Novices might not know better. Ruth and Sephera might be unaware. But Charles, having played every class under the sun, knew full well that a hunter of her skill should easily recognize the traces left by creatures in the wild. There was no way she’d "stumble" into the nest of such dangerous foes.
A first-level hunter could avoid this. How could she not?
Especially against ogres—massive, clumsy brutes that left obvious signs and made no effort to conceal their presence.
At the very least, as a druid, she could have spoken with the surrounding plants to ensure their resting spot was safe.
Yet she’d deliberately led them into danger. Her intentions were clear.
Nidalee met his gaze steadily, unfazed even with a blade at her throat. "Mr. Charles, I apologize for my oversight. Please, forgive me."
She lowered her head, feigning remorse.
Behind her, Sephera let out a derisive snort. "Oversight? An apology? Ha! If we’d been even slightly weaker, those ogres would’ve dragged us off, stripped us bare, and rutted into us until our eyes rolled back and our tongues lolled out—bellies swollen with their seed like overripe melons. Tell me, druid—do you really think an apology would undo that?"
Her words painted a grotesque but all-too-plausible scene. Half-ogres weren’t born from consensual encounters—human women rarely survived the ordeal, most dying mid-birth before the ogres tore the infants free.
Few spoke of it openly. Fewer still described it as vividly as Sephera just had.
Ruth’s cheeks flushed, and she averted her gaze. Nidalee, however, turned scarlet, stunned that such vulgarity could spill from the lips of someone so elegant.
City folk truly are vicious.
"Then—then as a gesture of sincerity," Nidalee gritted out, "I’ll return all your advance payment. I’ll still guide you to Zenith’s castle afterward. Does that satisfy you?" Her pained expression suggested the coins hurt more than Sephera’s words.
Sephera glanced at Charles, signaling him to play along. She didn’t know enough about hunters to dispute Nidalee’s excuse—this was just haggling.
But Charles remained unmoved. "The money isn’t the point. Tell me the truth, druid. Why lead us here?"
His gaze sharpened, and the blade’s edge pressed closer, grazing Nidalee’s wheat-colored skin.
The color drained from her face. She knew partial honesty was her only way out.
Drawing a steadying breath, she replied, "I... I meant no real harm. I only wanted to gauge your strength. You’re seeking Zenith, that blood-soaked bandit lord—surely you plan to end him?"
"Let’s be frank: so do I. Your power—yours and these ladies’—astonishes me. Together, we could crush him."
"I know a hidden path into his castle. We could dismantle his forces with minimal risk. The spoils? We’d split them fif—"
"Enough!" Charles cut her off coldly. "Who said anything about my plans? Don’t presume, and don’t drag me into your mess with pretty words."
A lie, of course. Now he was haggling.
His unspoken message was clear: I’ve no stake in this fight. If you want my help, the price goes up.
Nidalee hesitated. Then, urgency outweighing caution, she blurted, "Fine—60-40! No, 70-30! You take the lion’s share, first pick of everything. Deal?"
Charles studied her. "You’re really in it for the gold?"
Druids, by his understanding, seldom craved wealth. They lived in forests and wilds—what use had they for coin?
Her hunt for Zenith hid another motive.
Treasure? A vendetta?
Reading his shift in tone, Nidalee relaxed slightly. "To be honest, Mr. Charles, wealth isn’t my aim. If you insist, we can make it 80-20."
"But Zenith must fall. His usual pillaging? I’d overlook it. But now he meddles in forbidden power, disrupting nature’s balance. His faction must be purged!"
Her righteous fervor mirrored her guild-hall pitch days earlier.
Charles’ eyes glinted as he considered. Knowing he’d eventually need to assault Zenith’s castle anyway, he weighed his options briefly. With a subtle flick of his wrist, the longsword dissipated into mist, returning them to a peaceful standoff.
"Eighty-twenty... Fine. For nature’s balance, I’ll join you on this venture." He gave a curt nod. "But make no mistake - Zenith’s no pushover. I expect you’ve done proper reconnaissance before extending this... invitation."
Nidalee exhaled in visible relief, stepping forward to extend her hand once more. "Of course, Mr. Charles. Truth be told, your party’s strength surpasses all expectations. I’d anticipated a grueling fight against those brutes - perhaps even needing to retreat. Never did I imagine you’d dispatch them with such ease!"
"This changes everything. My confidence in our mission has doubled!"
Charles maintained his smile, eyes glittering with unspoken calculations. Having been deceived once already, he’d be a fool to take this Nidalee at face value. Whatever game she played, her cards remained partly concealed.
The agreement stood - but when the time came, he’d adapt as circumstances demanded...
