The sun sat lazily above West Hollow Forest, its warm light piercing the canopy in golden shafts. Birds chirped from above while leaves rustled gently under a soft breeze. Amid this serenity, three elf boys stared at a grove of trees with vastly different ideas of what made a "good" one.
"This one!" Kyle jabbed his finger dramatically toward a spiraling, oddly twisted tree whose trunk curled like a cinnamon roll. "It looks cool. A tree with flair! With drama!"
"That's just inefficient," Sinryo replied, arms folded, already annoyed. He pointed at a small, straight tree nearby. "See that? No fancy bends. Easy to chop, easy to carry. Done in one go."
"But it's so... boring," Kyle exaggerated his disgust, gagging theatrically. "What's the point of cutting trees if they don't look like a legendary artifact from the Old Forest Epoch?"
"That's not a real epoch, "
"Yes, it is. I read it in 'Legends That Sound Real.'"
Fuhiken, standing between them with a gloved hand on his temple, finally exhaled with saint-like patience. His left eye twitched. "Enough."
The two boys froze.
"We're not cutting your cursed bonsai," he said to Kyle, "and we're not making a toothpick," he added, gesturing at Sinryo's choice. "We'll cut that one." He nodded to a tall, straight tree, not too thick, not too thin, with bark like iron and deep, snaking roots that vanished under the forest floor.
Both boys groaned, their protests echoing each other in perfect teenage frustration. Kyle slouched dramatically, arms flopping to his sides like a defeated marionette. "Fine, fine," he muttered, dragging his feet toward the chosen tree as though Fuhiken had asked him to cut down a mountain instead. Sinryo sighed louder than necessary, tossing a sideways glare at Kyle like he'd personally lost the Great Tree Debate of the Century.
Fuhiken, unfazed, knelt beside his magic bag with the calm air of someone used to babysitting explosives. He slipped his hand inside the shimmering pouch and rummaged through its impossible depths. With a practiced tug, he pulled out a slightly oversized wood axe, its steel blade wide and freshly sharpened, its hickory handle reinforced with faint silver bands. He spun it once in his hand, testing the balance, then rested it over his shoulder with effortless confidence.
Kyle reached into his own bag, grumbling something about "losing to tree bureaucracy," and withdrew a standard-sized axe. He gave it a test swing through the air, nearly clipping a low branch. "Huh. Still sharp. Thanks, me-from-yesterday," he muttered, offering himself a finger-gun.
Sinryo followed suit, retrieving a similarly standard axe with a smooth, dark handle. He turned it over in his hands with a craftsman's eye, then eyed the tree critically. "Still think mine would've been easier," he whispered under his breath, though no one was listening.
All three stood before the selected tree now, giving it a moment of collective scrutiny. It was tall, its bark thick with age, roots winding into the earth like sleeping serpents. The kind of tree that looked like it had been standing before the forest itself was born.
"Alright," Fuhiken said, tightening his grip on the handle. "No distractions. We do this right."
They raised their axes in near unison, three young elves ready to fell what they thought was just another tree.
THWACK.
The first hits rang out like drumbeats across the quiet forest, each thwack of steel against wood shattering the natural stillness. Splinters flew as bark chipped away, revealing the paler, fibrous interior beneath. But with each strike, an odd resistance pushed back against their blades, subtle at first, like cutting into something that didn't want to be cut. Then came the tremor, faint but unmistakable, a low vibration beneath their boots that rippled through the soil like a warning whispered by the earth itself.
Kyle raised an eyebrow. "Did you feel that?"
Fuhiken ignored him. "Focus. We'll cut halfway then push it, "
The tremor returned, stronger now, more deliberate, like something stirring from a long, unwilling slumber. Beneath their feet, the roots shuddered, then began to throb with a slow, rhythmic pulse, as if the earth itself had a heartbeat, and it was growing faster.
Sinryo took a step back. "That's... not normal."
The bark cracked open.
From within the tree, an ominous rumble growled like a thundercloud waking from slumber. The wood split violently, revealing a glowing, green pulse at its core. A pair of amber eyes blinked open above a jagged mouth formed of twisting bark and moss. The entire tree groaned and rose.
It wasn't a tree.
