The Invincible Young Master

The army halted before the forest. From a distance it looked like a solid wall of shadow, an endless sea of towering trees rising toward the heavens.

Only thin streaks of pale light slipped through the canopy. At the threshold, the ground sank softly underfoot, carpeted with moss that gave off the faint scent of damp earth and rotting wood.

Lina stepped forward, her staff glowing faintly in her hands.

"Inside…" she said, her voice steady, "You will face temptations. Do not stray. And follow my lead."

The soldiers understood her words, and they nodded in unison. Some tightened their grips on their weapons, while others cast uneasy glances toward the looming trees.

With Lina leading, they stepped into the forest. At once, the atmosphere shifted. The towering canopy swallowed the world, plunging them into a strange twilight.

It was not full darkness, yet the dim green light pressed down like a weight, enough to see but offering no comfort.

The air grew thick and stale, carrying no birdsong, no whisper of wind through the branches. The silence was unnatural, and oppressive.

Their boots crunched over brittle remains. At first, they were animal bones, wolves, deer, beasts whose forms none could recognize.

Some skeletons were cracked open, marrow long since hollowed out.

Deeper in, the remains grew more chilling: human skeletons sprawled across roots, armor rusted to flakes, weapons broken in their grasp.

"Adventurers," one soldier muttered, his voice low.

"Or soldiers who entered before us…" another whispered, his eyes darting at the shadows.

The silence deepened further, swallowing their words. Then the illusions began.

Gleaming jewels winked faintly among the roots, as if half-buried by time. Golden coins spilled in uneven heaps along the moss.

Strange artifacts hovered in the air, glowing faintly, swaying like fruit ripe for the picking.

A soldier drew a sharp breath, his hand twitching toward a gleaming blade that shimmered with unearthly light in the shadows.

"Hold." A general's voice cut through the stillness, sharp as a whip.

The man froze, sweat beading on his cheek. A heartbeat later, the sword dissolved into mist, leaving only damp air in his grasp. He let out a trembling breath, ashamed.

As they marched deeper, the visions multiplied. Treasure chests appeared, stacked high with glittering gems.

Goblets brimmed with crimson wine, scent rich and intoxicating. Phantom beauties drifted between the trees, their steps light, their laughter like silver bells.

But each time, the soldiers clenched their teeth, swallowed down their desire, and continued forward. Lina's warning lingered in their minds, and fear of failure steadied their steps.

At the rear, Reynold marched with his men, one hand resting firmly on his sword hilt. His face remained calm, but his heart grew heavy when the illusions reached him.

A faint, familiar voice floated between the trees, soft as a sigh.

"Brother,"

His chest tightened. Against his will, his head turned slightly. There, just beyond a massive tree, stood his younger sister, Silica.

Her bright eyes shone with warmth, her lips parted as if she had been waiting for him.

Beside her, Spark shifted restlessly, while their mother, Sophia, stood behind them, smiling gently, arms open as though to welcome him home.

Reynold's steps faltered. His hand clenched against his sword. For a single heartbeat, longing pierced his chest.

But then he exhaled slowly, shutting his eyes tight. Illusions. He forced his heart into stillness, banishing the ache that swelled in his chest.

Without another glance, he marched forward.

The further they marched, the darker the forest became. The green twilight that had once clung faintly to the air gave way to a dim, colorless gloom.

Then the atmosphere grew far more disturbing.

Bodies, not bones, but dried husks slumped against roots and rocks.

Soldiers clad in intact armor, their blades still sheathed, their faces frozen in silent screams.

Their skin had shriveled and clung to their frames like brittle parchment, as if every drop of vitality had been drained in an instant.

"What… what could do this?" a soldier rasped.

"There's no beasts here," another muttered, scanning the empty gloom.

And yet the husks were there, dozens, perhaps more, scattered like grim markers along the path.

A chill spread through the ranks. None dared speak the thought aloud, but all felt it, if not beasts… then what in this forest drinks men dry?

The formation tightened instinctively. The oppressive quiet pressed closer, as though the forest itself was watching.

Before long, signs of violence marred their path. Deep gouges split the bark of colossal trees, as if blades and claws had raked across them.

Patches of charred wood crackled faintly underfoot, remnants of stray spells that had burned too close.

The ground bore scars, craters, cuts, and furrows where warriors had fought desperately.

Shattered shields, broken spears, and rusting swords littered the roots, half-buried under moss and fallen leaves.

The soldiers exchanged grim looks. These traces weren't old. Whatever battle had taken place here had happened not long ago.

Then Reynold slowed.

Something rippled through him, subtle, but undeniable. A pull that stirred his very core, strange yet familiar, like the echo of a voice he had once known.

His eyes narrowed. Without a word, he turned from the column and stepped into the denser trees, his stride unhesitant.

"Marquis!" one of his generals called.

The march halted instantly, seeing Reynold stray from the path.

At the front, Lina stopped as well, her staff glowing faintly in her grasp.

Her eyes followed his retreating figure. For a heartbeat, she braced herself, wondering if he had once more succumbed to the forest's illusion.

But then she stilled.

No haze clouded his aura, no distortion bent his spirit. His presence was steady, sharp as steel.

This was no illusion's lure. Reynold was going on his own.

Reynold walked a hundred meters from the column before finally stopping.

The ground here was left with scars. Charred soil spread in a wide ring, scorched as if flames had erupted outward.

The earth was scarred by heavy strikes, and faint traces of lingering mana still clung to the air.

He knelt, sweeping aside moss and dirt with steady hands. His fingers brushed something soft.

A feather.