The trees thickened as I moved forward, their twisted limbs arching over the path like skeletal fingers, blotting out the sun in uneven patches. Light dwindled, swallowed by the damp, clinging fog that pooled between the gnarled roots and sank into the muck beneath my heels.

The further I walked, the more unnatural it felt.

There was no wind. No rustling of leaves. Only the distant croak of unseen creatures and the occasional drip of moisture sliding from moss-covered branches.

The air was thick, humid with the scent of rot and stagnant water, clinging to my skin like spilled whiskey.

I slowed my pace, placing each step deliberately, testing the ground before committing. The skill felt amazing, and I found surety even in places I hadn’t expected.

But the bog was deceptive, shifting unpredictably underfoot. More than once, my heel pressed into what seemed like solid ground, only for it to sink an inch deeper than expected, the mud swallowing greedily before reluctantly releasing me.

So far, I’d tested my heels—and yeah, they were amazing. Not sinking into the mud like some tragic damsel in distress? Life-changing.

Next up, my cape.

I inhaled, reaching for the thrumming pulse of mana that always sat just beneath my skin. The moment I called to it, the magic answered eagerly, rushing into my veins, flooding my fingertips. A flick of my wrist, and an icicle formed—a sharp, deadly shard, balanced neatly in my palm.

But it wasn’t just my magic.

I could feel it—just a fraction of the mana being siphoned away, drawn into the fabric draped over my shoulders. The cape drank it in, and then, like a tide returning to shore, it surged back into me, refined and amplified.

Neat.

I filed that away for later.

[Diamond Reflex]? No need to test it more. It had already saved my ass once, and I wasn’t about to tempt fate.

That left [Unyielding Poise]—a skill designed to resist interruption, a tool for fights against humanoids who actually had the brains to disrupt me mid-cast. Unlike that… thing. That would be a problem for future Charlie.

So that left…

[Frost Weaving]

The skill was strange—like the cold itself bent to my will. Less a spell, more of a… anything I wanted made from frozen water. Words didn’t quite do it justice. So I didn’t bother.

Instead, I froze the water.

The moment the surface crystallized, spreading outward in a delicate fractal bloom of jagged frost, the trees… moved.

“Oh… That may have been a mistake…” I muttered.

It was not a breeze, nor a shift in the environment—they moved. Branches creaked, the sound thick and viscous, like something drenched in molasses being pried apart. Roots slithered beneath the bog water, rippling the surface where my ice hadn’t yet reached.

Then, with a sickening glorp, something heaved itself upright.

A treant, but wrong.

Its gnarled wooden limbs weren’t just wood—they were saturated with the swamp, bog-wet bark dripping with congealed sludge. Pockets of murky liquid clung to its form, trapped like blisters beneath its surface, bursting and oozing thick, black filth down its twisted frame with every shuddering step.

Ugh, why come here?

Its legs—if they could even be called that—were nothing but tangled roots, dragging through the mud, sloshing with each unnatural movement. Where its eyes should have been, there was only hollow darkness, seeping with the same sickly muck that dribbled down its jagged, splintering jaw.

And as it lurched toward me, it let out a sound. A wet, gurgling groan, like the swamp itself was breathing.

[Quy Lay Lv.10]

Type: 1-Common | HP: 173/173

I clenched my fists, ice already forming at my fingertips.

Alright then. Let’s see what this [Frost Weaving] can really do. System, let me know if somethin’ interesting happens, otherwise no notices in front of my face.

The creature lurched, its bog-drenched limbs dragging through the swamp with an agonizing slosh, but… wow. It was so slow. Not even reflex activated.

Like, really slow.

I arched a brow, sidestepping with medium effort, watching as it swung a dripping, root-clumped arm through the space where I had been standing seconds ago. The attack whiffed so hard I almost felt bad for it. Almost.

“Well,” I mused, rolling my shoulders, “this feels a little unfair.”

