight if he faced it head-on. Yet at the same time, he knew that if he could force a one-on-one battle, he would have a real chance of winning. And that, in turn, could shatter the enemy’s will.

So be it, he thought. I’ll handle the Emperor Lizardman myself… and we’ll break this army before it can crush us.

“If Belamus is going to take down their leader,” Balbora said, voice low but firm, “then we need to support him.”

“Agreed,” Ellency added quickly. “Our priority should be creating an opening—keeping the other monsters occupied so Lord Belamus can face their leader one-on-one.”

“That makes sense,” Lilli chimed in. “We’ll need to draw the enemy’s attention and give Lord Belamus the space he needs.”

Balbora, Ugo, and Medina all nodded in agreement, their expressions resolute.

Belamus’s face tightened. “… No,” he said quietly. “It’s too dangerous. We’ll find another way.”

The room fell silent.

He looked at them all, gaze hard. “These aren’t ordinary enemies. If you take on the role of distraction, you’ll be risking your lives. And I will not accept that—not if there’s another option.”

Balbora shook his head. “Lord Belamus, I can’t just stand back and let you shoulder the risk alone.”

“Nor can I,” Lilli added, voice steady. “Even if it’s dangerous, I will fight.”

“Belamus,” Medina said gently, “we all want the same thing: to protect Beresdral. You don’t have to carry this alone. Let us fight beside you.”

“She’s right,” Ugo said with a toothy grin. “We goblins aren’t planning on dying so easily, you know.”

Belamus listened, a faint ache tightening in his chest. They understood his hesitation—understood why he didn’t want to see them harmed. But still, they stood firm, ready to fight.

Then—

“I’m fighting too!” a voice called.

The door to the meeting hall burst open, and Delarosa strode in, her eyes burning with resolve. One by one, more villagers followed, filling the room, each of them voicing their commitment to stand and fight. The determination in their eyes was unmistakable. They weren’t here because they were asked. They had chosen this.

I was wrong, Belamus thought, his chest tightening with a mix of pride and humility. I always believed it was my duty to protect them. But they’re not just people I must shield. They are comrades—warriors who will fight alongside me.

Slowly, he nodded. “Very well. For the sake of Beresdral… lend me your strength.” A fierce, wordless agreement swept through the room. Everyone nodded in unison, their eyes shining with unshakeable resolve.

※※※

A few hours later, the enemy force—monsters and humans alike—finally reached the outskirts of Beresdral. Their numbers were smaller than the original army, but their composition was more daunting. Towering monsters stood among the ranks, dwarfing the humans and chilling the heart of most defenders. But not here. The people of Beresdral stood ready, their gazes sharp and their spirits unshaken. No fear clouded their eyes—only resolve.

The first step of their strategy rested with Liza, who would attempt to sway the human soldiers. It was a gamble. If she failed, the battle would be brutal. Her method was simple: stand atop the walls and appeal to their sense of honor and desire for freedom. Whether her words would reach them, none could say.

As the enemy advanced, Belamus observed their formation with a tactical eye. The human soldiers were positioned at the front, forming the vanguard.

Perfect, Belamus thought. If they could be swayed now, before the monsters closed the distance, the balance of the battle could shift in an instant.

Liza climbed the wall, moving with deliberate calm. Belamus stood at her side, both to guard her and to lend her silent support.

Below them, the human soldiers charged forward—not with conviction, but with desperation. Driven by the fear of death, they hurled themselves toward the wall, desperate to climb, to fight, to survive.

And then—

“STOP!!!” Liza’s voice rang out, powerful and clear. The soldiers faltered, reflexively obeying the voice of the woman who had once led them—not out of loyalty, but from instinct. Many had served under Liza when she was still among their ranks. Her voice, commanding and familiar, cut through the chaos like a blade.

For a moment, the battlefield held its breath as eyes turned toward Liza. A choice was before them. And her next words would define it.

At first, the soldiers hesitated—unsure, unmoored. But it didn’t take long for them to grasp the obvious: there was no need to follow Liza’s orders anymore. They had their own weapons, their own will, and a single, simple objective. The advance resumed in force.

Liza threw herself in front of them. “Stop! Please—listen to me!”

Her voice was met with a barrage of venom.

“Silence!”

“Why would we heed a traitor?”

“You shame every knight who ever lived!”

It was no less than she had expected. Their eyes burned with contempt. But she could not let it end here—not when the truth was so close to breaking through. Drawing a steadying breath, she forced her voice to rise above the jeers.

“Yes—I betrayed you. I won’t deny it. But I did so because my conscience left me no choice! Again and again, I begged Lord Renest to stop this madness, to turn from a path that defied all decency. He refused to listen. In the end, I could not stand idly by.”

