It was just past noon. Standing atop the hill, they looked down.
The view gradually opened before them. As far as the eye could see, forests rose and fell in endless waves. Since it was winter, most of the trees had shed their leaves, with only evergreens retaining their foliage.
Even beneath such bright sunshine, the distant forest still carried a peculiar, solemn weight.
Gazing at the forest, Romon said leisurely, "This is our academy. We're almost there. We won't be delayed here!"
With that, he took the lead down the hill.
The closer they came, the wider everyone's mouths fell open.
This so-called academy seemed to stand beside an abandoned road. From the looks of it, it had originally been a village.
Only when they drew near did they discover a four-meter-high wall outside, made of sharpened wooden stakes. There was also a watchtower, though it was somewhat rotten.
Turning past one area, they saw a stream as well.
Though it was winter, water still flowed within it. The stream was clear, with fine sand and broken stones faintly visible beneath the surface. It was rather beautiful.
When they arrived at the gate, Romon smiled at the wooden doors and said, "Everyone, we've arrived at the academy."
They looked at one another, not because they had expected luxury, but because it was simply too dilapidated.
Tatshaw Territory's wealth was already famous in every direction. Even the reception area they had passed earlier had been luxurious and spacious, enough to make Druids disdain it. Yet this place was far too run-down, wasn't it?
If Romon had not been an Eleventh Level Druid, and if the travel expenses he had paid to invite them had not already amounted to a sum of gold, everyone present would have burst into curses.
Even