The disk-shaped plant was veiled in a layer of faintly luminescent down, rising and falling in a steady rhythm as it breathed delicate streams of life energy into the elf who lay upon it.

  Of all places, why here—why in my farm? Glenn stared at the thing, convinced the Will of the Forest was deliberately taking revenge on him.

  Gortaya squeezed her way forward as well, lips pressed together, eyes fixed on her mother. She could sense her mother’s life force slowly returning—that alone filled her with quiet joy.

  “Tell him… take him somewhere.”

  The voice of the forest echoed in her mind once more, but its intent left her momentarily stunned.

  She glanced at Glenn. Feeling her gaze, Glenn returned a confused look.

  “Come with me,” Gortaya murmured, slipping away from the crowd. Glenn followed.

  “The Will of the Forest wants me to take you somewhere,” she said once they were far enough away.

  Glenn frowned, pointing at himself. “Me? You are certain it wants me?”

  Gortaya nodded firmly.

  “Ask it—do I have to go?” Glenn muttered, visibly reluctant. Probably wants to punish me for chopping down trees… he guessed inwardly.

  But Gortaya suddenly looked at him with a flare of anger, as if having heard something else.

  Glenn blinked, confused.

  “The Will of the Forest told me to tell you it is not trying to punish you. Cutting a few trees will not anger it. It simply wants your help.”

  “I… is that so?” Glenn forced an awkward laugh. “Fine. I will take a look.”

  Before leaving, he leaned toward Ravel and whispered, “Keep an eye on things. Do not let these elves steal my livestock—especially that brat.” He tilted his chin toward Gubo, who stood with his back to them in the distance.

  But elven ears were not for show. Gubo crushed his custom longbow in one hand, leaving a passing worker utterly bewildered.

  …

  Gortaya did not lead Glenn far—just past a few thick bushes, over several small rises, until they reached a hidden sinkhole thickly shrouded in growth.

  “This is it?” Glenn asked, sensing nothing from the depths.

  “Yes,” Gortaya replied. “The Will of the Forest says a loathsome tumor festers down below. It needs your help to excise it—and will reward you afterward.”

  “Why me? Surely there are better choices?” Glenn still doubted.

  All the surrounding plants shivered at once.

  Gortaya listened, then said, “The Will of the Forest says it has watched you ever since you became a werewolf. You have grown… unusual—unlike anyone here. Your soul is singular. The great Forerunner, Lady Layla, should have told you this.”

  “It also says, if you do not trust its word, you may consult the two Forerunners yourself.”

  Forerunners? The Black Raven couple? That title means something, then… After a moment’s silence, Glenn nodded.

  “…Fine. Wait here.”

  Before the words fully fell, his figure dissolved into shadow and vanished with a gust of wind.

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  In only minutes he returned, and gave Gortaya a nod. “All right. I can go down. Tell me everything.”

  He had barely approached Lady Layla’s home when Black Raven delivered the message: You may trust the Forest Will. So he came straight back.

  Gortaya smoothed her wind-tossed hair, gathered her thoughts, and said:

  “The Will of the Forest says countless evil spirits dwell within the pit. They were once the monsters that gathered here; after death, the unique aura of Bayek infected them, turning them into something… special.”

  “Anyone ordinary would go mad upon entering—only a will strong enough can resist. The Forest Will can resonate with your mind when you transform, and was astonished that you can endure that terrible killing instinct without losing clarity. That makes you the ideal choice.”

  “Below the evil spirits is a layer polluted by centuries of refuse thrown by the Old Residents. That part won’t trouble a werewolf—werewolves have a hidden talent, an extraordinary resistance to corruption, because a werewolf itself is a higher form of corruption.”

  “Past that, you will find the tumor devouring the forest. The Forest Will cannot see it and does not know what it is—but it can feel its presence. Even if you cannot handle it, the reward will still be given.”

  After hearing this, Glenn quickly constructed several plans in his mind—then turned and leapt into the abyss.

  Gortaya nearly jumped after him, wanting to help, but the cold, emotionless voice echoed in her mind:

  “You are too weak. Do not go down.”

  Helpless, she stopped and waited.

  By now, Glenn had already assumed his Third-Tier werewolf form, claws sinking into the pit wall as he descended. At first there was nothing unusual—only serpents, insects, and odd cave creatures.

  But as those thinned out, a soul-freezing chill rose from below.

  Further down, his wolf-eyes caught sight of something familiar—those phantom centipedes. Dozens, hundreds, coiled densely around invisible nodes. No matter how far he descended, he couldn’t get closer—like chasing a mirage.

  Just as he wondered what they were, they all vanished.

  And in the next instant—he found himself drowning in a sea of ghosts.

  The shrieks of the damned surged into his mind like a tidal wave. Caught off guard, his muscles spasmed, his claws slipped, and he fell—

  But in less than two seconds he steadied himself again.

  “Well, well… quite the dirty trick,” Glenn muttered. That centipede-thing must have stacked its assault to break his will in a single strike.

  Too bad it failed.

  “It is you! You killed Abu!” a familiar voice suddenly roared.

  Scanning the gloom, Glenn saw Abu’s twisted shape in the distance, shoved and kneaded like dough among the writhing evil spirits.

  Glenn burst into laughter. “You? Weren't you the King of the Forest? Abu—what in the world happened to you? Hahaha…”

  His laughter rang out—jarringly bright in a realm steeped in despair, fury, resentment, and malice.