The Golden Fruit’s Peculiar Warning

Adjacent to Green Village lay a small forest, known as the Monster Forest. Legend had it that numerous magical creatures once made their home within its depths.

Over centuries, as humans settled and developed the land, this forest gradually transformed into a sprawling orchard. No one had heard tales of monsters lurking within its bounds for a long time.

Yet, the ominous name persisted, echoing through generations.

Freya leaned on a sturdy, dark brown walking staff, navigating the uneven terrain ahead. Trailing silently behind her, Roland carried a wicker basket upon his back.

“We’re here,” Freya declared, coming to a halt. She casually tossed her walking staff against a massive tree, her gaze fixed on its branches, heavy with ripening fruit.

With a satisfied nod, she continued, “These Jonagold fruits are particularly delectable. Beneath their vibrant red skin, the flesh is both crisp and delightfully sweet.”

She gestured to a patch of ground nearby, indicating where Roland should place the basket.

“And then?” Roland inquired.

“Just watch me~” Freya proclaimed, her pale chin tilting upwards in a proud flourish. “Prepare to witness the true might of a mage.”

With a dramatic sweep of her hand, a potent gust of wind erupted. The heavily laden branches of the tree began to sway violently, dislodging a cascade of ripe fruits that tumbled to the ground.

Fruits of all sizes rained down indiscriminately, transforming the ground beneath the tree into a vibrant downpour of red.

“Ow!” Freya yelped, wincing as she clutched her head where a falling fruit had struck her. “That absolutely stings!”

“Are you an imbecile?” Roland, who had prudently retreated to a safe distance, sighed with exasperation. He gestured towards the mangled fruits scattered across the ground.

“From such a height, allowing these fruits to simply plummet means they’ll all be ruined, won’t they?”

“Huh?” Freya uttered, immediately bending down to inspect the fallen fruits. Just as Roland had predicted, most of them were severely damaged, their skins torn and their tender, pale flesh bruised and split.

Juice seeped from the fractures, filling the air with a rich, sweet aroma.

“Ah…” Freya murmured, her head drooping in profound disappointment. “A grave miscalculation…”

The pair resigned themselves to carefully selecting the relatively intact fruits and placing them into the basket. Fortunately, a fair number of Jonagold fruits had survived the fall with their flesh unblemished.

As the final Jonagold fruit was carefully settled into the basket, Freya suddenly turned to Roland. “Oh, by the way,” she began, “I’ve heard that when a Jonagold tree reaches a century of maturity, it yields a single golden fruit. This fruit, located at the very apex of the trunk, is said to be exquisitely delicious.”

“But we searched for so long just now,” Roland countered, “and there wasn’t a single golden fruit on the ground…”

“Then it must still be on the tree!” Freya exclaimed, her voice brimming with excitement. She dashed to the base of the tree, beckoning Roland closer.

“Come over here and lend a hand,” she urged. “I’ll climb up and take a look.”

“How exactly should I lend a hand?” Roland asked, puzzled.

“Uh…” Freya trailed off, a sudden thought crossing her mind, causing her charming face to twitch imperceptibly. “Just… just lift me onto the nearest tree trunk.”

“Alright,” Roland agreed, without further ado. He extended his arms, encircling her slender waist, then channeled a surge of magic to his legs.

With a powerful, yet agile leap, he landed gracefully on the closest sturdy tree branch.

Held firmly in his embrace, Freya’s face flushed crimson for reasons unknown to her. Her hands instinctively tightened around Roland’s back, her nails digging in with such force that he winced in discomfort.

“Hiss—could you ease up a bit?” Roland asked, a hint of amusement in his eyes as he looked at her. “It’s not as if I’m threatening your life; such an extreme reaction is really… honestly.”

“Mmm—!” Freya mumbled, her head bowed in nervous embarrassment, unable to meet his gaze. She frantically waved a hand. “Alright, alright! You can descend now; I’ll handle the rest myself!”

With a resigned sigh, Roland dropped back to the ground. He then crossed his arms, his gaze fixed upwards at the person perched in the tree.

Freya instinctively clutched her simple skirt, then called down, “Don’t you dare peek!”

“I’m not,” Roland replied flatly.

“Only a fool would believe you,” she muttered under her breath, almost inaudibly.

Opening her eyes, Freya channeled her magic to scan her surroundings. The colossal Jonagold tree boasted hundreds, if not thousands, of thick, gnarled branches, its dense foliage obscuring her vision.

