Dawn broke cold and clear, painting the village in hues of gold and amber. We gathered at the eastern gate, our horses laden with provisions donated by grateful villagers. Word of our departure had spread quickly, and a small crowd formed to see us off.

  I secured the last of my packs, mentally reviewing our status.

  Myself at Level 36, with a functioning but temporary weapon.

  Ragna at Level 34, sullen but determined after yesterday's spar.

  Borric at Level 15, nervously checking his dagger for the fifth time.

  Isolde at Level 47, looking refreshed as the poison's effects continued to fade.

  The village elder approached, his weathered hands carrying four small pouches embroidered with protective symbols. "These contain healing herbs and a few small charms, heroic adventurers," he explained, distributing them among us. "They're not much, but they may help in times of need."

  "Thank you," Isolde said, accepting hers with genuine gratitude. "Your people have already given more than we could ask."

  The elder bowed deeply. "You saved our children, Princess. There is no repayment adequate for such a gift."

  Isolde looked surprised. “P-Princess…?”

  The elder laughed, “Your friends weren’t really careful when addressing you. Please, your secret is safe with us. We can’t wait to hear the news of you sitting on the throne.”

  While they exchanged pleasantries, I slipped away to the village blacksmith, a burly man with arms like tree trunks. He was examining my crystallized axe, turning it over in his massive hands.

  "Did what I could," he said gruffly, offering it back. "Added metal bands to reinforce the handle, but truth be told, it's still a pretty thing rather than a proper weapon."

  I accepted it, testing the weight. Isolde's crystal magic had preserved the form, and the blacksmith's bands added stability, but it remained fundamentally flawed – beautiful but fragile, like so much in this world.

  "It'll do for now," I said, securing it to my belt. I’d also accepted a few of his best works as backup weapons, for emergencies. "Thank you."

  The blacksmith nodded, then lowered his voice. "Word is you're taking the Valley route."

  "Word travels fast."

  "It does when it's madness." He scratched his beard thoughtfully. "There's an old forge at the valley's midpoint… Cinderheart, they called it. Built into the mountain itself. If your fancy axe fails you, it might be worth a look. The Smith who worked there was said to have been trained by giants."

  I raised an eyebrow. "Giants?"

  "Or dragons. Or demons. Depends who's telling the story." He shrugged. "All I know is the metal that came out of Cinderheart wasn't like any other."

  "I'll keep that in mind." I offered him a nod of thanks before rejoining the others.

  Ragna was already mounted, looking impatient. "Ready to go? Or did you need another hour to chat about metallurgy?"

  "Just gathering information," I replied, swinging onto my horse. "Knowledge is as valuable as strength. Speaking of, who the hell taught you the word ‘metallurgy’?"

  "Yeah. So is not dying of old age waiting for you," she retorted while ignoring my last question, but there was less bite in her words than yesterday. Perhaps her anger was cooling.

  Isolde and Borric joined us, completing our small caravan. The princess had traded her more ornate traveling clothes for practical riding gear, though her blue hair remained distinctive even under a hood. Borric looked remarkably different from the nervous merchant we'd first met – his posture straighter, his gaze more focused.

  As we urged our horses forward, the villagers called out blessings and farewells. I caught fragments of their good wishes. "May the gods watch over you!" and "Return safely, evil-slayers!" and even "Show those monsters what real heroes can do!"

  The irony wasn't lost on me. We weren't leaving as heroes embarking on a noble quest. We were leaving as desperate people seeking power before darkness overtook us all.

  The main road stretched before us, broad and well-maintained, leading east toward Veridian. We followed it only briefly before turning north at a fork, where a narrower path wound toward the highlands. A weathered signpost warned travelers away in faded script. "DANGER – CRIMSON TERRITORY – PROCEED AT OWN RISK."

  "Charming," Borric muttered, eyeing the sign. "Very inviting."

  "Think of it as exclusive," Ragna suggested, her mood improving at the prospect of adventure. "Only the brave allowed."

  “Brave or stupid. Both allowed,” I added.

  "Which are we?" Isolde asked with a small smile.

  "I'll let you know if we survive," I replied, urging my horse forward.

  The path gradually steepened, the terrain growing rockier as we ascended. By midday, we had reached a ridge that offered our first view of the Crimson Valley itself. It stretched before us like an open wound in the earth – a vast ravine whose red-tinged rock walls descended into mist-shrouded depths. Stunted trees with crimson leaves clung to its slopes, and in the distance, strange winged shapes circled lazily above the canopy.

