As the group pushed deeper between the trees, the air grew thick and damp. Sunlight barely filtered through the dense canopy, and a low, almost imperceptible hum began to vibrate through the atmosphere, tightening every muscle.

  Thunder, walking at the front beside Lusian, let out an uneasy whinny. Blue sparks rippled across his body; the beast’s instincts sensed danger.

  “What is it, boy?” Lusian whispered, tightening the reins and scanning the forest.

  A flash cut through the dim light between the trees—too fast to track with the naked eye. Before anyone could react, a yellowish blur slammed into the ground, sending dust, dry leaves, and broken branches flying.

  It was a giant bee, nearly the size of a horse. Its wings beat violently, producing a deafening buzz that made the air tremble. Its glossy black eyes tracked the group with unsettling precision.

  Albert stepped forward with calculated movements. In one swift motion, he severed the creature’s wings and followed with a clean strike to the head. The insect convulsed, thick violet fluid spilling onto the forest floor, before collapsing motionless.

  The veteran studied the body grimly. “There must be a hive nearby,” he said firmly. “Individually, these bees are C-class. As a swarm, they can reach B-class. A hundred of them could bring down a magical beast of that level.”

  Tense glances were exchanged. One knight muttered cautiously, “We could try to capture them… their venom and stingers sell well.”

  Albert shook his head slowly. “Five or six of us would die before we even managed it. Not worth it.”

  Lusian frowned, imagining how lethal an entire swarm could be. “Are they really that dangerous?”

  “More than they look,” Albert replied. “Their venom doesn’t just burn flesh—it blocks mana flow.”

  He discreetly pointed to the silver piercing on Lusian’s left ear. “That artifact protects you from most poisons.”

  Lusian touched it, surprised. “This? I didn’t even know I was wearing it.”

  “It’s a Douglas family artifact,” Albert explained. “Channel mana into it, and it activates a purification spell. It’ll heal you almost instantly… if one of those bees stings you.”

  “Almost all poisons?” Lusian asked.

  “Almost. Three cannot be neutralized. Two are extremely rare and absurdly expensive— not even the Emperor of Ithaca would dare use them. The third is worse because it works within seconds. It paralyzes the body and blocks mana flow. If it hits you, you wouldn’t even be able to activate the artifact.”

  A chill ran down Lusian’s spine. He imagined his mana dammed like a river blocked by stone. The forest clearly held dangers far greater than giant bees.

  Silence settled again as pale beams of light danced through mist and branches. The faint buzzing seemed louder now—a reminder that in Cymopelia Forest, even the smallest creature could be lethal.

  Albert’s voice rang out firmly. “Stay alert. If you hear a loud swarm, do not engage. Fall back and raise magical barriers. We will not let a hive wipe us out.”

  Lusian studied the fallen bee, venom still bubbling on the ground. The forest was alive… and hungry.

  Thunder snorted, sparks rippling across his body.

  “Let’s move,” Lusian said quietly. “This is only the beginning.”

  Soon, scouts returned with news from the hive.

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  Contrary to Lusian’s expectations, it housed only around 130 bees. In his previous world, a normal hive would number in the tens of thousands. But here the logic was clear: magical bees required high concentrations of mana to grow. The more mana absorbed, the fewer individuals a hive could sustain. A simple law of nature.

  Albert frowned at the report. “If they attack all at once,” he said gravely, “not even Thunder could protect us. We’d all die.”

  He decided immediately: abandon the assault.

  But Lusian’s gaze remained fixed on the faint smoke rising from the hive. In the game, mistakes cost nothing. Here, they cost lives. Yet magical honey was tempting—rich in mana, strengthening body and spirit, and invaluable for potions and rituals.

  Finally, he spoke.

  “Albert… we can do it. If we split them.”

  The veteran raised an eyebrow. “Split them?”

  “Attack from four points, forming an X. Keep distance between squads. The swarm will divide and lose coordination.”

  Albert studied him carefully. “And where did you learn that?”

  “I heard it in Trhuin,” Lusian replied casually. “Adventurers discussing similar hunts.”

