At dawn the next day, the cold mist began to fade, slowly retreating before the gentle advance of early light, leaving behind dewdrops that shimmered like jewels on the leaves. The trees, which had resembled dense walls of darkness, gradually regained their natural appearance, shedding their towering silhouettes and allowing rays of light to weave through their tangled branches. Threads of light descended upon the young man's face, revealing features worn by fatigue, as if exposing the toll taken by a long night of endless walking.
Parts of his clothing were torn, hanging loosely from his body like spectral rags, soaked in dry mud and stained with patches of dirt and clinging grass. Scratches marked his face—traces left by thorns and sharp twigs, remnants of a recent struggle. His left arm was bound, wrapped in herbal straps he had crafted himself, with a sturdy vine tied over his shoulder to support the limb, granting it some stability and relief.
He had pressed on quickly through the night, determined to put as much distance as possible between himself and the danger behind him. It wasn't just fear of the giant that pushed him forward, but also the belief that the forest could harbor creatures far more formidable. His light load aided his movement; he carried only a small bag containing a bottle of body wash, a few small cartons, and a single water flask—barely enough for a short journey.
The change in environment around him was unmistakable. The trees appeared smaller, no longer resembling the massive ones he had previously encountered. The ground had grown more uneven and rugged, while the tree branches were more spread apart, allowing the cool breeze to flow freely, carrying with it a fresh, cleaner scent, far removed from the stifling odor that had plagued him deep within the forest. Even the sounds had changed—life had begun to stir again around him. Birds chirped between the branches, and small creatures moved nimbly through the grass. This relative shift gave the young man a sense that the immediate threat had lessened, though he did not allow himself to fully relax.
After hours of walking, his throat grew parched. He retrieved the water bottle from his bag and hesitated for a moment before drinking—uncertain how much farther he had to travel before finding another water source. He sipped sparingly and continued walking, alert to every movement, every whisper. The light had not long illuminated the path around him when a new glow appeared ahead—not just a faint glimmer, but a radiant shimmer, glowing clearly like a gate to an intriguing unknown.
He stared at the light with weary eyes, but the hope swelling in his chest dispelled the exhaustion. Hope that somewhere on this planet, humans might still exist—an idea reinforced by the hateful words of the ogre he had encountered. Cautiously, he stepped toward the emerging light, and when he finally crossed through it, a cold breeze swept across his face. The air was breathtakingly pure, devoid of the acrid scent that had haunted him before. He inhaled deeply, as if drinking the very air itself, filling his lungs freely. He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the sensation wash over him, then opened them to behold the view ahead: vast green plains stretching endlessly once more.
He felt a hint of disorientation gazing at the endless expanse, yet he began to unwrap the vine binding his arm. He flexed his fingers one by one, testing their strength before clenching and opening his fist several times, sensing the return of vitality to his muscles. He rotated his wrist slowly, then his elbow, whispering hoarsely—a blend of fatigue and relief in his voice:
"Seems it's healed quite well..."
He lifted his head and gazed into the horizon again, scanning the limitless field of grass. Soon, he caught sight of a distant wall—not as colossal as the forest barriers he had passed, but smaller, more plausible. Behind it, his eyes detected various structures—some with dome-shaped tops, others pointed, and a few entirely flat.
There could be no doubt—they were signs of civilization. Without hesitation, he began moving toward them. At first his steps were unsteady, but they quickly became a sprint. With every step, hope swelled within him, stirring his emotions and propelling him forward. He didn't know what awaited him there, but he knew one thing—he wouldn't stop until he reached it.
As he drew closer, more details of the wall emerged. It appeared to be a natural extension of the forest, crafted from the same massive tree trunks he had encountered before, though reduced in scale. In the center stood a massive wooden gate, sturdy despite the grooves carved by time. In front of it, a line of people stood waiting patiently for their turn to enter.
The moment he could distinguish some of their features, he gasped softly, as if the words had fled his trembling lips. Then he whispered to himself, in a tone of stunned joy he had never known:
"T-They're... human!"
