The "Grey Sector" lived up to its name. As soon as Adrian crossed the northern edge, colors seemed to be drained from the world with chilling systematic efficiency. The canopy here was so dense it mercilessly suffocated the sun, allowing only an ashen, monotonous light to filter through, as if the forest itself were absorbing the photons. The trunks twisted under the weight of years, their grey-black barks oozing a black, sticky resin, covered in a pale lichen that resembled dead skin—the bloated corpse of someone submerged in water for weeks.

  Adrian stopped, boots sinking into oozing soil. His sense of smell registered the layered decomposition: rotted fungi, decaying organic matter, and beneath it all, a metallic, acrid note. The smell of oxidized ore.

  He closed his eyes for a second, deliberately isolating his senses. Nothing moved. No wind. The air was a damp, stagnant blanket that adhered to his skin like a wet shroud. And that ferrous smell intensified with every breath, pungent, almost toxic.

  "IRIS, scan topography. Search for anomalies in Etheric density, including subterranean." Focus on areas of high ionization."

  [GEOLOGICAL SCAN: ALREADY ACTIVE]

  [FILTER: ETHERIC DENSITY (MAX)] [RENDER TIME: 0.3 SECONDS]

  He opened his eyes, and the grey world instantly evaporated, replaced by something far more useful. The HUD overlay deployed across his retina in successive layers: first, a pure black wireframe topography, then thermal signatures in blue and purple gradients, and finally the crucial layer—Ether energy visualized as a luminescent circulatory system three meters underground.

  Most of the ground was deep cobalt blue, nearly black—dead, sterile, devoid of any exploitable Etheric density. But here and there, like veins of gold in black rock, snaked bright illuminated lines oscillating between emerald green and turquoise. The Ether circulated through these subterranean channels, accumulating in pockets, forming nodules of concentration. Adrian noted the color varied with intensity: lower density equaled pale green, higher density equaled an almost blinding white.

  Other adventurers rushed through the forest praying for luck or scraped the ground randomly like truffle pigs. Adrian, however, cheated using the asymmetry IRIS offered him. He saw the pulsing energy network beneath the soil like a fluorescent nervous system exposed on the surface. Under the muddy, black earth, the energy trace shone, relentless, unambiguous. He didn't need instinct, "feel," or divination—the crutches of local Mages. He only needed to follow the luminous line to its source, extract, process, capitalize.

  It was an insurmountable advantage.

  He moved forward, his feet sinking into a thick layer of rotting humus that exhaled an almost nauseatingly acidic odor of organic decay. Each step released invisible spores that floated in the stagnant air. His interface guided him toward a luminous node fifty meters to his left, where the subterranean flow ascended toward the surface, forming a concentrated energy pocket, glowing like a green-white heart pulsing beneath the dead earth.

  He knelt, studying the perimeter of the site. On the surface, nothing distinguished this spot from any other square of muddy ground. No leaves, no stalks. Not the slightest visible clue. IRIS confirmed the plant was a strict subterranean parasite, evolving entirely beneath the silt to feed on the Etheric flow circulating in the depths. He pulled out a pointed stick he had carved along the way and began probing the loose earth with methodical precision, pushing aside each layer, measuring the depth.

  Thirty centimeters. Forty. Fifty. His tool struck something hard, with a sharp click that echoed against the limestone. He scraped away the dirt with his hands, digging through the silt, gradually revealing a tuberous mass the size of a fist, a dull ochre color, almost waterlogged. It vibrated slightly to the touch, a resonance his bare fingers—presumably sensitized by IRIS—perceived distinctly, as if an invisible tension built up beneath the skin.

  [OBJECT: IONIZED TUBERCULE (SYLVA ROOT)]

  [DENSITY: 0.04 EDI] [STRUCTURAL INSTABILITY: 12%]

  "One down," he murmured, his breath forming small grey clouds in the cold air.

  He cleared the damp earth with his fingers, taking care to avoid sudden movements. The root vibrated slightly to the touch, like a poorly insulated electrical wire, its Etheric charge pulsing against his calloused palms. Adrian instinctively knew that yanking off the small peripheral fibers—those delicate white filaments radiating energy into the surrounding soil—would dissipate the concentration like running water. The loss would be irrecoverable. He had to preserve it intact, alive, with its structural integrity maintained. He lifted it with a slowness that might have seemed hesitant to an observer, but was merely applied rigor—every gesture calibrated to minimize damage.

  He continued his harvest. He wasn't following a path; he was following the energy trace. One root under an old oak. Two others near a rock outcrop. In less than an hour, he had filled his makeshift sack with the three bundles of Sylva roots required by the Guild, plus seven he found quickly. He needed to maximize this trip but not linger.

  He stopped, wiping his forehead with an earth-covered backhand. Mission accomplished. Forty coppers guaranteed, plus a surplus for himself. He should have gone back. Prudence dictated it. But scientific curiosity was an addiction stronger than safety.

  The interface showed him something else.

  Further on, toward the sector's core, a much thicker flow line cut through the ground like a main artery. Where this artery passed, the vegetation changed hue on his retinal display, abandoning the grey for an artificial emerald green that existed only in the data. Adrian felt a slight pressure against his temples—IRIS amplifying thermal data, making the invisible network of energy pulsing beneath his feet visible.

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  He advanced cautiously, his boots crushing the humus with minimal noise. Giant ferns, their fronds seemingly laden with glowing dew, slightly closed around his passage, reacting to the Etheric disruption of his body. He pushed aside the densest ones, feeling the cold dampness cling to his sleeves, and finally emerged in a circular clearing.

  It was an oasis of raw life amidst the grey desolation of the Grey Sector. In the center, a millennia-old tree stump—its bark covered in time-inscribed markings, fissures deep as scars—was covered in a thick, soft, tender green moss. Emerging from this moss were three flowers with translucent petals, truly resembling cut rock crystals, possessing the quality of light they refracted into iridescent mini-rainbows.

