Both continued walking through the forest of giant, ancient trees, whose colossal trunks swayed and groaned softly in the wind, the sound deep and resonant like the slow breathing of something far older than either of them.
The canopy above stretched so high that it swallowed most of the daylight, turning the world beneath into a muted cathedral of bark and shadow. Roots as thick as trains coiled across the ground, forming natural corridors and sudden dead ends, while curtains of hanging moss brushed against their shoulders like damp veils.
The air carried a mixture of resin, wet earth, and something faintly metallic—mana, dense and restless, flowing upward in invisible streams along the bark.
They encountered more of the giant ants along the way, their bark-armored bodies emerging from hollow trunks or bursting through leaf piles in coordinated bursts of aggression.
Sam dealt with them without slowing his pace. A single punch shattered a head; a casual kick crushed thoraxes; sometimes he didn't even bother looking back as chitin split and heavy bodies collapsed into the undergrowth.
Raymond stopped flinching after the fifth encounter, though he still kept a cautious distance whenever Sam's aura began to stir.
By the time evening settled, the forest darkened unnaturally fast.
The little sunlight that had filtered through the canopy thinned into pale strands before vanishing entirely.
What remained was not true darkness, but a dim, greenish twilight cast by clusters of luminous moss clinging to trunks and roots.
The moss pulsed faintly, reacting to movement and mana like living lanterns, casting long distorted shadows that shifted with every step. Between the roots, faint spores drifted lazily through the air, glowing like distant stars caught beneath the branches.
The forest did not fall silent.
The daytime creaks became slower, heavier. Somewhere high above, something vast shifted its weight from branch to branch, wood groaning in protest.
Raymond wrapped his arms briefly around himself.
"It gets… darker than it should," he muttered.
Samuel's five-meter domain flickered subtly as he walked, reading the ground, the vibrations, the slow migration of nocturnal creatures emerging from hollow trunks and burrows beneath the roots.
The forest was more active now. Small predators. Scavengers. Things that waited for night.
After several more minutes, Sam finally spoke.
"Do you want to sleep?"
Raymond blinked. "Sleep? Here?"
"Or cook."
Raymond stared at him. "Cook? With what?"
"The ants are edible for sure."
"…I don't even want to know how you know that. But my stomach…it's going to kill me!"
Sam stopped walking and turned slightly, his expression unreadable in the moss-lit dimness.
"If you make a fire," he said calmly, "it will lure strong monsters. And we need to travel more for sleep"
Raymond's shoulders stiffened.
"How strong?"
"Strong enough that you won't close your eyes."
The wind shifted again, carrying with it a distant, guttural vibration that rolled through the roots beneath their feet.
Raymond swallowed.
"And without fire?"
"We can't eat. Because raw monster flesh is not that light for the stomach."
Raymond looked around at the glowing moss, at the endless pillars vanishing into darkness, at the narrow passages between roots that could hide anything large enough to swallow him whole.
"…Can you sleep here?" he asked carefully.
"Yes."
"Even with monsters around?"
"Yes."
Raymond stared at him in disbelief.
"Anti decide?" Raymond asked.
"If you won't. I will."
Raymond exhaled slowly. "You've done this before."
"Of course."
Somewhere deeper in the forest, a heavy branch snapped—not close, but not far either.
Raymond quickened his pace to stay beside Samuel.
"…Maybe we skip the cooking," he muttered.
"Why are you so afraid?" Sam asked without looking at him. "Aren't you an adventurer mage, like you told me?"
"I am! But this is different!" Raymond snapped, his voice low but strained. "You can't even catch your breath here! It's constant pressure. You're always fighting for your life!"
Sam ignored the complaint and continued walking.
For another hour they moved through the dim forest, guided only by the faint pulse of luminous moss and Samuel's steady sense of direction.
The ground gradually sloped upward until they reached a massive root system where several trunks intertwined, forming a natural alcove—a small cave between thick, arching roots. The entrance was narrow, but inside it widened just enough to shelter two people from three sides.
Sam stepped inside, glanced around once, then lay down against the inner bark wall as if it were nothing more than a familiar bed of stone.
Within seconds, his breathing slowed.
