In a dimly lit chamber, a group of men and women huddled around a cluster of screens that flickered on three of the four walls surrounding them. Dressed in white coats, they scribbled notes on clipboards and debated the events unfolding on the displays. The circles under their eyes spoke volumes about their fatigue; it was clear that they had been scrutinizing the footage for days on end, depriving themselves of much-needed rest.
The absence of windows was evident from the stifling air and the gradual buildup of a musty scent mingled with sweat. However, this detail went unnoticed or disregarded, as the sound of scribbling persisted without interruption.
At the center of the room stood a table, its surface scattered with papers and maps that bore the markings of countless hours of labor. Three chairs were arranged around it, though only one was occupied.
The woman who sat there had short, raven-black hair and wore a silver coat adorned with pins of various colors. With an analytical eye, she scrutinized the map that lay before her, punctuating her observations with glances at her wristwatch.
"Status update," she said, her voice low and commanding.
Without missing a beat, the others in the room sprang into action, as though they had performed this routine a hundred times before.
"Team A and F have entered danger zone green. 4th and 10th km mark."
"Team C ... Failure... Attacked by skeletons and gloomshades. Target achieved: danger zone blue, 8th km mark."
"Team B has reached the 20th km mark of danger zone green. Lost one member to the nightcrawler."
"Team E's location remains unchanged. Danger zone green 17th km mark. Involved in a fight with a group of whispertongues."
Some similar answers were given. The woman's eyes scanned the map on the table, her fingers deftly moving the pins and notes around.
"Inform me in advance if a group is in the vicinity of danger zone yellow," she demanded.
No response was given, nor was one necessary, she knew they followed her every command blindly. Hierarchy was a strict concept drilled into each member of the workforce. The white coats had to listen to the silver coats the same way she had to listen to her superiors, any hint of insubordination was met with severe punishment. But she reveled in the power she wielded. The authority to control their every move.
The short-haired woman continued to examine the geographical map spread out on the table.
The map was a masterpiece of cartography, a depiction of the infamous "Forest of Nightmare" that dominated the land. In the center, a small, nondescript field was surrounded by an impenetrable wall of trees, extending endlessly in every direction. No one knew the true size of the forest, as no one had ever ventured far enough to map its boundaries. The map displayed only a fraction of the forest's expanse, and it would take reams of paper to capture its entirety.
In the upper left corner of the map, the ominous words "Forest of Nightmare" were printed in bold, foreboding letters. The forest was divided into four distinct danger zones, each marked with its own color. The first 29 km of the forest were marked in blue, the following 34 km in green, then another 37 km in dark yellow, and the final stretch in a terrifying red.
As the colors deepened, so did the danger. Those who dared to venture into the forest's heart risked never returning, as the red zone had yet to be crossed beyond the 10 km mark. The map was a warning to all who might attempt to explore its uncharted depths.
Her fingers reached for the pins on the map, each one marked with a letter of the alphabet and a different color. She shifted them, relocating some and removing others. Most were clustered in the blue zone, some in the green, and only one pin remained in the yellow area. But her gaze was drawn to the red zone, the most dangerous of them all.
Two long and restless days had passed since the exploration teams were sent into the "Forest of Nightmare".
The last time they sent exploration teams inside the forest was three fortnights ago, the result? – Total annihilation. The cost was insane, building a group capable of exploring the forest was expensive, no resources were spared in their training. The sudden loss of the veteran teams in one fell swoop was a financial catastrophe from which their branch still had to recover. Though their resources were tight, they still got orders from the headquarters to keep sending teams out.
Were they going for quantity instead of quality? Hoping somehow for another victory like the one they had 20 years ago when they captured a creature? Despite her curiosity, she knew she was not high enough in the organization to understand all its secrets and inner workings.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Although she didn't comprehend the thoughts of those in positions of authority, she also held no interest in them. Her sole desire was to escape this underprivileged branch, perhaps securing a recommendation to the headquarters and enjoying a life of luxury. Was that too great a request?
Lost in her thoughts, she remained oblivious to the faint creak of the opening door behind her. Two figures entered the room, one trailing the other. The foremost man possessed an air of rugged distinction, his features sharply defined, and his azure eyes penetrating. Yet, the weight of exhaustion and the shadow of defeat marred his otherwise striking countenance. Even so, an aura of dominance enveloped him with each step, reminiscent of one who had emerged from a grueling battle. Notably, a jagged, beast-like scar adorned his face, lending support to his commanding presence.
