Chapter 4

“Anyway, do you know where they came from and where they’re headed?”

“Roughly. Most likely moving from the south to the north.”

From south to north… A vague phrase, but that was how elves tended to speak. And in this forest, there weren’t many other ways to phrase it.

Eldmir furrowed his brow, trying to recall the faint, almost forgotten fragments of his past life. The outline of an idea formed—and when he paired it with what the forest’s memory showed him, he was convinced.

“These guys… they look like defeated stragglers.”

“What makes you think so?”

To her question, Eldmir replied evenly,

“If you go down past the forest, further south, wasn’t there a territory that used to belong to them?”

Eldmir’s village lay on the outer edge of the vast forest where the World Tree stood at its center.

It was so far out on the periphery that people sometimes treated his home as a separate forest altogether. Because of this, they interacted more with neighboring villages than with those deeper inside.

In short, it was a country village.

Through these exchanges, Eldmir had noticed that those elves often had traits quite unlike the ones he knew—chief among them, aggressiveness.

“So they got… well, plundered by our kind—no, invaded—and are now fleeing?”

“Hm?”

Eldmir’s village, though on the edge, wasn’t exposed directly to outside powers. There were other villages acting as the buffer, while his lived in relative safety.

Think of it less as the front line, and more like the rear guard.

Even so, his people weren’t strangers to combat. Being near the frontier meant fights with outsiders were common—though not as relentless as for those truly on the front.

The important thing was this: the World Tree’s forest wasn’t attractive only to elves. Beastkin, werewolves, orcs—tribes considered savage or uncivilized—also coveted it.

In fact, in his past life, when Eldmir played as a werewolf or an orc, he’d received quests to reclaim the World Tree. (For the record, he’d only managed to complete it by resorting to some rather underhanded tricks.)

So, villages near the edge weren’t just settlements—they were like military outposts standing against invaders. Exposure to constant skirmishes had made even elves there surprisingly combative. Sometimes, they even launched preemptive strikes.

He remembered that, in his past life, when he played as an orc near the World Tree, he had suffered multiple dead-ends because of sudden elf raids right from the start.

“Well, isn’t it obvious? You said they’re moving carefully, trying not to provoke us? That’s not politeness—it’s fear.”

―Ho, that makes sense.

“So they’re not just passing through. They’re fleeing…”

Esiria paused in thought, then nodded.

“In that case, we’ll have to hunt them.”

“…What?”

Eldmir flinched at the unexpected harshness in his mother’s words.

“Our kin failed to finish the job. Even if they’re from another village, their duty is our duty too. So we’ll have to clean up.”

“Uh… what about what you just said earlier—about respecting other races…”

“They’ve already been attacked by our people. And if our kin struck first, there must have been a reason.”

That warm, gentle mother of his… was still a Sentinel at heart. For the safety of the village and forest, she would bare her fangs without hesitation.

“And didn’t you yourself say they aren’t truly children of the forest? Then there’s no need to respect them.”

Her emphasis on harmony was surprisingly black-and-white.

Eldmir swallowed that thought and carefully asked,

“Should I come with you?”

He couldn’t imagine sending his mother into danger alone. But Esiria gave him a soft smile.

“You’re not ready yet. Go back to the village.”

“Uh…”

Her firm tone made him falter—until an unexpected ally stepped in.

―What’s the problem? Eldmir’s nearly at his coming-of-age, isn’t he? Better he experiences something like this now than later. He’s not a child anymore.

Esiria turned to her contracted spirit.

“Atir…”

The raccoon spirit continued,

―Besides, he may lack experience, but no one in the village can match his skill. Do you really think fugitives who’ve already been beaten would pose a threat to him?

“Hm.”

As Esiria hesitated, Eldmir glanced at Atir in surprise.

The spirit raised a brow, mouthing silently: Take good care of my contractor.

Ah, so that’s your angle.

Eldmir smirked and mouthed back: I don’t need you telling me that.

She’s my mother—it’s only natural I’ll protect her.

―By the way, one thing I don’t get. Why flee north? They came from the south—shouldn’t they have kept running further south? Why head our way?

“There are orcs to the south.”

―That only makes less sense.

Atir tilted his head.

―So they’re attacked by elves, then flee toward the elves’ forest… just because they fear the orcs more? They’re more afraid of a potential enemy than the ones who actually struck them?

It was a sharp observation, but Eldmir answered plainly.