  “If you’re wrong, men will die,” Albert said. “Can you bear that responsibility?”

  Lusian swallowed. Real lives. Not respawns.

  “Yes,” he said firmly. “If it fails, I’ll take responsibility.”

  Albert watched him a moment longer, then nodded. “Very well. But remember—strategies don’t reset lives.”

  Four squads formed, each with three knights and one mage. Fire would lead the assault.

  Albert raised his blade, flames coiling around it. “Now!”

  Fireballs streaked through the air, striking the hive. A thunderous buzzing erupted as the bees scattered—just as Lusian predicted.

  The plan worked… until Lusian’s squad faced the brunt of it. Twenty-nine bees descended upon them.

  Thunder reared, unleashing a surge of lightning that rippled through ground and air, stunning dozens. Lusian remained unharmed, protected by his bond with the beast, though nearby knights staggered from the shockwave.

  Five bees, resistant to the lightning, lunged at him. Lusian swung, mana surging through his blade—but Albert reached him first, cleaving two midair. The remaining three fell to coordinated strikes.

  Other squads endured similar clashes. Some men were stung, but antidote potions worked swiftly.

  When the final buzz faded, smoke and the scent of scorched honey lingered.

  Albert surveyed the field. “Twenty-one down before engagement,” he murmured. “Better than expected.”

  Lusian lowered his gaze in relief. No casualties.

  They regrouped and pressed forward. The queen had to be near; guardian bees never strayed far from the hive’s heart.

  Minutes later, the buzzing returned—deeper, heavier. Mana thickened the air. From the nest emerged a colossal queen, flanked by four guardians. Black mana crystals embedded in her body glinted ominously.

  Thunder sparked with blue lightning. Lusian raised his sword, feeling mana pulse through every fiber of his being.

  “Now.”

  Thunder shot forward like a lightning bolt, striking the queen with a direct discharge that cracked her shell in an explosion of sparks. Lusian leapt from the saddle and delivered a diagonal slash, cleaving her in two.

  The guardians reacted too slowly. The knights overwhelmed them with relentless coordination. Within minutes, silence reclaimed the clearing.

  Albert studied the queen’s remains. “Well done, young master. Not many would dare improvise like that.”

  Lusian gave a faint smile. In a game, this would have been routine. Here, it carried weight.

  As they collected bodies and magical honey, Albert clapped him on the shoulder. “Sofía trained you well. Trust that instinct—but remember… the forest never forgives twice.”

  Lusian nodded. That day, he gained something beyond experience: the certainty that knowledge could save lives—or destroy them if misused.

  That night, they camped in a clearing. Mages inscribed protective runes, and pale blue spheres hovered, bathing the area in ethereal light.

  Albert organized watch rotations while knights set tents and checked gear. Lusian sat by the fire, flames reflecting off his armor. Exhausted—but enlightened.

  During dinner, Albert produced a small glass vial of magical honey.

  “With the young master’s permission,” he said solemnly, “we’ll share this. Magical honey is rare… a blessing for those who risk their lives hunting.”

  Lusian nodded. “Go ahead. We’ve earned it.”

  One by one, the knights tasted it. Warmth coursed through their bodies, as if invisible energy flowed through their veins, easing fatigue and sharpening their minds.

  Lusian felt it too. The honey’s mana harmonized with his own—steady, balanced, strengthening.

  Albert analyzed thoughtfully, “Saturated with mana. It must have formed where the air and plants are rich in life energy. That explains their resilience.”

  Charles Grell added, eyes fixed on the vial, “I wouldn’t be surprised if there’s a subterranean mana spring nearby. With enough of this, we could craft enhancement potions—perhaps even class-advancement elixirs.”

  Excited murmurs spread among the soldiers. Few outside noble families experienced such empowerment.

  Lusian watched their hopeful faces illuminated by firelight and reflected on fate’s irony.

  In his former life, strength came from endless battles and experience points.

  Here, a spoonful of honey was enough.

  A world where food was power.