Beside him stood his assistant, a slender and disheveled figure with oversized glasses that almost engulfed his visage, obscuring the weariness in his eyes. Despite his greater height in comparison to his superior, he seemed to shrink in the shadow of the man's imposing demeanor and broad shoulders. The shared weariness etched on both their faces suggested nights devoid of rest.
"Isabell, give me a short report," the man in the black coat said as he strode towards the table.
"Ah..."
Startled, Isabell was forcefully pulled out of her train of thought. She turned her head, following the voice of the man she recognized. The executive chief of this branch, Morend, was walking in her direction, trailing behind him his assistant, Aldir.
Their unexpected arrival could mean only one thing: scrutiny. The frequency of these visits had escalated in recent months, no longer a fleeting occurrence. It was a puzzle with no need for solving; the reason behind these relentless inspections lay in the failures that cloaked their operations.
It was widely understood that if a store owner felt compelled to personally inspect their business, despite having an ample workforce at their disposal, it signified either an exceptionally meticulous nature or underlying issues within the store itself.
In the present scenario, the store had run out of goods, triggering a cascade of consequences. Anger simmered among the customers, while the investors grew increasingly dissatisfied. The employees, burdened by mounting stress, found themselves caught in the crossfire. And amidst it all, the boss embodied a turbulent amalgamation of their collective emotions.
Perhaps, she could use those turbulent times to her advantage. At long last, her chance for promotion had arrived.
Taking a moment to regain her composure, Isabell gathered her scattered thoughts and delivered the requested data in a professional manner.
"Forty-three hours have elapsed since the commencement of our expedition," she began, her voice laced with a tinge of weariness. "Thus far, four teams have been eliminated from the operation, leaving five teams yet to conclude their endeavors."
Her gaze shifted to the scattered notes strewn across the table, her eyes scanning the information before resuming her report. "We have uncovered 26 relics of varying quality, ranging from inferior to mediocre. However, further appraisal is required to ascertain their true value."
The two men, attuned to every word, took their seats beside her, their attention fixated on the pins adorning the map. They studied the locations marked by those tiny markers, seeking patterns and insights hidden within the sprawling terrain.
"The quality of the relics continues to decline," Morend lamented, shaking his head in dismay. "And it's not just the quality; their numbers are dwindling as well."
"I have spent weeks attending endless meetings, attempting to assuage the concerns of the headquarters," he continued, his frustration palpable. "But words alone won't suffice anymore. We need tangible evidence to prove our worth."
"These noble packs are really getting on my nerves," he added with a sigh.
The headquarters were divided into two factions: the noble faction and the non-noble faction. These factions held relatively equal power, with the nobles having a slight advantage due to their financial sponsorship of a significant portion of the organization's expenses.
Being a small branch within the non-noble faction, with minimal yield, one can imagine the immense pressure they faced. To make matters worse, he was a retired fighter, not well-versed in the intricacies of organizational and political matters. During such times, he found his assistant, Aldir, to be a true blessing.
The stress of it all was taking a toll on his receding hairline.
"Isabell, you have been watching these few teams closely. Anything or anyone to pay attention to?"
"Nothing that needs to be mentioned, sir."
Morend sighed deeply. "It's not just the Relics; the quality of the explorers is plummeting to an all-time low," he lamented. "So, four teams are eliminated. What a bunch of..."
However, Morend was well aware that it wasn't solely the fault of their members. Over the past few months, the forest had undergone a subtle yet ominous transformation. The resident monsters had become increasingly fierce and relentless, a phenomenon reported by all branches. Fortunately, the strength of these creatures remained constant; otherwise, casualties would have skyrocketed long ago. This had become the hottest topic of discussion among the experts at headquarters, and it likely reverberated throughout all branches in the three kingdoms.
Morend was about to speak when a sudden interruption pierced the air.
"Excuse me, sir."
One of the white-robed men stood on the opposite side of the table, abruptly halting the conversation. In an instant, all three superiors turned their attention to the unexpected presence, their brows furrowing with curiosity.
"Sir Pandon, Sir Aldir, Miss Isabell..." His voice wavered under the weight of addressing Isabell, an occurrence that rarely took place, let alone reporting to the other authorities. The pressure of their piercing gazes threatened to steal his breath away.
"My apologies for the disturbance... I hope you'll forgive the urgency, but I had to rush..."
"Just say it already!" Isabell hissed impatiently, her eyes demanding immediate revelation.
"Ah yes, I'm sorry ... One team has entered danger zone red ..."