In the Forest of the Whispering Thick, near the Capital City of the Heartless Republic, there now stands a dense dead woodland that wasn't present before the major updates. Before this transformation, the area was known as the Field of the Guardian Butcher. This title, "Guardian Butcher," belongs to Crimson Aegis, a formidable figure in this world. He earned this name because, while he served as a protector of the nation, he also cut down countless foes over his years of adventure.
Somewhere in the heart of this dead forest, where twisted trees claw at the pale, ash-choked sky, a group of twenty-one warriors battles fiercely. Their shouts and the clash of steel echo through the skeletal branches, cutting through the unnatural silence that blankets this forsaken land.
These monsters, twisted things of fangs and shadow, shouldn't even be here. They snarl and lunge with unnatural speed, their eyes burning with a cruel, violet light. Their claws rake through the air, leaving trails of dark mist as they close in on the defenders.
Despite the odds, the fighters hold their ground, forming a tight circle as they cut down each fiend that dares break through their lines. They know something is wrong. This place, once just a field of cracked stone and brittle grass, has become something far darker, a new breeding ground for nightmares, and a place where the rules of the world itself seem twisted and broken.
As the battle rages on, a chill wind sweeps through the forest, whispering of something far worse waiting in the shadows, something that should never have awakened.
Then, from the shadows beyond the weak, slanting beams of afternoon light that cut through the twisted branches, a towering figure emerges – a dark giant, its massive form cloaked in a swirling miasma that seems to drink in the dim glow around it. The creature's body is a mass of rippling darkness, veins of erring shadow pulsing like a twisted heartbeat beneath its rough, stone-like skin. Its eyes, two burning coals of crimson, lock onto the group, each breath it takes sending waves of corrupt air rolling through the forest, withering the already brittle branches nearby.
The twenty-one warriors, standing shoulder to shoulder, tighten their grips on their weapons. They wear patches bearing two powerful insignias: the insignia of the Heartless Guild on the upper left and bottom right, and the sacred crest of the Knights Hospitaller on the upper right and lower left. These marks, stitched into their armor, tell of a rare adventures, one forged in blood and steel, bound by a mutual need to survive in this twisted realm.
The giant's growl, deep and resonant, shakes the dead earth beneath their feet, and the warriors know that their fight has only just begun.
The forest felt caught in an unnatural twilight. The thick, twisted branches above blocked much of the sunlight, allowing only thin, sickly beams to pierce the gloom. Dust motes and ash drifted through the air, swirling in the faint breeze, and the usual chorus of birds and insects had long since fallen silent. The warriors could feel the pressure of the dying forest around them – a place where time itself seemed to stretch and warp, bending to the will of the darkness.
The dark giant took another step forward, the ground trembling beneath its immense weight. Its miasma spread out like an infection, curling around the roots and branches, leaving a glistening black rot wherever it touched. The creature's eyes, smoldering pits of crimson, locked onto the twenty-one warriors, who instinctively tightened their formation.
Their patches, bearing the insignias of the Heartless Guild and the Knights Hospitaller, glinted in the weak light, reminders of their oaths and the brotherhood that bound them. Sweat beaded beneath their helms as they braced for the inevitable clash. The air around them grew colder, each breath a struggle against the choking, corrupted wind that now seemed to rise from the giant itself.
A low, guttural growl rumbled from the creature's chest, shaking the brittle branches around them. It was a sound filled with hunger and ancient rage – a promise of pain and destruction.
One of the warriors, a broad-shouldered knight with a scar tracing down his jaw, gripped his blade tighter and whispered to his comrades, his voice trembling but determined, "Stay strong!! Remember what we stand for!"
Another, a slender figure in lighter armor, twirled a pair of curved blades in each hand, her eyes never leaving the giant. "No one will fall today, we will end this darkness here."
The dark giant paused for a moment, as if savoring the rising fear in the air, before letting out a roar that shattered the heavy silence, sending a shockwave of dark energy ripping through the brittle trees, splintering trunks and sending shards of blackened bark flying.
