The northern edge of the forest was quieter than usual—too quiet. Not even the birds chirped. It was the kind of silence that pressed in on the skin, crawling beneath it like cold mist.
Jiro moved cautiously beside Rimuru, their slime bodies gliding just above the mossy ground. A pair of goblin scouts led the way, parting ferns and low branches until they reached the area in question.
The moment Jiro laid eyes on it, he knew.
The ground was torn. Claw marks raked across tree trunks, deep and jagged. Patches of grass had been scorched, and a wide trail of broken branches led further north. Something big had come through here.
Then, the scent hit him—blood.
Not goblin. Not wolf.
Something stronger.
"There," one of the goblins whispered, pointing ahead.
Half-hidden behind a boulder lay a massive figure—humanoid, heavily built, his crimson skin slick with blood. Jagged black horns curved from his forehead, and a greatclub lay snapped in half beside him.
An ogre.
Jiro's instincts flared. Ogres were known for their pride, strength, and distrust of outsiders. This one had clearly been in a fight—his armor was shredded, and one leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.
But even wounded, he radiated raw power.
Rimuru hesitated. "Do we… help him?"
Jiro didn't answer at first. He approached slowly, aura restrained, signaling the goblins to stay back.
As he neared, the ogre's eyes snapped open.
"Another… monster," the ogre growled. "Come to finish me?"
His hand twitched toward his broken club.
Jiro projected calm. "I'm not your enemy. I came because we saw the tracks—and the blood."
"You're with the wolves, then," the ogre snarled. "Come to drag me back?"
"No. We're the ones who drove the wolves away."
The ogre paused, gaze sharpening. "You? A… slime?"
Jiro smirked, then allowed a portion of his aura to rise—blood-red and edged with flame. His vampire-dragon blood pulsed visibly beneath his translucent form for just a moment. The ogre stiffened.
"You are… no ordinary slime."
"Nope," Rimuru chimed in, bouncing beside Jiro. "And neither of us have any interest in finishing off someone already wounded. What happened here?"
The ogre's head lowered. "Ambushed. Our village… scattered. The wolves weren't alone. A shadowy beast led them. It had no face… only a mouth, and a scent of rot."
Jiro frowned. That wasn't a normal forest predator.
"Let us help you," Jiro said. "We have a village. Medical herbs. Safety. You won't survive out here alone."
The ogre hesitated, pride flickering in his eyes. Then, with a grunt, he nodded.
"Very well. But if you try anything—"
"You'll break me in half. Got it," Jiro said dryly.
Together, they called for a goblin support team. The ogre was stabilized and placed on a stretcher made of thick bark and vines. As they carried him back, Rimuru whispered to Jiro:
"That 'shadowy beast'… doesn't sound natural."
Jiro nodded. "Something's stirring in the forest. And I don't think it's just direwolves anymore."
As the sun dipped behind the canopy, casting long shadows across the land, Jiro looked back toward the path they had followed.
Something had attacked the ogres.
And that something was still out there.
Watching.
Waiting.