“I came across a grand forest, a week away from Quarras. Supposedly, the forest was cursed, because people were inexplicably getting lost in it. I don't know about that. I think they just don't have any sense of direction. I tried to get lost myself, having pity and trying to indulge in the local folklore, but aside from a conspicuous couple of young healthy people having 'evening practise', I found nothing of interest and had no trouble finding my way back, after proper observation of the... fauna, yes.

-Anonymous traveller”

* * *

Azcheron

The forest ! The forest ! Azcheron was finally inside the forest. The biggest he had ever seen. Well, he had only seen two forests including this one. But this forest was huge, in any case.

The villagers told him that an unsuspecting wanderer like him could easily get lost. It went along those lines.

“Ye' kiddy gunna ge' lost, y'know ? Yerr' jus' a brat by them looks of ye', with yerr pretty skin an' shiny hair. Dun' t'ink ye' got what ye' need to take on the fores'. Coupl'of guys wen' in recently an' they dun' come back no more.”

It had been two weeks since Azcheron left Longhills, and he just arrived to the second village on his list. The first one was way too far from the forest so he ran until the next one, frustrated. He hadn't slept for more than twenty hours and although his magic allowed him to get to the second village by nightfall, he was still very tired.

He was also a bit angry with himself that he already used Manasprint when his trip had just begun. He wasn't as fast as a horse with this spell, but it would still greatly reduce the duration of his trip if he used it too often.

When he went to the one and only inn to ask for a room, he made small talk with the inn-keeper and mentioned that he was planning to go to the forest the next day. That's when a drunk villager came to him pointing out his apparent unsuitability for forestial expeditions.

An already frustrated Azcheron had to refrain from blasting the man with a magic missile. He quickly went to sleep and the following day, before dawn, entered to the forest as planned. He took all his luggage with him, as he didn't know if he would be going back the the tavern.

Before leaving, he had bought a compass from a villager – the man seemed to have several compass ready for selling, as if it was a regular occurrence – in case he did get lost. It was highly unlikely, but if it turned out that the forest had some magical contraption somewhere or a natural mind barrier, even the smartest explorer could lose his way.

Obviously he didn't speak a word of it to anyone else, and especially not to the drunk man. He still had to maintain an image of pride and confidence. He was the Saint, and the Saint knew neither shame nor challenge. The Saint did not, ever, fear he could get lost ! Getting lost was for the common people and the unexceptional living beings.

He was eager to see if his suspicions had any truth to them. The drunkard's words made him wonder. Not much was known about the forest and it would seem that people did usually get lost in it. There was apparently a group that disappeared recently, but he wasn't worried.

That's something I read about a lot. Mysterious forests where people get lost and disappear. But I guess most of the time they're just idiots who starve to death or get eaten by the fauna.

The whole thing did have a mysterious feeling going on. Perhaps there really was something magical about it. Perhaps there was a mystery to solve. He could get famous for that. It was an alluring opportunity.

The trees were large and had grown fairly high. It did not seem that there were any normal trees here. These ones were maybe three or four times the size of a regular tree. According to encyclopedias, anyway.

Azcheron could easily feel the mana in the forest, so it may have been the reason for its abnormal growth. But then forests were always places rich in mana, or so they say. And the trees on his island were big, but not of gargantuan proportions like here, where the mana density was less than his home's. Some creature might be consuming the missing mana, or it could simply be that his senses were dulled or misled.

Azcheron was sure of it by now. Something was going on in the forest.

While he walked between the trees, checking both his map and his compass, he made his way towards the next village. That way, if he didn't come across anything interesting, he wouldn't have wasted his day.

He would actually be gaining time by crossing the forest. He'd save about a day's worth of walking. The road between the second and the third village was meticulously avoiding a long chunk of forest that extended outward. It wasn't practical at all, but apparently the majority of people would rather lose a day than cut through the forest.

Azcheron didn't care, so he'd be getting to the village via the forest. And as he did, he found something. He smirked, for he now had an idea about the now short lived mystery.

Fresh footprints. Lots of them.

It turned out to be simple. In the end Azcheron could not help but be disappointed, his 'mystery' had found its solution after a mere few hours. He didn't even have to search for it, he just came across the last hint by sheer luck.

People weren't just getting lost, they were indeed magically getting lost. People didn't disappear without reason, they either started to live in the forest or were killed by its inhabitants. The missing mana was being used or consumed in one way or another.

Azcheron came to the conclusion that people were living here, and probably not wanting to be disturbed, used an illusion or a barrier to send visitors away. Possibly killing those who posed a threat.

The missing mana must have been used by some sort of artefact, which would be incredibly mighty since it looked like it consumed a lot of power and must have been taking effect on a vast area.

That or someone simply casted a strong spell while some unknown entity was feeding on the forest's mana. But that last possibility was too much of a coincidence for Azcheron.

