Three days had passed since they last ventured into the outer forest. The days were quiet—bright with the warmth of the sun and the hush of a town moving just slowly enough to let hearts breathe.
In the backyard of their home in Veldroth, beneath the shade of a spreading silverbark tree, Alaric lay reclined on a wooden bench, arms folded behind his head, golden eyes half-lidded. He watched.
Not the sky.
Not the dancing leaves.
But the two girls seated cross-legged on the grass before him.
Cellione, her usually mischievous gaze serious for once, hunched forward, whispering instructions to Serineth. Scraps of parchment littered the ground—failed magic circles, early drafts, magical notations far beyond Alaric's grasp.
It was a quiet world, filled only with the scratch of charcoal against paper and the rhythmic pulses of controlled breath.
Serineth frowned, her brows tightly knit as her trembling fingers traced a faint glowing line in the air, trying again to shape the magic circle correctly—something fragile, something hers.
"No, no,"
Cellione interrupted, gently nudging her.
"You're letting the flow bend too early. Hold the intent steady until the third line completes. Like this—"
Her own hand moved fluidly, drawing faint traces of light into an arcing form that seemed to hum with promise.
"I… I'm trying,"
Serineth murmured.
"It's like it slips away when I reach that curve…"
"You're using too much force."
Cellione smiled.
"Trust the mana. It wants to listen. You're just panicking when it does."
Alaric watched them silently, warm pride blooming behind his calm smile. He didn't understand the runes. Or the logic behind the circles they built. But he could see it—the intent. The will. And that was enough. He let his body relax, focusing inward, into the invisible threads that linked him to both girls. A breath.
And then—
Vmmm—
a subtle ripple.
Pure, radiant energy filtered through the thread, breaking gently like mist over water, transformed into clean, vibrant mana that flowed steadily toward the girls. Neither flinched. They were used to it now.
A few more hours passed like this, shaded in quiet murmurs and soft corrections. The moment finally came when Serineth's hands stopped trembling. Her circle bloomed—clear, perfect, complete.
Serineth was able to perfectly replicate the [2nd-Circle] with her hand. The mana resonance is the sign of that.
Now it was time for her to start creating the [2nd-Circle] around her heart.
Cellione is already a [2nd-Circle] mage. She created her [2nd-Circle] the day before. She felt that she and Serineth has gained more than enough experience as a [1st-Circle] mage.
So, she is now helping Serineth.
After some rest. Serineth sat cross-legged. Took a deep breath and focused. She focused around her heart and saw a magic circle. Pure and vibrant. She gazed at it for few seconds than started to work on the second circle.
The building process of [2nd-Circle] is similar to [1st-Circle] . There is just 9 more runes that makes the circle more powerful,versatile and is able to store many times more mana than a [1st-Circle].
After Serineth completed the [2nd-Circle], the new circle resonated with first one and the mana around them with a soft
Hmmm.
After that.
A breathless pause.
"…I did it?"
Serineth blinked.
"You did it,"
Cellione confirmed with a wide grin.
Serineth laughed—soft and bubbling, eyes wide and sparkling. She lunged forward, hugging Cellione tightly.
"Thank you!"
"Don't thank me,"
Cellione said, gently ruffling her hair.
"You built it yourself."
Alaric sat up slightly.
"You've both done well,"
He said.
Neither of them answered at first. But their smiles, their shining eyes—they said enough.
Later that day, the four of them walked through the streets of Veldroth together. Aurevia carried several wrapped bundles while Serineth held a checklist, and Cellione debated with a merchant about the quality of their sleeping gear.
They bought tents, waterproof cloaks, flintstones, enchanted sleeping bags that self-heat, and utility knives. Enough supplies for weeks of travel.
By sunset, their home was neatly packed—equipment stored in their spatial rings, meals pre-prepared, and plans laid out for the next stage of their journey.
The forest had grown small. The path forward led inward, toward danger, mystery, and strength.
Toward the Inner Forest.
***
The stars shimmered above Veldroth like scattered fragments of ancient stories. Their quiet home, nestled near the edge of town, glowed faintly with the warm hue of lanternlight filtering through the curtains.
Alaric sat alone on the balcony railing, legs dangling freely, golden hair tousled by the breeze. The night carried a cool breath, filled with the scent of oil lamps, dried herbs, and freshly laundered blankets.