Nidalee’s smile mirrored his, though her thoughts ran simpler. Let the others squabble over gold and trinkets. If she could claim that holy sword fragment, no price would be too steep...
With their new pact forged, the four returned to the creek, resting for an hour before setting out again.
This time, Nidalee kept up their brisk pace, pushing onward. They trekked for another two hours, covering over twenty li of mountainous terrain before the sun dipped southward, hinting at dusk. Only then did she halt.
"Everyone," she asked, "shall we regroup? Ahead lies Zenith’s territory, and this area is patrolled by his scouts."
Charles gave a slight nod. His magical effects were nearing expiration, and he needed time to renew them. "Agreed."
They settled on the spot, unpacking rations—but this time, Nidalee proactively offered her remaining goodberries. "Please, have these. With a druid present, ordinary food is beneath you."
Charles accepted without ceremony, swallowing one whole. A burst of sweetness flooded his mouth, followed by warmth spreading through his stomach and limbs, soothing the fatigue of their journey.
Ruth and Sephera likewise partook, each taking a berry before settling into quiet repose.
After another hour, once fully recovered, Charles rose. "Nidalee, lead on."
Nidalee nodded, taking point. The sun now burned crimson, though true night hadn’t fallen—yet the dense woods grew dim, and eerie winds whispered as if ghosts stirred within.
Even Nidalee slowed, stepping cautiously to avoid noise.
"Follow my footsteps," she murmured. "Hobgoblins litter this area with traps. I can’t mark them all—for efficiency, tread only where I’ve trodden."
Charles trailed closely behind. But avoiding trouble didn’t mean trouble would avoid them.
Rustle... rustle... rustle—
Slow, deliberate footsteps crunched through dead leaves. The party ducked behind a tree, peering out to see a humanoid silhouette lurching toward them from the gloom.
When the figure came into view, Charles’ pupils constricted.
Like something from Resident Evil, the thing wore tattered rags, its skin ghastly green. A lolling tongue, one eye dangling, and the reek of rotting flesh left no doubt—this was undead.
He’d known zombies prowled these wilds, that Zenith dabbled in such filth—yet seeing one in reality versus a game was viscerally different.
Was this the defilement Nidalee had mentioned?
Indeed, resurrecting the dead violated every natural law druids revered.
Time to put it back in the ground.
His peripheral vision caught Nidalee crouching, poised to strike when it neared—but Charles gestured for restraint. Ignoring her puzzled look, he stepped forward to meet the zombie.
Nidalee’s confusion deepened as the creature lurched within reach, jaws unhinging to reveal yellowed fangs—
Charles slid behind it in one fluid motion, hand clamping its shoulder as he whispered: "Purified."
Milk-white light erupted. The zombie stiffened, a guttural screech tearing from its rotted throat: "Gyaa—!"
Then, amidst the radiance, its body crumbled to ash—barely a handful remaining.
Charles checked his system, nodding at the newly gained 50 Purification Points.
Confirmed. Not just living witches—even undead yield purification.
That "Agatha" he’d purified... had she been undead too?
The architect of the Rubble District massacre, perhaps?
Had she, zombie, been utterly annihilated?
Tch. If undead work, what about fiends? Purifying one of those might net a fortune in points...
And this castle... might prove even more lucrative than expected.
As his mind raced, the three women approached. Nidalee’s expression brimmed with awe. "You... are you a paladin?"
The white light had unmistakable echoes of divine radiance—enough to kindle genuine reverence.
This changes everything. A paladin would never tolerate such evil. He might even cede the Holy Sword Fragment willingly...
Charles blinked, then chuckled at her misconception. "Ah... no sworn oaths here. But think of me as... a clergyman devoted to eradicating darkness."
Behind him, Sephera’s lips twitched.
Eradicating darkness?
More like ’eradicating chastity.’
Regardless of Nidalee’s interpretation, Charles—driven by his hunger for Purification Points—pressed on: "Are there more zombies nearby? I cannot tolerate such undead roaming freely. Find them, and I shall purify them!"
His declaration only solidified Nidalee’s belief that he was a paladin. Yet she remained composed, adopting a grave tone. "My lord, I understand your zeal. But the necromancer Zenith employs still works within the castle."
"If we waste time scouring these woods for stragglers, more innocent lives will be lost!"
Her words, carefully crafted to appeal to a paladin’s sensibilities, struck their intended chord.
Charles pondered briefly. These mindless zombies lack both intelligence and speed. Even if they wander, they won’t get far. No need to rush.
Better to eliminate the source first—secure the Holy Sword Fragment and complete our original mission.
With a nod, he conceded. "Very well. Lead us to the castle—we infiltrate at once."
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