The crowd fell silent.
All eyes fell on Rena.
Watching Milo force himself to look calm, Isolde almost laughed out loud.
She had originally been considering how to use her enemies to kill the treant.
After all, a treant was different from Valen; it was a monster that took a thousand years to grow.
She hadn't expected Milo to deliver himself right to her door.
Even more interesting, he had brought along a helper of unknown origin.
This way, not only could she keep Crow Candle Castle hidden, but she could also let these sacrificial pawns pave the way first while she reaped the benefits.
There wasn't the slightest hint of a smile on Rena's face.
She merely looked at Milo coldly, her voice calm.
“Of course.”
Milo froze.
He hadn't expected her to agree so quickly.
Rena slowly approached him, a trace of mockery playing on her lips.
“I'd be glad to lead the way for you.”
Her gaze fell on Milo's pale face.
“But this time, how do you plan on running away?”
Seeing his own pale reflection in her eyes, a cold sweat broke out on Milo's back.
Seeing this, Kolo reached out and slapped his back hard, dragging back his scattering courage.
“I won't run away again!”
He practically roared.
“I will definitely avenge Buck and the others!”
Rena stared at him for a moment, as if exerting an invisible pressure.
Finally, she withdrew her gaze and looked at the gathering crowd.
“Fine! I'll give you this chance.”
With that, she turned to the crowd from the steps.
“To hunt down the thousand-year-old treant—is anyone else willing to join?”
A commotion quickly stirred in the crowd.
A treant was dangerous, but rare.
Moreover, Rena, a survivor, was willing to lead the way, and the petite figure in the dark green cloak had just demonstrated her strength.
Some wanted a piece of the pie, while others just wanted to watch the fun.
The first to step forward was the one-eyed mercenary from last night.
He stroked his chin and chuckled.
“Count me in. If there really is a treant, I only want the treant heart.”
Another tall, thin mage also raised his hand.
“I'll go.”
Another archer squeezed out of the crowd.
“I'm in too.”
They obviously weren't doing this to avenge Buck and the others.
Rather, the rare loot dropped was worth the risk.
Soon, a caravan guard joined as well.
In the end, the team consisted of seven people in total.
Rena, Milo, the dark green-cloaked figure, the one-eyed mercenary, the tall, thin mage, an archer, and the caravan guard.
This number of people was just right for a standard boss hunt team.
Looking at everything unfolding before him, Milo actually felt a bit panicked.
Because Rena had agreed too quickly, as if she had been waiting for this very moment.
He instinctively looked at the dark green-cloaked figure beside him, his eyes filled with the question of what to do.
The dark green-cloaked figure tilted her head and whispered in a voice only he could hear:
“It's fine.”
Milo asked nervously, “Is it really fine?”
She nodded very seriously.
“She will show her chicken feet sooner or later.”
Milo was taken aback.
“What feet?”
The dark green-cloaked figure paused for a moment, as if realizing her mistake.
“...I mean, her cloven hoof.”
Milo: “...”
For some reason, he suddenly felt less nervous.
At least the beastkin in front of him was very calm.
Standing not far away, Rena caught their small movements out of the corner of her eye.
The masked person was clearly helping Milo.
The question was, why?
For money?
For justice?
Or did she actually discover something?
If it was just the former two, it wouldn't be too hard to deal with.
But if it was the third, it would be a bit troublesome.
Isolde's gaze fell on the cloth-wrapped weapon, her fingertips lightly touching the inconspicuous 【Secret-Peeking Button】 on her collar.
In the next instant, the world before her eyes seemed to drain of color, turning entirely into a dull black and white.
Only the waist pouch hidden beneath the dark green-cloaked figure's cloak lit up with a blinding glow.
There it was—the other party's most recent act of concealment.
Isolde focused her gaze, and the pouch gradually became transparent in her vision.
Then, she saw what was inside.
One, two, three...
A whole pouch full of... carrots?
The hint of vigilance that had just risen in the depths of Isolde's eyes faltered for a rare moment.
Hidden so securely, glowing so brightly, and the result was a bag of carrots?
Who on earth would carefully hide carrots in a close-fitting pouch nowadays?
Was she a rabbit?
When this thought occurred to her, Isolde found it a bit absurd, but considering the world she was in, it actually seemed quite reasonable.
A beastkin?
Or some other race?
In her mind, she quickly singled this person out.
On the upcoming trip to the Mist-Dwelling Forest, this dark green-cloaked figure would need to be watched closely.
She was lost in thought when someone suddenly spoke beside her:
“Rena, when do we leave?”
The black-and-white world before Isolde's eyes instantly faded away.
The noisy chatter of the crowd flooded back all at once.
She looked up at the one-eyed mercenary who had asked, her face still wearing Rena's cold and weary expression.
“In half an hour, we meet at the village entrance.”
She said flatly, “If you want to live, bring your own potions. If you want loot, don't drag us down.”
With that, she turned and entered the tavern, the sounds of discussion starting up behind her once more.
Some were excited, some were hesitant, and some had already begun calculating how much money the treant materials would sell for.
Milo stood in place, watching her departing back as his fists slowly clenched.
He would definitely prove she was lying. He had to.
Once Rena stepped away from the crowd, her lips curled into a mockery that belonged solely to a witch.
Milo thought he had found a way to break the deadlock.
But he didn't know that from the moment he opened his mouth to request going to the Mist-Dwelling Forest, he had walked right into the spiderweb she had woven in advance.
The more prey there was, the more excited the hunter would be.
...
Half an hour later, at the entrance of Grey Oak Village.
A damp green mist drifted through the Mist-Dwelling Forest.
The wooden fence at the village entrance was in disrepair, with several wooden stakes sticking crookedly out of the mud, and a moldy warning sign hanging beside them.
【Mist-Dwelling Forest ahead. No entry at night.】
Beneath the sign were several old knife marks, as if someone who didn't believe in the warning had casually hacked at it before leaving.
Rena leaned against the slanted wooden fence, looking down to inspect the poison groove on her shortsword.
Before long, the one-eyed mercenary was the first to arrive.
Carrying a worn round shield on his back and a machete hanging from his waist, his single good eye swept over Rena.
“Just you?”
“No rush,” Rena said flatly. “Those who want to get rich always arrive faster than those who want to stay alive.”
The one-eyed mercenary snorted.
“That sounds like something you'd say.”
Isolde didn't reply.
She didn't know how close the real Rena was to this one-eyed mercenary; the more she spoke, the easier it would be to give away details.
Not long after, the tall, thin mage and the archer arrived.
The tall, thin mage wore a grayish-blue robe and held a staff carved with runes.
He looked as if he hadn't slept for days, with dark circles under his eyes and a complexion worse than the plaster on the tavern walls.
The archer carried a longbow on his back, his body draped with small leather pouches that clinked softly with arrowheads and powder vials as he walked.
The caravan guard carried a broadsword, the leather armor on his chest worn shiny, likely from frequently unloading cargo for the caravan.
The few of them exchanged glances, but no one spoke first.
This hastily assembled team clearly had the wrong vibe.
There was no trust, no coordination, and no real leader.
Only immediate self-interest and the hidden schemes in everyone's hearts.
This was perfect. Isolde loved teams like this.
A team that was too united was hard to tear apart.
For a hastily thrown-together group, all it took was a little self-interest, a little fear, and a touch of suspicion.
And they would tear themselves apart.
Rate on N.U.