He stared upward, silent, as if trying to trace the threads of starlight with his eyes alone.
Behind him, soft laughter trickled out from the open window—Cellione teasing Serineth over burning rice again. Aurevia's voice, calm and low, reminded them both to wash up before bed.
Peaceful.
Not long ago, silence had meant solitude.
Now, it meant belonging.
Alaric reached inward again, brushing the threads that tethered him to the girls. Subtle. Constant. Comforting.
Like a heartbeat echoing threefold. He didn't understand everything—not the runes, nor the circles—but he knew how to give. To steady. To share.
The night wind shifted.
Tomorrow, the world would stretch wider. Deeper. Wilder.
But tonight was gentle.
He stepped down from the railing and walked back inside, bare feet padding softly across the wooden floor. The room was warm, lit by a single enchanted orb that pulsed like a drowsy firefly.
Aurevia looked up from where she sat sharpening her sword.
"Everything alright?"
Alaric nodded, his small smile calm.
"Yes. Just thinking."
She gave a quiet hum, then returned to her blade.
Serineth was already curled on her bedroll, blanket pulled up to her chin, cheeks still flushed with the glow of success. Cellione tossed a pillow at her before collapsing next to her with a yawn.
The room dimmed slowly, the orb's light fading to dusk.
Alaric settled near the window, cloak wrapped loosely around him. Outside, the stars still watched. So did he. After some time he left and went ot his room.
The road ahead waited. But tonight he rested.
*****
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
✶ I Reincarnated as an Extra ✶
✧ in a Reverse Harem World ✧
⊱ Eternal_Void_ ⊰
✢═─༻༺═✢═─༻༺═✢
*****
The scent of old parchment and fresh ink greeted Lirael as she stepped back into the association's modest branch office in Veldroth.
Dust motes floated in the slanting afternoon light that streamed through the high windows, painting golden stripes across her worn oak desk.
She sighed softly, rolling her shoulders beneath her cloak. The capital had been draining as always—too many nobles playing at politics, too many adventurers with more pride than sense.
She set her satchel down, undid the clasps with practiced ease, and began sorting through the scrolls she'd brought back. Most were mission listings—monster outbreaks, missing caravans, a few rare herb collection jobs. Routine things.
A shadow passed the doorway, and before she could glance up, a familiar voice cut gently through the room.
"Welcome back, Miss Lirael."
She turned—and there he was.
Alaric Aurelian.
Five years old in body. Quiet as snowfall. A small, hooded figure with golden hair catching the sunlight like threads of divine silk. Eyes amber and ancient. Too ancient.
"Alaric,"
She greeted, smiling softly despite herself.
"You're here early."
He tilted his head.
"I just wanted to ask where you had been."
"I had some business in Caerwyn,"
She replied, returning to her desk.
"Capital's always busy, even in spring. Trade permits. Mission transfers. Too much paperwork and too little sense."
"I see."
He stepped forward, eyes curious.
"And today, I wanted to ask about missions."
Lirael quirked an eyebrow, already sensing this wouldn't be a typical request.
"What kind?"
"The Inner Forest,"
He said plainly.
She stilled.
Her fingers paused mid-reach for a scroll, gaze flicking up to meet his. For just a moment, the polished composure she'd mastered over the years cracked—just enough for surprise to flicker in her pale eyes.
"You're sure?"
She asked quietly.
Alaric only nodded.
She sighed, leaning back.
"Of course you are."
She pulled a drawer open and took out a thick folder, slipping out several parchment sheets covered in detailed maps, mission data, and warnings penned in red ink.
"Most groups of your level wouldn't even dream of the Inner Forest. Even seasoned [Rank-3]s hesitate."
She handed him a few.
"These are exploration missions. About 80% of the forest's been charted over the years, but that last 20%? It's wild. Mana storms, ancient beasts, terrain that shifts with the seasons. And dungeons that haven't yet been fully explored."
"Why not just have powerful adventurers clear them?"
Alaric asked, brow slightly raised.
She tapped the rim of the desk.
"Restrictions. Some of these dungeons only allow [Rank-3] and below to enter. Most of the dungeons are created by ancient people.
