Lady Anniya oversaw a line of laborers as they loaded her belongings onto the carriages. She was preparing to leave the capital and return to Duder, eager to reunite with her daughter.

  A week earlier, a man named Glenn had sought her out, telling her of her daughter’s plight and declaring his intent to eliminate every evildoer in the Punk family.

  Anniya found his face strangely familiar, though she could not recall where she had seen him. Yet she sensed instinctively that he was not boasting—an impression that struck her with startling certainty.

  Indeed, after she saw Earl Punk outside the constabulary, there had been no further stir from him. Yesterday, someone finally noticed the abnormal silence at the Punk estate, and once officers investigated, an astonishing revelation spread like wildfire.

  Every one of Earl Punk’s kin—along with numerous servants—had perished within the manor, each corpse bearing a fate more gruesome than the last.

  The shocking news dominated the headlines the following morning—coinciding precisely with the day Lady Anniya planned to depart.

  Since the Fourth King of the Kingdom of Zehn ascended the throne—through to the present Seventh—no noble of viscount rank or higher had ever been annihilated so utterly and inexplicably.

  The King, upon hearing the report, was livid. Whosoever committed this atrocity—whatever power stood behind them—had challenged the sovereignty of the Kingdom of Zehn itself.

  He ordered the murderer be captured without delay.

  Yet even the famed White-Robed Ones, said to be capable of anything, failed to apprehend the culprit. All they managed to determine was that the killer was a werewolf.

  This answer fell far short of the King’s expectations.

  How the murderer evaded the pursuit of so many high-ranking magi became the hottest topic of debate within the Magic Spires.

  None of this mattered to Lady Anniya. Her only concern was her daughter.

  “Lady Anniya, you are leaving today as well? Convenient—we are headed the same way.”

  Glenn’s voice drew her attention.

  She turned—and there he was, the man who had slaughtered the entire Punk household, sitting openly atop a strange-looking Great Stag before Lord Lauburn’s manor.

  “You—you still dare show your face here?! Do you not know the entire kingdom is hunting you?!”

  Anniya simply could not comprehend his recklessness.

  “I know. Of course I know. But I have done quite a few things these past days—enough to shake off their pursuit. They will not find me.”

  Glenn’s answer was vague; explaining would be pointless—she wouldn’t understand anyway.

  The tracing and divination methods of magi were formidable, yes, but not without limitations. With enough ingenuity, slipping the net was possible.

  These past days, Glenn had experimented for the first time with infecting other creatures using his Wolf Venom. A few attempts succeeded, though the creations were mindless husks that would soon collapse.

  Still, they served excellently as decoys to scatter magical trackers.

  Beyond that, Glenn had employed several other schemes—each dreadful or ingenious enough to stun those self-assured magi into confusion.

  “You—” Lady Anniya opened her mouth, then found no proper words. “I only care about my daughter.”

  “That is good,” Glenn replied with a nod.

  Escorting this noblewoman back—and quietly protecting her—served two purposes at once. He had planned as much from the beginning.

  Should she encounter bandits or other dangers on the road and die suddenly, the tragedy would complicate everything regarding her daughter, Pernaas.

  Fortunately, nothing of the sort occurred.

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  Their journey remained uneventful.

  Pernaas, in truth, was no longer in Duder. Glenn had told Anniya so only to ease her mind—letting her believe her daughter was far from the reach of the Punk family.

  Thus, when Anniya met her daughter midway, she was overwhelmed with joy. Mother and daughter embraced, both in tears.

  “Elf girl, these are all your kin?”

  “Yes, all of them.”

  “Then why have they all run onto my farm?! How are my workers supposed to do their jobs?!”

  “I am sorry! They will not stay for free—they will help with the work!”

  “Fine, I will take you in—grudgingly. But food and lodging, you handle yourselves.”

  Glenn watched the dozen-odd Forest Elves scattered across his farmland and allowed himself a satisfied smile.

  He glanced at Gortaya. The elf maiden had changed greatly—her former haughty arrogance replaced with quiet restraint.

  Then he looked to the unconscious elven woman in a white ceremonial robe, surrounded protectively by the Forest Elves. Glenn immediately understood why Gortaya had changed so much.

  “That is your mother?” he asked.

  Gortaya nodded. “My mother became like this because of me…”

  Glenn was silent for a moment, then asked, “So why bring her here? Is this place some legendary sanctuary for healing?”

  With nothing worth concealing, Gortaya recounted the events in her tribe.

  After listening, Glenn was utterly baffled. Everything was astonishingly strange.

  So the forest truly has a consciousness? Should I be more careful when chopping wood now? And why had the Spirit of Bayek’s forest traveled so far to rescue another? The vast swathes of withering trees over there were equally suspicious. Rationally speaking, this was almost certainly the High Priestess’s fault. Which meant—ultimately—it was the elf girl’s fault as well. I told her countless times to return home. She ignored me…

  A flood of thoughts churned through Glenn’s mind as he pieced together a rough picture.

  “Hey! Human! You are the one who kept Gortaya here! You would not let her return!”

  Gubo stormed over, fury twisting his expression.

  Glenn glanced at the elf girl. “So your name is Gortaya.”

  Gortaya’s fists tightened. After all this time together, he had never even asked her name.

  But that was her own fault. With her constant petulant haughtiness, Glenn had no reason to indulge her.

  Seeing himself ignored, Gubo flushed with rage. Elves were notoriously proud, and Glenn’s indifference struck him like a direct insult.

  “I asked you a question! Are you the one who kept Gortaya from returning?!”

  Gortaya was about to explain when Glenn spoke—in a tone colder than she had ever heard from him:

  “Say one more word, and I will take your head off.”

  Gubo’s legs buckled, and he collapsed to the ground.

  He had faced savage magical beasts in the forest without ever knowing fear—but now, for the first time, terror pierced him to the bone.

  “How old is he?” Glenn asked Gortaya.

  “Three hundred and three, I think…” she whispered.

  “Lived that long yet behaves like a human child of fifteen or sixteen—impulsive and brainless. What a waste of longevity…”

  Glenn walked past the trembling, red-faced young male elf and approached the white-robed High Priestess.

  Several idle workers had also gathered to watch, including Ravel.

  Who could blame them? Among the Forest Elves, even the ordinary women were strikingly beautiful—let alone the slumbering, ethereal High Priestess lying before them like a fairytale princess.

  “Make way, make way—let me take a look.”

  Glenn pushed through the crowd.

  Only then did he notice a strange, disc-shaped plant beneath the High Priestess—grown who-knew-when—cradling her in its center.