Chapter 137: The Eerie Tree Stump

During the first two days of his journey, Johan rode northward along the banks of the Derin River. He had traveled this route more than once, most recently accompanying the Conti family to the Argonquin Valley. This path was frequented by merchants and travelers, the roads were in good condition, and at night there were villages where one could find lodging. Aside from the occasional wild animal, it was hardly dangerous.

But on the morning of March 28th, when Johan reached the confluence where the Derin River split from the Ifen River, no merchants accompanied him anymore. What awaited him was a solitary trek through dense forests and rugged mountains.

From here, Johan turned eastward. The steadily flowing Ifen River seemed like a silent guide, leading him through hills and woods, ever eastward until he reached Pike Bay at the river’s mouth—the very bay where Layton Harbor was situated.

Merchants traveling north and south rarely dared to embark on this stretch alone; even in groups, safety was never guaranteed. Each year, a few ill-fated caravans vanished deep within the forest, attacked by monsters or fairies, never to be seen again. Such tragedies had given rise to many fearful legends about the Ifen River’s primeval woods—springs inhabited by fairies, waterfalls haunted by giant serpents, and the like.

Johan regarded these tales with skepticism, sensing their exaggeration. In fact, he had traversed this very route last winter. Back then, thick snow blanketed both banks of the Ifen River. Jamie had dragged a sled across the snow for an entire week. Johan rode the sled by day and camped under tents amidst the snow-covered trees by night. Though he suffered hunger and cold, he never encountered any monsters. He crossed the forest uneventfully and arrived safely at Layton Harbor.

Relying on that experience, Johan remained optimistic on the first day entering the great forest this time, even finding the journey too uneventful. But soon enough, that naive outlook was shattered by a series of strange occurrences along the way.

Johan was fortunate to have fair weather on his travels. March 29th dawned bright and clear. In the afternoon, sunlight filtered through the dense canopy above, scattering delicate patches of light across the soft grass like a natural floral carpet stretching beneath the horse’s hooves.

Riding his black colt along the sparse woods on the left bank of the Ifen, Johan’s eyes caught sight of a clearing. At its center stood a squat wooden stump, its smooth, freshly cut surface displaying distinct tree rings—as if silently inviting a lone traveler to rest awhile.

Having ridden all morning, Johan’s body and horse alike were weary. He longed for a spot to rest and eat some rations. The stump seemed like a table set just for him.

Dismounting, he tied the reins to a nearby tree and patted the colt’s neck, letting it graze on the grass close by. Then he approached the clearing. Suddenly, Johan halted, eyes fixed on the stump, a flicker of doubt clouding his gaze. Had it just trembled, as if alive?

Rubbing his eyes, he stepped back ten paces to observe carefully. The stump stood still, rough bark cracked and sprouting tender green shoots that swayed gently with the breeze. All appeared normal.

Fatigue often bred hallucinations, yet Johan was reluctant to dismiss his unease so easily. Circling the stump slowly, his suspicions deepened.

No logging camp existed near this seldom-trodden forest. It was unlikely anyone had ventured so far just to fell an ordinary tree. Why then was the stump’s surface so smooth, as if freshly sawed at the root? If a traveler had cut it for firewood while camping, where were the traces of a campfire in the clearing?

Johan studied the stump long and hard. The nagging discomfort would not fade. He resolved to leave this eerie spot quickly, wary of inviting trouble.

Turning toward the colt’s tether, he barely took two steps before hearing a rustling behind him. He spun around hastily, but the woods were silent, betraying no sign of disturbance. Yet Johan soon noticed the stump’s position had shifted slightly—moved forward by roughly a foot. Had he not scrutinized it moments ago, he would have missed the subtle change.

A chill crept over him.

That stump was uncanny.

A sense of danger lingered in his mind. At the same time, faint footsteps echoed from the opposite woods, accompanied by a high-pitched, off-key melody that floated through the trees.

The song’s words piqued Johan’s curiosity. They sounded like the Woodfolk tongue commonly spoken by fairies.

As Johan strained to catch the lyrics, a peculiar humanoid figure emerged from the forest. This little creature, no taller than two feet, had pointed ears and green eyes. Dressed in green garments with a matching cap, it sported a bushy beard disproportionately large for its size and leaned on a wooden staff, resembling a country gentleman taking a stroll through his own woodland.

Johan had dealt extensively with fairies of late. Guided by Conti, he had met Mira, the little dryad; he had encountered the fairy siblings Nick and Nell by the river; during his stay in Powhatan village, he had studied Woodfolk language and fairy lore under Conti’s father’s tutelage; he had even fought and slain a malevolent soul-stealing mythic sprite, completing his first-tier mythic trial. In just a few months, Johan’s understanding of fairies had grown from nothing to considerable depth.

Examining the staff-bearing oddity carefully, he guessed it was a “Leprechaun,” a type of reclusive fairy dwelling deep in the forest.

Unlike humans, Leprechauns lacked clear notions of right or wrong. Their actions were uninhibited and driven by whimsy, making it difficult to classify them simply as good or evil. Johan had no desire to engage with such capricious, prank-loving creatures. He stayed silent in the woods, intending to wait until the Leprechaun had passed before resuming his journey.

The little Leprechaun seemed unaware of Johan’s presence. It hummed its tune as it approached the clearing and, upon noticing the stump, exclaimed with delight, “Ah, just right for a rest!” Speaking in Woodfolk language, it strode confidently toward the stump.

Johan had wanted to warn the creature to be cautious, but reconsidered. What could he say? Warn it about the stump? Yet he had no solid proof it was a trap. If it turned out to be mere illusion, would the Leprechaun suspect him of playing tricks? Fairies loved mischief and often teased strangers, but they disliked being teased themselves. Better to avoid offending the Leprechaun—he chose silence, believing it safer to cause no trouble.