Chapter Seven: The Forest Nymph! The End of an Old Era

The night deepened.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the dense forest, and then a towering figure appeared. He was cloaked in a gray robe, clad in light gray leather chainmail lined with fur, his hands protected by brown bracers and black fingerless gloves, a binding belt wrapped around his waist, and wearing gray leather trousers.

Beneath his hood, a pair of cold, merciless eyes gleamed. When he narrowed them slightly, his pupils shifted, resembling those of a cat but more akin to the legendary dragon’s vertical slit.

This formidable figure seemed to possess an extraordinary sense of smell. Hanging from his waist was a cloth pouch, seeping dark red blood; judging by its shape, it looked like a severed head.

“Magic aura,” he muttered.

Drawing his longsword, he crouched down to examine a corpse on the ground, surprise flickering across his face. “One strike kill? A Frankish flying axe?”

“An expert,” he concluded.

From the ranger’s body, he retrieved a pouch containing food that resembled barley flour. He pinched a bit and tasted it, then quickly drank half of his water flask. Afterward, he emerged from the woods and sprinted down a country lane with agility surpassing that of a barbarian berserker, instinctively avoiding obstacles along the way.

He ran relentlessly.

Eventually, the nimble figure stopped where a flock of crows lingered. Placing his palm on the sword’s hilt, he cautiously surveyed his surroundings before crouching down to search for something.

But it seemed fruitless.

Refusing to give up, he removed the cloth pouch from his waist and took out a gruesome head, covered in black spiky hair. Striking it open with his longsword, he extracted a small lump of dark yellow, grease-like substance. After tinkering with several bottles and jars, he drank the concoction. Instantly, his eyes transformed into vertical dragon-like pupils, tracking traces invisible to mortal sight until he reached the riverbank.

“Crow Queen—Triss,” he whispered, turning sharply toward a group of crows perched on a nearby treetop, his expression grave. “I never expected to track one of the founders of the witches’ coven.”

The ground trembled faintly.

In the distance, the thunderous gallop of warhorses echoed—hundreds of riders.

The fierce figure hesitated briefly but chose to evade and retreat. Though his personal combat prowess was formidable, he was no match for an army. A handful of soldiers were insignificant, but facing a dozen or so was taxing. If caught by a well-organized squadron, he could easily be surrounded and killed.

Facing hundreds of cavalry directly, he would be trampled into a bloody pulp.

The moon rose, tinged with a pale red—an ominous hue.

The caravan abandoned their cargo and hurried through the night, finally reaching a resting point before darkness rendered travel impossible.

Duncan remained vigilant, feigning sleep. The group rested only three hours before setting off again at dawn. Some wounded had already lost consciousness, placed weakly on carts, their breaths shallow—how long they could endure was uncertain.

At last, on the afternoon of the second day, the caravan spotted a small town from afar.

Upon inquiry, they had arrived in Pannonia, a northern province.

For Duncan, it had been only three days of fleeing, but for the other refugees in the caravan, it was a grueling five days. Many wept with relief at their survival.

The guards escorted their leader into town to urgently seek a healer.

Some wounds had been merely bandaged and had now festered; the leader’s blood loss was severe. Without prompt treatment, death would likely come within days.

After the Empire conquered the northern barbarians, it absorbed some of their cultural traditions.

Northern herbalists were unparalleled within the Empire, their medical skills far surpassing those of other regions. They were the descendants of Celtic priests—the legendary Druids. Though the Celtic tribes had waned and the Gaul regions were largely assimilated by the Empire, their herbal knowledge endured through physicians.

Today, the Empire’s “barbarians” primarily referred to Germanic peoples. The Western Germans were “civilized barbarians,” having been under imperial rule for centuries, forming five major tribal coalitions. The Northern Germans, settled in colder climes, remained “wild barbarians,” frequently raiding imperial borders.

Beyond these major groups, numerous tribal factions existed, but the Empire’s cultural arrogance branded most neighboring tribes as savages.

