My hands danced through the air, skillfully casting [Twilight Veil] within the recesses of my hood. A subtle manipulation of shadows created a veil of darkness over my features, a mask of obscurity. The beauty of this spell lay in its adjustability – I could control the intensity, allowing for a nuanced approach.

A cloak of darkness that drained mana at a rate lower than my natural regeneration. Perfect.

Once shrouded, I stepped into the armory. The symphony of metal clanging against metal serenaded my ears, accompanied by the enticing scent of heated steel mingling with earthy aromas.

My eyes darted around, quickly catching sight of a burly figure in the back.

But, oh, just as I stepped in, a dazzling collection of finely crafted combat knives, daggers, and short swords captured my attention, rendering me utterly spellbound.

My breath was taken away. Ahh, how it deepened with each passing second.

The allure of finely crafted sharpness.

So many sharp things.

All crammed into one spot.

A rainbow of colors, from black to bone-white.

A smorgasbord of options, from daggers to swords.

A gallery of designs, from unassuming to downright ornate.

Yet, every single one sharing a singular concept—sharpness. A unanimous agreement to slice and sever.

Cheeks blazed with a sudden rush of warmth, blood doing a gleeful sprint through my veins, and goosebumps staging a little dance on my skin.

My hands clutched around me, desperately trying to halt the involuntary shivers of raw, unadulterated delight. My eyes were having a fiesta, savoring the sensation of heaven materializing right here on earth.

Unbeknownst to me, my hands moved. But a gravelly voice, akin to a splash of cold water, yanked me back to reality.

"What's yer business in The Bladesmith's, eh?"

The burly figure, having migrated from the shadows, now played the role of a soot-stained apron aficionado behind the counter. I stealthily adjusted my hood, pulling it tighter, and swaggered up to the blacksmith.

My voice dropped a couple of octaves, transforming me from a refined young lady into a young male ruffian with a casual "Lookin' for a blade, ain't I? Somethin' sharp and deadly."

His bushy eyebrows ascended in suspicion. "A little scrapper like yerself? What kind of trouble ye plannin' to stir?"

"No trouble at all," I shot back, reveling in my newfound ruffian persona. "Just need somethin' to keep the riffraff at bay."

The blacksmith grunted, giving me a once-over with the scrutiny of a seasoned professional. "Alright, let's see what we've got for the likes of ye. Follow me, tough stuff."

My attempt at a rough-and-tumble accent was, let's be honest, a bit cringe-worthy. The blacksmith, already teetering on the edge of suspicion, shot me a look that clearly said, "What in the world is happening here?"

Yet, I soldiered on, because in the grand scheme of things, the goal was to walk away with a dagger or a knife. Or both. A girl can dream, right?

The blacksmith's gaze clung to me like a wary shadow, and I started to question the wisdom behind my disguise choices. Here I was, trying to look like a shady thief, and the darn velvet hood was turning me into some kind of misplaced aristocrat on a quest. (…)

He proudly brandished a hefty broadsword, its blade catching the flickering light of the forge. "This one, perhaps? A brute force kinda weapon, suits a strapping lad like yerself."

Well, this was a surprise. I hadn't specified what kind of blade I was after, and seriously, a broadsword that could double as a small mast?

I battled the urge to shove the same broadsword back up places it didn't belong and steadied myself.

Composure, Eli, composure!

A scoff escaped my lips.

"I ain't lookin' to lug around a slab of metal. Gimme somethin' sleek and quick. A dagger, mebbe." There we go, much better. I could almost pat myself on the back for that delivery.

The blacksmith's eyes narrowed, suspicion etched across his features. Nevertheless, he grunted and gestured for me to follow him to the dagger section.

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"Alright, then, small one. Pick yer poison." Oh, the sweet melody of weapon choices lay before me.

Different daggers, each with its unique inspiration, beckoned from the display.

Simple short-bladed, double-edged daggers to long, straight-bladed dirks.

A bowie knife, with its fixed-blade and distinctive crossguard.

The curved and hooked blade of a Karambit.

The long, slender blade of a misericorde.

Ahh, they were sharp, so very sharp.

My composure started slipping away once again.

The sight of these daggers sent constant shivers down my spine, bursts of serotonin buzzing inside me like a caffeinated bee.

I didn't just want one; I wanted them all.

GIMME THEM ALL!

Little did I know, at that moment, my wallet was quietly sobbing in the depths of my hidden pocket, foreseeing its impending doom.

***

In the dimly lit slums, where mana lamps dared not tread, my trusty [Visionary Mastery] acted as my guide.

Navigating through a labyrinth of ramshackle wooden shanties and meandering alleys, I gracefully waltzed past them.

Laundries that seemed to defy gravity on makeshift clotheslines.