Her words were met with cold indifference. The soldiers pressed on, ears shut to anything that might challenge their orders. But Liza wasn’t finished—not yet. And her next words would not be so easily dismissed.

“Lord Renest ordered this invasion for one reason—because his son is here. That’s right—Lord Belamus stands before you now, alive!”

At that, the tide shifted. The troops faltered mid-step, gazes swinging toward Belamus with a ripple of unease. Until now, they had been left in the dark. Renest himself had never confirmed whether Liza’s report of the boy’s survival was true. And many among them had already begun to question why they were tasked with attacking a remote enclave of monsters deep within the Great Frazes Forest. The mission had never sat well with them.

Now, with this revelation, a more troubling possibility dawned—if the lord’s son truly was here, what would happen if they pressed the assault? Would they unwittingly bring about his death? Could they trust that the monsters would spare anyone who surrendered once their usefulness had run dry?

Sensing the ripple of doubt, Liza struck again—her voice ringing with fierce urgency.

“Why do you fight now? Was it not Renest’s command that brought you here? But that command no longer binds you. You march because the monsters force you to. And do you truly believe they will let you live when this is over? No—they will kill you the moment you’re no longer of use! You know it. You’ve all thought it—but fear has kept you silent.”

The words pierced deep, stirring the dread none dared voice aloud. No one among them truly believed they would walk away from this unscathed. Once the monsters claimed their victory, what reason would they have to spare human lives? The image rose unbidden—soldiers torn apart, fed to beasts in some grim display of dominance.

Silence spread across the field, thicker than any fog. Liza’s voice had cracked open a truth none could ignore now—not even those most eager for battle.

Liza’s voice rang out once more, desperate and unwavering. “Lord Belamus is merciful! If you stand with us now, he will spare your lives! Think carefully—which path offers you the better chance of survival?”

Before the weight of her words could fully settle, a flash of light cut through the air—magic, unleashed from the ranks of the monsters. Belamus reacted instantly. His own magic surged forth, creating a shimmering barrier around Liza. The blast struck it, dissipating in a harmless burst of sparks.

The monsters’ intent was clear. They had seen the human soldiers’ hesitation and sought to silence Liza before she could sway them further. Belamus saw it too—the doubt creeping into the soldiers’ eyes. They stood on a knife’s edge, caught between fear and the faint hope of survival. But they weren’t ready yet. One final push, one undeniable truth, and they might cross the line.

Just one more spark, Belamus thought. One more voice, and they’ll turn.

And then it came.

“Liza speaks the truth! Lord Belamus is here in Beresdral!”

The shout rang out from among the soldiers. All eyes turned toward the speaker—a middle-aged man clad in ornate armor that marked him as no ordinary footsoldier.

“Palaon…” Liza breathed, her voice a mix of surprise and hope.

Palaon, one of Renest’s closest confidants, had known the truth all along. He had known why Renest had ordered this assault, and he had known the dark shadow that had long tainted his lord’s heart. Betrayal was not a word he took lightly—but neither was he blindly loyal.

Raising his voice so that all could hear, Palaon continued. “If we continue to follow these monsters, only death awaits us! That much is certain! Our only chance—our only hope—is to heed Liza’s words! Trust her now, or perish!”

He had known Liza for years—known her integrity, her unwavering sense of justice. And though her betrayal of their lord could not be ignored, he had never believed her to be the villain others painted her to be. In this moment, he chose to stand with her.

His words struck with the force of a battle cry. Around him, soldiers who had wavered now acted. Blades that had been pointed toward Beresdral’s gates turned sharply toward the monsters in their midst. The tide, so perilously balanced, began to turn.

Not every soldier switched sides—but nearly all did. By the count of it, nine out of ten chose to stand with Beresdral.

Moments later, the battlefield exploded into chaos. The newly turned soldiers turned their blades and bows against the monsters, attacking with a ferocity born of fear and the desperate will to survive. Arrows streaked through the air from the rear ranks. Up front, steel met claw in vicious, close-quarters combat.

“Good. Support them!” Belamus commanded.

At his signal, the mages positioned on the towers sprang into action. Spells rained down from above, tearing into the enemy lines and providing cover for the human soldiers below. In a normal battle, the humans would have had little chance in a direct fight. The monsters had superior strength and durability. But with the tower mages disrupting their formations, the monsters lost their cohesion. One by one, they began to fall to the soldiers’ blades.

Unfortunately, the battle was far from one-sided. Even with their skill, the human fighters lacked the raw power of their opponents. For every monster killed, another soldier was lost. The longer the fight went on, the clearer it became—this was not a battle of attrition they could afford to wait out. And the momentum could shift again at any time. It was only a matter of time before the monsters reorganized and regained their command. When that happened, the humans would be the ones overwhelmed.

