The soft morning sunlight filtered through the treetops above. Mortis walked silently behind Garrick, a large, muscular young adventurer built like a true frontline fighter. His face was rugged and covered in a thick beard. He wore crude iron-reinforced leather armor and carried a greatsword strapped to his back. As a cool breeze brushed against Mortis's fleshless body beneath his heavy, dark cloak, he remained silent, blending his presence into the quiet forest around them.
Trailing behind were the undead under Mortis's control—resurrected goblins and a giant spider—moving stealthily at a distance just far enough not to alarm the other adventurers. Mortis was testing his powers, ordering them to scout the nearby forest while maintaining a careful distance.
While the others conversed quietly, only Ryn, the elderly wizard with a long white beard, kept a wary eye on the shadowy figure in the cloak.
"He's never once removed his hood…" Ryn muttered, tapping his staff as he walked along the dirt path. "His movements are far too calm for a normal man. And the way he struck down the goblins from the shadows... It's more fitting for an assassin than an adventurer…"
Ryn glanced around the group before moving closer to Sylwen, a silver-haired elf clad in light, agile attire.
"Don't you find him suspicious, Sylwen?" he whispered.
Sylwen flicked her gaze toward him. "He's helped us many times. Mysterious or not, his skills are clear."
"But mystery can often mean danger…" Ryn muttered uneasily, then turned to Mira, the twin-sword-wielding woman with reddish-brown hair, wearing flexible leather armor designed for swift, dance-like movements.
Mira spun her twin blades idly in her hands and tilted her head. "One thing bothers me. The goblin corpses back at the nest—some looked like they were bitten, others stabbed, and a few even shot with arrows. It was… too diverse."
Sylwen sighed softly, her eyes drifting to Mortis, who remained still and silent.
Evening fell once again, painting the sky in hues of gold and orange. The group set up camp by a small stream, the atmosphere easing.
Sylwen approached Mortis, offering him a piece of bread. "You haven't eaten all day. I know you might not be hungry... but it's good to have something anyway."
Mortis stared at the bread, then took it awkwardly. "Thank you... I'll eat it for the sake of courtesy."
The entire party grew quiet, but deep down, each wondered what truly lay beneath that cloak—yet no one dared to ask, fearing either rudeness or provoking his displeasure.
Night descended. Mortis offered to keep watch with a calm voice.
"I have no need for sleep. Let me handle the watch."
Ryn, still distrustful, cautiously suggested, "Wouldn't it be better if someone kept watch with you, just in case...?"
Sylwen smiled faintly. "I'll take the shift with him."
Under the silver glow of the moon, Sylwen sat cross-legged by a small campfire, beside Mortis, who remained still like a shadow.
"You're quite mysterious. Do you use magic or a blade?" she asked.
"A little of both," Mortis replied vaguely.
"What guild are you from? Is it some organization with strict rules?"
Mortis paused before answering, "Rule number one—never speak of the organization."
"And rule number two?" Sylwen tilted her head.
"Go back and read rule number one."
Sylwen chuckled softly. "You're quite amusing."
The two chatted about the continent of Thai—the land they lived in. Sylwen revealed that she was over seventy years old, though her elven blood kept her looking like a woman in her twenties.
"The north is my home, filled with ancient forests and elves. The south is home to the dwarves. The northeast harbors beastkin, and the center... that's where most humans gather."
Mortis sat silently, deep in thought. "This world has changed far more than I imagined…"
As dawn approached...
While crossing a small wooden bridge over a stream, their steps faltered when multiple figures rose from the tall grasses ahead.
Eight rough-looking men clad in dirty leather armor surrounded them, armed with swords, bows, and one wielding a magic orb.
"Hand over your weapons and valuables, and you can leave without shedding blood," one growled.
Garrick, the party leader, subtly signaled everyone to prepare.
"Eight of them. They're well-positioned. The mage is in the back, guarded by two," Ryn muttered under his breath. "Even if we surrender, they won't let us go easily…"
Mortis twitched his fingers subtly, sending a mental command for his giant spider to sneak behind the enemy lines.
The bandits moved first—arrows whistling through the air, aimed at Sylwen and Ryn.
Garrick moved swiftly, batting the arrows aside with his greatsword. Sylwen retaliated with quick elven precision, loosing an arrow in return. Mira, meanwhile, danced into battle, twin blades flashing like a whirlwind against the front-line bandits.
