"Break's over, lads," Lukan announced, rising from the fallen log with the efficient movements of a veteran soldier. "Time to head back to camp."

  His voice cut through the forest quiet, jolting Alph from his meditation. The abrupt return to physical awareness left him disoriented for a moment, the weight of what he'd witnessed in the Mind Garden still pressing heavily on his thoughts. The Tier 1 Hunter node's inexorable drift toward his constellation played repeatedly in his mind, along with The Shaper's ominous warning about potential catastrophic collapse.

  The two Fighters gathered their gear without complaint, but Alph moved more slowly, his distraction evident in the way he fumbled with his bow and pack. His usual alertness seemed dulled by whatever burden occupied his thoughts, and he responded to questions with noticeable delays.

  Throughout the return journey, Alph remained unusually quiet. Where normally he might have engaged in the casual conversation that helped pass the time during patrols, he walked with the thousand-yard stare of someone wrestling with problems far beyond the immediate concerns of forest paths and camp routines. His responses to direct questions came delayed and distracted, earning him concerned glances from his companions.

  As they approached the camp's perimeter, their sergeant emerged from between the tents with purposeful strides. The sergeant's expression carried the focused intensity of someone with new orders to deliver.

  "There you are," the sergeant called out as soon as he spotted the returning patrol. "Good timing. I need you all to rest up well this afternoon—you'll be joining the escort detail for a very important visitor arriving later today."

  The announcement immediately sparked curiosity among the group. One of the Fighters voiced what they were all thinking: "Who exactly are we escorting, Sergeant?"

  The sergeant's weathered face remained carefully neutral. "Someone significant enough that the brass wants extra security. That's all you need to know for now."

  Lukan stepped forward with the authority that came from years of leading men. "Right then, you heard him. Get your lunch and find your bunks. We want to be sharp when duty calls." He gestured toward the makeshift mess hall where the aroma of cooking food drifted on the afternoon breeze.

  A small squadron of pike-bearing soldiers moved through the Borov Woods in tight formation, their weapons held at the ready as they escorted a single figure along the forest path. The rhythmic clank of mail and the soft thud of boots on packed earth marked their steady progress through the dappled sunlight filtering between the trees.

  At the center of their protective formation walked an elderly man whose presence seemed to command the very ground beneath his feet. Despite his advanced years, evident in the silver beard that flowed to his chest and the deep lines etched across his weathered face, his strides remained strong and measured. Each step he took appeared effortless, as if the earth itself shifted subtly to accommodate his passage, smoothing roots and stones that might have troubled a lesser traveler.

  His robes, though travel-stained from the journey, bore the deep green hues and intricate embroidery that spoke of high station among the druids. Ancient symbols worked in golden thread adorned the fabric, catching occasional glints of sunlight as he moved. His eyes, sharp and alert despite his age, took in every detail of the forest around them with the awareness of someone deeply attuned to the natural world.

  The lead guard raised his hand, bringing the formation to a brief halt as he examined a series of boot prints and broken branches along the path's edge. "We're close now," he announced, his voice carrying the relief of a soldier nearing the end of a long escort duty. "Camp markers ahead."

  The elderly man simply nodded, his expression remaining serene and untroubled by the journey's length or the potential dangers of traveling through corrupted woodland.

  As the escort formation approached the camp's outer perimeter, the sentries on duty immediately recognized the expected arrival. Having been briefed earlier about the distinguished guest's impending visit, they quickly identified the formal pike formation escorting the robed figure as the contingent they'd been instructed to watch for.

  One sentry broke from his post and sprinted toward the command tent, his boots pounding against the packed earth as he carried word of the arrival. The remaining guards quickly formed orderly lines along both sides of the path, their weapons held in ceremonial position as they offered the military honors due to a visiting dignitary.

  The elderly druid passed between the ranks of assembled soldiers with complete indifference to their display of respect. His eyes remained fixed ahead, his measured pace unchanged, as if the armed men were nothing more than trees lining a forest trail. The reverence and ceremony meant for his benefit seemed to wash over him without acknowledgment, his attention focused on matters far beyond military protocol.

  From the central command tent, Master Abel emerged with his aide close behind, both men wearing the carefully composed smiles of officers greeting an expected but significant guest. Abel's weathered features carried the diplomatic expression of someone prepared to navigate whatever complexities this visit might bring, while his aide maintained the alert posture of a subordinate ready to facilitate whatever his superior required.

  The Epic Bard stepped forward with measured confidence, his years of experience in handling delicate political situations evident in every aspect of his bearing as he moved to welcome the distinguished arrivals.

  Abel stepped forward with his most diplomatic smile, the kind perfected through years of managing delicate political situations. "Elder Beramund, it is our distinct honor to receive a druid of your esteemed reputation. The Stone-Root Kinship's wisdom is legendary, and your presence here brings great—"

  "Enough," Beramund interrupted mildly, though not unkindly. His ancient eyes met Abel's with the patient tolerance of someone who'd endured countless such speeches. "Your courtesy is noted."

  All Stone-Root Kinship members are just like this, Abel mused internally, his diplomatic smile never wavering even as he adjusted his approach. Eccentric. They have no use for flowery words or courtly etiquette. Years of dealing with various druidic orders had taught him that this powerful Tier 4 Verdant Soul Druid would respond better to directness than elaborate praise.

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  Recognizing the elder's temperament, Abel shifted tactics with the practiced ease of an experienced negotiator. "Perhaps you would be interested in examining a corrupted specimen we acquired yesterday? A bear, killed during an encounter with one of our patrols."

  For the first time since his arrival, Beramund's eyes lit up with genuine interest, the scholarly curiosity of a researcher presented with valuable research material and the mention of corruption had clearly struck the right chord.

