Charles' gaze dropped, his expression darkening further. "He grew restless. He wasn't content to stay here, hidden away in this forgotten place."
"He wanted more—needed more. He wanted to see the world, to explore what lay beyond the horizon. No one could blame him, but we all tried to convince him to stay. His family begged him. We told him about the dangers out there were far greater than anything he'd faced here. But he wouldn't listen. His mind was made up."
The room felt heavy with silence as Charles paused, gathering his thoughts. His voice trembled slightly when he continued.
"When he left, he didn't go alone. A group of warriors followed him—his friends, his admirers, those who believed in his dream. A dozen of them, all young, all brave, all strong for their age. They set out together, full of hope and ambition, determined to carve their names into history. For weeks, we heard nothing. Months passed, and we began to fear the worst. But then…"
Arthur leaned forward slightly, his sharp gaze locked on Charles. "Some came back? " he guessed, his tone quiet but firm.
Charles nodded, his face pale. "Yes. Just one. Not the prodigy, but one of his followers. He came stumbling back into the village one night, just before the gates closed. He looked... wrong. His face was gaunt, his eyes hollow. His clothes were torn, his armor shattered. He was bleeding, limping, a dead man walking."
Arthur's jaw tightened as he listened, the weight of the story sinking in.
"The guards brought him in," Charles continued, his voice shaking now. "We did everything we could to help him. Treated his wounds, fed him, tried to get him to talk. But he was… hysterical. Rambling. His hands shook constantly, his eyes darting around like he was being hunted. He couldn't sleep, couldn't rest. And the only thing he kept muttering, over and over again, was 'the shadows.'"
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "That's the reason you came to know of the Forest of Shadows," he said softly.
Charles nodded, his gaze distant. "Yes. He called it that, though I don't know if that's its true name or just what he named it in his fear. For days, we tried to get him to explain what had happened. What he'd seen. What had killed the others. But he was barely coherent. He spoke of... figures. Moving in the darkness. Watching, waiting, always just out of reach. He said the forest itself was alive, twisting and shifting to trap them. And then…"
Charles hesitated, his voice dropping to a whisper. "He mentioned the prodigy. Said he'd sacrificed himself to save him. That the shadows had closed in, and the prodigy had stayed behind to hold them off. To give him a chance to escape."
Arthur's expression darkened further, his thoughts racing. "What happened after that?"
Charles swallowed hard.
"Right here in this village. A few days after he returned. His body gave out, and we buried him with the others we've lost over the years. We never learned the full truth of what happened in that forest. All we have are his broken words and the nightmares he left behind. No one has dared to go near it since."
Arthur leaned back slightly, his sharp gaze locked on Charles. "And you've just left it alone all this time? No one's even tried to investigate?"
Charles shook his head firmly. "No Protector, we are too weak. The average level of people in this village is around 8 and the highest is around 13. So to us, anything after 50 kilometer radius is a death zone. Everyone knows that. The moment you step into it, you're as good as dead. Whatever lives there... it's beyond our power."
"What do you think is in that forest?" Arthur asked after a moment, his voice low.
Charles hesitated, his eyes glinting with fear. "I don't know. And honestly, I don't want to know. Some things are better left alone."
Arthur nodded slowly, his sharp gaze meeting Charles' still-widened eyes. "Alright," he began, his tone calm but firm, "we'll proceed with a few things to help improve the village. There's no time to waste, so let's get started."
Charles straightened in his chair, visibly still processing the earlier conversation, but Arthur was already moving forward. With a casual flick of his hand, he opened his inventory, and in an instant, the room was filled with the soft clinking of metal.
A massive pile of equipment materialized on the desk and floor—helmets, chest plates, gauntlets, boots, and weapons of various shapes and sizes. All glowing faintly with the shimmer of uncommon-grade quality. The sheer quantity was overwhelming, enough to outfit an army several times over.
Charles' jaw fell slightly, his breath hitching. "Protector," he began, his voice a mix of awe and disbelief, "is this… all for the village?"
Arthur nodded. "Take it," he said simply, as though he hadn't just dropped enough equipment to arm every capable person in the village. "This should help kickstart the recruitment process."
Charles stared at the mountain of gear, his hand trembling as he reached out to touch a finely crafted chest plate. It was far beyond anything most villagers had ever seen, let alone owned. In the entire village, uncommon-grade equipment was a luxury that only a handful could afford. To see such an abundance laid out so casually was beyond comprehension.
"This... this is incredible," Charles murmured. "I don't think you realize how much this means to us. Only our guards are able to use uncommon items. Protector, this is—"
Arthur raised a hand, cutting him off. "It's nothing compared to what we're aiming for," he said. "Now listen closely. Here's the plan."
Charles nodded quickly, focusing entirely on Arthur's words.
"First," Arthur began, gesturing toward the pile of equipment, "we'll start the recruitment process. I want you to gather all the young villagers who want to change their lives—those who have the drive to fight, to improve themselves, and to protect the village. Age doesn't matter as long as they have the spirit for it. And when I say young, I mean anyone old enough to hold a weapon."