The campfire was lit.

Gauss took charge of preparing the ingredients while Aria boiled some water.

Today's lunch would be stew.

In this freezing weather, nothing could warm the heart better than a steaming pot of stew.

Though Gauss considered adding some Frost Snake meat, he decided against it for Aria's sake and settled for a simple carrot and lean meat soup instead.

"Mmm—"

Aria cradled the warm bowl in her hands, the heat of the food dispelling the last traces of chill from her body.

"Finally, we can head back and rest for a while."

She stretched lazily, the exhaustion from days of relentless travel finally catching up to her.

Though... perhaps this was what they called bittersweet?

After all, how many ordinary people toiled just as hard yet never reaped the bountiful rewards that adventurers like them enjoyed?

One must learn to be grateful.

With that thought, she rubbed her cheeks and pinched her lips into a smile.

"What do you think will happen to these wild monsters after we leave?" Gauss wondered aloud.

"Probably hibernation, or migration to warmer southern regions. The stronger tribes always find a way," Aria paused her actions. "I've heard the snow here rarely reaches deep into the Emerald Forest."

"Almost as if an invisible barrier around the forest's core wards off the cold?"

"If that's the case... why would those ogres choose to wage war against humans for winter supplies rather than migrate?"

"Perhaps... by the Green Dragon Queen's decree?" The question touched upon a gap in Aria's knowledge, forcing her to speculate.

Yet her theory held some merit—every major occurrence in the Emerald Forest inevitably fell under the shadow of its true ruler, the Green Dragon Queen.

This supreme entity of the forest had established a monster kingdom that stood as the most formidable gathering of creatures in the region.

A century ago, Grayrock Town and other border settlements were reportedly founded as bulwarks against this very dragon.

A hundred relatively peaceful years had passed, with generations of townsfolk and adventurers coming and going, yet the adult green dragon remained the darkest cloud looming over the town.

A mere century meant little to creatures of draconic lineage.

Dragons—those ancient, winged reptiles with formidable power and near-immortal lifespans—were broadly categorized as either metallic or chromatic.

Human records overwhelmingly depicted chromatic dragons (the five-colored varieties) as greedy marauders, while their metallic cousins displayed nobler dispositions.

Yet both varieties possessed power and talents far beyond mortal ken, universally acknowledged as among the world's mightiest creatures.

As innate magical beings, dragons grew stronger with age, their already vast lifespans allowing endless accumulation of power.

Even creatures with diluted draconic heritage—like dragon-blooded gnolls or wyverns—exhibited abilities and longevity far surpassing ordinary races, testament to the supremacy of dragon blood.

The Emerald Forest's green dragon was said to be nearly eight centuries old—an inconceivable span for ordinary humans.

After resting and finishing their meal, the pair began their return journey to camp.

Their footprints stretched across the snowfield.

Ulfen the gray wolf, sensing their homeward trek, bounded excitedly through the snow around them.

The Crowmen outpost being near the forest's edge, the temporary camp soon came into view.

Yet before they drew close, Gauss noticed something amiss.

The camp was shrouded in strange mist, carrying a pungent odor that tightened throats and caused discomfort.

*Cough—*

He swiftly retrieved two gas masks from his Storage Bag, passing one to Aria. Only when masked did breathing become tolerable.

With growing dread, they hurried toward camp.

The sight that greeted them froze them in their tracks.

The orderly Winter Hunt camp from that morning now lay in ruins.

The ground, carriages, defensive barricades—all bore corrosive pockmarks and gaping holes.

Their two simple tents had melted into pools of black sludge.

At the camp's center lay rows of unconscious figures, while priests and other healing-capable professionals worked frantically among them.

More horrifying were the mutilated remains—bodies half-dissolved by potent acid, clearly beyond saving.

What happened here?

Scanning the devastation, Gauss spotted members of the Iron Arms team they'd met days earlier.

Having likely returned earlier from their morning excursion, they might know the cause.

Gauss and Aria approached the team.

"Captain Quick, what exactly happened here?" Gauss demanded.

The team's druid was absent—probably summoned to assist with healing—but the others appeared unharmed.

"Gauss! Thank the gods you were out this morning," Quick's expression was grave.

"It was a poison wyvern. Attacked out of nowhere, diving from above with its breath weapon."

"The assault came too fast—many resting in camp had no chance. Those caught in the initial acid spray... over twenty adventurers died instantly. Many civilians too. The following poison mist knocked out more before spells dispersed it."

"Guild Leader Eberhard is currently battling that wyvern deep in the forest."

Gauss and Aria exchanged stunned glances, mutual horror reflected in their eyes.

Their morning excursion had unwittingly spared them from disaster.

Gauss particularly recalled nearly suggesting Aria remain at camp—the thought of her tent being among those blackened puddles sent waves of visceral relief through him.

Surveying the devastated camp, Gauss felt his scalp prickle.

Peace and tragedy had been separated by mere hours.

"Captain Quick, has anything like this happened during previous Winter Hunts?"

"Never. Not in all my years participating," Quick shook his head grimly.

"Creatures of that caliber rarely venture beyond the Emerald Forest's depths—their ideal habitat. Its reappearance here... bodes ill for ordinary folk."

"Starting now... the Emerald Forest may face years of turmoil ahead."