A month and a half later.

The Rugarda Forest was vast—so much that one could see different types of atmosphere in some parts.

One such region, unlike any other place in Rugarda Forest, carried no trace of malice.

It hummed with quiet life—soft, nurturing, and impossibly serene.

Birdsong drifted lazily between the branches, and sunlight poured down through cracks in the dense canopy, scattering gold on the mossy earth below.

Here, a village, away from everyone's eyes, lived peacefully.

And among the people of the village, Vaelen Baneron walked as if he belonged there.

The crimson-haired knight's boots crunched over fallen leaves as he dragged a freshly slain boar behind him.

His tunic was half unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up, revealing strong arms that bore faint scars and dirt smudges. His hair, once combed to noble precision, now fell in loose disarray across his forehead.

"Careful with that, Sir Vaelen!" A young hound boy called from the nearby path, clutching a basket of herbs.

Vaelen's smirk came easily, as if it belonged there. "You call me 'sir' again, and I'll make you carry it next time."

The boy giggled, darting off.

He sighed, shaking his head, but the warmth in his eyes lingered.

In another life—no, just a month and a half ago—he'd have sneered at such idle chatter. Now, he found himself building fences, hunting, and even fixing a roof tile for an old woman who called him "red bear."

The village had changed him—or perhaps the forest had.

Each day had bled into the next in quiet rhythm.

Wake before dawn, hunt with the others, and share food by dusk. His swords were still with him, yes, but their edges had gone cold.

He had almost forgotten why he came here.

Almost.

But this afternoon was different.

The sun hung high above the treetops, and the forest air shimmered faintly in the heat.

Vaelen stood on a low ridge overlooking the northern trail, bow slung over his shoulder, eyes narrowing faintly.

Something felt off.

He lived here for more than a month and learned everything he could about the forest.

He could even tell if an animal that didn't belong to this part of the forest had stepped into this territory.

Right now, he could feel one such presence, and this one was so heavy that he felt suffocated when he tried to focus on it.

His hand moved instinctively toward the hilt of his swords.

He hadn't used them in a while, since there never was any major danger in this village, but today, he felt like even these swords might not be enough.

But before he could move, a voice echoed softly inside his head. It was calm, gentle, and commanding.

"Forget it."

His world went still. For a brief moment, he forgot to breathe as his eyes dimmed.

Then, he blinked, frowning faintly, as though he had forgotten why he'd stopped.

"…Strange," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, unable to remember what he was going to do. Then, he turned back toward the village trail. "Probably just the heat."

And just like that, the guy who had come to this forest to hunt a dragon walked away, humming softly under his breath.

............

Meanwhile, in the direction he was looking, far beyond the ridge, past twisting roots and a veil of ancient ferns, stood a giant tree—its trunk broad enough to rival a castle wall, its crown lost in the sky.

Every breath of wind carried its whisper, every flutter of leaf was a word of its own.

Before it stood a creature that made even the ancient roots seem small.

A bear.

But not a bear of flesh alone.

Its fur shimmered like obsidian dusted with amber, veins of molten gold pulsing beneath the surface. Eyes the color of deep earth watched the forest with a wisdom that seemed so real that one couldn't tell he was just a good actor.

He towered over the clearing, five meters tall, each step sinking roots into the ground like weights.

"Seems like you've found a strong human to keep in this place," the bear rumbled, his deep voice rolling like thunder.

His gaze lingered in the direction where Vaelen had been moments ago. "Poor guy must've come to this forest with some purpose, yet now, he is but a puppet you control."

For a long moment, only the leaves answered.

Then, the tree stirred.

Bark cracked and shifted, roots curling like serpents as a voice—soft yet resonant—rose from within the trunk.

"You should mind your own affairs, you dumb bear," the tree replied, its tone ageless yet sharp. "You trespass on sacred ground."

Druvarn's snout wrinkled, unimpressed. "Sacred? You've called this patch sacred since before your roots reached the southern river. Don't start preaching to me, Dryad. I came with a purpose."

The ground trembled faintly.

A pause. Then—

"And what is it you came for?"

The question carried more curiosity than malice.

Druvarn shrugged his massive shoulders, claws digging deep furrows into the soil. "I came carrying my master's words. A city's being built—right in the heart of Rugarda."

The air itself seemed to pause as soon as his words fell.

The rustling of the leaves stopped. The insects ceased their hum. Even the wind forgot to move.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, the tree groaned—a sound like thunder beneath the earth—and light began to seep through the bark, radiant and pale green.

The roots untangled, twisting upward as the massive trunk began to change shape.

In seconds, where once stood an ancient tree, now stood a beautiful woman, her eyes glowing emerald, her body naked, leaves covering the only parts that should be covered, while the rest was left for the viewer to see.

Roots extended behind her like living tendrils, keeping her suspended, her presence vast and commanding.

She was a being who could make any humanoid man feel heated.

Unfortunately, the bear wasn't interested in humanoids, so this form didn't really mean anything to him.

He merely stared at her as she floated up until her face was level with his.

Her emerald eyes were wide enough for a flicker of genuine disbelief to pierce her timeless calm.

"You… have a master?" She asked, her voice trembling somewhere between a scoff and stunned laughter.