Among barbarian mercenaries, Franks were the most formidable fighters.

At its height, the Empire deployed 36 legions—nearly 300,000 soldiers—to wage conquest wars against surrounding barbarians, integrating many into imperial culture during the reign of Constantine I. Large numbers of barbarians migrated into the Empire, becoming the backbone of its armies after assimilation.

Currently, most effective imperial legions were led by barbarian commanders.

The Empire’s legitimacy lay with the barbarians.

Centuries of corruption from top to bottom had weakened the Empire, which no longer possessed the ambition or valor to conquer continents.

“This place might very well be Earth from a parallel universe,” Duncan thought as he entered the town and saw the church’s crucifix. Polytheism had long since vanished; the Empire’s official religion was now Catholicism. The witch hunts had originated with the Church—not initially targeting witches but all pagans, including the Empire’s former polytheistic faith.

Since the Edict of Milan, over a century ago, monotheism had dominated, and polytheism faded away until the last altar was dismantled.

Many priests from the polytheistic era were judged as practitioners of witchcraft, marking the early onset of the witch hunts.

Simply put, it was a campaign to unify faith by razing temples and eradicating all remnants.

From then on, rumors of supernatural powers dwindled.

The group found an inn to rest.

Everything here differed greatly from Duncan’s memories of Earth, but he needed more information to understand.

Alma Gong busied himself attending to everyone, to the point Duncan felt sorry for him. Tossing two silver coins his way, he sent him to find a healer for an arrow wound in his rear. Despite the injury oozing blood, Alma gritted his teeth and served faithfully like a loyal dog.

After resting in his room, Duncan began organizing his spoils.

He couldn’t carry much—mostly coins. Since Augustus’s era, the Empire had established a three-metal currency system: gold, silver, and copper. The most common were denarii silver coins, supplemented by smaller silver coins. Early denarii bore various designs, but later featured Augustus’s portrait on the obverse and a triumphal arch on the reverse—the most common type now.

He possessed 6 gold, 56 silver, and some copper coins.

One gold coin came from a sinister knight, three from barbarian deserters, and two were found on the ranger. One gold coin bore the image of a bearded man wearing a crown—possibly from Mesopotamia.

Most silver coins were denarii, with a few foreign coins from the ranger’s belongings.

Clinking coins, Duncan pocketed his entire fortune.

Since arriving in town, meals had improved. The staple was dry bread resembling baguettes, originating from Frankia, served with smoked meat vegetable stew and a small sausage. Lodging and three meals cost two silver coins per day—silver’s purchasing power seemed rather low.

After all, an imperial infantryman earned only about 225 denarii per year.

Years of continuous warfare meant many soldiers never received their pay; few remained loyal to the Empire.

“The silver content seems low; this Empire’s doomed!” Duncan chuckled, examining a silver coin before tossing it back. He wasn’t a meticulous accountant; if the Empire fell, so be it. It relied on barbarian troops now, and when they abandon it, collapse would be instantaneous.

Night fell.

Duncan sat cross-legged, meditating into a god’s-eye view, pondering any undeveloped abilities of his newfound powers.

He understood that his soul was bound to a void dimension, while his earthly body was the key to entering the real world. If the earthly body died, his soul would slumber indefinitely within the void—perhaps forever.

He felt his soul was that of an ordinary man; his earthly vessel was a vital tool.

His consciousness entered the void.

From the god’s-eye perspective, every inhabitant of the town was marked. The most conspicuous was the witch in the room next to the inn—her skull icon shining like a world-class boss moving about.

Other units were scattered across the map, many one-star marks and a two-star unit labeled “Retired Centurion.”

Curious, Duncan observed the town’s intel through this divine vantage point.

Suddenly, at the map’s edge appeared a striking golden three-star unit. Dressed neatly in a hooded cloak and chainmail, bearing a longsword on his back, he silently scaled a wooden wall into the town.

—Demon Hunter (Dragonblood) [Neutral Unit]!

