Abel emerged from the guarded tent with the elder druid following at his measured pace, both men moving with the purposeful stride of those conducting serious business.

  In the assembly area of the camp, Alph stood in formation with the other members of the escort detail, his mind still wrestling with the implications of what he'd witnessed in the Mind Garden. The slow drift of the Tier 1 Hunter node toward his constellation occupied his thoughts like a persistent itch he couldn't scratch. Around him, Lukan and the rest of their original squad maintained the relaxed alertness of experienced soldiers awaiting orders.

  They'd been joined by a second squad of four—a Tier 0 Scout whose weathered features spoke of long service, two Tier 1 Fighters who carried themselves with the confidence of seasoned professionals, and oddly, a Tier 0 Apprentice Crafter whose presence seemed incongruous among the combat-focused group.

  Alph found himself studying the crafter with curious interest. The man's hands bore the telltale calluses and stains of someone who worked with tools and materials, yet here he stood among soldiers preparing for escort duty.

  Lukan noticed his attention and leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "That one's a conscript like us—part of the penal legion."

  The explanation clicked into place immediately. Alph understood now why a non-combatant professional was serving as a squad member rather than working in some support capacity back at the main base.

  When I first arrived in Stoneford, I considered learning crafting as well, he thought, remembering those early days of uncertainty about his path forward. But I realized how much of a time sink it would be without proper guidance or material channels. I gave up on it pretty quickly. The memory stirred a brief moment of speculation. What would have happened if I'd succeeded? Would my current situation be any different?

  A small jab from Lukan's elbow brought him out of his reverie as they spotted their commander approaching with an elderly figure in flowing green robes. Even from a distance, there was something about the way the man moved—each step deliberate and unhurried—that suggested power held in careful restraint.

  Alph quickly straightened into proper military posture alongside the rest of the squad, the casual alertness of moments before replaced by rigid attention as their commander approached.

  Abel came to a halt before the assembled formation, his sharp gaze sweeping across each soldier with the practiced assessment of a veteran officer. When he spoke, his voice carried the full weight of military authority, each word delivered with crisp precision.

  "You are to escort this distinguished guest and attend to any needs he may have. From this moment forward, you are under Elder Beramund's direct command and will adhere to whatever military discipline he deems appropriate."

  Without ceremony, Abel stepped aside and gestured for the elder druid to come forward. Beramund moved with that same measured pace, his ancient eyes taking in each member of the escort detail with the calculating assessment of someone accustomed to evaluating capabilities at a glance. The scrutiny lasted only seconds, but Alph could feel the weight of that gaze as it passed over him before the elder gave a single, satisfied nod.

  Abel's tone shifted to one of measured respect as he addressed the druid directly. "Please command them as you see fit, Elder. They are at your disposal."

  The formal transfer of authority was complete, leaving eight soldiers awaiting orders from a man whose power they could only guess at.

  Beramund turned his attention back to the assembled squads, his weathered voice carrying quiet authority. "Take me to the location where the bear was killed yesterday."

  Both Lukan and Alph straightened at the mention of their encounter, the sudden shift in their posture not going unnoticed by the elder druid. His ancient gaze settled on them with the focused intensity of someone cataloguing every detail, boring into them as if reading the significance of their reaction.

  Lukan puffed out his chest with obvious pride and stepped forward slightly. "I know the exact location, Elder. I can lead us there directly."

  Beramund made a low, thoughtful sound—neither approval nor dismissal, but acknowledgment of the information offered. He turned back to Abel with a brief nod, the silent communication between the two men indicating their business was concluded.

  As the escort detail began to move out with Beramund at their center, Abel remained standing in the assembly area. His eyes followed their departing figures until they disappeared between the trees at the forest's edge, and then he muttered under his breath, words barely audible even to himself.

  "Let's hope we find this source of corruption sooner rather than later."