  "Sweet gods above," Borric whispered, his face paling. "It's bigger than I imagined."

  "And more beautiful," Isolde added, her voice hushed with awe.

  It was beautiful, in the way deadly things often are. The afternoon sun caught the red stone, making it glow like embers. Streams cut silver paths down the valley walls, feeding into a river that wound through its heart. From this height, it looked almost peaceful.

  I knew better.

  "We'll enter through that narrow pass," I said, pointing to a gap in the ridge. "Make camp at the first defensible position we find. From there, we hunt carefully, strategically. No unnecessary risks."

  "Says the man leading us into the Valley of Death," Borric quipped.

  "If we're going to risk our lives," I answered simply, "we should at least be smart about it."

  Ragna leaned forward in her saddle, eyes gleaming with anticipation. "I bet I kill more monsters than you."

  "This isn't a competition, Ragna."

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  "Sounds like something someone would say when they're afraid of losing," she taunted.

  I found myself smiling despite everything. "Fine. Winner gets first choice of food for a week."

  "Deal!" She extended her hand, and we clasped forearms in the traditional Valtherian manner.

  Isolde watched our exchange with amusement. "You two are certainly... unique in your approach to mortal danger."

  "Fear serves no purpose," I replied, "except to sharpen the senses when needed."

  "If that's true," Borric remarked dryly, "my senses should be sharp enough to cut diamond by now."

  We shared a brief laugh, the sound carrying across the ridge before being swallowed by the vastness of the valley below. For a moment, we were just travelers on a journey, bound by common purpose if not common origin.

  Then, as if to remind us of what awaited, a distant roar echoed from the depths. A sound that made our horses shift nervously and the smiles fade from our faces.

  "Well," I said, adjusting my grip on the reins, "no sense delaying the inevitable."

  As we began our descent toward the valley entrance, I cast one final glance at the normal world behind us – the safe road we weren't taking, the gentle lands we were leaving behind. Then I turned my gaze forward, to the crimson shadows that promised both danger and growth.

  Somewhere in those depths, we would find what we needed. Or we would find our end. Let’s see what awaits us.

  "Let's hunt," I said, and led our small band into the valley's waiting embrace.

  ****

  Three days after leaving Millhaven, the road beneath our horses' hooves transformed from packed dirt to something less certain. The vegetation changed too – normal forest giving way to increasingly twisted forms that seemed to mock nature's intended design.

  "This can't be right," Borric muttered, consulting his map for the third time in an hour. "The trader's route should be straightforward through here."

  I studied our surroundings with growing unease.

  The trees had begun to take on unnatural colorations here. Some with bark blackened as though by fire, yet still alive. Others glittered with frost despite the warm afternoon sun. Most disturbing were those with faint pulses of energy running through their trunks like veins of lightning.

  "Is that a normal occurrence in Thalassaria?" I asked, nodding toward a cluster of trees whose leaves appeared to be smoldering without actually burning.

  Isolde frowned, her blue hair tucked beneath her travel hood. "No. This area was known as the Verdant Pass in my father's maps. It should be an ordinary forest, although filled with monsters."

  "Well, it's not ordinary now," Ragna observed, leaning forward in her saddle to examine a flower whose petals sparked like tiny firecrackers. She reached out to touch one.

  "Don't," I warned, catching her wrist. "Remember the Shaman’s words? Unfamiliar magic isn't something to poke with bare hands."

  Ragna pulled away with a scowl. "I'm not stupid, Thorvyn. I was just looking."

  "With your fingers?"

  "Better than with my face!"

  Wow, she’s so mad for what. Borric interrupted our bickering. "According to the village elder, these are the Blighted Reaches. He said they've been spreading for months – since right around the time the drought intensified."

  That couldn't be coincidence. I considered what we'd learned from the necromancer's documents. "So while your brother's been performing rituals to apparently help the drought, this has been happening too."

  "This isn't Kaelan's doing," Isolde said firmly. "At least, not knowingly. Whatever dark magic that mage was using... this feels like a side effect. Maybe. This might be entirely unrelated, too."

  I wasn't convinced. I didn’t know much about Magic, I wasn’t a [Mage], but in my little time in this world I had a blurry idea of it at least. Magic was like ripples in a pond, each spell seemed to echo outward, changing the world in ways both intended and not.

  "Look there," I pointed to a ravine ahead where trees had been split and scarred by what could only have been lightning strikes. "That's our path forward."

  "Are you certain?" Borric questioned. "Because it looks exactly like the sort of place sensible people avoid."

