Alan unsheathed his gooey dagger, having nothing but his wits and an unreliable weapon against a Realm of War.

Arrows whizzed by as the Archers did their best to target Alan around Lucius before he could escape.

Lucius summoned a chain of Orange Saro links that he whipped from his steamy gauntlet and wrapped around the largest of the three Archers. The visual was impossible, but Alan finally accepted it as real. What’s more, he accepted there was goodness here, among the chaos.

“You will find your way, Alan Right. Now go!” Lucius raised his voice.

A jolt of adrenaline coursed through him, giving him courage beyond his trepidation.

The whole town square fears what’s inside. I need to see it for myself.

I need to get home so I can show Trish what she gave up.

I’m not working a dead end job.

My trivia isn’t useless.

Everyone will see.

Alan rushed inside and was immediately suffocated, his senses becoming reduced to nothing one at a time. First his touch – flailing to feel nothing. Then his smell. His sight. And finally, just as a low maniacal laugh whispered in each of his ears… his hearing.

A tornado of scrambled thoughts made thinking impossible, until he felt his covered feet reform, touching down on dirt. The rest of his body followed suit as he fell to his knees. The storm calmed in his mind, giving way for sight to return next.

He blinked away blurriness, focusing on a set of numb hands he knew were his.

Feeling returned, and a long inhale smelled like a freshly trimmed garden.

When he peered up, only a few feet was visible in every direction. A cloudy fog masked everything beyond.

Fog of War. This must be it.

Alan got to his feet.

Flint said the color of the fog mattered. I wonder if it’s connected to Saro somehow.

The mist surrounding him was light grey. Hopefully that wasn’t too threatening.

Something else changed too. The zany pull Mujungo had over him… was nearly gone. Like the god was far away.

He didn’t know whether that was a good or bad thing. But if nothing else, he was freer here, in his body at least.

A small semblance of comfort wrapped him – if things got really bad here, he could shout for Mujungo and hopefully be granted a portal back to Strangey Town. Alan didn’t like the idea. It sounded dangerously close to indebtedness. But beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Okay, nothing else to do but follow the path. Alan noted shiny stones sparkling on either side of him, framing a shrouded path of dark brown dirt.

The cloud remained a few feet away like he was in some invisible bubble that only cleared a small circumference around him. Low noises spoke to life somewhere in the distance, and for fear of disturbing it with his babbling dagger, Alan sheathed it for now.

Tree stumps appeared on either side of him. Another forest, perhaps. But something was notably different about this one. It didn’t hold the same barely contained madness that Strangey Town exuded. That’s the weight lifted off Alan’s shoulders – now he was sure of it. Worrying that he’d be permanently stuck in a world of overbearing oddities for the rest of his life was not a good feeling. Maybe here he wouldn’t have to perform ridiculous quests meant to embarrass the quester purely for some god’s appeasement.

Yeah. That would be great. But I shouldn’t get ahead of myself either. Don’t make a fool’s hope into an empty promise… or you might wind up as mad as the rest of them.

Twenty minutes of trekking proved uneventful. Almost peaceful. So far Ojin was infinitely better than Strangey Town, even if all he could see was a few-foot-wide circumference of the land at a time, all else obscured in the light-grey fog.

I can hang here.

What’s more, he felt more attuned with his Saro. Even more so than in the Black Sand. That same tingling sensation he got before going into his trances were ever-present, like something within him unlocked.

If using magic is the same as activating the Essence of Mujungo, maybe I can actually figure it out here.

An effervescent puddle stole his attention a few feet off the pathway. He turned to face it, and the smoke cleared a bit to show another droplet farther away.

The fog riled when Alan focused on the puddle, as if egging him.

His heartrate began to quicken.

Should I go off course? Probably a trap.

Then again, I’ll never understand this place if I don’t take some risks.

Alan decided to follow the wet patches. They kind of resembled a wounded animal dripping blood along the trail. Every time he focused on one, his environment grew eerily quiet, and he could smell the salt of the sea as if the ocean was right in front of him.