  The weight of responsibility and growing concern was evident in every syllable, a prayer to whatever forces might be listening that their investigation would bear fruit before the situation deteriorated further.

  The escort detail moved through the Borov Woods in a loose formation, their boots finding the familiar paths worn by countless patrols. The morning's training session felt like a distant memory as they retraced the route that had led to yesterday's dramatic encounter. Conversation remained minimal out of respect for their distinguished charge, who walked among them with the same measured pace that seemed to bend the forest itself to accommodate his passage.

  After twenty minutes of steady progress, Lukan raised his hand and brought the group to a halt. The clearing ahead bore the unmistakable signs of recent violence—disturbed earth, broken branches, and most notably, the dark stain where the corrupted bear's blood had pooled and dried into the soil.

  Lukan turned toward Beramund with the respectful bearing of a soldier addressing a superior. "We have arrived, Elder. This is where the creature fell."

  Without acknowledgment or ceremony, Beramund walked directly to the center of the bloodstained area. He settled onto the ground with fluid grace despite his apparent age, crossing his legs and closing his eyes as he began the process of meditation that would allow him to commune with the forest itself.

  Recognizing the significance of what was taking place, Lukan quickly gestured to the other squad members, his experience as a veteran mercenary guiding his actions. "Perimeter guard," he whispered, directing them to spread out in a protective circle while ensuring they maintained enough distance to avoid disturbing the elder's delicate work.

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  Alph positioned himself near a massive pine tree at the clearing's edge, using its trunk as partial cover while maintaining his assigned watch position. Almost without thinking, he placed his hand against the rough bark, a habit developed through his connection to the druidic arts.

  Immediately, he felt something ripple outward through the trees—a presence both ancient and vast, flowing like invisible water through root and branch as it sought to establish contact with the woodland's essence. The sensation was unmistakably the Elder's consciousness reaching out to commune with the forest itself.

  The nature connection, Alph realized with sudden alarm, jerking his hand away from the bark as if it had burned him. He took several quick steps back from the tree, his mind racing with worry. If he senses my druidic abilities during his communion...

  The thought of discovery sent a chill down his spine that had nothing to do with the forest's cool air.

  Beramund settled onto the forest floor in front of the blood-stained earth, positioning himself close enough to sense the lingering corruption without directly touching the tainted soil. He crossed his legs and closed his eyes, the dark stain a mere arm's length away as his consciousness turned inward, gathering the vast reserves of power that came with being a Tier 4 Verdant Soul Druid.

  Time to learn what this place has witnessed, he thought, drawing upon decades of experience in communing with woodland ecosystems. Each forest was different, requiring a unique approach to establish the delicate connection between druid and nature.

  He began the careful process of expanding his presence outward, his consciousness flowing like water through the root networks that connected every living thing in the Borov Woods. Tree by tree, bush by bush, his awareness spread in ever-widening circles until it encompassed a full five-mile radius around the blood-soaked clearing.

  The response was immediate and overwhelming. Every piece of flora and fauna within his expanded consciousness began transmitting their accumulated sensory data—days worth of sights, sounds, scents, and subtle vibrations that had passed through their awareness. The information flooded his mind like a torrential river: the rustle of small creatures through undergrowth, the passage of patrol groups, changes in wind patterns, the acrid stench of corruption, the metallic taste of spilled blood.

  His powerful soul worked with practiced efficiency to filter meaning from chaos, sorting through the endless stream of woodland memory to find the threads that mattered. Somewhere in this cacophony of natural observation lay the answers he sought.

  Through his expanded awareness, Beramund located the pond the bear's phantom had described in its final memory. But where there should have been the vibrant signatures of aquatic life—fish, insects, microscopic organisms—there was only dead water. Something had drained the life from that place, leaving behind an emptiness that felt wrong in ways his druidic senses could barely comprehend.

