Kelvin's face paled. "But brother… that forest is way too dangerous."
Raven leaned against the wall, arms crossed, cool as ever. "And yet, it's the only shot we've got to reach the capital in time. Unless you've got a pocket realm or a teleportation scroll stuffed somewhere?"
Kelvin scowled. "You do realize what's in there, right? That place is cursed. A merchant's son tried to cross it last week and vanished without a trace. People say they still hear his screams in the trees—in broad daylight."
Raven raised a brow. "Oh, him. Yeah… totally not my fault."
(He'd actually robbed the kid and had his crew erase the evidence—but hey, details.)
"Point is," Raven said, brushing it off, "we're going in with a plan. Not like those idiots who bring a map and a prayer. I've got some... contacts. They'll hook us up with everything we need. You just focus on packing the essentials. And the gold."
Kelvin shot him a look. "The gold too? Why?"
Raven grinned. "Because once I drop your future hero-ass off at the capital gates, I'm taking a vacation. I'll cash it out, cover your expenses, and maybe buy myself something stupid and shiny. Win-win."
Kelvin sighed, muttering, "You're lucky you're charming."
---
Outside, Raven moved like a shadow slipping between cracks. Activating his signature movement technique—Phantom Stride—he blurred across alleys and rooftops, magic boosting his speed until he reached a crooked shack behind a butcher shop.
Inside were Faraq and Salas, arguing over whether a chicken bone was a "weapon or a snack."
Salas looked up. "Who the hell are you, bastard?"
Raven didn't answer—he just punched him in the shoulder hard enough to sting.
"OW! Oh. Boss! Boss, sorry! We thought you were the debt collector!"
Faraq blinked. "Wait… that is the boss? Man, we need a portrait or something."
Raven rubbed his temples. "Am I seriously that forgettable?"
He shoved a scroll into Faraq's hand. "Listen up. I'm leaving town. No jobs till I'm back. But before that, you two goblins have one last assignment—get everything on this list. I don't care how. Beg, borrow, steal—just don't screw it up."
Faraq skimmed it. "Why the hell do you need holy water, three mana flares, and a goat's tooth?"
Raven snatched the list back. "None of your business. And if you ask again, I'm replacing you with the goat."
Exactly one hour later, the two returned, drenched in sweat, holding sacks and crates of gear. Raven gave a rare approving nod, grabbed the supplies, and vanished.
---
Back at home, Kelvin had finished packing. When Raven walked in, gear in hand, they locked eyes.
"You ready?" Raven asked, tossing him a mana torch.
Kelvin tightened his straps. "As I'll ever be."
They stepped outside. In the distance, shrouded in mist and shadow, the jagged outline of Dreadgrove Forest loomed like a living nightmare.
Kelvin's voice was low. "This still feels like suicide."
Raven patted his shoulder. "Maybe. But hey—if you die, I promise to cry at least once."
Kelvin rolled his eyes. "You're the worst."
Raven grinned. "And yet, you're still following me into the mouth of hell. Let's go."
And with that, they set off toward the forest—toward danger, destiny, and a deadline that waited for no one.