He slept.
Raymond, on the other hand, remained sitting one meter away, his back pressed to the opposite side of the root-cave.
His body shuddered faintly despite the relatively mild temperature, and his eyes darted through the darkness, trying to make sense of shifting shadows that were nothing more than moss flickering in the faint wind.
The forest never truly went quiet.
Something always creaked. Something always moved.
With trembling arms, Raymond slowly scooted closer to the sleeping figure, inch by inch, until he was just short of touching him. He stopped there, hugging himself instead, pressing his shoulder against the rough bark.
I'm never going to sleep… he thought stubbornly. But exhaustion did not care about pride.
His eyes closed and despite his fear, he fell asleep faster than he expected.
He was only awakened by a sharp kick against his side.
"Hey! How dare you wake me up like that?!" he shouted, springing upright.
Klong.
His head slammed into the low ceiling of the root-cave.
"Ahh!" He dropped to his knees, clutching the top of his head. "My skull!"
"Awake?" Samuel asked calmly.
Raymond looked up at him, still crouched at the cave entrance. For a moment, confusion clouded his expression—then memory returned all at once. The forest. The ants. The teleportation. Monster Land.
The weight of it pressed down on him like the trunks around them.
"Stand up," Sam said. "We need to walk."
"Can't you just relax for a moment?"
Sam crossed his arms and stared at him.
That was enough for Raymond to scramble onto his feet. "Right. Sorry."
This rhythm continued for two more weeks.
They walked. They fought. They slept in hollow trunks, beneath roots, sometimes high in the crooks of branches when the ground felt too active. Raymond gradually relaxed. The forest no longer felt like it was closing in every second.
He began talking again—constantly—like a mockingbird that had rediscovered its voice. He ate monster meat without hesitation now, chewing through roasted ant leg as if it were common venison. He even slept soundly beside Samuel, no longer flinching at every distant crack.
Then, just as suddenly as they had begun, the trees ended.
One final line of towering trunks stood like silent sentinels—and beyond them, open sky.
They stepped past the last root wall and halted.
A wide river stretched before them, curling and wild, its surface reflecting the pale afternoon light. The current was strong, restless, white foam forming where submerged rocks broke the flow.
On the far side lay an open expanse surrounding a vast lake, its waters calmer, sprinkled with patches of green vegetation drifting lazily across the surface.
After weeks beneath canopy shadow, the open sky felt almost overwhelming.
A cool breeze swept across the water, clean and sharp. Raymond shuddered and pulled his newly stitched pelt cloak tighter around his body.
They moved to the rocky shore and sat down.
"Finally," Raymond exhaled deeply. "That forest is over."
Sam nodded once.
Without a word, he began gathering driftwood and dense, resin-heavy branches washed up along the bank, stacking them carefully into a compact fire pit between stones.
He stepped back and nodded toward Raymond. He grinned and snapped his fingers.
The wood ignited instantly, flames blooming upward in controlled spirals before settling into a steady burn.
"Amazing, right?" Raymond said proudly. "Since I've been lighting this abnormal wood every day, my fire magic—and even my chantless casting—leveled up quite a bit."
Sam didn't respond. He reached into his new sack and pulled out thick chunks of dark red meat, skewering them onto carved sticks before holding them over the flames.
Fat began to drip.
Each drop hit the fire with a hiss and a sharp crackle, smoke rising in fragrant waves that made Raymond's stomach growl immediately.
"Can't you talk more like you did on the first day we met?" Raymond sighed, leaning sideways as if to clap Sam on the shoulder—then stopping mid-motion. "Right. Sorry. You don't like being touched."
"Can't you be quieter?" Sam replied flatly.
Raymond clicked his tongue. "No, no. If we're traveling together for the next two years—or longer—I want to know you better." He shifted closer to the warmth of the fire and leaned forward slightly. "Like… what's your dream?"
Samuel raised an eyebrow, slowly turning the meat as the scent grew richer, mouthwatering. The outer layer crisped while juices sealed inside. Flames reflected faintly in his dark eyes.
"My dream?" he repeated softly.
His hands tightened slightly around the stick.
The fat dripped again, hissing into the fire.
"It's revenge."