Of all the words she'd expected from Druvarn the Earthbreaker, that was not among them.

The bear who had once torn through humans and beasts alike, who had slept through years under collapsing mountains, who refused to bow even when the strongest of the region lords tried to tame him—had a master?

Her voice grew sharper, incredulous.

"Don't jest with me, oaf. You could barely tolerate being told where to stand, let alone take orders. Have you finally lost that tiny brain of yours?"

The bear snorted, a low rumble shaking the moss from nearby trees. "Heh. Still as rude as ever, Root Witch."

He lowered his massive head, golden eyes glinting. "But I'm not joking. My master's name is Kael."

The Dryad tilted her head, lips curling into a faint smirk. "Kael? What is that supposed to be? Some kind of fire lizard?"

The bear blinked, then gave a deep, thunderous chuckle that echoed through the forest like rolling boulders. "A fire lizard? You think I'd follow a salamander?"

"I've seen you do dumber things," she said, folding her arms and leaning slightly forward in midair, vines shifting lazily behind her. "Remember when you tried to bite lightning?"

"That was different," he grumbled.

"You almost died."

"I won," he said stubbornly.

"You screamed for three days."

The earth bear growled, but his voice softened, carrying a tone too calm to be defensive. "You can laugh all you want, Dryad. But Kael isn't just some creature with scales and arrogance."

He straightened, his presence filling the clearing like a rising mountain. "He's a dragon. The last one. A real one."

For a heartbeat, the Dryad merely stared—then laughed, pure and melodic, like wind chimes rustling in the canopy.

"Oh, please. Dragons are myths even older than the forest. You probably met a big lizard with mana reflux and thought, 'Ah, yes, finally, a god to bow to!'"

The bear's golden eyes narrowed slightly, amusement fading into faint irritation. "Believe what you want, tree woman. Doesn't change the truth. He's building a city—right in the heart of Rugarda. A real one, with people, homes, and beasts who finally found something worth following."

He paused, studying her with rare seriousness. "You've ruled this patch for what—five decades? Six? You've done well. But my master's city will change everything in this forest. I'm here to invite you and your people to join before the others try to claim it."

The Dryad's laughter faded, replaced by wary curiosity. "You… want me to move my grove? Do you even realize what you're asking? My roots span half this valley."

The bear shrugged, the motion sending tremors through the soil. "Then bring them. There's space—and more mana than you've ever felt. You'll see."

Her eyes narrowed. "You're serious."

"As serious as a bear can be."

She sighed, one vine brushing across her face in mild frustration. "And you expect me to believe all this because you, of all creatures, say so?"

He grinned. "No. I expect you to come see."

Her brows arched, amused. "You're that confident in your 'master,' huh?"

"Confident?" Druvarn rumbled, stepping closer until his shadow blanketed her luminous form. "You'll be lucky if your roots don't bow when you see him."

The Dryad blinked, unimpressed. "You've truly gone mad."

"Mad?" His grin widened. "Maybe. But I'm a named mad bear now."

Her eyes flickered. "Named?"

He puffed his chest, the forest echoing faintly with pride. "Druvarn. My master gave it to me."

The Dryad stared for a long moment… and then burst out laughing again, her laughter so bright that the nearby flowers bloomed reflexively.

"Druvarn? By the roots, he really did name you! Oh, the mighty Earthbreaker reduced to a house pet with a collar!"

"It's better than 'dumb bear,'" Druvarn grumbled, his massive paw scratching at his neck. "Which you should stop calling me, by the way."

She smirked. "No promises, Druvarn."

His golden eyes glinted. "Hmph. You'll regret mocking the name when you see what he's built."

"Right, right," she said with a teasing smile, twirling midair. "A dragon city. Built by your imaginary master. Tell you what—if it exists, and if this 'Kael' truly is a dragon, I'll move my grove there myself."

He grinned, satisfied. "Good. Then we have a deal."

Her tone softened slightly. "You're really serious about this, aren't you?"

"Dead serious." His gaze drifted toward the horizon, where faint plumes of light shimmered through the distant trees—almost invisible, but alive with purpose. "You'll understand when you see it. So go. Visit the city. See if your roots still laugh after that."

For a moment, neither spoke. The wind passed gently through them, carrying the distant murmur of life—faint hammering, the ringing of steel, and laughter echoing faintly across the forest.

The Dryad turned toward the sound, a quiet flicker of doubt crossing her serene face.

"Fine," she said softly. "I'll see this city of your 'master.' But if I find no dragon, then—"

Druvarn interrupted, his smirk toothy and wide. "You can call me dumb bear again."

The Dryad chuckled, shaking her head as her roots began to sink back into the soil. "Don't worry, Druvarn. I will—even if there is a dragon."

And as she vanished back into her grove, the great earth bear watched her go, the humor fading from his face, replaced by a calm, knowing pride.

"Heh," he muttered, turning toward the direction of Kael's domain. "You'll see soon enough, tree woman. You'll see what kind of being my master really is."

Then, with a faint rumble that shook the leaves loose, Druvarn began to walk—every step echoing like a promise beneath the ancient canopy.

"I wish I knew where that monkey lived," he murmured under his breath. "I would've loved to invite him as well."

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