"What?" Antitina was stunned.

The young man nodded. To find Valhalla, he not only had to go to the Green Village but also needed the help of the Senia people. Lord Martha sending this young girl to him was a great help. Although the Senia were reclusive, they had a simple and genuine sentiment for their true friends, common among the mountain people.

To connect with the Druids in the forest, he had to go through the Senia people—

Druids, Brand thought, were another secretive group like the Silver Elves, perhaps even older. Their traces had disappeared from the civilized world since the Year of Prosperity (350 years ago).

"Brand, who are the Senia?" asked Roman, holding the young girl's hand. Seeing his question unanswered, he blinked and asked again.

"It's a long story," Brand smiled slightly. He raised his hand and gently pinched her nose, making Miss Merchant wrinkle her small brows and step back. Finally, the young man answered, "But the Elves have a name for them."

"At'zon," Brand said, "Forest Sons."

"Werewolves?" Miss Merchant eyes widened with curiosity. "I've heard of them!"

The young man lowered his head and noticed a clear reaction from the young girl when he mentioned the Elf language word, "At'zon." She looked up at him with eyes as green as emeralds.

Her eyes, so deeply green.

The Green Village that Brand mentioned was probably an unfamiliar name for most regions or mapmakers in Erune. In the latest edition of the administrative map ordered by Oberg the Seventh in the Year of Candle and Dagger, there were already 450 towns, villages, and estates listed on the kingdom's lands, but none carried the name "Green Village."

But the young man knew this place.

This gathering place of the Senia people on the border.

In fact, in the Silver Year, roughly more than a decade later in history, the adventure group that set off for the Kalanja Mountain Range departed from this very place. However, the circumstances back then were different from now—

They rode through the fields cultivated by the Senia at the forest's edge, seeing patches of land cleared from the forest, with the sun breaking through the tall black pines and casting beams of light on the crops.

Silent as an empty dream.

Brand remembered, in his memory, from here to the distance, it was all meadowlands; except for this stubborn road through the forest, all traces of human work were long consumed by time.

His gaze crossed those fields, almost seeing the riverside beyond them. He recalled it being an area inhabited by Level 30+ creeping demons. Back then, they went through great effort to pass that Black Forest.

Yet, the damage caused by the earlier attack of the noble cavalry pulled him back to reality. He first saw a broken fence, warhorses trampling through the fields, leaving the crops in a mess, looking like the traces left by a group of wild boars.

"Those damn bastards." A Gray Wolf Mercenary muttered.

Mercenaries like them were mostly from the mountain people. They were either hunters or simply farmers, turning to this trade. To them, those high-ranking nobles would never understand that these crops were everything to those relying on them.

As if to echo his words, they rounded the fence and saw a woman in a tattered linen shirt kneeling on the ground, covering her face, sobbing quietly in front of the ruined fields.

And a man, seemingly her husband, holding a rake, frowning as he watched. As he saw the group emerging from behind the fence, he froze, then his face changed, and he immediately held the rake across his chest: "Yasha, run! They are back!"

Saying this, he roared and charged forward.

But before he could do anything more, Qian, still on horseback, swept him off his feet with the long handle of her war-hammer. The red-haired girl frowned, not expecting him to be so weak. She realized he was likely just a common farmer and dismounted to help him up. But before she could react, she felt herself being hugged from behind—

That woman named Yasha hugged her from behind, crying and shaking her head, "Please don't kill him, Jor, run!"

The man clearly had no such plan. He saw his wife hugging Qian, his eyes turned red, and he roared again, charging forward.

The roar resembled a beast.

But he quickly felt a sharp spear point against his throat. Following the spear up, he saw the cold amber eyes of the red-haired girl, freezing him in his tracks, and he couldn't help but shudder.

All his movements halted involuntarily.

"Fool."

Qian said coldly.

"Overestimating yourself." She dropped her war-hammer and flung it aside—a bolt of lightning, a tall black pine fell with a crash.

Everyone on horseback watched the entire process motionlessly, as mere spectators; even mercenaries had little fondness for the Senia. Only Roman blinked with constant curiosity.

The man seemed to just wake up; he didn't understand why Qian didn't kill him. He almost instinctively wanted to sit down. But just then, a tiny voice came from the crowd:

"Izz Jol!" (Elf Language: Uncle Jor!)

The man called Jor was stunned, almost not believing his ears. He turned around, in disbelief, seeing the little girl with long cascading green hair in Roman's arms, almost thinking himself hallucinating.

The woman behind Qian had unknowingly let go, dumbfoundedly asking, "Funiya, how, how are you here, didn't they...?"

"Izz Jol, E sov oizz tam." (Elf Language: Uncle Jor, they saved me.)

The young girl answered softly, her voice ethereal as the wind passing through the forest, ringing the chimes.

....

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