Belamus watched the shifting battle lines with sharp eyes. They needed to end this before that happened.

Now is the time.

He gave the signal.

From within Beresdral, fifty of the strongest monsters had already been gathered and prepared for this moment. Powerhouses like Delarosa, Medello, Navasha, Ellency, Lilli, Medina, Balbora, and Ugo—each a force to be reckoned with in their own right—stood ready.

The plan was simple, yet perilous. Together with this strike force, Belamus and Liza would punch a hole straight through the enemy ranks. Their objective: the enemy general. The others would clear a path, and Belamus would engage him one-on-one.

It was a dangerous gambit. Belamus knew that better than anyone. Even now, a voice in the back of his mind whispered that they should find another way. But there was no other way—not with the enemy force arrayed before them. A prolonged fight would only lead to defeat. The only path to victory was swift and decisive—cut off the head, and the body would collapse.

Steeling himself, Belamus nodded to his companions.

“We move out—now!” he shouted.

A chorus of fierce cries answered him. “Yes!”

The strike force surged with newfound energy, ready to face whatever lay ahead. Rather than charging through the main gate where enemy forces pressed the attack, they slipped out through a secondary gate on the far side of the city—an exit chosen precisely for this moment.

“The enemy general—the Emperor Lizardman—is stationed at the rear of their formation,” Medina reported quietly. Through her legion ant scouts, she had been tracking the enemy’s movements for some time now. Pinpointing the general’s location had proven easy; the towering lizardman stood out starkly amid the lesser creatures.

Their target was exposed. The front lines were heavily engaged, leaving the rear dangerously undermanned. It was the perfect opportunity.

With deliberate care, they advanced through the shadows, each footfall measured, each breath controlled. Stealth was paramount; discovery now could spell disaster.

Then, Belamus saw him.

There, looming in the distance, stood the Emperor Lizardman—massive and imposing. The monster barked orders in guttural tones, unaware of the force quietly assembling against him. Around him, the protective cordon was thin, many of his guards drawn to the chaos at the front.

A perfect opening.

Belamus exhaled, voice low and steady. “We begin.”

He had already shared the attack plan with the others—everyone knew their role.

“All righty, here we go!” Delarosa grinned, her voice tinged with wild glee. Flames erupted from her claws, coiling into the shape of a dragon. With a roar, the blazing construct soared through the air, striking the enemy ranks in a torrent of fire.

Medello, Ellency, Lilli, and the other magic-wielders followed suit. Spells of every element rained down in a synchronized assault, sowing panic among the enemy rear guard.

Belamus remained still. He would conserve his strength for what mattered most: the duel to come.

The monsters reeled under the sudden bombardment, their formation breaking apart in confusion.

“Now it’s our turn!” roared Balbora.

Without hesitation, he charged straight into the fray. Behind him came Navasha, Ugo, Liza, and the rest of the melee fighters. Together, they carved a brutal path through the disoriented defenders, driving ever closer to their target.

The plan was simple: draw as many enemy soldiers as possible toward the vanguard, leaving the enemy general exposed and vulnerable.

Balbora charged first, bellowing a thunderous war cry.

“RAAAH!”

His blade cleaved through the first lizardman in his path. Without missing a beat, Navasha followed, cutting down another foe with brutal precision.

Soon, the battle had erupted into a swirling melee.

Belamus forced himself to remain focused. Every instinct screamed at him to rush forward, to fight alongside the others—but he had a role to play. He couldn’t afford to falter now.

The tactic was working. One by one, enemy soldiers abandoned their positions near the general, swarming toward Balbora and the other front-liners. The protective ring around the Emperor Lizardman had thinned dramatically.

Almost there.

Moving with calculated stealth, Belamus began to circle behind the enemy lines, slipping through the chaos unnoticed. The others only had to hold the enemy’s attention a little longer—long enough for him to strike.

The task was far from easy. Even with many of the guards drawn away, nearly eighty elite warriors still clustered around the general—veterans, each one. The vanguard faced overwhelming odds.

Balbora knew it. Every second counted.

Damn it… We have to buy him time—no matter what.

Gritting his teeth, he pressed the attack with relentless fury. But no matter how many they felled, the enemy pressed back harder.

“Look out!” A sudden shout rang through the din.

Balbora turned—and saw a searing blast of fire magic hurtling straight toward him.

No time to dodge.

He braced for the inevitable… but a torrent of water intercepted the flames, snuffing them out in a hiss of steam.