That meant there could be a secret village hidden somewhere in the forest, or that some dangerous psychotic murderers with an absurdly potent artefact were freely running around. Such prospects were equally interesting in Azcheron's mind.

But he knew the truth would probably be less exciting. The most plausible and boring explanation was that there was a group of hobos of some sort, living in the forest and scaring away explorers and more likely beasts. They must somehow have gotten hold of the artefact and didn't entirely realize its value, merely using it to maintain their lifestyle.

For this reason he went in the same direction as the footprints, toward the border of the forest. He could have gone where they seemingly came from, deeper in, but he didn't feel like doing that now that the disappointing cat was out of the bag. He'd rather go toward the outside and carry on his trip, than check out some empty tents around campfire.

That didn't firmly resolve the disappearance issue but then they either joined the hobos or they died for some reason. The guys living here might not be responsible at all.

So, Azcheron was disappointed. Earlier he was already imagining poems and epics about him bravely going to rescue the poor souls who got trapped by the dangers of the Great Cursed Forest. Name open to change. What's the name of that forest anyway ? There isn't anything written on the map. Well, it makes the forest seem even more mysterious.

People would tell the stories of 'Azcheron the Forest Walker', whose mind made the mysteries of the world crumble by the dozen.

Forest Walker... No, that'd make me sound like an Elf or something. Can't have that. Maybe I could have the forest named after me, instead ? The 'Cursed Forest of Azcheron'. Well it wouldn't be cursed anymore – not that it was cursed in the first place. The 'Eternal Forest of Azcheron' then.

Half thinking, half following the footprints, he noticed at some point that they were leading toward the next village, where he had been planning to go. He cheered up as that made things easier for him.

The trail went on for some time. Azcheron could not see the sun because of the leaves, but he guessed that at least a couple of hours as passed. He was getting hungry so he made a brief stop to eat and think a bit.

The forest inhabitants being lunatics killing off trespassers was still a decent possibility. That meant whatever their reason was for closing on the village would not be a good one. However, those guys going to the village in broad daylight could also mean that they weren't ill-intentioned. Maybe stealing some food at worst.

If you opted to live in a forest with no comfort and personal hygiene, you either had to be a criminal or very poor. Or an Elf – in that case you probably had a treehouse, and you were one of the cleanest person in the world.

At least that's how the stories go. I've never met an Elf yet. What if they turned out to be just dirty slobs living in forests ?

As he had no way to know which answer was correct without checking their camp for hints, he prepared himself on the off-chance he was unknowingly following a family of unclean murderers.

He tried to convince himself that he could still work with something like 'The legend of Azcheron and the Blood Forest' or 'The Inhabitants of the Death Forest'.

* * *

When he finally exited the forest, the sun was about to set behind the western mountains. He stood on an slightly elevated hill and from here he could see the vast plains being coloured in a red-orange tint.

Fortunately, the village was close by. He could almost see its people from the hill. Was there a festival of some kind ? They seemed to be dancing and making noises.

Metallic noises.

Screaming noises ?

Something was wrong.

Azcheron understood in a instant. They were certainly not dancing. They were fighting, dodging and dying.

He ran toward the village, swiftly sticking to the trees, making sure not to be noticed until he knew what was going on.

As he closed on, he could clearly distinguish the attackers and the defenders. The later were villagers cowering behind a small group of soldiers, perhaps mercenaries or knights. The former were bandits.

Bandits ! Azcheron strangely felt less dejected about his forest mystery. He was almost spot on. Unclean murderers it was, indeed.

Of course, a seemingly cursed forest was a proper hide-out for the lawless.

He felt compelled to help the villagers as he remembered the carnage in his hometown. There seemed to be more bandits than he remembered counting according to the footprints. They must have separated at some point in the forest to attack from multiple sides.

Observing the village, he could estimate about thirty or forty bandits alive, assuming some were being hid from his sight by houses or were busy pillaging.

The knights were clearly loosing. There seemed to be only a few civilian casualties for now, but the knights were being slaughtered.

He hesitated to cast a large spell on the bandits, but the risk of it affecting the villagers was high, since everyone was somehow grouped. It was almost the same situation as the hostage one with Koven. Being reminded of that pissed him off.

He quickly decided on his approach. He would have to let the remaining knights endure and maybe sacrifice themselves while he got close enough to act. Azcheron needed a clear sight of his targets if he wanted to dispose of everyone quickly and with precision.

He ran with Manasprint, no longer caring about being spotted. Even so, the distance was not to be laughed at.

He was almost there, but he could see the knights' side wouldn't hold any longer. Only one was still standing, the others were probably dead or unconscious. The bandits were already starting to grab and drag some female villagers away.

I won't make it in time. I have to get their attention, even for a moment.

A smile flashed on his face as he immediately knew what he'd do. He was the Saint ! There was only one thing to do.