Finally, after days of tracking and waiting, Zini felt a shift in the mana around him, signaling the capture of the intruder. A wave of relief washed over him knowing that the threat had been neutralized. Whoever had eliminated his skeletons in the southeastern part of the forest had been caught off guard by other forest intruders. The intruders had used their cunning and trickery to bring down the mighty foe, surprising them with something that caught them unawares.

Zini felt a twinge of respect for his prey, but he knew that he had taken a powerful piece off the board, making the forest a safer place. He didn't need to see fear in the eyes of his captive, as the mere fact that they were in his grasp was enough to satisfy him.

“Finally,” Zini cheered, “With that behemoth captured, I can continue my work unhindered!” He turned to face a dark tunnel leading away from his laboratory, where an ancient tomb lay beyond.

If only I had gotten here sooner, Zini thought with dismay.

The tomb was the reason he had chosen to set up his laboratory in this unassuming forest, but to his frustration, it had already been ransacked. All of the artifacts, treasures, and ancient knowledge books were gone, with only the skeletons of the workers who had built the tomb remaining. Clues suggested that the workers had been sealed inside to keep the tomb's location a secret.

As was fate for the common folk who were at the mercy of the whims of their superiors. But Zini was not one to be deterred. He could still make use of the skeletons as undead laborers and defenders, and he had other necromantic arts at his disposal.

As he sneezed, Zini couldn't help but dislike the downside of being a necromancer. Frequenting crypts, tombs, and handling corpses often brought about sickness and disease from the old world that tore through the immunity of modern men.

As Zini prepared to enter the tunnel, his senses were suddenly alerted to a surge of mana pushing through the forest's perimeter. He had not become a well-versed necromancer by being careless. He had cast a powerful spell to create a magical boundary around the forest, designed to alert him to any potential threats.

That’s not good, Zini thought. The force of mana was moving too fast. It’s clearly one of those Sage Symbol carriages, a rather powerful one at that. Such power and luxury can only mean high status…

He stood in place, not willing to leave until he got the gist of the newcomers’ strength.

Polopp let out a furious huff, his round cheeks flushing with anger. "Insufferable, stupid, ignorant, clumsy, arrogant, foolish human!" he raged, his fury rising at the thought of how the so-called "champion" had been undone by his own hubris. If only the real Red had kept his wits about him, they wouldn't be in this mess.

Just as Polopp was lost in his thoughts, a figure burst out of the poisonous cloud.

The champ actually survived, Polopp thought, hiccupping. But wait, something was off...the hooded figure was clearly not Red. His hand held a mask over his mouth as he leapt out of the cloud and landed by a pair of daggers. The gnome dove behind a tree to hide, recognizing the stranger as one of the four man group from earlier who had a beastman accompanying them.

The stranger picked up the daggers and attempted to move back into the cloud to exact revenge on Red’s unconscious form, but saw skeletons closing in on his location. He staggered, clearly affected by his own poison. Blue light shimmered around him as he imbued mana, but the light seemed flickering and unstable.

Polopp noticed Red lying on the ground inside the cloud, asleep. “He gave me a potion that made me go to sleep,” Red’s voice echoed in Polopp’s mind. “I'm sure you have some misgivings about our companion and his work, having obviously experienced it firsthand...” The gnome remembered hearing from the leader of the strangers.

The gnome nodded sagely, his sharp gaze fixed on the gray substance before him. This is definitely a paralysis poison, the gnome declared inwardly.

His keen blue eyes focused on the hooded figure edge away from the approaching skeletons. A sheen of unsteady light had enveloped him. This poison perhaps has a component that tampers with mana as well seeing as this man can't imbue mana correctly...

The stranger seemed to make up his mind and turned before sprinting off, leaving his team behind. Not very honorable of you, human, Polopp observed, returning his gaze to Red sleeping in the cloud and the undead about to arrive. He hiccupped again. Perhaps I shouldn't judge too quickly since I have to run as well!

The gnome then hurried away.

Cold skeletal fingers wrapped around Red's legs as a skeleton began to drag him away. Bones creaked as the other undead surrounded the skeleton holding Red, keeping guard. Clearly, the necromancer in control of them valued Red as a high priority target. The skeletons moved as a unit, walking like puppets on strings deeper into the forest. Some distance away, a balding head of white hair poked from behind a tree.

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Polopp had decided against abandoning such a specimen like Red.

Red's soul situation is too interesting! Polopp thought as he tailed the skeletons. I must find out more. My research demands it! The Soulaway flower that Red had crushed was rare, but still could be bought at a high price. Red, however, was one of a kind. Someone with intruding souls that hadn't gone insane was too enticing of a subject to research and experiment on!

As Polopp followed the skeletons dragging Red away, his mind raced with thoughts of how he could free him and study his unique soul. He knew that Red's soul could hold the key to a major breakthrough in his alchemical work, and he couldn't bear the thought of letting such a valuable specimen slip away. He had to devise a plan to rescue Red and bring him somewhere safe to study him thoroughly.

