Irene Belsirion, Image.
Erza Belserion, Image.
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The Journey Through the Ancient Forest
"Okay, let's go," I said, slinging my large briefcase onto my back—a briefcase that holds things beyond comprehension, surpassing the understanding of all existence.
Troy followed close behind, carrying nothing but a bag brimming with food and his trusty weapon: a well-worn iron frying pan, more dangerous than it looked.
My house lay fifty miles away from the village, a two-day journey on foot. I could reach it in the blink of an eye if I wanted, but I preferred the scenic route. There was something calming about traveling the old way—walking through the vast expanse of the forest and soaking in its ancient beauty.
The forest stretched endlessly, untouched by time. Towering trees rose hundreds of meters into the sky, their colossal trunks wider than castles. Their bark, gnarled and scarred by centuries of storms, beasts, and magic, bore silent witness to the endless struggle for survival. Above, the immense canopy formed a second sky, blotting out most of the sunlight, leaving only shafts of golden light to filter through, casting a mysterious glow on the forest floor.
Life thrived here in every form—beautiful and terrifying.
Vines as thick as serpents coiled around the massive trunks, glowing with strange luminescent fungi. Giant flowers, large enough to swallow a man whole, exhaled sweet but deadly fragrances to lure unsuspecting prey. In the darkness, enormous predators moved silently, blending seamlessly with the shadows.
High above, the branches housed entire ecosystems. Winged magical beasts with ember-like eyes nested there, their cries rumbling like thunder. Some trees bore fruit the size of boulders, and every time one fell, it reshaped the landscape below. Rivers snaked through the undergrowth, their dark waters hiding ancient, unseen predators.
Even the trees themselves seemed alive. Their roots shifted when no one was looking, their massive limbs moving ever so slightly. Legends spoke of trees that consumed the unwary, their roots dragging victims into the earth. Other stories told of ruins hidden deep within the jungle, swallowed by relentless growth.
Despite all this danger, I never tired of the forest. Walking here always filled me with joy. This is what I call life.
"John, John, what are you thinking about? You've been staring at that tree for a while now," Troy asked, snapping me from my thoughts.
"Nothing important," I replied. "Just admiring the beauty of nature."
Troy grinned. "Just don't lose yourself, old man."
I glared at him. "Who are you calling an old man, bastard?"
Troy groaned, clutching his aching legs. "The roots of this forest are huge! It's like climbing a mountain just to get over one!"
We were resting on top of a massive root—just one of countless others that sprawled across the forest floor like the legs of a colossal beast.
"We've only climbed a hundred, and you're already tired? What would you do if my house were deeper in? The trees there are a hundred times larger, and their roots are like mountains," I teased.
Troy sighed, rubbing his legs. "I'm getting old. My bones can't handle this anymore. Besides, this is the last time I'll visit you."
I looked at him, surprised. "I always forget you're just a normal human, not a magician."
Silence fell between us, broken only by the soft howl of the wind. After a moment, I spoke quietly.
"Don't worry. I'll visit your grave often."
Troy hurled his shoe at my face. "Bastard! Are you cursing me to die? I'm only fifty!"
I calmly caught the shoe midair.
After resting for a while, we continued our journey, facing the usual hazards—wolves, poisonous insects, predatory plants, and the occasional monster. Most travelers would have perished, but Troy and I were different. I easily dispatched the threats with my strength, while Troy relied on his skills and his trusty frying pan.
Yes, his frying pan.
Whether it was wolves, insects, or monsters, Troy's weapon of choice never changed. He smashed them all with his iron frying pan, wielding it like a master warrior.
By evening, we found ourselves resting on a colossal branch—wide enough to house a small castle. Troy began preparing his dinner, heating oil in his frying pan, which was still drenched in monster blood. I had already eaten and was lying on the branch, reading a book.
"Are you not going to clean that first?" I asked, eyeing his filthy pan.
Troy glanced at it. "Nope. Why would I remove the extra seasoning?"
I gave him a deadpan look. "If that's your idea of seasoning, I'm seriously concerned for your mental health."
Troy just laughed and continued cooking. I shook my head and returned to my book.
Meanwhile, in the Village
High above the rooftops, two scarlet-haired beauties watched over the quiet village. One stood calmly, while the other sat elegantly, both gazing at the moon.
Irene sat gracefully, her long red hair cascading down her back, while her younger sister Erza stood beside her, her crimson locks flowing in the breeze.
The village lay silent, shrouded in darkness. Everyone was asleep, their homes bathed in the soft glow of moonlight.
"What's the matter, Erza?" Irene asked softly, a gentle smile on her face. Despite her calm demeanor, Erza could sense her sister's annoyance.
"I hope this is important enough to disrupt my sleep," Irene added playfully.
Without hesitation, Erza got to the point. "The kingdom is calling us back."
"For what purpose?" Irene asked, her voice flat.
"I don't know," Erza admitted.
Irene sighed. "Looks like something's happened. Did you pack our things?"
"Yes," Erza said, gesturing to a large wagon behind her, loaded with luggage.
Irene blinked. "How did you get that up here? Never mind. Did you inform the village chief of our departure?"
"Yes."
"Alright. Let's go, then."
Irene tapped her staff three times on the roof, activating a teleportation spell. A red magic circle appeared beneath their feet, encompassing both sisters and the wagon.
A moment later, a blinding light enveloped them.
When the light faded, Irene, Erza, and the wagon had vanished, leaving the village behind.