“Don’t get careless!” Delarosa called out, her voice sharp but laced with a grin.

She and the other mages had positioned themselves carefully behind the melee, providing cover for the vanguard. Though many of them lacked extensive battlefield experience, their teamwork was seamless. Spell after spell struck true, shielding their allies and disrupting the enemy ranks.

Gradually, the tide began to shift. The coordinated assault was buying precious moments—and Belamus was closing in on his target.

The enemy adapted quickly. After a moment of assessing the battlefield, they concluded that the rear guard, where the mages and support fighters were, was the biggest threat to their advance. A squad of lizardmen optimized for speed broke away from the main force, darting toward the back lines.

“They’re coming this way!”

A sharp cry went up. Panic rippled through the ranks.

“Eep!”

Spells flew in a frantic volley. Some of the swift attackers were struck down mid-charge—but not all. Several broke through, closing the distance at terrifying speed.

“Th-This is bad!” Delarosa gasped.

One lizardman lunged straight for Delarosa, its blade ready to strike. “RAAAH!” A massive shape interposed itself between them; Balbora. The blow landed squarely against his body, but the evolved Scale Orc’s armor-like hide absorbed it easily. His gleaming scales shrugged off the blade as if it were nothing. With a roar, Balbora countered, hurling his entire weight into a brutal body-slam. The impact sent the lizardman crashing to the ground, unconscious before he hit the dirt.

“Debt repaid!” Balbora grinned, eyes gleaming.

“Thanks!” Delarosa shot him a quick smile before turning back to her next target.

Front and rear lines worked in seamless tandem, responding to each threat with practiced coordination. Little by little, they were holding the line.

Meanwhile, Belamus had circled behind the enemy formation. At last, the moment had arrived. He spotted the Emperor Lizardman ahead, with only two guards by his side, and acted without hesitation. A salvo of Light Arrows erupted from Belamus’s outstretched hand, targeting the lesser guards first. There was no point risking an opening strike against the leader himself; a creature of such power would likely block or deflect it. Worse, it would leave Belamus surrounded three-to-one. Instead, he aimed for a sure kill. The arrows struck true, piercing the hearts of both guards before they could react. Their bodies crumpled silently. Now it was just the two of them.

A deep, resonant voice cut through the stillness.

“So… you’ve come. I had hoped we might meet, Belamus.”

Belamus narrowed his eyes. “You know my name?”

“You’re quite famous, you know. Though I imagine you’re unaware of that fact.”

Belamus felt a flicker of curiosity—famous, where? How?—but this was not the time for idle questions. He forced the thought aside, muscles tensing for the battle to come.

Belamus had no time to waste. The Emperor Lizardman had to be defeated—now.

The towering creature shifted, its voice low and resonant.

“I am called Barth,” it said, spreading its clawed arms. “As you can see, an Emperor Lizardman.”

Barth…

The name struck a chord. Belamus had heard it before—from Liza. Barth was the mercenary commander who had leaked information about him to Renest. Liza had suspected as much—and it seemed she had been right.

So, this is what she meant… A monster masquerading as a human to sabotage Beresdral from within. But why? What is your goal?

Questions swirled in his mind, but there was no time to seek answers now. One thing mattered above all: Barth had to fall, and swiftly.

The Emperor Lizardman grinned. “Shall we see what you’re capable of?”

Without hesitation, Belamus attacked.

“Light Arrow,” he intoned.

A volley of gleaming arrows shot toward Barth. It was a probing strike—Belamus had no intention of unleashing his most powerful spells until he was sure they would hit. Wasting that much mana on a failed strike would be catastrophic.

Victory needed to come fast—but recklessness would only guarantee defeat.

Barth moved.

Despite his massive frame, the lizardman twisted aside with startling grace. The Light Arrows passed harmlessly through empty air.

Belamus narrowed his eyes. Fast… and reflexes to match. Impressive.

Now armed, Barth gripped his weapon—a halberd, its shaft easily three times the length of one a human might wield. The wicked axe blade gleamed at the tip. Wielded in those powerful claws, the weapon was as deadly as any magic.

Barth’s halberd carved the air in brutal arcs, the sheer force of his swings leaving ripples through the dust and smoke. His towering frame, combined with the immense reach of the weapon, created a kill zone that few could hope to survive. Belamus darted backward, narrowly slipping out of range. The enhanced speed granted by his earlier Physical Boost spell was the only thing that saved him—without it, he would have been split clean in two.

The Emperor Lizardman pressed the assault, each movement precise and fluid. For a creature of such size, Barth possessed astonishing control over his weapon—this was no wild brute, but a warrior tempered by years of ruthless training. Belamus quickly recognized the danger; engaging at close range would be suicide. He needed distance.

