Hadrick walked along the narrow ridge of the rice fields. On either side, the paddies stretched wide, their green stalks swaying gently in the evening breeze. The scent of wet mud mixed with the fragrance of rice clung to the air. Ahead of him, a hound pressed its nose to the ground, giving short barks and tugging hard at the leash.
His steps were heavy, not from exhaustion but from the unease in his mind. The faces of his missing agents appeared again and again. They were the best, trained to infiltrate and escape traps. "They could not have simply vanished. Unless there is something far greater at work."
Day turned to night, and night back to day. Hadrick slept briefly at the roadside, waking at dawn to continue on. His stomach held nothing but stale bread and water, but he did not complain. Each time he considered stopping, the hound's bark pulled him forward.
At last, he reached the edge of the Grimhollow. From afar, the trees stood close and towering, their branches twisted like claws, roots bursting from the ground like serpents. A thick white fog hung low, sealing the path.
Hadrick paused. He knew the stories; many who entered never returned. The hound barked louder, tugging toward the mist. "So it really is here?" he whispered, though he knew the beast would not answer.
He drew out a slip of paper and wrote quickly:
Your Majesty, I have followed the hound to the edge of the Grimhollow. Strong suspicion: the Demonic Cult's base lies within this forest.
He tied the message to a pigeon's leg and released it into the gray sky. Watching the bird vanish into the clouds, he exhaled long. "If this message doesn't reach them, then all of this is for nothing."
With steady steps, he entered the fog.
---
On the first day inside, the forest erased all sense of direction. Sunlight barely pierced through the canopy. Day and night blurred. No birds sang, no insects hummed, only silence pressed in on his ears.
On the second day, Hadrick froze.
Bodies lay scattered on the damp ground. His agents. Their uniforms torn, their faces pale, their eyes wide open and empty. Some still clutched daggers stiffly in dead hands.
Hadrick clenched his fists. "You were trained to survive anything… and yet you still died here?" His voice was a hoarse whisper, anger and fear tangled in it.
Before he could turn back, a sharp whistle sliced the fog. An arrow shot past, grazing his thigh. Pain burned as blood seeped into his trousers. He grimaced, then quickly released the leash.
"Rex! Find the way out!"
The fog churned. Shapes moved among the trees. Footsteps thundered in the distance, dozens of them. A low, mocking laughter echoed, chilling his skin. Hadrick ran, ignoring the wound. His breath rasped, but his eyes locked on the path ahead. "I must get out alive."
---
Days earlier, in the palace garden, Marcel tended the roses. Their fragrance mingled with the damp earth left by last night's rain. He bent to trim a thorny stem when a pigeon fluttered onto his shoulder. A small scroll was tied to its leg.
He read it, and his face drained of color. Without hesitation, he sprinted through the corridors toward the seclusion chamber.
"Your Majesty! A message from Hadrick!" His voice shook.
The door creaked open. Arthur stepped out, his body still dripping with sweat from his Dual Blade Dance. His breathing was heavy, hair damp against his brow. He seized the scroll, eyes scanning quickly. His face remained calm, but his eyes shut briefly. "The cult's lair… within my own borders."
He turned to the metal band on his wrist. The Oculus shimmered as he touched it, projecting faint blue light. Three thumbnails appeared: Laras, Alya, Andi. His hand trembled as he opened Laras's feed.
His wife appeared on the screen, seated in a garden with their children. Alya giggled, Andi played with his toys, while Laras smiled faintly, her eyes still tired. Arthur drew in a long breath, chest tight. Tears threatened, but he shut the feed before they could fall. His mana felt drained, yet his heart steadied.
"This may be the last time I see you."
He turned to Marcel, his voice calm but commanding.
"Summon the Head of the Defense Council. And send word to the Magic Tower. I want them here tonight."
Marcel bowed deeply. "At once, Your Majesty."
Arthur clenched his fists. "If the cult truly hides within Valoria, then this war is no longer an outside threat. It is a poison within our own land."
---
In the Grimhollow, Hadrick ran for his life. His breath came ragged, his leg bleeding freely. Rex's bark rang ahead, guiding him past roots and thorny undergrowth.
Behind him, the footsteps drew closer. The laughter grew louder, dozens of voices jeering, like predators savoring their prey. Hadrick forced himself onward. "I will not fall here."
The fog thickened, swirling into walls of gray. His vision blurred, blood dripping down his leg. Then, ahead, a crimson glow appeared.
From the trees stepped a massive figure. Its body was etched with glowing black runes, symbols burning across its skin. A cracked wooden mask covered its face.
Hadrick froze, his chest heaving. He raised a dagger, hand trembling yet eyes steady. He knew, in that instant, he stood face to face with the darkest secret of the Demonic Cult.