The realization hit them like a cold wind through their bones. What they had mistaken for a tall, ancient trunk was no passive part of the forest. The deep grooves in the bark were not scars of time, but slumbering muscles. The thick limbs that reached toward the sky weren't branches, they were arms, gnarled and powerful. As the bark split further and the central core of the being lit with a sickly green glow, its true form revealed itself with terrifying clarity.
Two glowing amber eyes opened where knots had once been, their gaze full of age and silent fury. Moss peeled back like peeling skin, revealing a jagged, bark-covered mouth that creaked into motion with a groan that seemed to rise from the roots of the earth itself. With every second, the creature grew taller, its limbs stretching, trunk widening, the illusion of a normal tree shedding like autumn leaves.
It was no mere flora. It was a Trent, an ancient guardian of the forest, awakened not by ritual or accident, but by the misfortune of three axe-wielding elves striking its body as if it were firewood. And now, it was very awake.
"A SLEEPING MONSTER?!" Kyle yelled, stumbling back.
"WHY ARE WE SO GOOD AT PICKING THE WORST TREES?!" Sinryo added, already bolting to the side.
The Trent roared, an earthquake of sound that sent birds flying in every direction. Its bark split into arms and limbs, and it grew nearly two stories high, dragging roots from the soil like massive tendrils.
"Scatter!" Fuhiken shouted.
The Trent roared, an ear-splitting, primal bellow that shook the very air and sent a shockwave through the forest. The sound rolled like thunder crashing through stone canyons, startling flocks of birds into panicked flight, their wings scattering like black petals across the sky. As the roar faded into a deep, vibrating growl, the Trent's body continued to transform. Thick bark cracked and split apart, revealing muscular limbs beneath as its massive frame surged upward, towering nearly two stories high. Its trunk twisted with unnatural force, shaping itself into a humanoid form, arms as thick as tree trunks unfurled, each finger ending in sharp, bark-covered claws. From the base, thick roots tore free from the earth, writhing and slithering across the ground like monstrous tendrils, dragging clumps of soil and stone in their wake. The ground trembled beneath its movement, and the forest itself seemed to recoil from the ancient terror that had awakened in its heart.
Kyle slipped as he landed, his axe flying out of his hand with a comical "whoop." It embedded itself in a nearby log.
"Really?! My weapon's gone already?!" he yelled, crawling behind a bush.
Sinryo dashed low, catching Kyle's lost axe mid-roll and now holding two. "Double the steel, double the fun," he grinned, twirling them.
Fuhiken advanced, his larger axe glinting in the light. "Hold the line! Aim for its joints!"
The Trent howled and unleashed Branch Full Swing, a wide, sweeping attack. Sinryo leapt through the air, flipping just above the branch. "Shadowstep!" he called, blinking through a ripple of shadow just in time.
Fuhiken blocked another branch with his axe, the impact shoving him back a meter. He grunted, his boots skidding across the moss.
Kyle ducked, peeked from behind a fallen log, muttering, "I need my rifle, wait… where's my, "
BWOOMP.
His magic bag jiggled unnaturally, shifting and twitching like something alive was trapped inside. Kyle froze, eyes locked on it in disbelief as the seams bulged and the fabric rippled with eerie, magical energy. Then, without warning, the bag gave a sudden hop, a full, deliberate bounce off the forest floor, as if possessed by a will of its own. It landed with a soft thud, wobbled once more, and began to inflate slightly, pulsing with a faint blue glow. Kyle took an involuntary step back.
"That's... not normal," he whispered, watching the bag like it might run.
With a loud PUFF, the bag suddenly launched his long rifle into the air like a missile. Kyle barely caught it.
"Okay," he gasped. "I definitely didn't pack it like that."
He aimed quickly. Blue mana gathered at the muzzle, humming. "Sharp Shooter!" he whispered, and fired.
A sharp hum filled the air as Kyle pulled the trigger, and a brilliant pulse of blue energy erupted from the rifle's barrel. The shot blazed through the forest like a shooting star, trailing light and raw mana behind it. It struck the Trent's shoulder with pinpoint accuracy, the impact cracking through layers of bark like thunder cracking stone.