Time to test the skill.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

With a flick of my wrist, I shaped the mana, let it twist and coil, then solidify into a sharp, glistening icicle. I leveled it at my pathetically sluggish opponent, aimed for what looked like the center mass, and fired.

The shard shot forward with a crisp, biting whistle—a perfect textbook projectile, if I may say so—and the moment it slammed into the creature’s chest, it jerked.

Not dramatically. Not with some epic, ear-splitting screech. Just… stumbled, as if I’d smacked it with a particularly aggressive snowball.

I stared.

It staggered back, sludge sloughing from its frame in slow, thick globs.

I blinked.

Was that it?

I had braced for a fight—some grotesque, nightmarish struggle against a mire-drenched horror, but this was pathetic. This thing was worse than the wolves—in every stupid muddy way.

A slow, mischievous grin curled at my lips. I might have just found the perfect training dummy. I reached for my mana again, this time with no hesitation, and instead of a neat, moderate-sized icicle, I doubled the mass.

No, tripled it.

The air chilled in response, frost creeping up my fingertips as the massive shard of ice took shape—sharp, uneven, and absolutely unfair.

“Oh, this is gonna be good.”

I launched it. The projectile slammed into the creature, embedding deep into its chest, and for a breathless second, it was still.

Then—

The mud, the water, the pulpy, sludge-laden roots that held its warped body together—they just… froze. The moisture in its form solidified instantly, locking it into place, trapping it in an unforgiving embrace of ice.

And then—

CRACK.

A splintering rupture ran up its twisted frame, fracturing its body from the inside out. Its hollow sockets seemed to widen in shock, as if the poor, oozing creature realized too late what had just happened.

Then, it just… shattered.

Chunks of frozen mud, bark, and whatever the hell else it was made of rained down, hitting the swamp floor with hollow, brittle thuds.

I stood there, stunned for a moment, and then—

I giggled. Then I laughed. A full-bodied, elated giggle, echoing through the bog as I clutched my stomach in sheer delight. “Oh, this is amazing.”

I perfectly countered these things. Perfectly.

This wasn’t just a fight, no, it was target practice. This dungeon would not be hard at all. It was going to be fun. NightSwallow was right.

The swamp churned. What had once been a quiet, eerie bog now roared to life, trees groaning and twisting as countless figures peeled themselves from the murk.

Not just one. Not ten. A whole damn forest. “Oh, oopsie,” I murmured, but the grin stretching my lips was anything but apologetic.

The Quy Lays were crawling from the depths, their moss-coated limbs sloshing, gurgling, and oozing with thick, tar-like mud, their branch-like fingers twisting and snapping as they lumbered closer. Their mold-ridden bodies shuddered, as if shaking off the cold bite of their fallen comrade.

Then—

WHOOSH.

A thick branch snapped through the air like a ballista bolt, hurtling straight at my face.

Instinct took over. I pushed mana into my shield; it flickered into existence, angling it just right, deflecting the attack at the last moment. The branch veered off, spinning wildly into the trees, slamming into one of the slower Quy Lays with a sickening crack.

“Oh, so that’s your new trick?” I huffed, shaking my arm as the force of the hit buzzed through my bones. “Great. Love that for me.”

The ground shuddered, thick mud bubbling and shifting, trying to suck me in with each step. I had no time to complain, no time to overthink—only time to act. I reached for my magic, ice coiling around my fingertips in response, an icicle spear forming as I aimed at the closest moving mass of sludge and roots.

“Quy Lays,” I called, stepping back as they closed in from all directions, my mana thrumming, my breathing steady. “I may not be a mighty warrior anymore, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have skills.”

With a twist of my wrist, I sent the icicle hurtling forward, spearing straight into the nearest creature’s chest.

The result was instant—

Its twisted, knotted body froze on impact, ice spreading like a disease, locking it in place—and then, just like before, CRACK.

It shattered. One down. WHOOSH.

Another branch shot toward me, and I barely had time to shift—

Damn, these things were getting faster.

“Pretender!” The prince’s mocking voice rang in my head. “Do you talk to yourself often?”