“Elves kill cleanly. Orcs make slaves. Usually for labor, but sometimes for worse—sex slaves, or just toys until they’re killed. Compared to that, heading north makes sense.”

The east and west weren’t much different either.

―…Hmm.

Other races did enslave outsiders at times, but none so brutally as orcs. That was one of the hardest aspects to stomach when he’d played an orc.

(By the way, ‘Omega World’ was rated 19+ for a reason.)

―So they chose dignity over survival.

“That’s probably it.”

What good is survival if it means slavery? That’s not truly living.

Especially with orcs. In some cases, a swift death was mercy compared to what they offered.

Watching them talk, Esiria finally said,

“Very well. Atir makes a fair point.”

Ah, so that meant…

She looked at Eldmir.

“Er, if things turn dangerous, you must return to the village immediately. Do you understand?”

“Of course.”

If things go south—run.

Eldmir etched it into his heart. He doubted it would come to that, but keeping his mother safe meant being ready for it.

Satisfied with his promise, Esiria smiled softly.

“Then, would you like to try tracking them?”

“If you’ll allow it.”

Just as his archery was unmatched, Eldmir’s tracking surpassed every elf in the village.

Even without brute force, his skill as a Sentinel rivaled veterans—save only for spirit arts, which rejected him for reasons unknown. Yet his latent talent in spirit magic was also top-tier.

Had he not been rejected, he might have been hailed as the next hero capable of summoning the Spirit King to the mortal realm.

Regardless, with maximum potential in every stat and racial bonuses on top, some of his abilities—like archery—bordered on mythical.

That was probably why he’d recently unlocked Blessing of the Forest, a High Elf-exclusive power.

And this was all before even completing his coming-of-age and opening his status window. Even Eldmir himself couldn’t help but wonder what class he’d eventually receive.

He brushed his hand along the ground, feeling for traces. Few footprints remained—deliberately erased—but to him, they were more than enough.

Focusing every sense but taste—sight, touch, hearing, smell—he applied the essence of tracking he had learned from veteran Sentinels.

“They tried to leave no tracks, probably walked barefoot. But the paw prints show clearly… feline shape. Beastkin—catfolk, I’d say. Ah, and here’s a dog. Four cats and one dog? What a strange mix. Hmm… as you said, heading north. Though if they were avoiding orcs, they could’ve gone east… ah, right, they have kin up north.”

As he muttered, Atir stared incredulously.

―You can tell all that?

Without looking up, Eldmir replied, “Yep.”

The spirit edged closer, whispering,

―Come on, admit it. You’re peeking into the Forest’s Memory, aren’t you?

“Forest’s Memory? I could do this long before I ever touched that voyeur nonsense.”

―…You’re probably the only elf alive who’d call the Blessing of the Forest voyeurism, you rebel.

Atir muttered in disbelief.

―Truly, El R’darel must be fickle, to bestow such glory on a brat like you…

Eldmir held back a laugh. It’s just thanks to my maxed potential settings in my past life.

Finishing his examination, he straightened.

“Found them. If we run, we’ll catch up in an hour or two.”

“That’s my boy. Well done.”

“Haha…”

He laughed awkwardly at her doting praise, feeling both warmth and discomfort.

He hated how unnatural it still felt, even though he could feel her love. He told himself he’d eventually adapt to this new family—but memories of his past life made it difficult. Only time could mend that.

After running for a while, a thought struck him.

“By the way… what do you think they did to make our kin attack them?”

Elves rarely left the forest. Even after centuries of warlike strife, they were fundamentally gentle. They didn’t shun combat, but neither did they seek it.

Which meant… if elves had attacked, it had to be one of those rare, extreme cases.

Eldmir’s face hardened.

“…They must have touched something they never should have.”

Among elves, a few things were absolute taboos—foremost being harm to elven children.

Even if not that, it had to be something nearly as unforgivable.

Rage boiled white-hot in Eldmir’s mind. He clenched his teeth.

“Should we pick up the pace?”

“…Yes. Let’s.”

Esiria’s expression hardened as well.

They sprinted through the forest, speed already beyond human limits.

Even with the Blessing of the Forest, maintaining such pace strained them. Yet neither mother nor son voiced complaint. They pressed on.

And at last, when Esiria’s stamina was nearly spent—

“Mother, I sense them.”

“Haah… we’re here, then?”

They halted, catching their breath. Though drained, the forest’s energy would soon restore them.

“Yes. I can feel their presence.”