  Scattered throughout his five-mile radius, he found additional sites where corruption had taken root. Each time his consciousness approached these tainted areas, the blight recoiled from his presence with active malice, as if it recognized him as a threat and deliberately sought to hide its nature. The corruption was not merely spreading—it was actively resisting investigation.

  But amid these disturbing discoveries, something else caught his attention. A large banyan tree, its root system and canopy brimming with unnatural growth as if multiple druids had channeled their willpower into accelerating its development. The tree pulsed with vitality that should have been cause for celebration, yet it carried a strangely familiar presence—one he'd encountered before, though he couldn't immediately place where.

  As he traced this familiar signature backward through the forest's memory, the trail led directly to this very clearing where he now sat. The connection was unmistakable: whatever had influenced that banyan tree was intimately connected to the events that had unfolded here.

  More concerning still, he realized with growing unease, I sense that same presence again—but this time actively trying to obscure itself. The signature was weaker now, more cautious, but his powerful consciousness had already locked onto it. One of his escorts, someone who had reacted when asked to come to this place, carried the same druidic resonance that had saturated the distant banyan.

  What is your connection to all this? he wondered, his ancient mind working to piece together implications that grew more troubling by the moment.

  As Beramund focused his consciousness on the soldier in question, he immediately sensed a subtle shift in the man's posture. The muscles along his back and shoulders stiffened with the telltale tension of someone who had suddenly become aware of scrutiny. The reaction was so swift and precise that it spoke of perception abilities far beyond what most professionals possessed.

  Impressive, Beramund mused, his curiosity deepening rather than diminishing. To sense my observation through a nature communion at this level requires either exceptional training or natural talent.

  Yet as he maintained his careful watch, he detected no malice from the soldier—no hostile intent or deceptive aura that might suggest threat. More intriguingly, the feedback he received from the surrounding flora painted a picture of acceptance. The trees, bushes, and even the smallest wildflowers responded to the soldier's presence as if he belonged among them, as if the forest itself had welcomed him into its domain.

  A fellow practitioner of the druidic arts? Beramund wondered, but almost immediately dismissed the thought. Through his expanded senses, he could read the soldier's life aura clearly—Tier 1 professional, certainly, but his equipment and bearing were unmistakably those of a Hunter rather than a Druid. The bow across his shoulders, the practical leather armor, the way he moved through the woodland—all spoke of someone trained in tracking and archery rather than nature communion.

  Perhaps a variant professional? The possibility intrigued him. After all, there were as many variant professions as there were stars in the sky, each one a unique combination of abilities that defied traditional classification. Such an individual might explain the contradictory signals he was receiving—Hunter training combined with an innate connection to the natural world.

  Interesting! Beramund mused as he turned his full attention back to scrutinizing the soldier. A variant professional at Tier 1 would normally be welcomed anywhere with open arms, yet from all appearances this one seems to be serving as an ordinary soldier.

  The inconsistency was puzzling. Variant professionals were rare enough that most organizations would go to great lengths to recruit and retain them, offering favorable positions and advancement opportunities. Yet here was someone who appeared to possess such abilities serving in what seemed to be a standard military role without any obvious signs of special recognition or status.

  Is he deliberately hiding his capabilities? The thought had merit—there were any number of reasons why someone might choose to conceal their true potential. Political complications, family disputes, legal troubles that made anonymity preferable to recognition.

  But such speculation could wait. Whatever his story, I should speak with this young man later, Beramund decided. If such a talented individual could be persuaded to join our druidic circles, it would benefit both parties considerably.

  For now, however, he had more pressing concerns. The corruption investigation took precedence over recruitment opportunities, no matter how intriguing they might be.

  Focus on the task at hand, he reminded himself firmly, turning his consciousness back toward the tainted sites he'd discovered throughout the forest. Each location would need careful examination to understand the pattern of spread and identify its source. The variant professional could wait—the corruption could not.

  With renewed determination, he resumed his methodical investigation of the blight that threatened to consume the Borov Woods.