A caravan of three carriages was traveling on the trails on the way to their destination. The carriage driver noticeably rubbed his arms in an effort to keep warm.
"Why are these trails toward the forest cold when the sun is so high?" A mercenary beside him took a flask of beer and handed it to the driver. "What do you expect when the place is called 'Frozen dew forest'?"
"I guess so, but isn't this forest supposed to be a den of monsters? I heard the lowest-leveled monsters in this place were at Level 50. Aren't we in danger then?"
The mercenary came close as he whispered to the driver. "That would normally be the case, but there is reliable information that something fucked up the forest."
"What do you mean?" asked the driver.
"This forest is normally crawling with high leveled bastards right? They routinely send battle harems to cull the monsters to an acceptable level. Leave them to make babies for too long and you got a demon tide on your hands."