  "Proceed," the elder said simply, his measured pace quickening slightly as anticipation replaced his earlier indifference.

  The guarded tent sat on the camp's outer perimeter, isolated from the main activity by both distance and necessity. Two soldiers stood at rigid attention by the entrance flaps, while additional guards maintained a watchful perimeter around the structure. The moment they spotted Abel approaching with his distinguished guest, they snapped to attention with crisp salutes.

  "At ease," Abel acknowledged with a brief nod before gesturing toward the tent opening. "Elder Beramund, if you would."

  The interior carried the unmistakable stench of death and corruption—a cloying sweetness mixed with something far more sinister that seemed to crawl into the nostrils and linger there. The bear's massive carcass dominated the space, its once-magnificent form now a grotesque testament to the blight that had claimed it. Dark lesions spread across its fur like spilled ink, while the surgical wounds from Alph's daggers stood out as clean lines amid the chaos of corruption.

  Beramund strode forward without hesitation, his ancient features showing no reaction to the overwhelming odor or disturbing sight. He circled the carcass with the methodical precision of a scholar, his sharp eyes cataloguing every detail—the pattern of corrupted tissue, the extent of the blight's spread, the precise nature of the wounds that had ended the creature's tormented existence.

  Finally, he knelt beside the bear's massive head and placed his weathered hand directly on the creature's skull. His eyes closed in concentration as power began to build around him, the air itself seeming to thicken with primal energy.

  "Summon Primal Echo," he intoned, his voice carrying the weight of ancient authority as the exclusive Verdant Soul Druid ability activated.

  A translucent figure began to coalesce above the bear's corpse, shimmering into existence as the ancient druid's power took hold. The phantom bore the creature's original form—a magnificent brown bear in its natural state, unmarred by corruption or violence. Its ethereal presence filled the tent with an otherworldly energy that made the air itself seem to hum.

  The spectral bear turned toward Beramund and released a series of low, rumbling growls. To Abel and his aide, who had quietly entered behind them, the sounds were meaningless animal vocalizations. But the elder druid listened with the focused attention of someone receiving vital intelligence, his weathered features betraying nothing as the communion continued.

  After several exchanges of growls and silence, the phantom figure began to fade, its translucent form dissolving back into the ether until nothing remained but the oppressive stench of the corrupted carcass.

  Beramund rose to his feet with the fluid motion of someone far younger than his apparent years and approached Abel, his expression grave.

  Abel maintained his diplomatic composure, though his curiosity was evident. "Have you discovered anything of significance, Elder?"

  The druid paused for a long moment, as if carefully choosing his words. "The primal spirit recalls only hunting for fish near a pond. All subsequent memories have been... erased."

  Abel's carefully controlled expression faltered slightly, his brows drawing together in confusion. "Surely a newly advanced Tier 1 Hunter couldn't accomplish such a feat. The conscript who killed this creature—"

  Beramund shook his head, cutting off the misunderstanding with quiet authority. "You miscomprehend the situation. The creature's memories ceased when corruption took hold. What followed was not the bear's will, but the actions of whatever commands the blight itself."

  The implications of Beramund's words struck Abel like a physical blow. His diplomatic mask cracked as the full weight of the revelation settled in—this wasn't some random outbreak of natural corruption, but a deliberate act guided by intelligent malice. His face contorted with a mixture of worry and barely contained anger as he processed what this meant for their mission and the safety of everyone under his command.

  Abel drew a long, steadying breath, forcing his features back into professional composure. "It is as we figured," he said with a heavy sigh, though his voice carried the weight of confirmation rather than surprise.

  Beramund simply nodded, his ancient eyes holding depths of knowledge that spoke to the gravity of their situation. "Such capabilities are possessed by very few professionals. I will need to meditate at the corruption site itself—commune with the forest to narrow down the possibilities."

  Abel understood immediately. Every druid possessed natural affinity toward forests and woodlands, but establishing a connection with an unfamiliar domain required time and focused meditation. The elder would need to attune himself to the local ecosystem before he could hope to trace the source of such deliberate corruption.

  "Of course," Abel agreed with a firm nod. "I have a separate escort squad prepared to accompany you wherever your investigation leads." He turned to his aide, shifting back into command mode. "See that Elder Beramund's guards are settled in for rest. They've had a long journey."

  The aide snapped to attention. "At once, sir."

  He departed with swift efficiency, leaving the two men alone with the corrupted carcass. Abel gestured toward the tent entrance, his diplomatic bearing returning as he prepared to escort the elder to his next destination.

  "Allow me to introduce you to your escort squad," Abel said, moving toward the tent flap.

  As they prepared to leave the oppressive confines of the makeshift morgue, Beramund paused, his ancient eyes fixing on Abel with quiet curiosity. "Why did you say one person felled this beast?"

  Abel's lips curved into the faintest suggestion of a smile, a expression that spoke of professional satisfaction mixed with genuine intrigue. "Because it's true. A lone conscript from our penal legion brought down this creature—achieved his Tier 1 advancement to Hunter profession during or sometime prior to the battle."

  Beramund acknowledged this information with a measured nod, offering no verbal response to what most would consider an extraordinary feat for a fresh advancement. But behind his composed exterior, the elder druid's mind worked with the analytical precision of someone who'd witnessed enough anomalies to recognize when pieces didn't quite fit together.

  There is more to this than meets the eye, he thought, his gaze lingering on the surgical precision of the wounds that had ended the bear's life. Those cuts spoke of skill and knowledge far beyond what a newly advanced professional should possess, suggesting a level of expertise that warranted closer scrutiny.

  The mysteries were multiplying faster than the answers.