Somewhere in the Kustoria Duchy, two patrol soldiers marched near the forest border. Lately, there had been troubling reports—citizens vanishing after venturing into the woods to hunt or gather herbs. In response, the Knight Commander Alaric had ordered frequent patrols to ensure the safety of the people.
It was just past midnight. The air was still. The soldiers moved cautiously from one checkpoint to the next, with their uniforms bearing the emblem of the duchy, their steps echoed with pride and duty.
But something felt wrong.
The night was unnaturally quiet—no rustling leaves, no distant hoots of owls. Even the stars had vanished behind a veil of darkness, as if the sky itself held its breath.
Then, without warning, one of the knights froze. His eyes widened in alarm as he pointed toward the edge of the Forest of Death. Standing there, half-shrouded in shadow, was a woman. Or at least, something that looked like one. Pale. Motionless. Slowly waving at them.
Believing it to be a lost civilian in danger, the two soldiers rushed forward without hesitation.
They never returned.
That night, the border fell silent once more—and the forest claimed two more souls.
.........…..
The news of the missing knights spread like wildfire through the duchy, casting a long shadow of fear over its people. No herbalist dared to step foot into the forest, and as a result, the supply of herbs and medicine plummeted. Hunters, too, avoided the woods, their movements restricted. The scarcity of resources quickly began to weigh heavily on the common folk.
Hearing of the disruption and the fear clawing at his people, the Duke gave a single, direct order to the Knight Commander:
"Alaric, investigate the Forest of Death."
Just as the missing patrol had reported, the aura in the forest had shifted. It was heavier, more suffocating—a thick, sinister presence that pressed down like invisible chains. Alaric stepped into the gloom without hesitation, his senses on high alert. Each step forward deepened the mist, until even his own feet became hard to see.
Recognizing the unnatural weight of the air, Alaric activated his art.
Sacred Bless Art – First Form: Radiant Mend.
A glowing green aura surged from his body, wrapping around him like a protective shroud. This sacred energy granted resistance to poisons—over a thousand varieties—and fortified his mind against spiritual manipulation or illusions. He knew all too well the tactics of dark mages. Illusions. Possession. Mental decay. He wouldn't fall victim so easily.
The mist thickened as he pushed onward, but Alaric remained steady. Eventually, he came upon a structure—a castle, seemingly ancient and half-consumed by the mist. With calculated steps, he entered, his blade ready. But the castle… was empty. Nothing but silence and shadows.
Time passed. The mist began to fade with the coming dawn, and Alaric returned to the duchy's castle.
The Duke waited in his chair, expression grim.
"What do you think it is?" he asked.
Alaric, removing his gloves, replied,
"A dark mage. A smart one. He knew he couldn't face me directly, so he hid—using illusions, fear, and the forest itself as a veil."
"They're preparing for something big," Alaric said grimly, standing before the Duke. His armor was still damp with morning dew, the green light of his aura long faded. "A ceremony. They need sacrifices. Human ones."
He paused, his expression darkening.
"They're cunning—too cunning. If we strike now, they'll scatter. Hide again. Relocate their altar and continue in the shadows. This isn't just a rogue cult… this is organized. Structured. To truly stop them, we have to uproot them completely."
The Duke narrowed his eyes, fingers steepled beneath his chin.
"And how do you suggest we do that?"
Alaric hesitated. "We either request help from the Church…" he spat the word with clear disdain, "…those self-righteous hypocrites who pretend to stand for the light."
"Or...."
Before he could finish his sentence—
"We burn down the whole forest," the Duke cut in coldly.
Silence fell like a hammer between them.
Alaric stared at him. The Duke's expression was unmoved. His voice had carried no emotion—only resolve.
"Let the flames flush them out. Smoke them from their shadows. I won't have this rot spreading any further in my duchy."
The knight commander didn't respond immediately. He knew the cost. He also knew the Duke wasn't bluffing.
The Forest of Death had stood for centuries—untouched, wild, feared.
But now it has become something worse: a sanctuary for the wicked.
And the Duke had just declared war.