Yet even as he retreated, Barth surged forward. The lizardman’s burst of speed was staggering, his massive body moving with a velocity that seemed to defy physics. Ordinary lizardmen were already faster than humans—but this was something else entirely. Belamus had barely adjusted his stance before the halberd swept toward him once more.

He thrust out his hand and cast Magic Wall. A translucent shield of magical power appeared between them just in time. Barth’s weapon struck with a bone-jarring force, sending a shockwave through the air. Cracks spiderwebbed across the barrier before it shattered into a shower of shimmering fragments. Belamus didn’t flinch. Defense alone wouldn’t win this fight. He needed to strike back.

Raising both arms, he summoned a flurry of brilliant blades with a shout of “Shining Sword.” Dozens of gleaming swords spun into existence, then launched toward Barth in a synchronized barrage. The Emperor Lizardman’s halberd became a blur, deflecting and parrying the assault with inhuman precision. But even Barth couldn’t block them all—several blades slipped through his guard, slamming into his armored scales. The hits drew sparks but little blood. Barth’s natural defenses were formidable; though the attacks bruised and battered him, they failed to inflict serious harm. Still, it was enough to momentarily stop his advance.

The lizardman grinned, eyes gleaming with savage delight. “You’re strong. Good. It’s been a long time since I’ve faced prey worth hunting.”

Belamus kept his distance, his mind racing. The battle had only just begun, but one thing was already clear—Barth was no ordinary opponent. Even among Emperor lizardmen, this one was a true monster. And if Belamus wanted to win, he would have to fight smarter—and faster—than ever before. Victory was far from certain.

Surrender isn’t an option, Belamus reminded himself.

If he lost here, it wouldn’t simply be his own life on the line. The entire fate of Beresdral hung on this battle. Every villager, every ally—if Barth weren’t stopped, they would all perish.

No matter how powerful his opponent, failure was unthinkable.

“Thousand Arrows!” Belamus called out. A brilliant storm of light erupted around him. In an instant, a thousand glowing arrows shot through the air, all aimed at the Emperor Lizardman. Barth braced himself. Dodging every arrow was impossible—even with his speed and reflexes. But as the barrage struck, most of the arrows bounced off his armored hide. His scales were simply too resilient; the attack slowed him down but left him largely unharmed.

Then Barth shifted his tactics. Abandoning his defensive stance, he gripped his halberd and swung it in a savage arc toward Belamus. The weapon tore through the air like a thunderclap. Belamus reacted instantly. “Magic Wall!” A shimmering barrier formed just in time—but Barth’s attack smashed against it with such force that it cracked under the impact. One of the halberd’s edges scraped through, leaving a shallow cut across Belamus’s cheek.

Damn… he’s tough. Light Arrows alone won’t cut it. I’ll need more potent magic to break through that defense.

Saint Breaker was Belamus’s trump card, but it was too soon to use it. For now, he needed something powerful—something to force Barth onto the defensive.

Drawing a deep breath, Belamus unleashed the next spell.

“Dragon Flame!” he shouted.

A roaring dragon of pure flame erupted from his hands, spiraling through the air with devastating force. Belamus’s version of the spell dwarfed anything Delarosa had conjured—his magical power reserves were greater, his control sharper, the heat near unbearable.

The flaming dragon hurtled toward Barth.

For the first time, instinct—not strategy—gripped the Emperor Lizardman. He leaped aside, recognizing the threat. But the inferno was massive, and even with his speed, Barth couldn’t entirely evade it. The searing flames licked across his back, burning through his scales.

Even with natural resistance to fire, the damage was undeniable. Barth grimaced, his breath ragged, pain flashing across his face for the first time.

Belamus had seen the effect his Dragon Flame had on the enemy. It worked. He would use it again.

Regrettably, this time, he hesitated for a moment too long.

Barth was already moving, closing the distance with alarming speed. His earlier signs of struggle had been little more than a feint. The pain was real—Belamus could tell that much—but the man had never been crippled by it. Now, driven by grim resolve, Barth surged forward.

Caught off guard, Belamus scrambled to raise a Magic Wall, the shimmering barrier snapping into place just in time to block the first savage blow. But Barth was relentless. He had anticipated this defense. Again and again, his halberd hammered against the protective field, sparks flying with each strike.

Belamus clenched his jaw. He couldn’t keep this up—Magic Wall consumed precious mana with every use, a resource he would soon need for offense. He had to break free, fast.

A plan came to him in a flash. With a sharp breath, he summoned a burst of wind beneath his feet—a simple spell known as Jump. The force of the updraft launched him skyward, well out of Barth’s reach. True flight magic was far more versatile, but it also came at an unsustainable cost. This would suffice.

