At the westernmost boundary of Rensillore. Descending the steep slope westward from the Mavenn Gateway Fortress, perched atop the mountain pass, one encounters two paths leading to Ves-Dinas.
Of the two paths, the northwestern one is known as the Ghost Spider Forest. It serves as a shortcut to Ves-Dinas, but it's infamous for the giant spiders lurking within its depths, the trolls that roam its shadows, and the goblins that linger there, preying on merchants and travelers passing through—rumors of danger never cease to swirl around this place.
Though traversing the perilous Ghost Spider Forest could shave several days off the journey, most people setting out from the Mavenn Gateway Fortress resist the allure of the hazardous shortcut, opting instead to skirt the forest and take the longer, safer route to Ves-Dinas.
A path winds through the dark forest. Thick fog cloaks the surroundings. Along the trail, a horse trudges slowly, head bowed, its steps faltering, while a knight rides atop it.
With a furrowed brow, he had removed one gauntlet and set it on the saddle. He pressed his fingertips around his eyes, as if tormented by a headache, and occasionally rubbed the neck of the horse he rode.
"Ugh... I think I drank too much in Mavenn... Beer's the trouble here... You holding up alright, Leska?"
-Snort, snort-
Leska let out two short puffs of breath in response to Leben.
"Well, it did taste good, though. If I could taste that famous Mavenn beer again, this headache might just be worth enduring."
-Snort-
"Aye, sorry about this. Here you are, bearing the same ache from last night's drink, and you've still got to carry me. I'm starting to think I should've left Mavenn early tomorrow morning instead."
Leben ran his hand over Leska's mane, a gesture of apology.
"Sigh. By the way, it's been a while since I last took this path. Here's hoping nothing stirs up trouble today—neither of us is in shape for trouble after a night like that."
Leben turned his head to survey the surroundings. The rustling of bushes, disturbed by a few small birds taking flight, reached his ears. Though it was still afternoon, with the sun high in the sky, the dense, towering trees blocked out most of the light, casting an eerie chill over the forest. The many shaded patches made the red mushrooms scattered about stand out vividly.
The name "Ghost Spider Forest" carries a creeping unease. It's not quite fear, but the pairing of "ghost" and "spider" stirs a vague, unsettling discomfort. This forest path must surely be the least-traveled route to Ves-Dinas.
Indeed, deep within the forest dwell giant spiders—ranging from the size of a small cat to that of a bear, and even as large as a troll—which is how it earned its name. Yet, if one sticks to the sunlit path along the forest's edge, they're unlikely to cross paths with the forest's masters, the ghost spiders.
Still, tales from unlucky travelers lost in the woods and spider-web collectors who venture deep into its heart spread swiftly through the mouths of merchants near the forest. Nowadays, few dare to pass through the Ghost Spider Forest.
Even so, impatient merchants sometimes hire adventurers to guard their wares as they brave the woods. Adventurers, too, can still be spotted here—drawn by guild quests to hunt monster materials, gather herbs, or fulfill other tasks.
Beyond them, villagers come to pick high-quality mushrooms without rivals, and young hunters from small hamlets strut in late at night, boasting loudly to prove their courage. No matter how black and foreboding the forest, people with one or two such reasons never stop venturing into the Ghost Spider Forest.
"Maybe it's the place... This path feels awfully empty."
Leben twisted around to check for anyone trailing behind, then raised himself high in the saddle, craning his neck to peer ahead. Not a single person or horse was in sight.
From time to time, the crackling of dry leaves splitting underfoot made Leska's ears twitch, but they pressed on along the forest trail, Leska's slow gait weighed down by the remnants of the previous night's revelry.
It was when Leben halted Leska briefly, dismounted, and pulled a leather water pouch from the saddlebag to share with his horse that it happened.
The sound of an animal's footsteps pricked Leben's ears. A steady rhythm of rustling leaves being trodden upon drifted from deeper within the forest.
"Who's there?"
Hand drifting to the sheath at his waist, Leben turned and called out toward the thickly overgrown woods.
His voice echoed through the still forest. In the distance, a dark shape flickered into view—a shadow obscured by the dense fog, long branches, and tall undergrowth, making it impossible to identify.
The footsteps paused briefly. Then, as if responding to the voice it heard, the unseen figure began pushing through the bushes, the sound growing closer to Leben.
'Blast it. The fog's too thick to see properly. No stench, though—probably not a troll.'
Leben drew his sword and leveled it toward the approaching noise.
"Oh... a familiar voice! Sir Leben, is that you?"
"Huh? That voice..."
A voice Leben knew well reached his ears. The shadowy figure drew near swiftly, piercing through the fog to reveal itself.
"Hahaha! To meet again in a place like this! Though it's only been a day—perhaps not so thrilling a reunion, eh?"
