Months of study, periods to adjust to my new "eyes," training—not only to be as strong as before, but stronger. To turn my aura into something always concentrated around me, even when I slept. None of this would serve if I did not reach the Enchanted Forests of the Foresta—a somewhat ridiculous name for the backyard of the elven palace, but it described exactly what it was and, very mistakenly, what you expected.
The wolves were of great help on the journey. They allowed me to advance without having to worry about my safety. I ran as training, reinforced my joints again and again. My armor molded itself, impossibly light. With my scrolls, my weapons, the desperation of lost time. Despite everything, I drank, ate, rested at least two hours every eight. The wolves took turns—some went hunting while others kept the reanimated dead away from me. That was difficult. I would have preferred to eliminate every single one, but they would keep coming as long as the Chaos Mark creatures kept spawning and eliminating innocent living beings. The answer to everything was in that palace. But the final stretch I would have to travel alone.
The entrance to the elves' palace was set between two enormous walls. From the top of those walls—crumbled by time—were the nests of the false dragons, perverse creatures half lizard with dragon genes. From what I read, they could spit acid, had advanced magical resistance, great intelligence. They did not leave this area because there was always something to eat. Many times they hunted the other defenses placed by the Blood Elves to keep anyone from entering. The main entrance had many magical defenses, some of which I feared would destroy all records. The back, however, was not a service entrance—it was the "Graduation Exit" or the "Entrance of Repentance." When someone wished to escape the elves' attentions, they left through here, traveling five kilometers through forest and caves, unarmed. Only the strongest attempted it—like the ancient generals of their armies, who after seeing blood spilled for centuries grew weary and tried to earn their freedom... Of them all, I knew no one who succeeded. Even in elven records, there were indications that the false dragons devoured them. They usually came against them mutilated and poisoned, so it did not surprise me that even when they were great, they ended up feeding these beasts.
The beasts did not attack me. I supposed they would only do so if I needed to turn back, or if I ventured too deep. I doubted the elves were confident enough not to prevent a full-scale assault. I made a slight retreating movement at the forest's edge, and instantly I heard them growl. It was the warning I expected. They knew I might die inside, but they also knew that if I did not try, they would have food—or so they thought. But I had not come to play. So I ventured in.
The ground mist was poisonous—not much, just enough to dull reflexes. The forest itself was not very tall, but in the upper trunks, you could see a pack of baboons. That, combined with the light webs of poisonous spiders, gave you an idea of what awaited if I thought of going through the trees. At ground level, there had been only a few poisonous plants and snakes. But I had expanded my field about thirty centimeters in radius, which gave me a displacement angle over mechanical traps not necessarily magical in nature. With my eyes, I could see thousands of corpses. This ecosystem did not exist—it was an eternal battle of eat or be eaten. The stench might not be magical, just mist from hundreds of decomposing bodies.
As I advanced, I understood the garbage of beings capable of all this. The caves, the springs, the plants with tempting fruits—they were carriers of parasites, poisonous, or simply had such a putrid taste that eating them would reveal your position and leave you too weak to defend yourself. Even the weapons—I had come across several swords of cheap, corroded metal but with very elegant designs. Examining them closely, you could see they stored acid in capsules disguised in the hilts. So, when parrying a blow or attacking, it would melt your hands.
When I reached what I estimated was halfway, the serious attacks began. Mutated bats that did not eat meat but still tried to spread rabies, some jaguars and mist gorillas—mangy but with a fury only madness could provide. The first attack made me use my hands. For the second, where two gorillas and a cockatrice were present, I drew my sword-staff. Its stone had been storing magic all the time I traveled; I had charged it for this. A few lava jets would keep them away. Only the cockatrice, being magical, had to die. With its appearance of a giant chicken, it possessed one of the most exotic poisons—petrification. Its entire body exuded it. When a person realized it was not worth fighting the creature, it was too late; it had already caused some minor wounds which were turning to stone, leaving the person the difficult task of tearing off skin if lucky, or cutting off appendages entirely to keep fleeing. A bastard in every sense. I feinted, and its myopic little eyes focused, shooting a jet of venom from a forked tongue. Instantly, the area near me became stone floor. Not wanting to be attacked from behind, I spun my weapon and activated the void rune. At the next shot, I did not dodge—a sword stroke, and the liquid, without touching me, returned to its owner. I suspected its skin had the antidote, so the cut not only returned the attack but inflicted a wound on the animal's chest. With its giant legs, it began running from side to side. Petrification had begun.
I left it making a ruckus with its wings and screeching. I could kill it, but I wanted the other animals of the place not to bother me—that those with reason would think twice before coming. That allowed me to advance without constantly fighting. The beast's cries accompanied me for several hundred meters. Then it fell silent. Perhaps it was completely petrified. Perhaps a more dangerous beast had found it. From the records, I knew there were things that exceeded this overfed bird in malice. I hurried—I did not want to face one of those. Not yet.
For a time, I thought the only enemies here were those placed by the elves. But just as night began to fall—I had to traverse this taking detours to avoid lizards and the most fearsome threats—I could still see the walls somewhat distant from my position. But I was close. Liquid Silver, the elf who designed this, also explained the easiest path—not to help the poor wretches who would venture in, but so the elves who placed bets would know when their wager had a chance and when it was not worth even thinking about, better to return to the bar for another drink. From him came the twisted idea—this was a labyrinth that was traversed in different directions depending on whether you were coming to the castle or trying to leave it. I was correct—I would have ended up exhausted if not wounded had I not known the bastard's advice.
When I was still about two hundred meters away, I reached the forest's end. The "Gate of Repentance"—that was written at the entrance. Before passing it, it said: "Repent of having disrespected your superiors. Ask for forgiveness." At this point, I was angry and tired. How many had died over millennia? How many were being reanimated by the Lich? They should have at least a minimum of shame to then demand pleas for salvation. I knew that if I did not say it, I would trigger a trap. But to hell with that garbage of pointed ears and malevolent intellect! I passed through in silence. A red light replaced the peaceful blue light of the reception courtyard. There, food was visible—to celebrate the winner? To receive him with mockery? Was it poisoned? It did not matter. I was preparing a welcome for those screeches I heard in the distance. The false dragons were coming to finish me off.