However, her magical senses remained unimpeded. Moments later, Freya pinpointed the golden fruit nestled on a distant branch.

She cautiously ascended, scaling the branches with care. Before long, a flash of pure gold entered her field of vision.

Dark Art: Void Technique.

The dark elemental magic proved utterly facile in her hands. With a few deft tremors, the golden fruit detached and settled into her palm.

Just as she delightedly tucked the prize into her bosom, an unsettling tickle on her nose caused her to frown. Focusing her gaze, she discovered a plump, black-and-green caterpillar.

This repulsive creature was brazenly wriggling its corpulent body across her nose bridge, its long, white bristles waving menacingly like tiny fangs and claws.

Freya’s face drained of all color in an instant, as if a switch for sheer terror had been violently flicked. Her body stiffened abruptly, then went slack with an alarming suddenness, sending her tumbling directly from the branch.

“Hey!” Roland cried out, his eyes widening as he watched the little Demon Lord plummet. Without a moment’s hesitation, he instinctively reached out and caught her.

“What in the world… Ugh, it’s just a worm,” he muttered, a mix of exasperation and amusement in his voice. He reached out again, pinching the offending caterpillar between his fingers, and flicked it carelessly away.

Freya’s beautiful face remained utterly devoid of color. It took a considerable time for her to regain her composure, before she finally settled on an expression of profound disgust.

“That… that kind of lowly creature…” she stammered, her voice still shaky. She thrust the prized fruit into Roland’s arms, then wrenched herself free of his grasp.

Immediately, she began to rapidly gather a copious amount of water elements, vigorously scrubbing her face as if to cleanse herself of an unbearable defilement.

“It’s just a mere insect; what’s the fuss about?” Roland mused, taking a bite of the golden fruit. His eyes immediately brightened, and he couldn’t resist taking several more eager bites.

“This is truly delicious,” he declared.

“I, for one, never want to…” Freya began, turning her head. Her words died on her lips as she unexpectedly witnessed Roland voraciously devouring the golden Jonagold fruit she had so painstakingly acquired.

“Hey, leave some for me!” she shrieked, outraged.

With a huff of indignation, she snatched the fruit from his grasp. Her heart ached as she surveyed the golden orb, now marred by several deep bite marks.

Scarcely any flesh remained, and honey-like juice continuously seeped from the ravaged indentations.

‘Oh, well… it seems I’m destined to consume this imbecilic Hero’s saliva once more…’ she thought with a groan.

Suppressing her revulsion, Freya forced herself to eat. In a few quick bites, she devoured the entire fruit.

She licked her lips with a sigh of satisfaction. ‘As expected of a golden fruit that ripen only once a century,’ she mused, ‘the taste is truly… exquisite.’

‘…if only it weren’t for the utterly disgusting taste of that idiot’s saliva,’ she added internally.

“Eh?” Freya suddenly gasped. A wave of warmth bloomed in her lower abdomen, swiftly spreading throughout her entire being.

One moment it flowed like soothing hot spring water, the next it scorched like molten lava. The alternating sensations of warmth and searing heat pricked at every inch of her body, akin to countless bee stings.

The hot current first lingered in her stomach, suffusing her core with a comforting warmth. Then, it surged towards her brain, causing beads of sweat to relentlessly form on her forehead.

Next, her chest and limbs began to radiate with an intense heat.

Suddenly, Freya clapped a hand over her mouth, her pupils dilating in shock. She now felt that surging heat seemed to have migrated to… a very peculiar place.

“What’s wrong with you?” Roland asked, a puzzled frown on his face as he shouldered the basket of Jonagold fruits. “Shall we depart?”

To Freya, Roland’s voice suddenly sounded like scalding hot spring water pouring into her ears, causing her very brain to tremble uncontrollably. A thick, hazy mist seemed to obscure her vision, her face was flushed with a vibrant crimson, and her breaths came in short, rapid gasps.

Forcing down the unsettling sensations, she located her walking staff and gripped it tightly. After a strained cough, she managed to utter, her expression strangely contorted, “Indeed… let’s… let’s proceed.”

Roland watched Freya stride ahead, a flicker of suspicion in his mind. ‘What new mischief is this little Demon Lord concocting now?’ he wondered.

He cast a glance back at the ancient Jonagold tree, and his eyes suddenly caught sight of a line of text carved into its bark.

WARNING: GOLDEN FRUIT FROM THIS TREE IS NOT FOR FEMALE CONSUMPTION!