If perception is also my reality here in Ojin, then maybe my instincts are trying to tell me something.

He looked at his dagger to see Blue Saro brightening through the porous sheath. Hah. Are the orcs coming? The cheeky thought fled as fast as it came when the puddle started flowing away from him. He halted, and the puddle stilled, then when he took a few more steps, off it went again. Like he was in a cartoon chasing a carrot.

More senses overwhelmed him – flashes of an octopus tentacle, the feeling of being strangled. Danger loomed.

Alan unsheathed the dagger and jogged toward the puddle, ready to slice down whatever was luring him. He hoped it was sentient. Maybe then he could strike a deal.

His jog turned into a sprint when the liquid hastened, the fog around him blurring to keep up.

Shit!

He dug in his heels suddenly when a silhouette became visible through the mist.

A large, armored, bulky frame grew larger within it.

“Who’s there?” Alan pointed his dagger forward.

“Blaga boo!” the dagger yelled.

Pomf. Pomf.

Two meaty tentacles crashed to the ground, peeking just under the smoke, forcing Alan a step back.

“Sit in the dark, small warrior,” a harsh female voice echoed.

“I’m not here to fight,” Alan said. “I’m just looking for answers.”

A low laughter rang. “Then you’ve come to the wrong place.”

Woosh.

The grey fog expanded outward and whirled into a wide circumference, gifting Alan a view of his immediate surroundings – a cleared-out patch of trees within the forest. The burly woman was now visible – crazed red eyes, long orange braids, and arm muscles strong enough to wield the tentacles in place of forearms.

A quick focus told him they weren’t natural. In fact, they were fist weapons – organic ones – stolen from a great beast her and her crew defeated in a moist cave once upon a time. He glanced at a seashell covering one of her ears, and the seaweed hanging in her hair. Those parts were a rouse. She wanted him to believe she was a monster.

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“Has anyone ever made it back to their Origin World?” Alan asked brazenly, hoping a hard shift would distract her from attacking.

“Ojin is your mecca now, warrior.” She showed her green-painted teeth and flexed arms, commanding the appendages to wriggle angrily. “Now die!”

She swung a mean left hook, sending her tentacle slingshotting forward.

All of the tingling throughout his body burst into a pulse of power demanding action. Alan threw up his arms and curved his body toward the incoming appendage.

“Wally wally woo!” the dagger yelled as steel tore through slimy flesh.

“Argh!” the woman yelled.

Alan turned away when a putrid odor wafted over him from the split appendage, followed by a splash of colorful blood. The weapon recoiled, granting a split second to consider what just happened.

He noticed a faint red film surrounding his body that faded the instant he was free from danger.

Red Saro, he realized. It must be.

His senses felt heightened… a surge of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Wtshh!

The opposite appendage whipped in his direction, but another red outline of instincts told him to jump.

Everything slowed to a crawl. His heartbeat pulsed in his ears as he registered the slimy tentacle coming to cleave him. The wind generated by his leap cradled him, and instincts told him just how to twist to avoid getting killed.

It was the same as when he was mugged at the shop years ago. When he ducked a wide hook from an angry customer, a fraction of this sensation told him it was pulling from the same source.

Time sped back up. He moved so fluidly that he was able to use his hand to touch down on the slimy skin and let it propel him into a perfectly landed flip.

“Whoa.”

Where everything felt jumbled in Strangey Town, things were clear in this amorphous fog. Saro was his potential on Earth. And it’s alive here.

Whack!

A third swipe slapped against Alan’s left shoulder, sending him spinning. Treetop and ground spun six times in his vision before he smashed elbow first into the dirt. His mouth tasted metallic, his vision swimming.

Whatever red outline he thought he saw faded to naught, and his confidence fled with his shortening breath.

Damn… He groaned, dazed.

“Another one claimed.” The woman stomped up to him, fleshy sounds making Alan coil.

He thought of shouting to Mujungo, considering all of his limbs were numb. But something stopped him at the last second.

The metallic ring of two swords clashing echoed in his mind.