Below, Barth reeled, momentarily disoriented. One second, the mage had been before him, the next—gone. He spun, eyes scanning frantically.

Above him, Belamus steadied himself, the wind buffeting his robes. Now, he thought, heart pounding, while he’s distracted.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he began channeling Dragon Flame once more, this time aiming the spell downward. If he could strike from above, Barth would have little room to dodge. But the warrior was too sharp. Even in his confusion, his gaze flicked upward—catching sight of the floating mage just as Belamus prepared to unleash his spell. Barth’s mind raced. There was no time to avoid it completely; the fire would catch him. And if it did, he would suffer a terrible wound, perhaps even worse. He had only one option left.

Gritting his teeth, he gripped his halberd with both hands, twisted his body, and threw the weapon like a spear toward the figure above. Belamus saw the motion too late. The weapon spun toward him in a deadly arc. His instincts screamed for him to raise another barrier—but doing so would mean stopping his offensive spell mid-cast. He hesitated. He calculated. The halberd would hit him, yes—but it wouldn’t be fatal.

Finish it, he told himself.

A torrent of flame erupted from his outstretched hands, a roaring column of fire cascading toward the ground below.

Barth dove aside, but the blast engulfed the space around him. He escaped the worst of it—but not unscathed. Flames licked at his leg, searing flesh, leaving a raw, blistered burn.

The halberd hurtling toward Belamus struck true—but as he’d predicted, it missed his face and chest, instead gouging deep into his shoulder. Agonizing pain exploded through him, nearly causing him to black out. But he was still in the air. If he lost consciousness now, the fall alone would kill him. Gritting his teeth, he forced his mind to focus.

Stay awake. Stay in control.

He summoned a simple gravity spell, slowing his descent with a shimmering aura. The ground rose to meet him as he guided himself to a rough but controlled landing.

There was no time to hesitate. Blood already soaked his robes. His shoulder throbbed with each beat of his heart, threatening to drag him under. Fumbling through the haze of pain, he channeled a powerful healing spell, pouring his dwindling magical power into the wound. The flesh knit closed beneath his trembling fingers, but the effort left him nearly drained.

Across the field, Barth remained standing—but just barely.

The flames of the last Dragon Flame had left him battered and burned. His body was charred, raw skin visible through scorched armor. And yet, incredibly, he still held his halberd, and a ragged smile played across his lips.

Breathless, he chuckled. “Haah… haah… You’re truly formidable. I must admit… I’m curious. How can one so small possess such strength?”

Belamus offered no answer. There was no need for words. Only one thing remained.

Summoning the last reserves of his strength, he raised his hand one final time. Flames swirled to life, fierce and unrelenting.

Barth couldn’t move. The battle had consumed him, body and spirit alike. He stood, defiant to the end—then vanished in the inferno.

When the flames died, only ashes remained.

Belamus turned, his voice carrying across the battlefield. “Your leader, Barth, has fallen—by my hand!”

At first, the enemy forces refused to believe it. They stood frozen in place, suspicion etched onto their monstrous faces. But as the smoke cleared and Barth’s charred body lay unmistakably before them, the truth dawned. Belamus tensed, and victory wasn’t assured. Many of these creatures fought for their own desires, not out of loyalty. It was possible that without Barth’s command, they might just continue the slaughter out of pure bloodlust. If they did, the loss of their leader would leave them disorganized—a chaotic swarm that would be easy to take apart. Still, Belamus prepared himself for the worst. The coming battle would be a bloody one.

His fears were unfounded. One by one, the enemy broke ranks. Fear spread like wildfire. With a collective cry, the horde turned and fled, scattering in every direction. Word of Barth’s death raced through their lines. Even those at the front abandoned the fight, disappearing into the surrounding hills and forests. The battlefield grew silent. The impossible had been achieved—against all odds, Belamus had protected Beresdral. The town still stood, and he was still on his feet.

※※※

Deep within the heart of Robaldol’s cavern, in its most shadowed depths, a single voice broke the silence.

“Well, wasn’t that entertaining?”

Amildrè lounged casually before a floating glass disc—an enchanted device known as the Farseeing Mirror. Within its shimmering surface, the final moments of the battle between Belamus and Barth played out in vivid detail. Amildrè’s smile curved with languid amusement.

Nearby, Kulaak sighed heavily. “A shame. Barth was a capable subordinate… yet even he couldn’t prevail.”

It stung more than he cared to admit. Kulaak had trained Barth personally and had watched him rise from an unremarkable warrior into one of their strongest assets. Now he was gone—reduced to ash before their eyes.