  "When have we ever claimed to be sensible?" I replied, urging my horse forward.

  She gave me a raised eyebrow but didn’t say anything. The descent into the ravine felt like crossing a threshold. The air grew heavy with metallic tang, and the hair on my arms stood on end from static electricity.

  My [Dragon's Eye] caught movement in the undergrowth. Creatures scurrying away, their forms distorted by the ambient energy. Halfway down, we encountered a small, carefully contained fire. All of us tensed.

  Beside it sat a lone figure. A man hunched over, methodically sharpening what remained of a badly damaged sword.

  He looked up as we approached, his face young but aged by exhaustion. Most striking was his left arm, completely exposed by his sleeveless tunic and bearing extensive burn scars in patterns that branched like lightning across his skin.

  A human in a place like this?

  [3rd Ascension]

  If this were to be a game, it was about time for the Quest notification to pop.

  "Turn back," he called, not bothering to stand. "Whatever business you think you have here isn't worth your lives."

  I dismounted, signaling the others to stay alert. "We're passing through to Veridian."

  The man laughed bitterly. "There are safer routes."

  "Safer, yes. But too slow." I studied him more closely. His armor was patchwork, clearly repaired multiple times. His supplies were organized with military precision. "You're not a bandit or a hermit. Who are you?"

  "Name's Eldric." He tested his blade's edge with his thumb. "Part of an expedition from Valehaven. Or I was, until three weeks ago."

  "From Valehaven? An expedition for what?" Isolde asked, remaining on her horse but lowering her hood slightly.

  Eldric frowned slightly at the glimpse of her blue hair, but he couldn’t be sure that it was the Princess. Blue hair was rare, but not that rare that every blue-haired person was Royalty. "Research. The magistrate sent seven of us to investigate these... changes." He gestured to the unnatural landscape. "I'm the only one left. Hah. Well until I saw you guys I was wondering if I’m dead already or not, if all this was an illusion or not…"

  Before I could press for details, a high-pitched chittering erupted from the rocks above us. Six creatures scrambled down the ravine wall – goblinoid in shape but with skin that crackled with static discharges. Their eyes glowed an unnatural blue, and tiny sparks danced between their clawed fingers.

  Most of them were [3rd Ascension]. Strong for a bunch of Goblins.

  "Ah, shit. Storm Goblins," Eldric muttered, rising to his feet. "They hunt in packs."

  "I've got this," I said, stepping forward as the others reached for their weapons.

  The lead goblin screeched, hurling a crackling ball of electricity toward me. I didn't bother dodging. This was quite an interesting match-up. I activated [Elemental Fury], channeling the electricity through my body and redirecting it into the ground.

  The goblin's eyes widened in what I can only describe as goblin surprise.

  I grabbed one of the extra axes I’d grabbed from the village blacksmith. I channelled my mana into the blade, then swung it violently. That swing unleashed a [Tempest Strike], sending a concentrated blast of wind and lightning back at the creatures. Three were thrown against the ravine wall with bone-crushing force. The others scattered, shrieking in alarm.

  One leapt toward Ragna, but she was ready. Her club connected with its skull, sending the creature flying in a graceful arc that ended with a decidedly ungraceful splat.

  "That's why I looked with my fingers earlier," she said with a smirk. "To be ready for this!"

  Yeah, that logic doesn’t make any sense at all. I didn’t bother arguing with her. The final two goblins retreated, scrambling back up the ravine with panicked cries.

  [You’ve killed a Storm Goblin – Level 33!]

  [You’ve earned experience points.]

  [You’ve killed a Storm Goblin – Level 32!]

  [You’ve earned experience points.]

  [You’ve killed a Storm Goblin – Level 34!]

  [You’ve earned experience points.]

  [You’ve reached Level 37.]

  Nice. I’d been farming experience points for the last couple of days, and finally it was enough for a level up.

  I turned back to find Eldric staring at me, his sword half-raised and forgotten. "You controlled the lightning," he said, disbelief evident in his voice. "What's your Class?"

  I hesitated, studying him. "Something related to elements. What's yours?"

  He lowered his blade. "Ah, it's called [Storm Sword]. Or I was, before..." he gestured to his scarred arm. "Something out there drained most of my power. Nearly killed me."

  That startled all of us, forcing us to exchange glances. Something that could absorb the power of a Class…? What in the world? Were we suddenly in a bigger mess than we intended to explore?

  Oh, come on.

  Couldn’t I have one normal week?

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