Dappled sunlight fell through the forest canopy. Even at midday in midsummer, little warmth remained after piercing the unusually dense foliage. Within the Demon Domain Forest, even near the edges, perpetual damp chill prevailed.

Some thirty knights moved silently through the woods. Most wore fine half-armor, gripping gleaming halberds, while roughly half bore longbows slung across their saddles. This was Rogue’s "Dragon and Beauty" mercenary group. Having traveled over two hundred miles from the bandit- (or perhaps mercenary-) held Cyrus Castle, Kait, with his modest military experience, had plunged the company deep into the Demon Domain Forest. After a day of grueling march along the forest fringe, the mercenaries were now less than a hundred miles from their target. The journey had been smooth, encountering no vicious magical beasts, as they stayed near the forest's edge.

The terrain around Cyrus Castle was mostly low hills, though surrounded by mountains. Its remoteness, barren resources, and Ophirock’s deliberate neglect had left the castle unchallenged for half a year after its occupation. Only the common folk of the surrounding regions suffered. But this intelligence was already outdated; Rogue’s party ultimately relied on Ophirock’s provided map for their reconnaissance.

By afternoon, the mercenaries estimated they were within seventy miles of Cyrus Castle, approaching the patrol range of the enemy cavalry scouts. At Kait’s command, they widened their formation, advancing cautiously. Four seasoned mercenaries dismounted and swiftly began scouting ahead.

Positioned slightly toward the rear of the formation, a black half-armor clad rider was Rogue himself—the portly fellow with singularly un-mage-like inclinations still clutching a short battle-axe. The axe, true to the "Hammer of the War God" brand’s ornate tradition, displayed elegant lines bordering on daintiness. Magical inscriptions adorned its back, while a rare black crystal was prominently set into the haft. Fraggio, ever venomous, had remarked after first seeing Rogue’s getup: "I don’t find battle-axe-wielding mages particularly amusing."

Most mages, long buried in arcane tomes and exposed to various harmful substances (most parts of magical beasts being somewhat toxic to humans), possessed little physical stamina. Heavy armor would be a crushing burden. Moreover, metal was proven to severely interfere with mana gathering; even standing still, a mage clad head-to-toe in plate would face over fifty percent chance of spell failure—a life-or-death matter in combat. Neither issue troubled Rogue. His mental energy was so vast that channeling his meager magical power was effortless. Whether due to bodily alterations or not, Rogue experienced minimal resistance when drawing mana through metal; even encased entirely in metal, his meager power—barely sufficient for third-level spells—could still cast magic.

Since entering the Demon Domain Forest, Rogue had often felt dazed and disoriented. To his eyes, the world frequently flattened into layered paintings; strange shrieks echoed constantly in his ears. Bewildered, he gazed around as if standing before a colossal landscape painting, repeatedly tempted to pierce the canvas with his battle-axe to see what lay behind. He seemed to see Kait approaching, shouting something, but Rogue felt like a fish underwater, seeing only the lips move without catching the words.

Rogue shook his head vigorously. Like shattering glass, the flat world fractured. Sound and color flooded back. "Rogue!! What’s wrong with you?!" Kait shook him hard. "I’m fine. What happened?" Rogue felt exhausted, as if he’d just ridden hard. Kait studied him for a moment. "We’ve spotted the enemy patrol’s trail. We should ambush them here and snatch a few for questioning."

Kait found the patrol’s tracks only ten miles from the forest’s edge. Clear hoofprints, fresh mingled with old, indicated a group of seven or eight. The trail suggested such patrols frequently used this path—likely one they’d created themselves.

As dusk fell, the mercenaries set traps and rested overnight in the woods. At dawn, Kait posted fresh scouts near the forest edge while the others continued resting. With most possessing extremely limited military knowledge, they didn’t truly know how to lay an ambush. Fortunately, several hired mercenaries understood the craft well enough that their arrangements looked reasonably professional.

The previous night, Rogue’s party had debated late into the night. They suspected this patrol wasn’t ordinary; otherwise, the two elite scouts sent ahead wouldn’t have vanished. But beyond strengthening precautions, they’d reached no conclusions.

Restored by a night’s sleep, Rogue gently stroked a green ring on his finger. Softly chanting an activation incantation, he formed a small, unassuming light orb that gradually ascended into the sky. Directing a thread of mental energy into the orb, Rogue gained a secondary perspective as the orb stabilized about ten meters above the ground. The Wizard Eye spell, though not highly advanced and capable of remarkable duration, was a convenient reconnaissance tool. Its major flaws, however, were equally stark: the mage had to constantly focus on it, making it impossible to maintain during combat. Worse, the spell’s mana signature was easily detectable by other mages, often revealing the caster’s position—a potentially fatal vulnerability.

A clear birdcall sounded from the forest edge. Mercenaries sitting on the ground sprang up, slipping into their ambush positions. Their horses had been stabled five miles away; cavalry was useless in dense woods. As calm hoofbeats grew distinct, the hands of the disgraced nobles grew clammy. This was no tavern brawl; this was the real thing. Rogue remained still, observing through the Wizard Eye. Naturally, he’d positioned himself comfortably high in a leafy tree.