Though forests may all be referred to as such, they come in various kinds, and it’s not uncommon to arrive at one only to find the scenery drastically different from what you imagined. After all, while maps and symbols can tell you about terrain, they remain largely silent on what lies above the ground.
I had braced myself somewhat, having heard this was the kind of forest where bears might appear, but the forest I visited on Lord Faige’s request far exceeded that expectation.
“This… this isn’t a forest, this is more like a sea of trees, isn’t it?”
“Truly a coincidence, friend. It looks this way to me as well.”
In agreement with my companion’s dazed mutter, I looked upward where seeing the towering trees that grew thickly as if to reject outsiders, and felt a faint despair.
Absolutely, this was not the scale at which one should dare to tread without care in what might be called “a small adventure.” No, this was the type of forest you’d only come to at the end of a quest, after beseeching a powerful witch who dwells in the woods or seeking a mystical remedy for all ills.
A mixed primary forest of coniferous and deciduous trees—spruce, fir, oak—was completely different in character from the managed forests near the Imperial Capital or the manors. If the tidy rows of well-mannered oak and cedar trees in the managed forests were akin to a prestigious school, this forest was like a dilapidated school on the bad side of town where even the local toughs quaked with fear.
Trees grew however they pleased, their roots sprawling and forming grand shapes upon the ground, the long-accumulated leaves forming a carpet of sorts. Unlike the managed forest where human activity was expected, this forest emanated a clear aura of rejection toward outsiders.
What had started as ‘a small adventure’ had suddenly turned into what amounted to exploring an outdoor dungeon. If I didn’t have some knowledge about forest walking, I would have immediately turned back, hiring a scout or ranger for safety’s sake. The common wisdom among those who play table-top role-playing games is that hacking through dungeons without a proper scout is akin to suicide—and justifiably so.
Equipped with light arms and carrying food and water for a few days stuffed into our backpacks, we began moving forward despite the overwhelming grandeur of the forest. While such terrain might usually have made for very difficult passage, my companion and I were different.
Mika, a student auditing classes to become a landforming mage, was a mage well-acquainted with earth, rocks, and trees. Though not capable of the kind of delicate control over nature that would make nature itself mindful of others, Mika was adept at manipulating the forest floor.
“Considering my endurance, I can only manage this much but, well,”
As Mika cast the spell with the carefully constructed formula—at least, in this world where magical effects fade once completed, allowing landforming mages a deeper expertise in magic—the ground compressed itself in a path before us. The path neatly smoothed out the sprawling roots and natural inclines, and this straight line wound through the trees, heading deep into the heart of the forest.
“Wow! Not bad at all!”
The path was perfectly level, just shoulder width, but easy enough to walk on. Furthermore, since the path went straight, it eliminated that peculiar problem of forest travel where each detour around a tree would disrupt your sense of direction. With this, breadcrumbs and graph paper were unnecessary—so long as we could remember where we’d come from.
“Well, there is that… I wouldn’t want to anger anyone by carelessly tampering with the forest’s geology after all…”
With a light nudge to my modest companion’s shoulder, he, as usual after thinking about it for a bit, nudged me back. And we continued through the forest, keeping the same distance as always.
Though it was daytime, the forest was dark, the surfaces of bark and trees covered in lichens giving an eerie feeling, but within it was surprisingly at peace. No boars or bears charged out at us as if guided by bad dice rolls, nor were there brigands with sinister grins lying in wait. Well, the latter was expected considering—be it a dungeon or a volcano—there were no groups with such vitality who could appear wherever called as long as someone would pay them in this world.
Who, exactly, would such brigands attack in a secluded forest to make a living? Even if they hid from the inspectors and attacked travelers, there were plenty of forests nearer to the thoroughfares to establish a base. It simply didn’t make sense.
Thus spared of any irrational encounters, we explored the untouched forest at a leisurely pace, taking the opportunity to gather all sorts of things along the way. Thanks to its untouched nature, various herbs that could turn a slight profit grew around us, robust from their competition with other trees; their quality was evidently good, and they would likely be worth quite a bit if we took them back.
“Hey, Erich, acorns! Acorns!”
With a delighted grin, Mika used shifting earth to collect a mass of acorns. It wasn’t that Mika was playing around collecting acorns out of childish joy—it was because in his homeland, they were regarded as proper food.
