The Sea of Trees

The Outer Forest.

In this world, the term carried two meanings. The first was literal: the woods beyond a village. The second was a catch-all for every forest that formed the boundary around the lands where humans lived.

When Lee Eunho — Messi — first heard this from his master, the phrase the lands where humans lived had put a question mark in his mind. To resolve it, he first had to understand the shape of ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠this world.

That was the first answer he received when he tried to describe the world he'd come from.

This world had no ocean. The concept itself did not exist, so they did not even know what a sea was.

Instead, there was only the Sea of Trees — a green ocean of forest that completely encircled the space where humans lived. Put simply, humanity was living inside a vast, boundless forest whose end no one had ever seen.

They felled trees, slew monsters, and gradually widened the space they occupied. Along the way, new nations were born, heroes arose, legends were forged, and civilization took shape. The entire history of these people was the struggle between forest and man, nothing more and nothing less.

That they were now deliberately pushing through the Outer Forest toward the Forest of Resentment was, Messi thought, a product of that same history.

Fifty elite knights. Eighty mercenaries. Thirty attendants. Three guides.

For the Outer Forest around Benuda Village, it was the largest force to enter at ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠once in recent memory. Perhaps because of that, the air of the forest itself was trembling.

"It's rather noisy."

"Yes, Young Master. They're keeping about fifty paces back and following us."

"Sir Ramang, wouldn't it be fine to just wipe them out?"

"From what I can sense they seem to just be monsters... and the guides aren't reacting, so it should be safe to ignore them."

"Would those people even notice monsters nearby? It's because we're at our level that we can feel them."

He said it deliberately, loud enough for the guides walking ahead to hear.

When Knight Ramang assessed the young master, he would often say the man was someone whose inside and outside did not match. He was more cautious than anyone, but he never let it show, and would deliberately speak with careless abandon.

Just last night, after dinner, he'd come by to say they needed to be wary of the outlander — that they should prepare more magical armor in case the Forest of Resentment was full of his kind, that they should drag along villagers who could serve as a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leash on him, that they should depart early so the outlander wouldn't even have time to hatch some other scheme.

And now that same man was speaking as if the guides — the outlander included — weren't even worth noticing.

"Sir Ramang, it's better not to react to the monsters following us. Our path simply cuts across the territorial boundary of a monster tribe that lives in the Outer Forest. They're just startled that a human force appeared so suddenly."

"My thanks for putting my mind at ease, herb-gatherer."

"Not at all. If we keep going like this for about five more hours, we'll reach a clearing near the Forest of Resentment. They'll turn back then."

Leto bowed politely to Ramang and Ereb, then ran back to the front of the column.

"Young Master, it would be best to rest once we reach the clearing."

"Very well. We'll need to reveal our destination there anyway — to the mercenaries and the guides alike."

After roughly eight hours of a grown man's brisk walking, they reached a clearing in the Outer Forest, and some hundred and sixty humans settled in to rest. They had set out at dawn, intending to take an early lunch here before finally entering the forest that was their true objective.

The attendants bustled about preparing the knights' meal, while the mercenaries saw to their own food. The guides — Leto, the Village Chief, and Messi — had meant to make do with jerky and dried vegetables, but somehow more and more food kept ending up in Messi's hands.

"Hey, thanks for saving Gaston yesterday."

"We'll be counting on you from here on."

"That Boyle fellow just says 'I can't do it' every day, so we were worried — but having you around helps."

"Does your tribe have some kind of mysterious blessing? If so, lay one on me."

Mercenaries kept coming by to press little gifts on Messi. Part of it was gratitude for saving a comrade. Part of it was wanting to stay on the good side of a guide who could also heal. Discontent with Boyle the healer, and a certain romantic fascination with outlander shamanism, played their parts as well. Either way, it was treatment Messi had no reason to complain about. At the very least, it meant his first impression among the mercenaries had landed as someone quite capable.

Leto, beside him, pretended to relay specific words through hunter's sign language, and Messi smiled and played along.

For the last man in particular, Messi laid a hand on his head, closed his eyes, and solemnly recited the Korean national anthem. By the third verse, the man was in tears. Why, though?

"Looks like you won't go hungry with him around. Isn't that right, Chief?"

"Aigoo. Sure. Must be nice not having to worry about going hungry, you two!"

"Still sulking? Time to accept reality. It wasn't something we could refuse anyway, and besides... the sacrifice of the few for the many..."

"Stop! I was wrong! Please quit that 'sacrifice of the few for the many' crap! How many times is this?!"

Leto had been tacking the sacrifice of the few for the many onto every conversation the entire way here. No wonder the Village Chief was at his wits' end.

"Oh my, look at all this food over here. Mind if I join you?"

"Haha, how could we refuse when a beautiful lady wishes to sit with us?"

The moment the female mercenary captain appeared, the Village Chief's entire face changed. He dropped into a deep, hearty voice and offered up his own seat.

Leto and Messi had the exact same thought at the same instant: I don't want to get old like that.

After the meal, they were drinking a rough tea of pine needles steeped in boiling water when the woman spoke to Messi.

"You'd better be careful."

".....?"

"Young Master Ereb seems very interested in you."

Me? Why?