“Do not throw in the towel yet, Alan Right,” the tone of voice was familiar, except the words… His dagger… was making sense. And he was now sure that voice belonged to the weapons smith who went mad trying to resurrect his pet, trapping himself in the dagger.

The woman stood over him with an ear-to-ear smile. She clapped both arms together facing the sky, where the appendages intertwined and hardened into a slimy hammer ready to be dropped.

“I know your secret!” Alan yelled with a hoarse voice.

Her eyes widened.

“You are no monster,” Alan said. “You’re a warrior, like me.”

Her nostrils flared, arms flexed ready to drop them. The seashell fell off her ear on cue, as if the very mention of the truth made her disguise crumble.

“You’ll never convince anyone those arms are real.” Alan took stock in the feeling returning to his limbs. He needed to buy more time.

“How did—” Her confusion turned to anger. “Rah!” She madly pulled the tower of tentacles down to crush him.

Alan flipped onto his belly and launched himself into a somersault through her massive legs – catching a whiff of awful seawater on his way.

Pomf!

It was as if the whole world shook when the fist weapons slammed down.

“Stab me into her. I mean, stab her… with me. Alan! Just stab!” the dagger pleaded, and Alan obliged.

He plunged the dagger into her back, and a horrible shriek escaped her.

The blade gurgled, growing a more vibrant blue around the steel. Alan retracted it to see the inscriptions glowing molten yellow.

She tried to swing her weapons, but they were too heavy all of a sudden. She could’ve just let go of the organic handles and use her fists, but that would mean proving him right.

He wrapped his arm around her greying neck with the dagger edge to her throat.

“You must end Akira Black,” the dagger said.

“No.” Alan furrowed his brow. “I’m not a killer.”

“It is the way of things here. Trust me, Alan Right.”

Akira eyed him with green, gritted teeth. “I will make you pay for your accusations!”

“Hurry, Alan. End her and stake your claim over the grey fog of Parose!” the dagger continued to urge him. “Unlocking Ojin’s vastness starts with the Grey!”

Alan shook his head.

This is all wrong.

“I’ll make you a deal, Akira,” Alan said.

She frowned deeply. “How do you know my name? How do you know any of what you say!”

Alan stiffened as she jerked in his grasp. He eyed the dagger, wondering if it only made sense to him… Which also made him consider whether all of this was made up and he was nuts.

He squeezed harder to keep her still.

“She will overpower you,” the dagger warned.

“I will spare your life in exchange for information,” he said.

The silence was tense as she tilted her head, until she belted out laughter.

“Merchants are desperate things. I have died a thousand deaths, foolish warrior. End me and be gone. Don’t ever utter my name again.”

Then it clicked in Alan’s mind. “What say I do utter your name again, and tell all in Ojin that Akira Black is nothing more than a fraud.”

Her arms jerked, and Alan pressed the dagger closer to her throat. Even if she wasn’t lying about dying, he knew pain was still a factor. She didn’t want to experience it. What’s more, she didn’t want Alan out of her sight now.

“No one would believe you,” she said, her voice unsure.

“I will give all the details they need.”

Alan noticed her mouth gushing dark purple blood. He’d have to convince her fast.

“Or, we can come to an agreement, and your secret stays safe with me.”

“You cannot reason with Ojin’s minions,” the dagger pleaded. “You are good, Alan. I can sense it. I don’t want to lose you so soo—”

“What do you want?” Akira growled. “Ahr. This goes nowhere unless you shut that jabbering weapon up!”

Alan considered yanking the Blue Saro out of the blade and back into his hand, but thought better of it. Could be a trick. “Silence,” he tried instead, then refocused on Akira. “Information on returning to our Origins, claim over the grey fog of Parose, and… one of the weapons you have hiding on your belt. In exchange, I let you live, and never tell a soul that you aren’t a monster.”

She hissed. “My weapons are earned.”

“You can pick which one.”

“Mph. Fine.”

Alan nodded toward the belt. “Release one of your arms, pick the weapon, and drop it on the ground. Make it official so I can let go.”

