The Foggy Forest at night was a completely different scenery—not gloomy, but rather quite dazzling.
Many plants, flowers, and mushrooms, which seemed unremarkable during the day, would emit a faint glow amidst the pitch-black and misty night, casting a mysterious and ethereal atmosphere throughout the forest. The cold light was either purple, green, or blue, and some even resembled the twinkling eyes of a loved one.
The eyes of a loved one? Why would I use such a cheesy analogy? Bartlett puzzled over this thought.
He had chosen to camp next to a fallen fir tree. This toppled 'giant' could shield Bartlett and his companions' back with its strong remains, greatly reducing the area they needed to defend, whether during nighttime vigilance or in case of any accidental situations.
The breaking point of the tree was not far from the campsite, while the treetop on the other end vanished into the mist, unreachable by sight.
At this moment, Bartlett was adding dry wood to the bonfire, which crackled noisily. A blackened pot hung over the fire, bubbling and frothing. In the pot simmered some dried meat, rutabagas, and a few fern plants, along with a plucked bird the size of a quail tumbling around.
It was a white-feathered chickadee, unusually plump compared to its kind, as if it had eaten something extraordinary throughout the winter.
For some unknown reason, this white-feathered chickadee attacked Ogre with its wings flapping, its ferocious expression, and its swift speed, startling Morris, the bulky Ogre. The next moment, the chickadee was shot down by the dwarf's dagger, and adhering to the principle of not wasting food, Bartlett threw the chickadee into the pot.
Several sharpened sticks were inserted diagonally around the fire, with two sticks each skewering a frog larger than Ogre's palm, while the other sticks held mushrooms and tubers of unknown plants.
A slightly pungent smell diffused in the air along with the steam from the pot, which came from adding Tear-Grass to the soup. This grass, when heated, would emit an unpleasant aroma; the more sensitive a creature's sense of smell, the more intense the pungent smell, including Bartlett.
However, our Barbarian Adventurer had become accustomed to this. If one wanted to enjoy a hot meal during an adventure in the Foggy Forest but was worried that the food's aroma might attract unwelcome visitors, one had no choice but to add a small amount of this plant called "Tear-Grass."
Although the resulting dish had an unfriendly smell, it had no effect on the taste when consumed.
Old Will stood by the fracture point of the fallen fir tree, seemingly studying something. However, in Bartlett's eyes, Old Will's appearance did not resemble a mage examining something incomprehensible to ordinary people, but rather a lumberjack admiring his own axe skills after felling a tree.
This collapsed fir tree was so thick that even seven Bartletts holding hands could not encircle it, if there were that many Bartletts. However, it was not unique, as almost all the fir trees in the forest were as thick.
In Bartlett's memory, he had never seen a fir sapling or a regular fir tree with a thickness similar to ordinary trees. All the firs within sight were like heaven-piercing giants, reaching straight into the misty sky.
"The age of this tree is really astonishing." Old Will's tone was full of admiration. "Can you guess how many years old it is?"
Guessing the age of a tree? Was there a more boring topic than this? Bartlett felt somewhat speechless. However, it was much better than the conversation about the red-haired girl's story with the mill owner.
He wondered how Riley was doing. Images of the girl in a light blue dress and the shimmering body in the river suddenly appeared in Bartlett's mind. But soon after, he forced himself to cast these images out of his thoughts.
Bartlett turned and sneezed; it seemed he had added too much Tear-Grass, he thought.
"Trust me, you're bound to guess wrong!" The mage's tone was full of confidence.
Two hundred years old, just like you, thought the Barbarian, but he knew it was impossible. As in Norde, just outside his hometown village, stood a honeylocust tree, nearly 500 years old.
The honeylocust was called "Feosae" by the residents of the town, which means "sacred tree" in the Norde language. The Nordic people in the town would bury their deceased relatives around the honeylocust, hoping they would be blessed and find peace in death.
Ever since Bartlett had been keeping records, the area around the honeylocust had been filled with dense graves. Although he had been very mischievous and courageous as a child, he never dared to play near the honeylocust.
As descendants of the barbarian tribes, the people of Norde generally had stubborn personalities. Although Norde officials had been promoting the use of the Common Language, Norde was still widely used among people.
Moreover, only Norde and a few city-states still practiced earth burial customs, while the other six kingdoms and most city-states practiced cremation.
Cremation was a tradition inherited from the time of the Magic Empire. The empire's magicians did not allow people to carry out earth burials. They said that during that period, the magic tide seemed to surge and when it swept by, some restless corpses would "wake up" from their rest, following the memories in their souls to visit their relatives...
In Bartlett's memory, even that nearly 500-year-old honeylocust had a trunk thickness no more than half that of the fir tree.
"In the Elf Holy Land, Loso Loralin, trees like this would have to be at least a thousand years old," said the half-elven Estelle, then added, "I mean the trees that grow naturally, not those nurtured by the druids using natural powers."
When Estelle said the last sentence, her tone carried a hint of disdain.
Bartlett glanced at the half-elven, thinking that everyone had some secrets in their past.
"But this tree should only be about a hundred years old!" Old Will marveled. "Looking at its rings, it seems to be less than a hundred years old, which means it's not even half my age!"
Less than a hundred years old? Bartlett found that hard to believe. The entire Foggy Forest consisted of tall fir trees. Although he had been here countless times for gathering, fighting, avenging, and adventuring, he had never really paid close attention to these visible trees.
"Could it grow so thick in just a hundred years?" Estelle's tone was also full of surprise. "I vaguely remember that the trees I saw on the way here seemed to be similar in thickness. Could it be that all these trees are only a hundred years old?" she pointed out at the surrounding area.
"That's impossible!" Bartlett denied. "According to the records of Mist Castle, this forest has existed since the early days of the Griffin Kingdom. So, the forest is at least 700 years old. Many legends even point out that this forest has been in existence longer than the Magic Empire Era."
"Could it be that the trees were cut and replanted by the Griffin Empire?" the half-elven asked.
"No one would come to the Foggy Forest to cut trees; it doesn't make any sense. Even if they could be felled, it would be difficult to transport them. There are many valuable things in the forest, but these firs are definitely not among them," said Bartlett. "Though the Golden Clover Knights do cut down a few trees, they only do so in the vicinity of Mist Castle, and their purpose is simply to make the view from the fortress more open."
"So, are you saying that there were adventurers coming to this place during the Magic Empire Era?" Old Will came over and gracefully sat on the ground beside the campfire. The brown robe embroidered with light gold patterns didn't seem to be stained with any dust.
"I don't know," Bartlett hesitated. "...but I think there probably weren't. At that time, the Cavis Mountains were still an unbroken mountain range, without the gap where Mist Castle now stands. So, I don't think many people would have come here then." In his mind, he added a silent sentence: Except for the magicians.
Just then, the ogre, who had been dozing against the fir trunk, suddenly woke up. Wiping the corner of his mouth, he asked in a deep voice, "Is dinner not ready yet?" He stared at the tit bird in the pot.
"Delicious food is never too late," Bartlett replied.
...