Hiss! The three golden stars gleamed brilliantly.

From a medieval strategy game perspective, this was an elite unit, capable of soloing a squad of soldiers. As for the witch in the caravan, she was undoubtedly a hero unit, with unfathomable power—the strongest supernatural being Duncan had encountered so far.

“Seems all these supernatural units are neutral factions.”

“Do they keep their distance from the mundane world?”

Duncan scrutinized the hunter’s equipment through god’s-eye view, confirming he carried only one sword, not a pair of silver and steel blades.

His strength was formidable.

The hunter roamed the town like an assassin: sprinting, leaping, grasping eaves, performing a 180-degree turn, and vaulting onto rooftops in an instant with powerful core strength.

Such acrobatics were beyond ordinary men.

The hunter approached the inn but hesitated in an alley. Duncan zoomed in and brightened the view, noticing the hunter weighing a money pouch, then turning to slip into a nearby shed, lying down on a haystack in the livestock stable.

It was near midnight; lodging was costly. Judging by his actions, Duncan guessed he was conserving money or perhaps surveilling the vicinity.

“Denarii have depreciated so much even demon hunters are broke?” Duncan smirked.

Truly the Empire.

A faint sound came from next door—the witch’s marker moved. She stepped out, paused briefly in the corridor, then silently stood before Duncan’s door before slipping quietly outside.

“Should I follow and see?”

The witch had left the inn; Duncan hesitated then followed.

With god’s-eye view, he needn’t trail too closely—just stay within map vision. The witch likely couldn’t detect him.

He controlled his avatar silently, trailing about 150 meters behind.

The demon hunter on the haystack sprang up.

“Such keen senses?” Duncan tensed.

Yet from the divine vantage, the hunter also crouched and stealthily followed, maintaining a 50-meter distance, moving cautiously as if afraid of being discovered.

It was a one-on-one chase.

The witch moved without a sound, like a ghostly drift. Without his powers, Duncan wouldn’t have noticed her. The demon hunter failed to track her but sensed Duncan’s footsteps, indirectly following the witch’s trail.

“What is she up to?” Duncan wondered.

The witch departed the town and entered the dense forest. Without god’s-eye view, Duncan would have lost her long ago.

How far they traveled was unclear; moonlight spilled from above.

Ahead stood a towering oak.

Through the divine perspective, the witch removed her mask, revealing a stunningly eerie beauty—almost inhuman, like a legendary succubus. Her exposed neck and collarbone were porcelain-pale, emitting a faint glow—the sort of skin even the most pampered noblewomen of the time rarely possessed.

“Great Priestess, save me!”

At that moment, a hazy apparition appeared in a clearing—a beautiful woman’s silhouette. Emerging from the oak’s shadow, she knelt before the witch, begging, “Save me!”

Huh?!

Duncan’s pupils dilated.

—Forest Nymph (Dryad) [Neutral]!

In Greek mythology, forest nymphs or dryads were young, beautiful nature spirits dwelling on mountaintops, springs, rivers, or within trees. They symbolized the irrational animalistic side of human nature. Legend held that every oak housed a spirit communicating divine oracles to humans through the dryads.

Another supernatural unit.

But with only a one-star mark, her combat ability was likely modest.

The witch frowned slightly and shook her head. “I am not a priestess.”

“The era of priestesses is over.”

As the dryad showed a hint of sorrowful despair, the witch softly asked, “What danger have you encountered?”

Grasping at her last hope, the dryad’s voice was mournful. “Witch hunters! The Church’s witch hunters! They seek to exterminate us all! A very powerful witch hunter has arrived here—there’s no way he will spare me! Please, save me!”

Upon hearing this, Duncan instinctively glanced back at the demon hunter trailing behind. After entering the forest, the hunter had lost Duncan’s trail by one or two hundred meters but was adept at tracking and slowly closed in.

Yet it seemed the hunter had misread the trail, bypassing Duncan to head directly toward the witch.

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