The clash of steel rang out as the scent of earth, sweat, and blood filled the air.
Ryn began chanting, sending a small fireball hurling toward a bandit trying to close in.
Mortis slipped through the shadows, sinking a dagger neatly into a bandit's ribs before vanishing back into the underbrush. He deftly manipulated the bandits into chasing after him. Moments later, a sharp splatter echoed—a spear launched from the bushes, impaling another bandit.
"Right on time..." Mortis whispered.
From the shadows, his undead goblins surged forward, clashing with the bandits—stabbing, punching, biting, and clawing until the enemies fell one by one.
Steel struck steel, arrows flew, and Mira occasionally took glancing hits, forcing her to retreat, only for Sylwen to leap in and turn the tide.
Mortis quickly regrouped, seeing Garrick locked in intense combat, while Ryn summoned water magic to counter the enemy mage's fire spells. Mira danced around three bandits at once, using trees as cover, moving like a storm.
A loud BOOM! shattered the air as spells collided, erupting in a flash of light.
Mortis hurled a dagger at a rear enemy, then dashed forward to assist Garrick.
"Now's the time..." he whispered mentally—commanding the giant spider to close in on the rear lines.
Suddenly, the spider burst out from the forest, catching the enemy mage and his guards off-guard. Its massive fangs sank into one of the bandits, skewering him before they could react—The spider's thick fangs pierced through the bandit guarding the mage before hurling his body straight into the spellcaster with bone-crushing force.
The enemy ranks broke into chaos.
Some screamed.
Some fled.
Mortis stood with his arms crossed, speaking quietly,
"Looks like it came to help us..."
Everyone turned to watch the giant spider as it slowly disappeared back into the shadowy depths of the forest, leaving behind only silence and a battlefield littered with corpses.
Garrick sighed heavily and walked over, giving Mortis a firm pat on the shoulder.
"I thought you were going to run," he said.
Mortis replied flatly, "I was just... doing what I do best."
They traveled a little farther before deciding to make camp beneath the shelter of a massive tree.
Nightfall crept over the forest, the sounds of crickets and the cool breeze rustling through the treetops filling the air.
Around a roaring campfire, the adventurers sat together, resting their weary bodies after the brutal battle earlier.
Mortis sat cross-legged on an old log, lazily turning a slightly charred skewer of roasted meat over the fire—deliberately aiming the smoke toward Sylwen just a little too much.
"So," Mortis said with a grin, "want to hear how I survived the 'Undead Grove'?"
Sylwen, the elven woman clad in a tight-fitting dark green leather cloak, edged closer to the fire. Her emerald eyes gleamed with amusement.
"I suppose I do... but if you're going to lie, I'll be taking that meat instead."
Mortis burst out laughing.
"Oh, I wouldn't dare lie to you!
At least... not completely."
He tapped the skewer twice against the log and began to speak in a low, playful voice.
"I wandered into that cursed forest thinking—well, that I'd find a shortcut or something.
And then... wham!
Ghouls.
Left, right—" Mortis waved his arms dramatically.
"They were ugly as sin, drooling all over the ground!
I nearly slipped to my death before they could even eat me!"
Soft laughter rippled around the fire.
"And then what?" Sylwen tilted her head, her wide eyes glimmering with genuine curiosity.
Mortis shrugged like it was nothing.
"I fought, obviously.
I grabbed a stick and started swinging it like mad, and then..."
He paused, flashing a mischievous grin.
"They caught a whiff of my glorious scent and ran off screaming."
The campfire erupted into laughter.
Garrick nearly choked on his drink from a bamboo flask, and Ryn, the old wizard with the long white beard, chuckled quietly as he stroked his beard.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!" Mortis raised a hand in mock surrender.
"The truth is... I had some 'old friends' in that forest.
They're not too fond of ghouls.
When I called them, the ghouls scattered like rats."
"Old friends...?" Sylwen arched a brow.
"You mean... that giant spider?"
Mortis feigned surprise.
"Spider?
What spider?
I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about."
He chuckled softly, refusing to elaborate further, leaving the question hanging in the air.
Sylwen smiled faintly and shook her head.
"I don't believe you... but I don't think I want to know the truth either.
It's enough that you came to help."
The warmth around the fire grew a little stronger that night.
The flames danced in the eyes of the adventurers, their quiet laughter and soft conversations blending with the whispering wind—
a small reminder that, even in a world haunted by death, there was still room for teasing, for stories, and for friendship.