The shoulder exploded in a burst of glowing splinters and sap, the force ripping away a chunk of its wooden armor. The Trent let out a guttural snarl, stumbling from the sheer impact. Its massive body swayed, roots dragging awkwardly as it struggled to regain balance. One of its branch-like arms dropped slightly, now limp and damaged, bark still sizzling where the mana bullet had struck. For the first time, it looked less like an unstoppable force of nature, and more like a creature that could bleed.
Kyle exhaled. "Now that's more like it."
On the other side, Sinryo zipped around the monster with impossible agility, both axes swinging. Bark splintered. He dashed under Root Smash again, slicing the tendrils as they slammed down.
"Can't catch me, you overgrown salad!" he taunted.
The Trent screamed and fired Fruit Boom. Large, swollen fruit grew and launched at them like missiles. Kyle dove sideways as one exploded near him in a burst of vines and acid sap. "UNNECESSARY. NATURE. ANGER!"
Sinryo wasn't so lucky. One of the oversized fruits whistled past his head and splattered against the ground behind him, only to explode mid-air with a loud POP and a burst of sticky, vine-like tendrils. He attempted a stylish dodge, aiming for a graceful roll… but tripped halfway through. Instead of gliding out of danger, he flopped onto his side like a sack of laundry, narrowly avoiding the tangled mess. Coughing and peeling a piece of sizzling fruit skin off his shoulder.
Meanwhile, Fuhiken stood firm. His magic bag rustled, bulging.
Then, FOOMP!, his magic bag bulged once, let out a puff of glowing mist, and suddenly launched the shield into the air with surprising force. It whistled past his head, clanged against a rock mid-arc, and slammed into the ground beside him with a solid THUD, kicking up a cloud of dust and leaves. Fuhiken didn't even have time to think; his arm moved on reflex, snatching the shield off the ground just as it bounced from the impact.
Fuhiken stared at it, then at the now-still bag, then back at the shield in his hand. "This bag's possessed," he muttered flatly.
But he wasted no time. "Shield Blessing!" he cast, a golden shimmer glowing over his form. With axe in one hand and shield in the other, he charged.
The Trent sent a massive branch down toward him. Fuhiken countered with Shield Boomerang, his shield spinning upward and clashing with the branch mid-air, knocking it aside. The shield rebounded back to his arm with a satisfying thunk. He rammed his axe into the Trent's side. Chips of bark flew.
Behind him, Sinryo reappeared in a blur, skidding to a halt just behind the Trent's shifting leg. As he steadied himself, a sudden twitch from his side caught his attention, his magic bag bulged outward, the flap lifting on its own like a yawning mouth.
From within, two sleek, familiar hilts slowly emerged, gleaming faintly with a blue mana sheen. His twin daggers, his preferred weapons, extended outward, as if the bag itself had sensed his need.
Sinryo blinked. "Okay… that's new."
With a grin creeping across his face, he dropped the borrowed axes without hesitation and snatched the daggers mid-air as they fully slipped from the bag. They fit perfectly into his hands, light, swift, and made for movement.
"Now this feels right," he said, flipping both blades with practiced ease.
He burst into motion, dashing low and weaving through roots. His figure blurred as he closed the distance, each step a precise beat in his deadly rhythm.
"Double Slash!" he shouted.
The daggers flashed, two clean, synchronized strikes carved across the Trent's knee. Bark and sap flew. Sinryo twisted into a second set of slashes, dancing around a retaliatory root whip with a sideways flip, landing in a crouch just outside the Trent's reach.
Kyle reloaded, channeling mana again. "Let's try Magnum Bullet!"
His rifle glowed brightly. "Now eat THIS!" He fired.
The blast hit the Trent's chest directly, detonating like a cannonball. A crater of bark and glowing sap sprayed, the force sending the massive creature reeling backward. It staggered, momentarily stunned, arms drooping and posture slack.
Fuhiken saw the opening. Without hesitation, he surged forward, boots pounding against the earth, shield raised, axe gleaming in the fading light. He closed the distance in a blink, his body low and steady, then sprang into a spinning flurry of slashes.
One! His axe carved through the Trent's right leg.
Two! A diagonal cut across the hip joint.
Four! He spun, landing rapid, controlled strikes across the torso, each one cracking bark and spraying sap.
Eight! The final series hit high, shoulder, neck, and back to chest, each blow faster and heavier than the last.
"Keep him covered!" he shouted mid-swing.
