The scorching sun blazed overhead, its searing rays piercing through the dense forest canopy and casting an odd mosaic of light patterns on the ground—like scattered golden coins. A constant rustling echoed through the trees as mountain winds twisted through branches and grasses, producing eerie symphonies of sound.

On this forest clearing, a path could barely be discerned beneath thick undergrowth. Vines over half a man's height choked the trail while dense brambles towered higher on either side, creating an unnatural boundary that marked where feet must have once trod. The low central corridor bore clear signs of human design, though nature had long since reclaimed its territory.

We had known Woma Forest was treacherous, but nothing could have prepared us for this labyrinthine nightmare. Every step forward demanded unimaginable effort as we hacked through tangles that threatened to ensnare our limbs. Dragon Battle and I bore the brunt of path-clearing with his massive cleaver slicing through vegetation in sweeping arcs while he kept his Demon War Axe slung behind him—practicality over aesthetics when one needed precision not power.

Dragon Alert maintained a three-meter vigil behind us, scanning for threats in this realm that legends warned was teeming with horrors: flesh-eating man-eater flowers dripping venom, half-orcs with brute strength and bloodthirsty fury, snowmen lurking among the pines, and countless beasts beyond imagination. Yet we'd only encountered wolves, tigers, leopards, and lions in these three days—over a hundred slain by Dragon Battle's blade.

For safety's sake, Purple Moon and her brother Purple Cloud occupied the middle of our procession. Dragon Happy followed them with watchful eyes, while I brought up rear unless Dragon Battle needed relief. My trusted cleaver served as our primary tool; the Battle Saber remained sheathed—too precious to risk dulling against brambles. Though my current stature was smaller than in a former life, raw strength had multiplied tenfold through mastering the killing sword techniques.

Unlike Dragon Battle's two-handed grip, I wielded the cleaver one-handed, switching hands as needed to equally train both arms. My battle-hardened instincts warned me never to part with a worthy weapon—without it, a warrior was already dead.

"Sorry for burdening you all..." Purple Moon muttered this refrain endlessly despite our protests. The disparity between her offered gold and the labor we endured was glaringly obvious.

Dragon Happy shrugged off concern easily. Days together had revealed Purple Moon's gentle nature—a soft-spoken girl with hidden depth. Born to the influential Southern Ling Zi family in Mengzhong, she hailed from a line of nobility holding Marquis rank—among the top thirty families in Bizi Empire. The rigid hierarchy mirrored ancient Chinese feudal systems: Duke, Marquis, Count, Viscount, Baron.

Dragon Happy's own lineage was no less distinguished—the Long North River dragon clan held Viscount status, two rungs below the Zi family. Theirs wasn't a blood relationship though; as collateral branch members, Dragon Battle and Dragon Alert could only seek patronage through alliances. When Dragon Happy inherited her fiefdom, they would become essential advisors in managing its affairs.

The same complex web of noble politics surrounded Purple Moon's own journey with her brother Purple Cloud. Though their father was the Zi family patriarch, their mother—concubine Zhen Niang—occupied a precarious position within courtly intrigues. Their meager funds for protection spoke volumes about their financial straits in this gilded cage.

"Two unfortunate souls," I mused silently as Dragon Alert noted the setting sun.

"In an hour we'll set up camp near that large tree," Dragon Battle pointed ahead to a peculiar specimen resembling a giant banyan yet with spiny leaves and a trunk oozing viscous sap. The sticky substance trapped countless insect carcasses, suggesting this was indeed a Woma Needle Tree—a species mentioned in the Ranger's Handbook.

"Never heard of it?" Dragon Happy scoffed as she tossed me the manual. "Every ranger must memorize its contents to survive."

By dusk we'd built our camp under the tree's sprawling canopy. Dragon Alert cast an ethereal blue Sanctum Barrier that obscured our presence like modern optical camouflage while silencing all sound. Additional magical traps completed our defenses—silent sentinels that would alert us should any creatures trespass.

As firelight danced, Dragon Battle skewered a wild boar split cleanly by his cleaver's killing sword technique. The feast was modest but satisfying after three days through Woma Forest's deadly embrace. Purple Moon and her brother finally collapsed onto chairs provided by Dragon Happy—exhausted from twelve hours of trudging through thorns while clad in crocodile-scale light armor that proved both protective and burdensome.

When offered water, they drank with unbecoming haste, their noble composure long eroded by wilderness survival. I envied the space pouches that carried our supplies—five cubic meters of room for food, tents, and essentials. Without these magical artifacts, we'd be sipping poison instead of clean water here.

"Camp is ready," Dragon Alert announced, stretching sore muscles as Dragon Battle returned with firewood and his latest kill.

The forest swallowed the last light as Dragon Happy completed final enchantments. This was only our first night in Woma Forest's depths—what horrors tomorrow might bring remained unknown.