A knight emerged, astride a horse whiter than the swirling fog around them. He pulled off his helmet, revealing near-white blonde hair, and approached Leben, cradling the helmet in one hand as he spoke.
Spotting the dirt-streaked spider webs clinging to his helmet, dusted with bits of crushed leaves, the knight hurriedly brushed away similar webs from his armor and his horse's barding.
"No, it's a joy to see you sooner than expected, Viscount Orid. We were meant to meet again at the Ves-Dinas tournament, after all."
Sheathing his drawn sword, Leben replied to the approaching knight.
The noble Leben greeted with a smile—Viscount Orid—cut a figure as polished as his title suggested. His armor, finely wrought with gold, gleamed subtly, and beneath his ornate, intricately patterned helmet, his hair was neatly kept. A smooth, clean-shaven jaw lent him a pristine air.
Sallin Orid. He'd introduced himself as the head of a viscount's house from a remote corner of the kingdom, bound for Ves-Dinas to join the Grand Tournament. Last night, at the Mavenn Gateway Fortress, he and Leben had traded tales of their jousting feats over clinking mugs of beer well into the night—a fleeting yet familiar bond forged between travelers.
"But weren't you headed straight to Ves-Dinas, Lord Sallin? I saw you leave the fortress at dawn. I only set out this afternoon, so I never imagined I'd run into you on the road."
"Haha... well... the path around the forest felt too long and winding, you see. I figured cutting through the woods might get me there faster..."
'(Lost his way and wandered the forest till now, I reckon...)' "Ah, I see."
"I got a tad turned around, that's all."
"Aye..."
Not long after, the sun dipped below the horizon, and deeper shadows began to drape the forest.
Leben and Sallin found a decent spot beside the path, where faint moonlight trickled through, and set about making a place to spend the night.
To kindle the fire, Sallin produced a magical tool from within his cloak.
From a small, square box that fit in one hand, a tiny, red-glowing orb emerged, radiating heat. Placed atop the tinder leaves piled amid stacked branches, it soon sparked a small flame that spread to the gathered wood. The two settled down, picking up the conversation they'd left unfinished the night before.
"That tool of yours looked mighty handy, Lord Sallin."
"Oh, this? It's a trinket I picked up—there's a fad among nobles lately, burning incense and guessing its name. Turns out it's pretty useful for starting campfires, too."
Sallin pulled the flame-making device from his waist again, showing it to Leben as he spoke.
"By the by, what do you think? How's the taste of the quail my Grishula nabbed?"
"It's good. Freshly caught like this, it's a cut above what you'd find in a village tavern."
Leben took a bite of the small bird's meat in his hand, swallowed, and answered Sallin.
Earlier, as the pair gathered branches for the fire and stones to ring it with, a small, brown-speckled quail had dropped from the darkened sky above the forest.
Startled by the sudden thud of the quail hitting the dry leaves, Leben looked up as Sallin approached, explaining it was the work of his tamed Teal Falcon.
Seeing Leben's puzzled stare at the dead quail, Sallin called out to the forest sky in a loud voice, "Grishula, enough now—come back!" His falcon swooped down, landing on the back of his hand, and he introduced it to Leben.
"Smart little thing, isn't she? Knows we've got company."
Sallin stroked the small, teal-hued falcon perched on his hand as he spoke.
The Teal Falcon, its feathers the same striking teal as the ring around a mallard's eye, is the smallest of its kind—barely a handspan long, earning it the nickname "Handspan Falcon."
Unlike other falcons, its vivid plumage and keen loyalty to its master have made it a favorite among the nobles of the Kingdom of Esteta, its name widely known.
"Getting fresh, unbled meat for her every time was a chore, so I started taking her out to hunt small birds and rabbits. Now she'll fetch prey like that on her own, no prompting needed."
"Truly a clever falcon, as you say."
"She's as fine a companion to me as that drinking buddy of yours is to you."
Sallin grinned, recalling how, at his suggestion the previous night to drink in the cool breeze, they'd hauled a beer-filled barrel to the fortress courtyard. Leska had joined them, guzzling with wild abandon.
"Still, doesn't bring me tasty meat like your Grishula does."
Leben spoke in a hushed, cautious tone, lest Leska overhear.
"Hmm. High praise indeed—I'll thank you for her as her master. And here's a little something in return."
Sallin fished a small pouch from his cloak and offered it to Leben.
Caught off guard by the unexpected gift, Leben hesitated to reach for it, but Sallin smiled gently once more and placed the pouch in his hand.
From the small pouch Leben received, a pleasant aroma wafted out. Though the drawstring was tied tight, it wasn't the sweet, crisp scent of flowers. Instead, it was a savory whiff of roasted nuts and grilled vegetables—enough to make saliva pool under the tongue.