Street-roaming animals claiming territory like budget monarchs.

This part of the county lacked the vibrancy of its more prosperous counterparts. Drunkards and homeless hobos dotted the scene.

Picture of an overall chaotic ambiance.

The olfactory assault on my senses prompted a silent plea for escape. Oh, the sweet smell of not-so-sweet places.

Encounters with potential troublemakers were a dime a dozen, but a single glance from my crimson eyes was enough to send them scampering away, leaving behind the aroma of regret and the promise of laundry duty.

The main barracks area lay to the north, where the expedition eagerly congregated.

My chosen entry point into the spectral glades was a smaller gate, discreetly tucked next to the border.

The slums marked my final obstacle, one I conquered with flair – and okay, maybe a few wet rags, but who's keeping track of minor details?

As the destined gate loomed before me, my hands once again moved, weaving the [Twilight Veil] to enshroud me in darkness.

[Umbral Concealment].

From the perspective of any onlooker, I probably resembled an actual shadow, seamlessly blending into the surroundings as if I were a figment of the night.

The gate was guarded, with at least five knights stationed there.

The structure itself was basic but sturdy – a reliable entrance with a gatehouse beside it, and a heavy, iron-grated portcullis mercifully raised.

Above, the Shadowstep coat of arms proudly displayed a sword behind a curtain atop the crenelations and machicolations.

I practically waltzed past the guards; most of them were engrossed in some juicy gossip session, blissfully unaware of the little shadow slipping through their midst.

With that successful maneuver, I found myself finally out.

There I was, standing on the cusp of the untamed wilderness known as The Spectral Glades.

And what was the first thing I did upon stepping through those gates?

[Fleet Footed Sprint].

I moved.

***

Moonlight, it filters through the dense canopy. Intricate, on the floor, a play of shadows.

Ahh, hear that, gentle rustle of leaves underfoot.

Stay still. Appreciate it. The harmony. The subtle melody, that blends with the distant cries of creatures.

Inhale deeply. The sweet, sweet fragrance of wildflowers. The earthy scent of mossy rocks.

A symphony of scents. How they mingle. Ahh, how they blend.

Listen, to the wind’s gentle persuasion, its whispers.

Listen, to the tales it tells. See, the stirring leaves in its gentle dance.

Ahh, and there it is - the howls, follow the howls.

For the unseen was soon to be seen.

AND KILLED! MAULED! SLICED APART!

WHERE ART THOU HIDING, LITTLE MONSTERS?

….

What the fuck brain?

I quickly caught my train of thoughts, attempting to wrangle them back into some semblance of order.

My mind had sprinted from appreciating the serene beauty of the forest to a full-blown murder mayhem scenario faster than I could keep up.

But, you know, there was a grain of truth in that chaotic thought parade.

Why did I leave my cozy life behind? Was it for the thrill of gaining experience, for unraveling the world's mysteries? Well, kind of. But let's not kid ourselves; the main reason was to put a leash on my increasingly unhinged tendencies.

Lately, the voice in my head that suggested slicing and dicing anyone deemed "weak" was cranking up the volume.

Terrifying, right? So, I figured, let me be my own therapist.

Like telling a cat addicted to salami, "Sure, have a little as a treat, why don't you?"

And thus, this adventure in the safari hellscape became my way of treating my unhinged tendencies.

Maybe it was a tad reckless, but hey, too late to hit the brakes now!

And those monsters, well, they were the mosquitoes of this world – no contribution to the ecosystem, just living for the sheer desire of destruction. Wherever they spawned, they acted like invasive species, wreaking havoc in every environment. Wiping them off the face of the world? Well, nobody would bat an eye.

Mmm, genocide.

In the Spectral Glades, the only reason these monsters managed to escape the confines of the forest was because of its natives – the magical beasts that shaped the original ecosystem of this world. These magical beasts were intelligent enough to fend off the destructive tendencies of the monsters, keeping them at bay.

Now, let's revisit the original purpose of the ongoing expedition – the abrupt disappearance of monster attacks on the borders.

Monsters were a natural phenomenon, spawning almost instinctively.

In the Spectral Glades, they found themselves at the bottom of the food chain, hunted by the magical beasts. When faced with such adversity, the monsters, acting on instinct, sought escape.

And where else would they run to unleash their destructive tendencies but the nearest civilization? Our county. Oh, joy.

Now, with the absence of attacks, it could only mean one thing.

Either the monsters had mysteriously ceased spawning, or they had found a way to coexist within this harsh ecosystem.

Both possibilities seemed equally impossible, but one leaned more toward the realms of fantasy than the other.

As an avid reader of the novel, the truth was apparent to me.

A high-ranking monster had spawned and was now busy amassing its own monstrous army, plotting who knows what.