They made their way through the outgrowth, their steps inlaid with care. They were cautious, and afraid of what lurked in the dark. This was an unfamiliar place, and to belittle what it held in its depths could spell their fall.

In an arrowhead formation, they pushed forth, slowed to a crawl. And under the ever-present canopy of the forest, they could not help but realized how small they truly were.

Their visibility was ostentatiously dim, as the sun’s light was filtered through the gaps. It made for a solemn but dark atmosphere that stimulated their thoughts, and made them tensed.

They were anxious and had to be wary, for hazy shadows watched them afar. Their baleful and luminous eyes stalked them in the dark, biding their time. The crunching of leaves whispered to them when they moved, as the dark figures followed. They were the wardens of the forest, and they, the intruders.

The party had to be on guard all times, lest they meet an untimely end. And it taxed them heavily, as many of them had just journeyed outside of a town’s walls. But no matter how taxing it was, their determination held strong as the quest was their rite of passage. To fail now would undermine all their past accomplishments. They must not fail.

Half an hour elapsed, and they were approaching the first site. Fortunately, the beasts were kept at bay as their numbers were found lacking. But it was clear they were beginning to grow frustrated at the absence of prey. They growled and snarled with their indistinct forms, preferring to stay where the light did not shine. They craved for a fight and it would not be long until first blood was shed.

The party stopped in front of a dull-red tree that stood taller than the others. Its bark was well-marked with age and scarred it was through the passing of time. The branches also extended further and higher, overlapping the sky in a web of disfigured claws. It was the first site of their quest, and the first Huntsman’s Tree they encountered.

In the past, as the forest was in its infancy, the trees vied with the others for nourishment. They grew, and only had the height of a handful of men. But as time flew by, though no one knew the exact cause, the trees began to grow even more. They had shed off the restrictions imposed upon them and grew beyond their normal height.

But the normal sustenance they had was incapable of supporting their growth. Thus, the trees mutated to adapt. They feasted on the mana in both the air and soil, and lent them the size they have now. The trees of Huntsman’s Copse were oddities.

And among them, some had mutated even further. Those chosen few consumed more mana than the others, and established their rule. They became lords, granting them better figures than their brothers. Through this excessive feasting, it earned them a unique sap which gave them their name.

The sap had color akin to human blood, and was rich in mana. It was used for many things, such as a component in potions or a catalyst for spells. It also had an effect of improving a person’s physique when applied directly, but it had to be diluted first as it was capable of melting flesh. The sap was a unique commodity of Sateya and with its myriad of uses it was acclaimed highly by many.

But the reason for the tree’s name was not because of its convenience to the hunter. Nay, the reasoning was far more primal, something that suited the title of the lord of the trees.

The true reason was…

The party turned their backs at the red tree and took up arms, as more eyes shined in the dark. The beasts were waiting to strike and it only made the party more tensed as they tightened their grips. The battle was nigh.

“Discal, the blades,” said Samuel, watching the skulking beasts.

“Understood.” The scholar brought his bag down and its sheer weight pressed onto the ground, sinking a few inches in. He opened a compartment at the front and revealed a set of three metal slabs with each thrice as wide as a human arm.

He grabbed the handle of one with both hands, and hefted it up. His veins bulged and his feet caved the ground below, but it was not enough for him to concede. He could wield far heavier things. With a soft shout, he handled it as he would with a sword.

When he looked at the blade, his face had the same expression of incredulity as he had first seen it back then. The blade itself was three inches thick, and had a sort of integrated flask running down by the center. It was blunt, save for the tip. But though dull it was, with its size, it was as lethal as a true sword.

Heaving a deep breath, he walked to the base of Huntsman’s Tree, his steps slow and heavy. Arriving shortly, he braced himself and lifted the blade perpendicular to his chest. He breathed, and spoke, “I’m inserting the blade!”

No one answered but the jingle of steel. The others were tightening their guard, and the scholar took it as their assent.

Discal thrust the blade forth with almost all his strength. It met opposition briefly, but it cut straight and through; it had pierced the lord tree. The scholar released his hold, moved a few steps back, and watched as the tree visibly shook. He looked up, and countless leaves fell in droves and blot out the sun. Only one thought flew by as he saw the surrealistic scene.

The tree was in pain.

“The blade’s in!” the scholar shouted as he unsheathed his own sword. He took his bag and joined the formation, with him tasked to support from the backline.

“Ready yourselves!” Samuel shouted as he saw the beasts in the dark growing more agitated as the fresh scent of sap permeated in the air. They thrashed and flailed, throwing huge portions of dead leaves about.

Then, the tree’s shaking stopped, and silence remained. Though the beasts continued their thrashing, no sound came from them as if the world was in a muted state. One of the two notes left was the breathing of the six, as they tried their best to retain their calm. The other note was the soft rustling of the leaves as they fell from the sky.

Time seemed to slow down, and soon, no leaves were left on the red tree. And with only the branches blocking the sun, eerie shadows extended out from the base like black veins scurrying forth. When gazing everything from above, it looked like a wretched eye.

As the last leaf fell to the ground, sound returned to the world.

A beast charged from the shadows and revealed its hideous form. Its head twitched with bloodshot eyes, and had a mouth full of froth. It stood on four hind legs, and a luscious grey coat. When it growled, its teeth were like knives and when it moved, its muscles trembled with strength. As it drew near, it was as tall as a man’s chest and as large as a small horse.

“Direwolf!” said Ronald from the back.

The singular direwolf was met by Kaele as she stepped forth and blocked its approach with her shield. She bashed the beast with strength and the wolf was thrown away like a used rag. It landed with a thump and dragged the ground alongside. It whimpered in pain, but before it could stand back up, a woman with a dagger leapt from Kaele’s side.

It was Miria, and swift as a cat, she used the momentum of her fall to drive the dagger into the beast’s neck. Miria gouged its flesh and retrieved the dagger as it wailed. In a mere second, it laid motionless on the ground as Miria returned to Kaele’s side. The wolf was no more, its blood dying the leaves red.

But as Kaele pulled her shield back, a stray direwolf appeared at her side. In her eyes was a hint of panic as she realized she could not meet it in time. The direwolf pounced at her, and the twang of a bow sounded out. Two arrows struck the stray beast, it yelped, fell to the ground, and died.

“Thanks,” said Kaele as she reformed the main line.

“No problem,” said Ronald lazily as he swept his gaze. His eyes turned sharp, and spoke, “Samuel, to the left!”

Samuel grunted and charged out with a greatsword in hand. He positioned the blade perpendicular to the ground, as if it was a spear. With a shout, the blade pierced the beast and blood gushed forth, covering Samuel’s face. He lifted the corpse with the blade and kicked it away. He recoiled back a few steps, wiped the blood away, and returned to their flank. His visage was a man who thirsted for blood.

Silence ruled the field, save for the breathing of the six. Before them were three dead beasts.

A howl sounded out at first, then came two. Another one howled, and more, until countless chained together into a deafening roar. It shook the air and frightened birds and small animals out of their nests and holes. They fled from their homes, away from the red tree.

Soon, more eyes lighted up in the dark, gazing at them with unbridled hate.

“More of them,” spat Samuel as he fixed his step.

Aberrant beasts had gathered, thirsting for blood and the tree’s sap.