“Pity,” Amildrè replied, though her tone held not a trace of genuine regret. It was an old, familiar cruelty.

Kulaak felt a flicker of anger tighten his throat, but forced it down. Experience had taught him well—Amildrè’s whims were as deadly as they were unpredictable. He’d witnessed too many stumble into the mistake of showing defiance. The results were always the same.

Still watching the mirror, Amildrè leaned forward, eyes glittering. “But that Belamus boy… he’s intriguing. How is a child so strong? Is that common among humans, I wonder? And he uses Chantless Magic—rare, and far beyond what he should know.”

Kulaak shook his head firmly. “No. If that were common, humans would have conquered the world by now. He is… unique.”

Amildrè’s grin widened. “Thought so. I find him very interesting.”

Kulaak inwardly winced. That kind of interest boded ill for Belamus. And for Kulaak. He could already sense another reckless order coming, the kind that would leave him scrambling to clean up the chaos. He braced himself.

Instead, Amildrè waved a hand dismissively. “That’s enough for today. You can go.”

Kulaak blinked. “… Pardon me?” For a moment, genuine surprise flickered across his face. He had not expected to be dismissed so easily.

“Hm? What’s wrong? Something on your mind?” Amildrè tilted her head, voice light and curious.

“N-No. Not at all,” Kulaak replied quickly. “I simply assumed you might have… further orders. If not, then I’ll take my leave.”

Amildrè chuckled softly. “Ah, no orders for now. You know, in hindsight… I probably didn’t need to send Barth this time. A bit of a waste, really.”

Kulaak frowned. “Oh? How do you mean?”

“Well, Beresdral is located quite close to Transtha’s stronghold, you see. If we keep expanding our influence too aggressively in that direction, we’re bound to draw their attention. And that, my dear Kulaak, would be a mess we don’t need.”

Kulaak nodded grimly. “I see… Transtha. Yes, that one is… troublesome indeed.” He knew enough about Transtha to respect the threat it posed. Crossing them carelessly would invite disaster.

Amildrè sighed, eyes drifting lazily back to the Farseeing Mirror. “Really, Barth’s death was pointless. Such a shame. I suppose… at least we got to watch Belamus put on a rather impressive performance. Quite the spectacle.”

Hearing this, Kulaak’s hands clenched at his sides, a vein pulsing at his temple. Rage welled up within him, but he swallowed it down. He could not afford to let her see it.

“Then, if there’s nothing else… I’ll take my leave,” he said, voice tight.

“Mm. Good work,” Amildrè replied, already half-distracted.

Kulaak stepped out of the chamber, letting the heavy door close behind him. The instant he was alone, his mask slipped.

“Damn her… one day, I’ll take her head for myself,” he hissed under his breath.

He wasn’t loyal—not truly. He followed Amildrè because he had no choice. Her overwhelming power kept him bound to her side. But in his heart, Kulaak nursed a single burning ambition: to grow stronger, strong enough to kill her with his own hands.

What he didn’t know was that Amildrè already saw through him. She kept him close precisely because of that hidden spark of rebellion. It amused her for now.

Unaware, Kulaak stalked off toward the training grounds, determined once more to sharpen his blade and his resolve.

※※※

In the aftermath of battle, Belamus turned his focus to the wounded.

He worked tirelessly, moving from soldier to soldier—first among the monsters, then to the human soldiers who had fought beside them at the end. Though they had once been enemies, now they lay side by side, broken and bloodied. There was no hesitation in Belamus’s hands. The battlefield had made them equals in suffering.

His mana, however, was nearly spent.

Fortunately, Medello, Delarosa, Medina, and Lilli had managed to learn basic healing magic during the battle. They joined him, weaving their own spells into the effort. Of the group, Delarosa and the others still had a respectable amount of mana remaining—thanks in no small part to the frontline fighters like Balbora, whose fierce defense had prevented the worst of the enemy’s assault from reaching the healers.

There were many wounded, but together they managed the impossible. Every injury, every scar—they healed them all.

Not everyone could be saved. Several human soldiers had fallen during the fighting. It was deemed unwise to transport their bodies back through the forest—decay and disease would set in too quickly. Instead, they built a small cemetery near Beresdral and laid the dead to rest with proper honors.

Among the town’s own residents, by some miracle, there had been no fatalities. Even so, a handful had suffered wounds. Balbora and the other close-combat warriors—particularly the orcs—had taken the worst of it. Balbora himself had shielded the rear guard on more than one occasion, throwing his massive frame between the enemy and the casters. His armored scales had shattered under the strain, leaving him grievously wounded.

Belamus had reached him in time. The healing had been difficult—if he’d been even moments later, Balbora might not have survived.