He glanced toward Ereb, some distance away. A small tent had already been pitched, and he seemed to be conferring with Ramang inside it. Messi turned it over in his mind, wondering if he'd made some mistake, but nothing came to him. Vaguely, he wondered if it was because of his magic.

"I almost broke every promise I made you last night and spilled everything. Ugh, he really knows how to handle a woman..."

The woman flushed pink, pressing and massaging her lower belly. Messi was not so naive as to miss what that meant. The Village Chief's eyes curved with a lecherous gleam, his cheekbones rising.

"I told you it was fine to tell him."

"Hmm... so our outlander friend has never dealt with nobles before, has he?"

It was true. Since coming to this world, this was the first time he'd met nobles and knights.

"I'll give you this: what you said yesterday was pretty convincing. But the more I thought it over, the more I realized you don't really understand nobles. They're not the logical creatures you think they are."

"You think he'll keep you alive no matter what because you're useful as a guide? He won't. Especially not that young master. He's not the type to tolerate a subordinate playing him. Nobles will kill as many people as they please for the sake of their dignity. And would they even care about an outlander's life?"

Only then did Messi realize he'd been interpreting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠nobles through a modern person's lens. These people stood at the very peak of this world's ruling class — a group that decided life and death however they pleased. There had been a reason Boyle had been so terrified yesterday, begging to be spared.

"He might cut off both your arms and still drag you along as a guide. Just because a lowly outlander dared to deceive him. And of course, it could be worse than that."

An awkward silence fell between them when she finished. She seemed to realize how it might have sounded, and added:

"Ah, this isn't a threat. Think of it as advice. Consider it payment for healing two more people besides Gaston yesterday. You're different from us, after all... so if you misjudge even once, it could be that much more dangerous."

The tea's good, she said, and tossed back the rest of her pine-needle tea in one gulp. Messi asked her:

"What's your name?"

"Hoho, finally thought to ask? I'm Ayla."

"Thank you, Ayla. I'll remember the advice."

"Hehe, of course you will. An adult's advice becomes blood and flesh, as they say."

She couldn't be more than a few years older, but the way she put on airs as an "adult" was, Messi thought, rather cute.

"Our outlander friend came from the Forest of Resentment, didn't he? So you know that place well?"

"That's why I got dragged along like this, isn't it?"

Ayla laughed at Messi's blunt reply.

"Give me some specifics. We need to know so we can prepare ourselves, don't we?"

At some point Ayla had dropped the formal speech. Since dawn, maybe? But it felt more like friendliness than disrespect, so he didn't mind. He was grateful for the advice, too. She'd pointed out something he might well have missed. And so Messi decided it would be all right to help her once more.

"How much were you paid to come this far?"

"Oh my. Suddenly talking money... so you're a bit greedy too, huh? But I can't just go around spilling trade secrets."

"That's not it... I'm curious how much it takes to get an entire mercenary company to stamp a contract that sends them into a death trap."

For a moment it was so quiet you could hear a cold wind pass between them.

"Judging by the mercenaries' faces, you weren't dragged here by force the way we were. And from what Gaston said, they even provide settlement support for the families of mercenaries who die — so they care about welfare. That doesn't sound like a place that would cheapen a mercenary's life and throw them into a death trap. So why are you here? You clearly came of your own will."

"Messi's right. That's been bothering me too. The Forest of Resentment isn't a place you go no matter how much they pay you."

"And besides, aren't you the mercenary captain? If you die, who leads the company?"

Messi and Leto were speaking as if her death were already a certainty. Ayla's expression went blank.

"...It's that bad? But that's not what we found when we looked into it. We're not idiots... these are people who know their lives are precious, whose bodies are their livelihood. You think we wouldn't have checked that? Maybe you've got it wrong?"

Leto and Messi looked at each other as if they couldn't believe what they were hearing. Had this woman forgotten why they themselves had been dragged here?

"Shouldn't we be the ones saying that?"

".....Oh..."

Then all this time... we didn't even know we were walking into a death trap?

Ayla felt goosebumps rise over her entire body. She shot to her feet and looked around.

Not a trace of tension on any mercenary's face. Not a hint of worry about dying. Especially after yesterday, when the knights had laid on wine and food to excess and the entire company had partied in high spirits — all the tension had gone out of them.

"Where did you even get your information?"

"...The vice-captain bought it from the information guild."

"And where is he now?"

"At company headquarters..."

On an escort contract, the destination is everything. The entire company's lives hang on where they're going. If you're dealing with information that valuable, you'd think a company would have a dedicated intelligence team. And they'd left it all to one person?

"Why did you leave it all to him?"

"Well... that's how we've always done it....."

Inertia is a terrifying thing.

The Red Fox Mercenary Group in particular had grown from a handful of people into a larger company — the body had gotten bigger, but the systems had never caught up. Without a proper system, a great deal was handled by custom, and as that became the flow of things, nobody felt the inconvenience anymore. It hadn't caused any real problems.

Until now.

"All hands... attention!!"

Ramang and Young Master Ereb emerged from the small tent. Ramang's voice rang out like a bell.

"I will now announce our objective and the formation going forward! The mercenary company and the guides will commit this to memory!"