But the ones in Verdant Veil is natural. Created by the laws of Elarion. To test those who are worthy and reward them for there hard work.No one's cracked how the wards work. So the strongest can't even step inside."
He went silent for a few moments, eyes scanning the list she handed him. Each dungeon came with records—last known coordinates, death tolls, unique mana patterns, even creature sightings. Some were so old the ink had begun to fade.
Then he pointed at one.
"This one."
Her eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at the name.
The Hollow of Weeping Roots.
Unclaimed. Uncharted. Unconquered.
She looked at him again, gauging the weight behind that unshakable calm. The others would try to persuade. Argue. Scold.
But she knew better.
"I've seen people like you before,"
She murmured, more to herself than him.
"You don't learn by listening. You learn by doing. Even if it means bleeding a little."
She handed over the folded parchment.
He accepted it with quiet grace.
Behind that boyish face was something older. Something steady. Something dangerous.
And yet…
As he turned to leave, cloak fluttering softly at his heels, Lirael felt a strange sort of ache in her chest.
She remembered the first time he'd walked through the doors of the Association—just a boy with eyes too clear for his age. She thought then he might've been a wandering old monster, come to play human. Plenty of powerful beings did just that.
But time taught her different.
He was a child.
A real one.
He flinched when thunder cracked too loud. He watched flowers bloom with quiet wonder. He sat alone sometimes, looking lost in thought, as if trying to remember something he couldn't name.
But he was also Elyssira's Blessed.
Golden hair, amber gaze, presence that made even battle-hardened adventurers bow their heads. No one dared approach him. Not out of respect, but out of fear. Fear of stepping on a god's toes.
And those three girls…
Lirael's lips tightened.
Aurevia—sword like frost, eyes that didn't flinch. She carried herself with the poise of a trained warrior, grace honed on the battlefield. Her beauty made people look twice. Her blade made them regret it.
Cellione and Serineth—mages with mystery in their bones. Powerful. Fiercely loyal. She'd seen them glare down a group of leering mercenaries until the whole tavern went quiet.
They were his slaves, yes. But that word didn't fit right in Lirael's mouth when she looked at them.
It wasn't submission. It was devotion.
And it scared people.
No ordinary party completed a mission every day. Let alone with such precision. But with that level of strength, most guilds would have tried to pull them in already.
But fear was stronger than ambition. The fear that Alaric was not what he seemed. That he might bring divine retribution if offended.
So the Guilds watched. Waited.
But patience had limits. And some day, someone would try something.
Lirael only hoped she wouldn't be there when it happened.
She looked at the half-burned candle by her desk. The room smelled of ink and wax, with a strange chill still lingering from Alaric's departure.
"May the Gods watch over you,"
She whispered.
Then, with a sigh, she returned to her papers.
***
The morning mist clung low to the ground as shafts of sunlight pierced through the canopy in golden streaks, bathing the forest in a soft, ethereal light.
Fallen leaves crunched faintly beneath their boots as the four moved in practiced silence—Aurevia at the front, Serineth and Cellione flanking either side, and Alaric at the rear, seated calmly upon a thick-rooted branch that bent with his weight but did not break.
The air was crisp, filled with the earthy scent of moss, bark, and dew. Birds chirped in scattered melodies above, their calls occasionally silenced by the distant rustle of prey and predator alike.
Though the outer forest was known for its relative safety, none of them let their guard down.
They moved as one, the rhythm of their steps matched and measured. From time to time, Aurevia would flick her hand, slicing low-hanging vines or nudging a large fern aside.
Occasionally, a rustle would draw Serineth's gaze or Cellione's fingers toward the edge of her spellring, but nothing challenged them—not today.
As they pressed deeper, the mood began to shift. The trees grew older here—massive trunks with silver-streaked bark and roots like gnarled limbs that jutted from the ground.
Strange stone totems began to appear, moss-covered and half-sunken into the earth.
Each was carved with spiral markings long eroded by time, standing like silent sentinels to a forgotten age.
"This is the edge,"
Cellione murmured, brushing her hand against one of the totems.
"We're close to the threshold."
Alaric glanced up. Ahead of them, the trees grew denser—thicker, darker, taller. The sunlight dimmed as if shy to enter.
A faint shimmer of mana hung in the air, so fine and woven it resembled a delicate haze. Just beyond, a natural archway of stone and vine rose like the maw of some slumbering beast, forming a gateway of twisted roots over ancient stone steps.