I gritted my teeth, ducking as another branch slammed into the mud where I had just stood. “Shut up, Prince! I liked you better when you were asleep.”

“Too bad your mother woke me up!” His voice dripped with amusement, unbothered by the fact that I was currently being assaulted by an army of tree monsters. “Get ‘em, they stink.”

I had no breath to argue, no moment to throw back a snarky retort. Because they were everywhere. “Spirits can’t smell!”

The ground shifted, conspiring against me, mud gripping at my ankles, trying to root me down—but my heels wouldn’t let it. Instead of sinking, I glided, mana pushing just enough to keep me mobile, light, untouched.

Another Quy Lay lunged, its mud-coated hands clawing toward me—I spun, mana twisting around me, and this time, I didn’t just throw an icicle.

I crafted.

The air crackled as I formed an arc of ice, a curved blade, razor-thin, and sent it whipping forward like a scythe of winter itself. It sliced through three creatures at once, freezing their grotesque, sludgy forms, severing them in clean, snapping fractures. “Pretender. I can see they stink,” said the annoying prince again as they…

SHATTER.

SHATTER.

SHATTER.

The pieces of ice-bound bodies collapsed into the swamp, swallowed instantly by the muck and water. But there were still more. They didn’t stop. More branches launched, more mud churned, the very swamp itself trying to pull me under—

But I wasn’t some helpless traveler, I wasn’t prey. I had my legendary skill, and it wasn’t just for show. With a sharp breath, I slammed my hands together, mana coiling between my palms, and let the power surge outward. The ground beneath my feet froze solid, ice racing across the bog, locking everything in place, roots, mud, water—everything.

The Quy Lays that had been lurking, waiting, creeping closer—they froze too.

I didn’t even hesitate. I raised a foot, then slammed my heel down. And the ice fractured outward, sending a shockwave through the frozen swamp, rupturing every enemy within range.

They cracked. Then splintered and then fell apart, nothing more than fragments of ice and sludge, lifeless and broken.

And finally—

Silence.

Just the whisper of wind through the trees, the distant drip of melting ice, the distant croak of a frog. I exhaled, almost out of mana.

Then I grinned, tossing my hair over my shoulder as I surveyed the absolute carnage. The swamp still hissed with melting ice, the remnants of my magic slowly dissipating into the humid air. The scent of earthy decay, frozen mud, and raw mana lingered around me, mixing with the fading echoes of my battle.

I let out a breathless laugh, adrenaline still pulsing through my veins.

“Did you see that, you annoying royal archmage?” I threw my arms wide, grinning like a fool as I perched on a half-submerged boulder, its surface slick with algae and frost. “I’m also a legend now!”

The prince scoffed, his voice curling in my mind with a mixture of disdain and grudging amusement. “That was nothing. Just borrowed power.”

I rolled my eyes, resting an elbow on my knee as I surveyed the icy devastation I had left behind. “Oh, shut up. Let me enjoy the moment, will you?”

But then his tone shifted. Cold. Serious. A weight I wasn’t prepared for. “But I have news for you, princess.”

A shiver crawled down my spine. My breath hitched, and an odd, unfamiliar weight settled in my chest. He never called me that. Never. Dread curled like a slow-moving shadow, creeping up the edges of my mind.

“What… what is it?” My voice was steadier than I felt. The swamp around me felt quieter, as if the world itself held its breath. The prince’s response was slow, deliberate, ominous.

“As I told you, Irwen is making her move.” The temperature—already warm from the bog’s natural humidity—felt stifling. The air, thick and heavy, clung to my skin. “She’s enacting a ritual,” he continued, his voice heavy with something I couldn’t quite place. Urgency? Frustration? “It will damage the spell matrices.”

I stiffened, gripping the edge of the boulder, my nails digging into the slick stone. That wasn’t just bad. As everyone was telling me, that was very bad, kind of bad.

My stomach dropped.

“So,” the prince pressed, his tone sharpening, “use me now, or never.”