Aside from showing signs of mental domination from a distance—something that allowed it to kill or control with ease—it was suspected to be at least mid to high Grand-tier.
If that weren’t enough, investigations before it vanished revealed that it commanded dozens of powerful monsters.
No one knew its limits, but its existence could not be tolerated.
The kingdom had no intention of dragging out a prolonged battle.
They wanted to end it in one decisive strike.
But that didn’t mean they could afford to be careless.
Preparations had to be made. Proper ones.
As dusk gave way to night, a quiet order passed through the ranks.
Scouts were selected. Clad in darker versions of their silver armor, they were sent into the forest in staggered intervals.
Their mission was simple: go deep, look for abnormalities, and return immediately with any sign of danger.
“Report anything—anything—you find,” one official barked, his ornate robe barely fluttering in the evening wind. “Even a shift in the air.”
The knights responded with firm salutes before disappearing into the shadows of the forest
Then… nothing.
The first night passed without incident.
Campfires were lit but kept low.
The knights not on watch duty slept in rotation.
Michael didn’t sleep much.
He came out at one point.
Outside, he could see rows of knights seated near the edge of the clearing, quietly sharpening their weapons or tending to their armor.
He didn’t know what he was waiting for.
Maybe a sound in the woods.
Maybe a scream.
But none came.
By the second morning, the camp was already beginning to resemble a small fortress.
Tents had been erected in rows, flags of the Lionheart Kingdom fluttering beside each.
Knights moved with discipline, forming morning lines, sparring in silence, and attending briefings in groups of ten.
Supply crates had been unloaded from one of the auxiliary ships and sorted under the careful supervision of logistics officers.
Each crate was inspected for magical reagents, rations, and potion stocks.
Still, no word from the scouts.
Or rather, they returned, one group after another, with the same report.
“Nothing unusual. No monster.”
It was frustrating.
And worse—it was unnerving.
A creature that powerful with so many mind servants shouldn’t have simply disappeared.
It should have left traces, a trail, signs of movement.
But the deeper the scouts went, the more empty the forest seemed.
Some began to whisper about the possibility of it being gone.
Others suspected a trap.
The second day passed slowly.
Michael stood outside one of the ships that afternoon, watching as a trio of high-ranking knights discuss.
Their words were hushed, but the tension in their posture was plain.
It was obviously about the monster.
It wasn’t just about readiness.
It was about not knowing.
The lack of any contact from the monster was more disturbing than its attack had been.
It was like waiting beneath a calm sky after spotting a distant storm.
You know it’s coming.
But not when.
Or where.
That night, the camp stayed lit longer than the first.
Torches burned with blue flame—enchantments to keep monsters at bay.
A subtle scent of crushed herbs lingered in the air, repelling common beasts.
Michael sat again in meditation.
By the third morning, the patience of the officials was fraying.
The mood in the camp shifted.
The fourth day came and went like the ones before it—quiet, uneventful, and crawling with tension.
Scouts continued their rotations.
Every group that returned bore the same message.
No signs of the monster.
Yet the anxiety never faded.
By the fifth day, the higher-ups stopped pretending.
The camp no longer expanded.
Daily routines became mechanical.
Sentries stood a little stiffer.
Conversations dropped to murmurs.
The only sounds were the shifting of armor, the clink of weapons being cleaned, and the restless pacing of those waiting for something—anything—to break the deadlock.
The monster was hiding. That much was clear.
Worse, it was hiding well. Too well.
Someone pointed it out bluntly in the evening council meeting: “It disappeared the moment we arrived.” No one argued. They all knew it was true.
That was what made it dangerous.
It knew exactly how to avoid their scouts.
That fact alone elevated its threat level higher than any Grand-tier beast recorded in the past decade.
Unfortunately, the kingdom’s forces couldn’t remain encamped indefinitely.
Despite their numbers and organization, they were still human.
Food would run low.
Morale would waver.
And most of all, the Everlong Forest was not a place to linger.
It was ancient, yes, but also volatile.
Its depths were uncharted, and within them lived monsters the kingdom didn’t dare provoke.
The Princess, powerful as she was, didn’t dare push further into the inner regions either. As one official whispered, “If she draws the gaze of a slumbering Great-tier beast while chasing a ghost, the damage will be beyond repair.”
So on the morning of the sixth day, a decision was made.
The kingdom would withdraw.
But they would not leave empty-handed.
Two hundred knights would remain behind. L
At their head stood Grand Knight Verren.
They would serve as the kingdom’s eyes.
If the creature emerged again, they would signal.
If it attacked, they would hold the line.
If it decides to vanish forever, then they would know.
But no one truly believed that.
The monster was still here.
It should be watching.
Waiting.
Perhaps it had seen their scouts.
Perhaps it had even touched the minds of a few from afar—just enough to test its limits, just enough to learn the kingdom’s pattern.
After all, it had already shown signs of mental domination from a distance, something that let it kill—or worse, control—without ever being seen.
And it wasn’t alone.
Before it vanished, the investigations had confirmed it led an entourage of other monsters, all powerful, all unnaturally coordinated. The conclusion was obvious.
This wasn’t a wild beast.
It had some level of wisdom at least.
That night, as the majority of the kingdom’s forces began their slow withdrawal from the forest, a heavy silence hung over the remaining encampment.