CHAPTER 103: CHAPTER 102: THE BLACKROOT FOREST.

Next Day

...

The forest began just past the eastern gate of Ginip.

At dawn, the mist still clung to the ground, white ribbons that swirled around boots and horse hooves. The eastern glade stretched out like a quiet sea of grass, ending at a dark wall of trees. The Blackroot Forest.

Kael stood with his arms crossed, cloak drawn tight against the cool air. His adventurers were gathering—Red Band to his right, Sand Hunters to his left. Seris stood just behind him, her sword already strapped to her back. She wore her usual calm mask, but her sharp eyes scanned every corner of the field.

Leonard Matgorat waited with his guards near the front. He wore light armor, polished but practical, and a green cloak pinned at his shoulder. The young noble’s expression was serious, but not heavy. He looked as though he had been waiting for this moment for years.

"Are they ready?" Leonard asked.

Kael gave a short nod. "They’re prepared. They’ll follow my orders."

Leonard accepted this without protest, though a faint frown creased his brow.

The mayor, Lysandra, had come as well. She stood a few paces behind Leonard, speaking quietly with one of her aides. When she looked at the forest, there was no confidence in her eyes—only unease. She had grown up here. She knew the stories.

By the time the sun pushed higher, the caravan was ready. Three wagons loaded with supplies, two dozen guards, and both adventurer teams. The Matgorat banner flew from the lead cart—a white stag on blue cloth.

When the order was given, the gates creaked open, and the expedition rolled forward.

The air changed almost at once.

Inside the forest, the light dimmed. The trees were old, with thick black roots that rose out of the ground like frozen waves. Moss grew across bark, damp and soft, and strange mushrooms glowed faintly in the shadows. The deeper they went, the quieter it became. Even the birds did not sing here.

Kael walked near the front, beside Bram, the leader of the Sand Hunters. Seris kept just behind him, silent as always. Darien and Mira of the Red Band whispered back and forth, their voices low.

"It feels wrong," Mira muttered. "Like the air’s too heavy."

"It is," Darien agreed. "The mana here isn’t normal. My skin itches."

Leonard’s guards tightened their grips on their spears.

An hour passed. The road narrowed into a path of broken stones, half-swallowed by moss.

Bram raised a hand. "Tracks."

Everyone stopped.

He crouched low, brushing a hand over the soil. "Not human. Something heavy. Four legs. Passed here last night."

"Beast?" Leonard asked.

"Not one I know," Bram admitted.

Kael knelt beside him. The print was wide, clawed, with deep pressure marks at the front. Too heavy for a wolf. Too narrow for a bear.

"How big?" Kael asked.

Bram studied the depth. "Big enough to kill half of us if it’s hungry."

"Then let’s keep moving," Leonard said firmly. "Stay sharp."

The caravan pushed deeper.

The forest grew stranger the further they walked. Roots twisted across the ground in patterns too precise to be natural, like veins carved by a giant’s hand. Faint blue lights drifted between the branches—wisps, some whispered. Spirits, others said.

Kael’s eyes narrowed as he watched one float past. It looked like a drop of water caught in sunlight, glowing from within.

"Mana condensation," he thought aloud. "But stable. That shouldn’t be possible outside a lab."

Seris gave him a quick look. "Meaning?"

"Meaning this place isn’t wild," Kael muttered. "It’s... controlled."

By midday, the first beast appeared.

It stepped from the undergrowth without a sound—a wolf, but twice the size of a horse. Its fur was pale gray, almost silver, and its eyes glowed faintly green. It watched them from a distance, unblinking.

The guards raised their weapons, shields clattering.

"Hold," Leonard ordered.

The wolf did not attack. It sniffed once, then turned, vanishing back into the trees.

Bram exhaled slowly. "That’s no common beast."

"No," Leonard agreed. "It was watching us."

They moved faster after that.

Hours passed. The forest swallowed the sound of wagons and boots. Sweat beaded on brows despite the cool air. Every shadow seemed alive.

By evening, they reached a clearing where an old stone circle stood. Broken pillars leaned at angles, half-buried in roots. Strange runes still glimmered faintly on their surfaces.

The caravan stopped.

"This is as far as we go for today," Leonard said. "We’ll make camp here."

Tents went up quickly. Fires were lit, though their smoke seemed to vanish into the canopy. Guards formed a perimeter, while adventurers scouted the edges.

Kael sat near one of the fires, a notebook on his knee. He was sketching the runes from the stone pillars. They weren’t like any alphabet he knew—but they pulsed faintly when the firelight touched them.

"These are wards," Kael muttered. "Old. Very old."

Seris leaned closer. "Still active?"

"Barely. But something kept them alive all this time."

Darien joined them, holding a strip of dried meat. "You think this is the Witch’s work?"

Kael didn’t answer. His eyes lingered on the runes. He felt a weight in the air—like the forest itself was watching.

That night, the camp was restless. Strange howls echoed in the distance. More than once, the guards swore they saw glowing eyes in the dark. But nothing attacked.

Kael didn’t sleep. He sat with his back to a tree, watching the forest. Seris stayed nearby, sword across her knees.

When the mist lifted at dawn, they broke camp and pushed deeper.

The second day was worse.

The path narrowed until wagons could barely pass. Roots rose like walls, forcing them to weave through twisted corridors. Faint whispers carried through the air, though no mouths spoke them.

Malik, the youngest of the Sand Hunters, muttered nervously. "The forest’s alive. It’s... it’s talking."

"Shut it," Tess hissed.

But Kael had heard it too. The whispers weren’t words—but they pressed against his thoughts, strange rhythms that made his skin crawl.

By late afternoon, the trees finally opened into another clearing.

At its center stood a house.

It was small, built of dark wood, roofed with moss. Smoke rose from a crooked chimney. Flowers—bright, impossible colors—bloomed in the soil around it.

The entire caravan froze.

Leonard stepped forward slowly. His voice was low, but steady. "So the tales were true."

Kael narrowed his eyes. He felt it even from here—the air around the house was different. Thicker, sharper. The same way the portal had felt back at Lancaster estate.

Seris whispered, "This is her place."

The front door creaked open.

A woman stepped out.

She looked no older than thirty. Long black hair fell to her waist. Her dress was simple, gray, bound at the waist with a cord. But her eyes—green, sharp, and ancient—froze every man where he stood.

She walked slowly to the edge of the clearing, barefoot on the grass. She stopped there, gazing at the caravan.

When she spoke, her voice carried clear, calm, and heavy.

"So," she said. "The Merchant has finally arrived."

Kael’s heart stopped.

The others turned toward him instantly—Leonard, Seris, even Bram. The Witch hadn’t looked at anyone else. Only at Kael.