  [BOTANICAL SCAN: ANALYSIS IN PROGRESS...]

  [OBJECT: GLASS LILY (RARE VARIETY)]

  [DENSITY: 1.12 EDI]

  [PROPERTIES: FLUX REGENERATOR / PURITY CATALYST]

  [NOTE: MATURE SPECIMEN. SUPERIOR QUALITY TO ARCHIVES.]

  Adrian felt that slight shiver of excitement pass through his spine—the chemical reaction of the nervous system upon significant discovery. A density of 1.12; this was far beyond the standard roots he had cataloged.

  There were no predators in sight. IRIS would have warned him. No abnormal vibrations, no thermal signature of an approach. The silence here was not oppressive or heavy like elsewhere in the Grey Sector, but strangely soothing. Adrian recognized the irony—the most peaceful areas often hid the greatest dangers. But IRIS wasn't lying about the raw data.

  He approached the stump, his steps slightly bent to absorb weight without sound. The moss felt soft under his soles, muffling his progress. He pulled out the knife from his belt.

  With a surgical precision that might have seemed obsessive, he sliced the stems at the base, at a forty-five-degree angle to minimize damage to the root system. His fingers, now accustomed to this harvesting work, guided the knife with the certainty of a practitioner who had repeated the motion a hundred times. The petals—delicate to the point of seeming to dissolve under the slightest pressure—remained intact, their crystalline surfaces reflecting only the diffuse light of the clearing.

  Adrian carefully stored the three flowers in a separate compartment of his makeshift sack—the one he had insulated using large, damp leaves taken earlier.

  He straightened up, casting a final look around the clearing. The green moss continued to pulsate slightly, as if alive, breathing. The three stripped stalks already awaited new growth that would take months. Adrian wondered—without dwelling on it—if he was stealing something important from this small ecosystem.

  He had far exceeded his objectives. Not only did he possess the three bundles of Sylva roots for the Guild—forty coppers guaranteed—but he had discovered a superior quality sample. These three Glass Lilies represented incalculable research potential. Distilled correctly, they could serve as a catalyst for syntheses far beyond what standard roots allowed. This was the kind of discovery that transformed an amateur into a true Alchemist.

  He took the path back to the edge, mentally following the trace IRIS kept in active memory.

  It was time to go home. The ashen light of the Grey Sector was beginning to fade, and he did not wish to test his night survival capabilities without adequate equipment.

  He reversed course, following his own thermal trace recorded by IRIS. The return journey promised to be quiet, almost monotonous, the sound of his steps on the humus his only companion. He was already planning the use of the forty coppers: renting Klara's lab was his absolute priority.

  It was as he began descending towards the southern edge, about a kilometer from Coldvale's walls, that the interface suddenly went haywire.

  [ALERT: HEMOGLOBIN / IRON ODOR]

  Adrian froze instantly, pressing himself against the trunk of a centuries-old tree, its rough bark slightly digging into his ribs. The smell of iron was undeniable—fresh, metallic, invasive like an open wound in the rain. His heart rate jumped from eighty to one hundred and twenty beats per minute. IRIS was already displaying depth perception, calculating approach angles from the treeline.

  He moved a few meters forward, circling a patch of thorns that scratched his coat without piercing it, then stood still.

  There, lying in the middle of the path he had taken a few hours earlier, was a dark shape that should have risen at his approach. It was not an animal. It was a human—a man, his muscles relaxed into that characteristic stiffness of fresh corpses. He wore boiled leather armor typical of what Adrian had seen at the Guild, the plates tightly bound by straps now soaked in a viscous, black substance. The body still seemed warm, steam escaping in imperceptible wisps between the joints.

  Adrian approached, his eyes scanning the scene with machine-like precision. No visible signs of struggle, no predator claw marks on the exposed flesh of the face, no bites on the forearms. Just an arrow shaft protruding from the throat, piercing the jugular vein before cutting downwards. A precision shot calculated to make screaming impossible, to ensure a silent death. The corpse still held a crude iron dagger tightly in its right hand, its fingers frozen in a final reflex of agony.

  [ANALYSIS: Estimated death 2-4 hours. Skin cooling compatible.]

  He crouched near the deceased, his knee bending gently against the soft humus. He looked at the unknown man's glassy eyes—blue, wide, fixed in an expression of surprise rather than fear—and gently closed his eyelids with the tip of his index finger, a mechanical gesture he couldn't explain why he was performing. Perhaps out of respect for what remained of dignity. Perhaps out of primitive superstition. Perhaps for no reason at all.

  He glanced around, examining the low branches, the footprints on the ground, the distribution of dead leaves that had not been disturbed by a hurried flight. The killer—whether human or monster—could not be far. Its odor of sweat and cheap weapon grease had not yet been completely dispersed by the wind. But more worrying: the scout's sack had been emptied of its contents, the straps slashed in an almost surgical manner, as if someone knew exactly what they were looking for. Only dust residue and some hemp fibers remained where herbs, crystals, or inventory parchments should have been. Someone not only wanted his life, but his harvest too.

  Adrian slowly stood up, his joints emitting a nearly inaudible crack.

  The danger had suddenly changed its nature. The forest was no longer just a reservoir of resources to be patiently mapped; it had become a crime scene. And somewhere in these grey undergrowth, someone—or something—knew how to eliminate Guild adventurers with an efficiency far exceeding that of minor predators.

  [IN PROGRESS: Trajectory analysis for an ambushing killer.]

  [RECOMMENDATION: Immediate return to Coldvale.]

  Adrian nodded imperceptibly. IRIS was right. There was nothing here worth staying exposed for.