Kyle snapped into action, reloading with lightning precision. "Sharp Shooter!" he called, firing between Fuhiken's movements. Each shot struck branches trying to intercept Fuhiken's assault, blasting them away before they could interfere.
Above, another Fruit Boom grew fat and pulsing, launching toward the group with a wet squelch.
"I got it!" Sinryo yelled, leaping high with twin daggers in hand. In mid-air, he slashed the explosive fruit clean in half, twik!, just before it could detonate. The remains fell to the ground with a harmless splatter.
Back below, Fuhiken clenched his jaw and tightened his grip. His axe glowed faintly with residual mana as he reared back for one final strike.
With a roar, he drove it into the gaping wound Kyle had blasted open earlier, burying the blade deep into the Trent's chest with all the force he could muster. The impact echoed like a drumbeat. The Trent let out one last roar, body cracking, splitting down the middle. Its legs gave out. Roots flailed wildly before going still. It collapsed with a thunderous crash, shaking the entire forest floor.
Silence returned, except for the heavy breathing of three exhausted boys.
"…Is it dead?" Sinryo asked, poking the motionless body.
A single fruit dropped onto his head. Plop.
He glared up. "I take that as a yes."
Fuhiken leaned against his shield, catching his breath. Kyle collapsed on a stump.
"So," Kyle said, "our magic bags are now alive?"
"They're supposed to be storage," Sinryo muttered, staring at his own.
Fuhiken's expression hardened as he examined the now still, innocent-looking bags. "They jumped. They threw our weapons out at the perfect time. That wasn't an accident."
"They helped us," Kyle said, sitting straighter. "It was like, like they have personality."
"They're not sentient… right?" Sinryo asked hesitantly.
No one answered. The three boys stood in a loose triangle, staring down at their respective magic bags with a mixture of suspicion, awe, and mild existential dread. Moments ago, those bags had moved on their own, reacted, chosen, even helped in a fight that could've ended very badly. And now, as if nothing had happened, they sat innocently on the mossy forest floor, flaps closed, still and quiet. No glow. No twitch. Just ordinary-looking bags, as if they hadn't just spit out weapons like loyal, battle-hardened companions. The silence around them felt heavier than before, broken only by the soft rustling of leaves overhead. It was as if the bags were waiting, patient, passive… or simply pretending.
Fuhiken finally stood up straight. "Let's… finish the job we came for."
Kyle sighed, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead. "You mean the tree we just killed?"
Fuhiken, already inspecting the fallen Trent's massive trunk, gave a firm nod. "Yes. That one."
Kyle blinked. "Wait. You're serious?"
"I am," Fuhiken replied, stepping closer to the Trent's splintered body. He placed a hand against the broken bark, fingers brushing over the rough, fibrous surface now damp with fading magical energy and glowing sap. "This isn't just any tree. Its structure, look at it. The density, the grain, the mana residue embedded in the wood. It's tougher than the trees we were originally targeting, maybe even tougher than the best timber you'd find near the Elf Forest."
Sinryo raised an eyebrow. "You mean the homicidal tree monster we woke up trying to kill us... is now better building material?"
Fuhiken didn't even glance back. "Exactly. It was alive, magically enhanced, and old, really old. That kind of wood doesn't just grow. It evolves. It endured time, weather, magic… probably battles. Its natural toughness could rival processed lumber, and if Yetsan treats it properly back at the forge, we might be able to craft reinforced beams or components stronger than ironwood."
Kyle scratched his head, visibly torn between practicality and lingering fear. "So... instead of cutting trees, we accidentally punched a boss and now get high-tier loot?"
"That's one way to put it," Fuhiken muttered, still examining the bark's composition.
Sinryo sighed, half amused, half annoyed. "We came out here for wood and got a corpse. That's peak Kyle luck."
"I take that as a compliment," Kyle replied with a smirk.
Fuhiken finally turned toward them. "Start marking the sections we can carry. I'll handle the trunk core. We're not leaving this behind."
The boys groaned but moved to obey. Somehow, harvesting wood from a defeated monster felt even more exhausting than cutting it the normal way.
---
As they retrieved the loot and put them to their definitely-possessed bags, the sunlight streamed through the forest once more, as if nothing had happened.
But all three of them knew the truth. Today, their bags had saved them. And none of them had the faintest idea how… or why.