"I've faced down evil gods, cultists, Cursed Items, and all manner of malice, and none of them could kill . How can I let myself die here?"
Jenkins desperately racked his brain for a way to escape. To die on a mission for the Church, or even in a fight against another person—that would have been a worthy end to this second life. But to perish so wretchedly in this godforsaken place... he couldn't stomach the thought.
"Burn down the forest?"
He considered it. Since the Treasure Elf's existence was tied to the forest, destroying the forest would surely make it disappear. With his life hanging in the balance, Jenkins had no ti for morals or laws.
The problem, however, was that the forest was vast. A recent snowfall had left the trees and ground thoroughly damp, making it impossible to start a wildfire. His [Inexhaustible Fire] wasn't an ordinary fla; it could only apply a "burning" state to objects, and its maximum area of effect was no more than three tis the surface area of his own body.
He had only just confird that yesterday while giving Chocolate a bath.
"Destroy the treasure beforehand?"
That was another possibility. The trigger for the Treasure Elf's deadly curse was the discovery of the treasure. But Jenkins had no idea which treasure it was leading him to, nor could he find anyone to help.
He was already beginning to regret not letting Chocolate go for help. It had been a grave miscalculation. But even if the little cat had gone, given her speed, she wouldn't have been able to return with reinforcents in ti.
The elf continued to circle him, letting out a soft, unsettling giggle. The temperature had plumted to a frightening degree, far colder than it should be for this ti of year. It was forcing Jenkins to move from this spot.
He summoned a layer of his [Inexhaustible Fire] between his skin and his clothes, and his body ward slightly. Jenkins's eyes scanned the glowing points representing his abilities. Holding his breath, he first offered a quick prayer to the Sage, then focused his mind, attempting to activate [The Unknown Path].
His head buzzed for a mont, and then his entire body relaxed. A smile slowly crept across his face as a purple line materialized before him, stretching deep into the woods. He let out a long sigh of relief, and not even the shirt sticking unpleasantly to his sweaty back could sour his mood:
"Excellent. Looks like I'm not going to die after all..."
He muttered to himself, pushing the sudden, inexplicable mories of Papa Oliver and Hathaway from his mind. He turned, gathered his backpack from the ground and slung it over his shoulder, then picked up the cane leaning against the tree, along with the brown, wide-brimd hat hanging from it, and set off in the direction fate had shown him.
Sure enough, as soon as he was a certain distance from that tree, the surrounding temperature quickly returned to normal. Jenkins had worried that the strange, targeted nature of the A-11-02-3219 phenonon would interfere with [The Unknown Path], but it seed the power of destiny was stronger than the influence of this Cursed Item.
He pressed deeper into the forest. The damp air and rotting leaves made the ground feel like a soft carpet, giving him the unsettling sensation of being swallowed by the earth with every step.
This forest was ancient, but being so close to the city, Jenkins—a local himself—had never heard any fantastic legends about it. His encounter with A-11-02-3219 was simply a case of terrible luck.
Using his cane to push aside the undergrowth, he let a stream of fire flow from his sleeve, incinerating a black insect that had landed on the back of his hand, leaving not even ash behind. Late autumn was still a season teeming with insects, especially in a damp forest like this.
The purple line led straight to a wooden cabin nestled in a dense part of the woods. It was a forester's hut. They would occasionally venture deep into the trees to patrol, hunting for illegal loggers and poachers. If they couldn't make it out of the forest by nightfall, they would rest in a place like this.
He was deep in the forest now, in a place even the foresters themselves likely visited only a few tis a year. The wooden cabin before him was utterly dilapidated. The base of its timber walls was being eaten away by moss and so other unidentifiable, repulsive sli.
The wooden windows had been completely boarded up from the inside, likely to protect any ergency supplies left within from wild animals. The door was fastened with a thoroughly rusted iron chain.
He didn't approach recklessly. Instead, he activated his special sight to survey the area. Just as he suspected, a faint red spiritual aura pulsed across the cabin's walls, door, and windows, ebbing and flowing like a tide. It was clear evidence that an Enchanter had perford a ritual here. This cabin was the destination his fate had pointed to.
"So, an Enchanter has been here," he thought, "and they clearly didn't want any visitors..."
He reasoned that since he couldn't see the tell-tale cluster of lights that signified an Enchanter, nor the aura of any special items, the one who perford the ritual must have already left.
The aura was extrely faint, which suggested the ritual had been set up at least a week ago for the spirit to have dissipated to such a degree.
He hesitated for a mont. Just as he was about to step forward, the Treasure Elf that had been trailing him with its mind-numbing giggle suddenly darted past. With a flick of its wings, a black aura shot out and collided with the red glow. The already-faltering light of the ritual was instantly extinguished.
Jenkins eyed the ugly little creature with suspicion. According to the records, when a lured traveler is prevented from advancing by so obstacle, the Treasure Elf will intervene to help. This was one of the reasons the image of 'little sprites' had been so romanticized in the fairy tales of ancient epochs.
This confird it: the cabin was indeed in the direction of the treasure, and very close by. The A-11-02-3219 believed he was on his way to find it.
Once the aura had vanished, Jenkins, his black boots sinking slightly into the soft earth, approached the wooden door.
"Hah!"
He drove his fist into the corroded lock, using his [Frost Punch] to rapidly cool the tal. At the sa instant, a jet of fla shot from his other sleeve, superheating it. Once the thermal shock was complete, he quickly pulled a sharp butcher's knife from his pack and struck the lock three tis. The chain clattered to the ground, coiling like a snake and gouging a small pit in the soft earth.
He pushed the door open. The interior was filled with the foul stench of decay. There were no gas lamps on the walls, naturally. The only intact objects he could make out were a few simple iron hunting tools piled in a corner.
Reviews
All reviews (0)