A Journey Where We'll "Absolutely Never Get Lost"

"I'll reiterate the highest principle of this operation!"

Outside Magnolia Town's eastern gate, Erza, who was about to set out on the journey, was giving her three teammates their final—and most important—pre-departure briefing.

Her expression was more serious than ever before.

"Gray! You'll guard the left flank! Lucy, the right flank! I'll command from the center! Throughout the entire journey, we must maintain this triangular formation and keep Zoro firmly in the middle. His distance from any one of us must not exceed five meters!"

"Yes!" Gray and Lucy immediately stood at attention and answered loudly. They knew full well where the "core difficulty" of this mission lay.

At last, Erza's gaze fell upon the green-haired man standing in the middle, arms crossed and looking thoroughly displeased.

"Zoro! Your task is to stay close to us. Do not make any comments about 'directions,' do not try to walk ahead of us, and especially do not leave our sight while we're resting! Can you do that?"

"Tch, what a nag," Zoro said, curling his lip. He gave an extremely reluctant "Yeah."

Having learned from the disastrous lesson of their previous C-rank mission, Erza's anti-Zoro-getting-lost measures this time could only be described as the strictest in history—so strict they were practically insane. She had even prepared a thick rope made from special magical fibers. If anything went wrong, she would not hesitate to tie Zoro to herself.

And so, an S-rank mission team with an exceptionally bizarre formation set off for the eastern border's Black Iron Mountains.

The first half of the journey went fairly smoothly.

They rode in a magic-powered four-wheeled carriage along the broad main road. Zoro looked rather listless due to his dislike of transportation, but under Erza's death glare, he behaved himself well enough.

However, once the carriage entered the mountain roads and slowed down, Zoro's restless soul of getting lost began to quietly awaken.

"Hey, red-haired woman," he said, pointing at a fork in the road outside the window in an exceptionally professional tone. "I think we should take the road on the right. Look, the trees over there are taller, which means they get more sunlight. It's definitely the sunny side, so the direction can't be wrong."

Erza did not even raise an eyelid. She merely said coldly, "The map says to go left."

"Maps are dead, people are alive!" Zoro argued. "You need to trust the instincts of a sailor like me!"

"Your 'instincts' led us into a forest to chat with bears last time," Gray mercilessly jabbed from the side.

"That was an accident!"

"Shut up!" Erza finally lost her patience. She turned her head and glared at Zoro with a look cold enough to freeze the soul. "If you say one more word about our route, I'll immediately enact the second plan!"

She shook the thick rope in her hand, which gleamed with magical light.

Zoro looked at the rope, then at Erza's utterly non-joking expression, and wisely chose to shut up. He clicked his tongue, turned away, and continued sulking.

The journey continued in a peculiar atmosphere filled with joy—for Gray and Lucy—and oppression—for Zoro.

After two days of travel, they finally arrived at their destination—the Black Iron Mountains.

From afar, the mountain range rose and fell like a crouching colossal beast. The mine known as Wailing Abyss resembled the beast's gaping maw, emanating an ominous aura as it silently awaited their arrival.

A Magic Council cordon had long been set up at the mine entrance. There was no one around, and the area was utterly silent. A faint chill, dampness, and gloom permeated the air, sending shivers down their spines.

Erza took out the mission briefing and confirmed the information once more.

"This is the place." Her expression was grave. "From now on, everyone stays on high alert. Gray, take the lead. Lucy, pay attention to any abnormal magical energy nearby. Zoro..."

She looked at Zoro and solemnly instructed him, "Stay close to me. Don't run off under any circumstances."

For once, Zoro did not argue. His hand had already instinctively settled on the hilt of the sword at his waist.