She mumbled something unintelligible – still reluctant to show her true form. Then, steam hissed out of the appendage’s suction cups – deflating it – while releasing a stench of vile rot when her arm disconnected from the organic weapon.

Alan fought not to hurl.

She yanked something hanging from the back of her belt, and Alan tensed.

The veins on her arms were grossly discolored – deep purples like varicose veins. Ready to stab if need be, he watched carefully as she tossed a pendant down beside them.

TRADE COMPLETE

Title: Low Merchant of Strangey Town

Steps taken to unlock next Title:

2/3

Saro Pendant of the Depths Received

+Colorless Saro Enhancement

Alan loosened his grip and backed away from Akira.

She grunted and turned around, slapping both fist weapons over her shoulder – one of which instantly clotted the wound in her back.

“Impossible,” the dagger said. “How did you—”

“I already regret not handing over a sword so you could replace that nonsensical thing.” Akira motioned toward the dagger. “The fighting is over, warrior. Sheath it, please, before I reopen the wound myself.”

Alan tentatively did so. He then inched toward the pendant doing flips on the floor – begging for him to pick it up.

Cshing! Another set of dueling swords echoed in his mind as soon as he donned the pendant.

“Why did you choose this one?” he asked.

“Your questions are limited to the Origin, as agreed.” Akira snapped her fingers – all of which flashed vibrant colors, commanding the Fog of War surrounding the land to dissipate in an instant.

Ojin Territory Unlocked – Parose

Alan exhaled with relief, then landed his gaze back on Akira. Her color seemed to be restoring to a healthy beige from greying decay. Even her arms appeared less tainted. “Hey, did you ever consider those fist weapons might be poisoning you?”

She peered to the sunny sky. “I hate the mind of a newcomer.”

“Harsh,” Alan said. “If only I could sheath myself, then you’d be happy.”

She hooted at that. “No Merchant has ever even attempted to trade with me since…” She trailed off.

Maybe because they weren’t able to. Alan willed that first prompt he’d seen to reappear and reread his Ultra Unique ability gifted by Mujungo. Then he realized his prompts no longer had Mujungo’s crazy sayings before them.

“…Anyway. Where were we? The Origin Worlds,” she sneered. “A pipe dream, I’m afraid. Stone Chasers have been exploring forever to grasp the Pegs of Fate.”

Lucius mentioned those. That’s what I’m after. Alan’s brow furrowed, and she held up a hand to stop him.

“Don’t, with the hundred questions. They’re just specially forged weapons that, when equipped together, are said to transport you to the realm of your death – or, put another way, your Origin World.”

Alan wanted to ask the next obvious thing, but kept his mouth shut since Akira seemed to like beating people with an octopus infinitely more than dialogue.

“Many have acquired the low level pieces, and none have even laid eyes on the ultra rares in the bad lands. As I said, a pipe dream.”

Alan twisted his lips, and decided to raise his hand.

She rolled her eyes. “Go ahead.”

“Those who’ve acquired the pieces, have they seen glimpses of the path back home? Any signs at all?”

“You would have to ask them. You’ll know when you see them. Crazed fools as mad as those who practice blessed necromancy.”

Alan arced an eyebrow and glanced at his dagger.

“Good luck, Merchant. I have fulfilled my duty, and the gods of trade now release me from my tether.” She hooted again to herself.

“What’s funny?”

“This is the first time I’m walking out of Parose not dragging a body to the cliffs.” She smirked, and Alan gulped.

“What will you do now, Akira?”

She shrugged. “This is uncharted territory. But I suspect after a stint of free wandering, I will be assigned to another foolish newcomer begging for death. One day the realm will respect me enough to enhance me to a Minion of Ojin wielding great status. ’Til then.”

Alan counted his lucky stars that his body was still intact – but for the sick bruises forming – and refrained from changing Akira’s mind. “I wish you luck, Minion of Ojin. I am the warrior who slayed the great monster of the depths.”

She showed her green-colored teeth and clenched a strong fist. “Hear, hear, warrior. Don’t let the Fog of War swallow you.”