The stranger stumbled and fell, tripping over his own legs. He quickly sprang back to his feet, but drowsiness began to take hold of him. He recognized the feeling as the effect of Death Sleep poison, which would leave him bedridden for a day if he succumbed to it. He had to keep moving.

Breathing heavily, he removed his mask to get some air. He had narrowly escaped the poisonous cloud, but had to detonate the vial up close to ensure that the young man he was fighting wouldn't evade it like he had evaded the crossbow bolts. The stranger thought back to the young man's evasive skills and gypsy brawler garb, wondering who he was.

An image came to him of three hooded figures lying bloody on the ground.

Kinson and the others, he thought, thinking of his leader and the rest of his group he left behind. They’re going to have to fend for themselves. His brow furrowed. Why did Caden have to go and get tangled up with Badlanders? We tried to warn him it was a bad idea!

As smugglers, they should know by now which clients were too risky. But Caden had allowed his eyes to become larger than his stomach. The four of them had come to rescue Caden once he had failed to return. Caden had always done right by them and never withheld valuable information and jobs, they felt only right to try and rescue him.

That’s what we get for trying to be honorable as criminals, the smuggler thought with a grimace.

The forest thinned out, revealing a vast expanse of grasslands with a solitary dirt road weaving through it. The view cleared, presenting a boundless horizon that spoke of freedom and safety from the dangers lurking in the woods.

However, before the smuggler could bask in relief, a voice called out, "Hail, stranger!"

The smuggler's attention was drawn to a beautifully designed carriage parked outside the forest, which bore the label "Verdinant Transportation Company." Magic sparkled around it, creating a barrier that eventually subsided as a striking young woman emerged. She was clad in silver armor with sage symbols hammered into the metal that shimmered with soft light, giving her an angelic aura.

Her friendly blue eyes shrank as she smiled at the smuggler and said, "Please wait a moment, stranger." The smuggler couldn't help but notice the silver sword at her waist and the shield on her back. "We only want to ask about this forest.”

"I don't know anything," the smuggler responded, his tone even. He had been in the smuggling business for quite a while, and lying was second nature to him.

“What are you doing out here?” another voice asked.

A man with a lackadaisical expression hopped out of the carriage, munching on an apple. He was clad in leather armor with sage symbols, this time made by engravings. A bycocket hat sat upon his head, and slung across his shoulder was a bow, which was hoisted neatly next to a quiver of arrows.

These are not normal people, the smuggler observed.

The smuggler waved dismissively at the bowman and replied, "I was searching for a friend." He knew that the art of lying always involved a grain of truth.

"Did you find them?" the bowman inquired, his face inscrutable, but the smuggler sensed he wasn't convinced.

"Sadly, no," the smuggler replied, "The forest is too dangerous." He gestured towards the woods and warned, "Be careful going in there. the undead have been awakened by someone and now walk this wood.”

The smuggler had offered too many grains of truth to arouse suspicion, or so he thought.

"How long have you been smuggling?" the lazy-faced bowman inquired, crunching into his apple.

“I don’t know what you’re on about,” the smuggler denied, keeping expression neutral.

"Your face is on wanted posters," the bowman sneered, finishing his apple and tossing the core behind him.

The woman sighed, "Why are you already putting him on edge, Mister Welsen? We could've..." but before she could finish, the smuggler had bolted.

As the smuggler sprinted across the grassy field, he felt a watchful eye following him. He knew he couldn't outrun whoever was on his trail, but he had to try. Suddenly, an arrow whistled through the air before it became lodged in his back. He crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

The woman scolded the bowman, "Did you have to kill him?"

The bowman, Welsen, shrugged helplessly and replied, “I just don’t like liars.”

"Go collect his body," the woman ordered, frustrated that they had lost their chance to interrogate the smuggler alive.

Welsen sighed and went to retrieve the smuggler’s corpse.

A man with soft features, wearing golden spectacles, poked his head out from a carriage window, and asked, “Why are we bounty hunting?”

“We weren’t,” the young woman sighed. “I wanted to catch the smuggler to check if he had information on the necromancer, but our archer seems to want to play lawman.”

Sitting in the luxurious carriage, another man, this one with a square jaw and deep-set brow, said, "Let us set off before night falls. It may be superstition, but nighttime is when the powers of darkness become their most formidable."

The young woman nodded and kicked an old man snoring rather loudly. “Dawrite, it’s time to move.”

The old man, Dawrite, snorted obnoxiously like a pig kept from its slop before he finally awoken completely and shouted, “Right away, lady Verdinant!”

“There’s no need to shout…” the square-jawed man muttered, irritated and fiddling with his ears to make sure they weren’t hurt.

Five in total left the carriage and began to journey into the forest.