Aurevia took a slow breath, resting her hand on the hilt of her sword.
"The inner forest,"
She said softly.
Beyond that threshold, the world would change. Stronger beasts, ancient dungeons, mana-rich territory—everything they'd prepared for over the last three days waited just ahead.
Alaric's eyes gleamed faintly as he stepped forward, golden hair catching the dim light like fire.
"Let's go,"
He said.
And without hesitation, they crossed the threshold.
***
As they stepped beyond the vine-draped archway, it was as if the very air shifted.
The Inner Forest welcomed them with silence—not the absence of sound, but a thick, contemplative stillness, like the hush of a cathedral before prayer. The trees here were colossal, their trunks wide enough to hide entire homes behind.
Their canopies stretched high above, forming a vaulted dome of green and silver that filtered sunlight into dancing, ethereal patterns across the moss-covered ground.
The atmosphere shimmered with raw mana, so rich it clung to the skin like fine mist. Tiny motes of light drifted through the air—some golden, some violet, others a soft blue that pulsed faintly with life.
Great vines hung low from branches, curling around trunks like sleeping serpents. In the distance, they glimpsed crystalline blossoms blooming from the sides of trees, glowing faintly in shades of azure and lilac. It was like stepping into an ancient dream, sacred and undisturbed.
For a moment, all four stood in quiet awe.
"This place…"
Serineth whispered, breath catching,
"It's beautiful."
But beauty, Alaric knew, often walked hand in hand with peril.
It came as a chill on the wind—a sudden wrongness that rippled through the mana around them.
"Move!"
Aurevia barked, already unsheathing her blade in one fluid motion.
From the shadows between the trees, they emerged—sleek, black forms with fur like ink and eyes that glowed violet in the dim.
Shadowhounds.
[Rank-2] beasts attuned to the Shadow element. One by one, they melted from the gloom, their bodies half-formed between mist and muscle. At their center stood a larger one—its presence oppressive, its aura cold and coiling. A[Late-Rank-2] , unmistakably.
There were eight in total.
"No need to panic,"
Cellione said, hands glowing as she formed her silent spell rings—three layers deep, no incantation.
Mana sparked through the air as she launched a burst of kinetic force that shattered one of the beasts into black mist before it could lunge.
Serineth followed, weaving a silent web of light that hardened into spears, raining down from above like falling stars. Another beast vanished in a whimpering wail, its body dissolving into shadow.
Alaric, high on a branch above, remained motionless—his presence like a calm heart in the chaos. The divine threads moved through the air, unseen but felt, breaking into mana and aura and streaming silently into the girls. He adjusted the flow with precision, the golden light faint around his form.
"Too slow with the fourth ring, Cellione,"
Alaric's voice floated down, calm but firm.
"You hesitated again."
"Tch,"
She muttered.
"Understood."
"And Serineth,"
He added,
"why did you whisper that chant?"
Serineth flinched mid-cast.
"Force of habit—"
"Break it. You're capable of silent casting now."
Below, Aurevia met the [Late-Rqnk-2] Shadowhound head-on. Her blade shimmered with frost, mana humming along its edge as she clashed with the beast in a blur of speed.
Each strike froze the air, trailing with white mist. The beast snarled, but it was outmatched—too slow, too reckless. With a final burst of water-wreathed movement, she severed its form through the middle. The pieces dissolved into black mist, carried away by the wind.
The silence returned, heavier than before.
The moss trembled with residual mana. Wisps of Shadow energy crackled and curled into nothing.
They stood amidst it all, breathing steadily, their bodies unmarred.
"It was easy,"
Serineth said, but her tone lacked pride.
"Yes,"
Alaric replied.
"But remember—this was only a warning."
Cellione nodded, eyes narrowed.
"There won't be time to adjust in a real fight."
They said nothing else, only cast wary glances into the deeper woods ahead.
Still, they continued.
Deeper into a world few dared tread.
Above them, the light broke through in a single, radiant beam, catching the edge of a high-up blossom and refracting it into dozens of spectral colors.
It painted the forest floor in rainbow hues. A hush fell once more—not of fear, but of reverence.
The Inner Forest had opened its gates.
Now it would test them.
And they would answer.
-To Be Continued