Suddenly, the dark giant froze mid-stride, its crimson eyes wide with shock. Before the warriors could react, a flash of movement streaked through the choking gloom.
With a single, powerful strike, Crimson Aegis appeared in front of them—his presence like a blade slicing through the heavy air. His massive sword swung with deadly precision, cutting the dark giant into pieces. The corrupted flesh tore apart, falling like blackened leaves to the ground, while the swirling miasma dissipated under the force of his attack.
The forest seemed to hold its breath as Crimson stood tall, his armor gleaming faintly beneath the fractured light. The twenty-one warriors looked on, eyes wide with awe and relief.
Crimson's eyes, burning with fierce resolve, scanned the group briefly before he sheathed his sword. His voice was low, steady, and cold.
One of the warriors, a broad-shouldered knight with a scar tracing down his jaw, froze for a heartbeat as recognition dawned in his eyes.
"That's… the Grand Guildmaster," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "The leader of all the knight guilds under the Heartless Guild."
Around him, the others exchanged stunned glances. Few had ever seen the Grand Master in person—his reputation was legendary, a figure spoken of in hushed tones across battlefields and guild forum alike.
Crimson Aegis, one of the High Elders and the Grand Guild Masters, stood before them now, his presence alone enough to steel their nerves. The weight of his titles and power settled over the group like a protective shield, reminding them why hope still flickered in this cursed forest.
When Crimson saw him speak, recognition sparked in his eyes. The man was Jerickal, a high-level player and the leader of the Heartless Knights of Hospitaller. Without hesitation, Jerickal stepped forward and was the first to speak, addressing Crimson with respect.
"Master Crimson," he said firmly, bowing his head slightly. "It is an honor to stand with you again."
"I am Jerickal, leader of the Heartless Knights of Hospitaller," he said with a proud but humble tone. "I'm truly glad to see you again. When we received the orders from the Council of the Six High Elders, I hurried back to the capital without hesitation."
He glanced toward the horizon, his expression darkening. "On our way here, we encountered something none of us expected, a Dead Forest near the capital city. None of us knew it existed before, and it caught us completely off guard."
Jerickal continued, his tone shifting to one of concern. "We know this place, Master Crimson. It's the Field of the Guardian Butcher, the very land where your manor once stood. But now, it's become this... dead forest. We didn't expect such a drastic change."
Crimson's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he looked into the twisted shadows of the forest. "I logged in recently and discovered the same thing. My manor is gone, and the Field of the Guardian Butcher has been replaced by this cursed place."
Crimson continued, "You can head east. The road beyond is safe — I cleared all the monsters between here and the capital. But stay vigilant. The world has changed, and we don't know what other threats may still be lurking."
Jerickal bowed respectfully. "Thank you, Master Crimson. Your efforts are a blessing to us. But... if I may ask, where are you headed? Is there any way we can assist you?"
Jerickal straightened, his eyes filled with deep admiration and respect. "I understand, Master Crimson. Your strength and resolve have always been our guiding light. May the winds favor your path, and may you return to us safely."
Crimson gave a slight nod, his expression calm but appreciative. "Thank you, Jerickal. Keep your knights ready. The times ahead may be turbulent, and we will need all the strength of the Heartless Guild to endure it."
Jerickal bowed deeply, his armored fist clinking against his chest in a salute. "As you command, Master Crimson. We will stand ready."
With a final nod, Crimson turned and continued his journey, his figure quickly vanishing into the misty shadows of the dead forest. His sharp senses remained alert as he dashed through the twisted, barren trees, his mind already calculating the best route to the western border.
As the darkness thickened around him, the air grew colder and more oppressive, but Crimson's presence cut through the gloom like a blade, his mana radiating a quiet, unshakable power. He had a mission — and no force, no matter how ancient or powerful, would stand in his way.