No sooner had he said it than he rushed toward them—but suddenly halted. Instinct compelled him to crouch behind a nearby rock, concealing himself completely except for his eyes peeking over the edge, watching the scene with the wariness of a hunter—or perhaps the hunted.
The individuals before the gate looked human, but their lives had clearly not been easy. Most wore simple, worn-out clothing marked by years of labor, while others had cleaner, more orderly attire. Some stood in silence, lost in distant thoughts, while others exchanged whispers and laughter—both soft and loud—seemingly unfazed by the burdens on their backs.
Yet what truly caught his eye were those who appeared different. These individuals were physically imposing, brimming with strength. Both men and women, they looked like warriors, clad in outfits fortified with metal components. Their weapons weren't mere tools—they were extensions of their bodies: long swords, sharp blades, curved daggers, and towering spears.
Even more surprising were the rare few among them who bore features that weren't entirely human—horns protruding from their heads, and tails swaying behind them, not as accessories, but as natural parts of their anatomy.
He also noticed two guards stationed at the gate, seemingly verifying the identity of each newcomer before allowing entry. Some were let in without question, as if the guards possessed an innate ability to discern who belonged and who didn't. After seeing all this, the young man sat behind the rock, cloaked in its shadow. He quietly opened his bag and examined its contents before beginning to rearrange them.
He placed the black weapon at the bottom of the bag, next to a pouch of small grenades wrapped in dark cloth to avoid detection. Once secured, he layered other items on top: the body wash bottle, followed by three small cartons, and finally the water bottle on top. That was all he had. He arranged them carefully so that the bag appeared like any other traveler's belongings—nothing suspicious.
However, he realized the bag's appearance alone might draw attention. As for his military dagger, he left it strapped visibly to his belt—an expected item for a traveler, not something to arouse concern.
He then brushed his clothes with his palms, trying to shake off the dust collected during his long trek. He had no spare, clean garments, but at the very least, he wanted to look presentable enough not to stand out.
Rising to his feet, he glanced toward the guards. They were deep in conversation, not seeming to pay attention to anyone in particular. Seeing the opportunity, he stepped out from behind the rock and walked steadily—not too fast to seem anxious, nor too slow to appear hesitant.
He reached the end of the line and finally allowed himself a moment of calm. He took a deep breath, then lifted his gaze forward—only to be met by a man who was impossible to overlook.
The man was massive, inhumanly so. He stood at least two meters tall, his broad shoulders forming a wall that blocked the view of anyone in front or behind him. His bald head gleamed like a mirror, reflecting light so strongly that the young man had to squint against the glare. His dark skin, the color of rich earth after rain, bore the marks of a hard life—every inch etched with scars, some minor, others deep. His muscles didn't just look strong—they pulsed with vitality; the kind one could only earn from surviving battle after battle.
Still, it wasn't the man's size or appearance that captivated the young man most—but rather the object slung across his back. Nearly as long as its bearer, it hovered just above the ground, wrapped in a frayed white scarf.
Questions stirred in his mind, but they were soon overtaken by a more pressing concern—how would he communicate with the inhabitants of this planet? On his home world, languages varied by country, even by region. How could one expect to understand the people here? Could he even learn their language? His thoughts spiraled with uncertainty.
Just then, he felt a light tap on his back—a gentle touch that barely brushed his distracted awareness. He ignored it at first, but another tap followed, firmer this time, accompanied by a soft, delicate voice:
"Excuse me, sir… may I have a moment?"
He snapped out of his thoughts and turned quickly—but saw no one at eye level. He looked down… and there she was. A small girl, fragile like a spring blossom, stood before him with a gaze that held both innocence and wisdom.
Her large, golden-emerald eyes reflected the daylight with a soothing calm. Her short, golden hair fluttered in the breeze, brushing against her soft, blush-tinted skin—like dew resting on the petals of a blooming flower. A serene smile illuminated her face, as if she radiated a gentle light from within.
A crimson scarf draped over her head, flowing gently over her hair and adding to her charm. Her dress, though simple in design, possessed its own quiet elegance. Amid the crowd dressed in dull, worn clothes, her attire gleamed like a lone flower blooming in parched soil.