“During autumn, we gather as many as we can and preserve them for food. If you grind them into flour and soak it in water, the results aren’t bad at all.”
Mika cheerfully began filling his bag, saying he would take them home and try cooking with them himself. Popular in the northern territories, but regarded as poor man’s food in the capital because they were mainly used for fattening pigs rather than human consumption, it seemed the longing for the flavors of his home had been rekindled after eating lamb the day before.
“Once treated they can be used to bulk up bread and cookies, or roasted and made into tea. You can even boil them into a kind of pudding—it’s actually pretty good. They don’t use them this way in the south though.”
With such diversions, as the herbs and fruits began weighing down our backpacks, the pouch tied to my waist suddenly gave a small shake.
It was the pouch containing Ursula’s rose.
“What’s the matter?”
I motioned for Mika, who was looking questioningly at my abrupt halt, to wait a moment as I pulled out the rose. Although it faintly trembled, conveying Ursula’s undeniable presence, unlike before, it did not bloom, nor did she appear.
Then it occurred to me. Yes, today was the full moon.
Fairies grow stronger as the hidden moon gains power while the true moon wanes. Conversely, they grow weaker when the true moon is full and its shadow, the hidden moon, loses its strength. The fact that she could appear in human-like size during the full hidden moon implied that she would have difficulty appearing when the moon was concealed.
Hence, it was almost certain I had lost the fairy’s protection.
…Good thing I hadn’t invested in proficiency in fairy-related matters. If she had teleported in on me at a new moon and attacked, it might well have halved my battle strength.
Jokes aside, Ursula currently seemed unable to respond to my voice, though she was still sending us a faint warning. This shaking was undoubtedly a sign of concern.
Still, the precise warning remained unclear, and something about that felt awfully like an in-game event. Surely, it wasn’t the real climactic battle yet, was it? In my perspective, the heartfelt conversation I had with Mika yesterday felt somewhat climactic already.
“We should proceed with caution from here. I have… a bad feeling.”
“The premonition, huh… Very well, my friend.”
Without doubting my sudden words, Mika swung his staff and dug a large hole in the ground. Stones were carefully laid to prevent animals from tunneling in—a sign of his versatile use of the path-building skills typically taught to landforming mages. I found myself consistently impressed today, and it was easy to see why traveling merchants were grateful to have a mage accompany them.
Keeping the minimum amount of water and lightening our load, I, who knew a little about stealth, took the lead. We kept our distance to avoid being wiped out by an ambush. Of course, there was the risk that the more vulnerable mage at the rear could be attacked, but Mika had a familiar capable of sharing visual data, so my concern about the rear was somewhat lessened.
A warm and sticky breeze blew by, carrying a smell that pierced my nostrils.
It was a smell all too familiar, and I didn’t want to know it again. It was unpleasant, something one shouldn’t get used to but had, at least a little.
The sweet smell of decaying meat mixed with the foul stench of excrement—a smell of death.
In this world, death was frighteningly common. Not only do humans perish so easily, but public executions were performed around the country as matter-of-factly as Christmas decorations. Corpses hung casually from city walls and gates; on the roads, bandits’ underlings were hung up as deterrents, and the bodies of heinous criminals, sealed in wax, might be toured through various towns in a macabre exhibition. These were events that forced an unhealthy dose of desensitization to gore on everyone.
I gave the pre-arranged hand signal—a raised clenched fist to indicate “halt”—then, concealing my presence, I ventured ahead. The origin of the smell came from outside the straight trail Mika had forged.
Moving as silently as possible, careful to avoid breaking a single branch or leaf—and pushing aside the very practical idea that maybe I should simply increase my stealth skill—I tracked the source of the stench.
The origin was found far sooner than expected: a figure standing in the woods, unguarded, with a dirty appearance. The tattered clothes, the messy hair, the earthy skin, and the unmistakable mark of a missing right arm—this was undoubtedly an undead creature.
I had read about them in various texts, but this was the first time I had encountered this type up-close.
Now, in a world where souls and afterlife are an undeniable fact, several kinds of creatures are referred to as “undead.” Given the existence of ghosts and spirits, it would be odd if mere moving corpses didn’t fit this category somehow. Thankfully, the creators of this world did not overlook horror staples when they distributed resources.
