Chapter 59
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Crunch.
The harsh glare of the late morning sun was oppressive, yet the forest remained dim. Overgrown trees cast long, crisscrossing shadows across the pale ground, creating a gloomy maze.
Winter in the forest was biting cold. Even the gentle breeze carried the chill of ice, slicing against the skin like a blade. The gray robe flapped in the sharp wind, adding to the bleak, dry atmosphere.
Black boots halted in a snowy clearing—Dante’s boots.
Dante stood still, gazing down at the snow-covered ground. His eyes focused on tracks left behind in the snow.
Large wolf tracks, each the size of a human head. Judging by the wide spacing, the beast was massive, likely the size of a small house. Dante’s gaze trailed the tracks forward, noting how they transformed halfway into human footprints.
“You’re quite good at running,” he muttered, staring calmly into the thicket of brittle, dried trees. He knew he could follow and catch up if he wanted to, but today, he wasn’t particularly inclined to do so.
He simply wanted to go home.
Was the woman who loved loitering in bed still lying there? Had she gotten up to eat yet? The curiosity itched at him, gnawing at his thoughts.
To think he now cared whether someone else ate or not. The novelty of this feeling had initially unsettled him, but it had become so familiar it now felt like an old habit. It was fascinating.
She was fascinating.
Why hadn’t magic worked on her when he had tried to crack her skull? At first, he’d suspected another crafty trick by the mages, but as he observed her, it became clear—she was just an ordinary person.
Yet, because of her, the once silent house, where even the sound of falling snow seemed like noise, had been gently and persistently filled with her presence these past days.
She was a small, white mouse of a woman—chatty, wide-eyed, and expressive. She laughed one moment, pouted the next, and her face was a canvas of emotions.
Sometimes she clung to him adorably, making nasal sounds, and then suddenly she’d grow upset, moody, only to perk up again when given cake. Watching her roll her eyes in thought made her look like a tiny, brooding mouse—an amusing sight. Small as she was, she walked steadily, ate and drank with her small mouth—it was a marvel.
Perhaps he’d leave the wolf for another day and head home to feed her. Maybe if he fed her well enough, she’d grow plumper, like a little hamster. It was curious, even worrisome, how the only parts of her body that had any softness were her chest and hips.
Smiling faintly at the thought, Dante turned to leave but froze mid-step. A faint smell wafted to him from afar—the smoky scent of meat roasting over a fire. It wasn’t a smell typical of the forest’s creatures. It came from an intruder.
They weren’t far. Rather than using magic, Dante began walking in the direction of the scent. Soon, the sound of men murmuring reached his ears.
“We’re knights of the royal palace, not laborers. Why do we have to suffer this nonsense? Just because she’s a mage?”
“Stop complaining about the king’s orders. It’s not about the woman—it’s about securing a marriage alliance with a mage family.”
“But doesn’t the mage bloodline take lineage really seriously? I’ve never heard of a mage family proposing a political marriage…”
“Who—?! Who’s there?!”
The men, gathered around a campfire, jumped to their feet, startled. In an instant, their swords hissed out of their scabbards. Dante had appeared silently among them, observing without a word. The men recoiled as they met his crimson eyes, half-hidden beneath the shadow of his hood.
He exuded a natural dominance. Whether it was his predator-like, languid yet commanding gaze or his imposing height and build, there was no mistaking the danger he presented. The knights swallowed hard, instinctively wary.
Dante’s eyes scanned the scene. A deer roasted over the fire, and six or so men stood with their swords drawn, staring him down.
They were ordinary humans.
Judging by their gear, they weren’t lumberjacks—no axes or signs of tree felling. Nor were they hunters—their heavy clothing and long swords were impractical, and there were no bows or crossbows in sight. If they weren’t hunters, then they weren’t taxidermists either, as those usually accompanied hunters.
“We are knights of the Faraway Kingdom! Declare your identity and intentions immediately, or we will strike you down!”
Knights. Dante vaguely recalled hearing of such a profession—those who couldn’t wield magic resorted to killing each other with swords.
They weren’t mages, though, so there was no reason to kill them.
“Why are you in my forest.”
His voice rumbled low, like a beast growling from the depths of its den.
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