Still, there was a strange silver lining. For a Scale Orc like Balbora, evolving meant strengthening his natural armor. When scales were broken and healed, the regrown plates often returned harder and tougher than before. In that sense, his near-fatal injuries might one day become a blessing.

As for the human soldiers, once their wounds had been fully healed, none dared raise a weapon again. There wasn’t a man among them dishonorable enough to turn on those who had saved their lives. To do so would have been shameful beyond measure.

“We owe you our lives…” their leader, Palaon, said at last, voice heavy with conflicted emotion.

Belamus met his gaze calmly. “You fought beside us. Without your aid, Beresdral would have fallen. There’s no debt owed.”

In truth, he thought, if you hadn’t invaded in the first place, none of this would have happened. But there was no sense in saying so. The war was over—for now.

Palaon seemed to understand. He bowed low, then swore an oath that his forces would never again set foot in Beresdral with hostile intent. With that, he gathered his men and led them away, leaving the town in peace.

※※※

After the long, grueling battle, Belamus finally returned home for some much-needed rest. It had been a hard-won victory, and everyone was exhausted. The celebratory feast was postponed—there would be time for that later, once bodies and spirits alike had recovered.

“Are we… done fighting now?” Delarosa asked softly. Her voice held a note of lingering uncertainty.

She had thought it was over once already, only to be forced back into battle again. The fear that it might happen once more gnawed at her.

“For now,” Belamus replied. “I think we’ll be safe for a while.”

He didn’t offer false reassurance. No one could say for sure what the future held. Still, the humans had withdrawn, and Palaon’s promise seemed genuine enough. Belamus had read the man’s expression well—Palaon looked thoroughly weary of the Great Frazes Forest and all it contained. The chances of him returning anytime soon were slim.

Yet Belamus couldn’t shake the feeling that a greater danger still lurked. Why had Barth gone to such lengths to provoke the humans into attacking Beresdral? There had been no time to question him during the fight, and he had no choice but to strike first and hard. But the question remained.

Something deeper is at play here, Belamus thought grimly. Some kind of plot…

He didn’t know the full extent of it, but the threat felt real. The battle might be over, but there was no room to be complacent. If Barth hadn’t acted alone—if a powerful individual had been pulling the strings—then Beresdral could face the same threat again. And the next time, they might not be so lucky. The answers were still too few, the pieces too scattered. But one thing was clear: he needed more information. How had Barth come to be hired by House Astorius? What was the actual connection between them? To find out, he would need to speak with Liza again, this time in much greater detail.

“Belamus! Train with me!” Delarosa called out.

He had barely taken a step toward Liza’s place when Delarosa came bounding up, eyes shining with determination.

“You must be tired after the battle,” Belamus said. “Why not rest today? Your body needs time to recover.”

“No!” she shot back, shaking her head fiercely. “If the enemy comes again like that, I might not make it next time! I realized during the fight—I’m still way weaker than you. I want to get stronger, even just a little!”

Her gaze burned with a resolve he’d never seen from her before. It was clear the battle had left a deep impression on her. Belamus hesitated for only a moment. “Very well.”

With that kind of determination, he couldn’t refuse her. Investigating the enemy’s motives was important—but so was strengthening Beresdral’s defenders. In the end, it was power that would protect the town. Without it, no amount of planning would matter.

He decided to help Delarosa train first. He could speak with Liza afterward.

Together, they made their way toward the training grounds—and were met by an unexpected sight.

The grounds were already packed. Goblins, orcs, alraunes, imps—they were all there, gathered under Liza’s guidance, training together in earnest.

“Wow, everyone’s already here!” Delarosa exclaimed, hurrying to join them.

Belamus watched her go, then turned to Balbora, who stood nearby. “It’s supposed to be a rest day. Why such a large turnout for training?”

Balbora rumbled a low chuckle. “I think everyone feels the same. When the enemy attacked… we all saw how close it was. Now they want to be stronger, even a little.”

Belamus nodded thoughtfully. “And your injuries? Are you fully recovered?”

“Perfectly healed!” Balbora said with a grin, patting his chest. His scales were gleaming, with no trace of the serious wounds he had suffered. Belamus examined him briefly—Balbora looked healthy and strong again.

I didn’t expect them all to be this motivated, Belamus thought, watching the bustling training grounds. The invasion from House Astorius and the battle against Barth’s forces had shaken the people of Beresdral to their core. But instead of giving in to fear, they had responded with determination. They were training harder and pushing themselves further.

To Belamus, this was encouraging.

If everyone keeps up this resolve, if they all grow stronger together… then no crisis will break us.

With that thought in mind, Belamus stepped onto the field and joined the training himself.

Thank you all

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