Whether it was a good thing or not, you can infer from my dour expression.
As examples of undead, first, are those species who live without age or death, such as the long-lived humans or magical vampires who are often categorized as such. They’re normally not called undead since killing methods do exist, though their regenerative abilities earned them fearsome monikers instead. In fact, there are documents where such beings complained that their names were too intimidating and thus wished to do away with them.
Second are the beings deprived of death or lost their right to die. From what I’ve read in theological texts, one of the punishments gods mete out for unforgivable sins is the removal of certain rights inherently possessed by living creatures. This might include the inability to sleep forever or suffer endless hunger, or even the removal of certain emotions; one of the heaviest penalties could be the removal of “death” itself—life stretched into infinity. These are the ones who have either had death stolen from them or, like Lord Raizenitz, discarded it and returned in a new form.
Then, finally, there are the animated dead—like this one—bodies taken over or enslaved by outside forces.
Magic bends the universal laws, so animating the dead by forcing warped principles onto them is one of the more plausible means. When I first encountered the magic skill tree for solo-casting and commanding undead, I thought, “This is strong!” But I quickly saw it as a persecution-worthy path and removed it from consideration.
When evaluating “strength,” I consider a lack of disruption to the role or social dynamics to be a critical factor, which made sense. The moment some city-based characters begin such pursuits, they find themselves stranded outside city gates no matter how powerful they might individually be.
That figure standing there, unmoving, I believe used the discarded method I had abandoned—perhaps a corpse invaded by a ghost or imbued with magical residue that caused it to stir without intent. The behavior was too sloppy to be a rational being like Lord Raizenitz….
Suddenly, the corpse’s head twisted and abnormally faced me. The left eye had fallen and dangled on a nerve fiber, while a lump of mud filled the right eye socket. The teeth chattered with hunger as it stared at me with sight devoid of eyes.
My body froze from the concentrated aura of death. The breath I involuntarily gasped made a pitiable “hiih” sound. Wait, why would it—
Ah, right. Undead are said to have a “non-sensory perception,” akin to smelling the scent of a soul, like fairies or their ilk.
With an agility far removed from the stereotypical shuffling dead, it turned towards me and rushed over with a speed comparable to a running human. The remaining right hand outstretched, teeth clicking together like a xylophone while dashing forward, it presented an image that could have been lifted straight from a horror film screen.
Facing a head-on assault from this uncorporeal figure, I countered, stepping half a pace forward with the preemptively drawn weapon known as “sending wolf,” cleanly severing the head in the process. Indeed, if I had underestimated the undead and thought it could only shuffle, I might have been surprised by its speed, but having prepared mentally, it was no big deal. If anything, its lack of reasoning made it simpler to handle.
Besides, overly aggressive undead were practically a mainstay in entertaining works from my previous life. There was a period where my circle would obsessively play games involving fighting running infected in groups of four.
Still, momentum carried the corpse over until it fell, and the head it had flung bounced off a tree and landed at my feet. Yes, quite a splendid blow. Undoubtedly, the fatal strike had been effective.
Had I been the kind of protagonist who would shout in a carefree way, it might have been a case of an instant death, no dice rolls, purely by the narrative. But this was concerning nonetheless. Whatever the reason, the existence of undead was not something normal—whether some evil sorcerer was performing foul deeds within the forest’s depths or if a place existed where magical essence accumulated enough to resurrect corpses, this was not normal…
Huh? A strange sensation in my foot drew my attention downward to see… a perfect match of eyes, though I had clearly decapitated it just moments ago.
The head, clicking its teeth as if pleading with hunger, stared right at me.
Then a sound and presence behind me—someone or something breaking through branches stood up…
“Aaaaaaghhh!?”
With an unbecoming cry of fear, a thought struck me.
That’s right. In these kinds of enemies, weapons with blades wouldn’t deal any damage, and critical hits wouldn’t even register…
In the world of table-top role-playing games, what starts with the pretense of a small adventure never ever ends up as such. We’ve been there, done that. You all must be familiar with it too.
Due to work over the weekend and the mounting responsibilities post-April 1st, my schedule is currently unclear.
I imagine it will necessitate a little more time.
For now, I humbly request your patience with this physically taxed writer.
