My legs feel like rocks as I force myself to walk, the tentacles dragging behind me as pulses of exhaustion flow through our bond. I choose the trunk Travis is sitting on and plop my butt down, causing it to rock beneath my weight and making Travis flinch.

"HEY!" Travis suddenly yelps, flaring out his hood. "Why the hell didn't you warn me?!" He glares at me, scooting farther to the trunk's end.

"Don't get your tails in a twist, I'm just sitting down," I snap back.

I'm tired and hungry. Today has been more brutal than the last one. I don't care if some prissy snake throws me across the room. I. Am. Sitting. Here.

I'm only saying you shouldn't try to sneak up on me," Travis hisses, sounding slightly offended. "Is that too much to ask for?"

"How is sitting to your side considered sneaking up?" I huff, pulling my backpack toward me. "And how is that different from all the other times we've met?"

"Those were different! You were usually facing me or had enough of a scent for me to smell!" Travis insists.

That's the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. So, do I need to be smelly now? Is that it?

Something pounds into the back of my head, causing worries to leak through the bond. I place my forehead in my hand, taking a deep breath.

I need to calm down. It won't do me any good to snap at everyone here.

Lizardmen. A bunch of lowlifes.

Where did that thought come from?

"Look, I just don't like being surprised, especially at my sides," Travis says, shuddering. "Not something I want to experience again."

"Alright," I say, dragging my hand down my face. "Sorry for my earlier actions. That was rude of me." I unzip my backpack and take out a notebook and pen.

I'd like to take out my food, but there's too much risk. Normally, I would sneak off somewhere, but it might be dangerous if someone is trying to murder me.

"You don't look too well,' Travis remarks. 'Have you even gotten any sleep lately?"

Not very well, unfortunately. I might try again later.

Well, what do you think?" I asked, scribbling furiously into my notebook. "I'm sure anyone would if they suspect someone's trying to murder them. But what do I know?"

I must really have a death wish today. Of all times, I choose now to get my thoughts and words mixed up.

So, no news on that, then," Travis says, twirling his fork absentmindedly.

Looking up from my notebook, I sigh. "Penny and the other asura users don't want to look into it, despite Mary's best efforts. They said we're exaggerating and should focus on our jobs."

Not that I can blame them, though. As far as they're concerned, I'm not even alive. And they're not entirely wrong. What the hell can I do as a lowly tier 1 Essevian? The only thing I have going for me is my sentience and control over my body, but even that is compromised. I can't use my asura either—all thanks to certain parasites who won't lift a finger unless I force them to."

"Are you sure it's not an accident?" Travis suggests, twirling his fork. "Maybe someone just forgot to remove the arrow."

"Maybe," I reply, looking down at the arrow on my plate.

It still doesn't explain the light asura-infused arrow. Light asura is difficult to find and create, especially in large quantities. How could anyone forget to take it out? Even if it didn't touch my core, I could have permanently lost a limb. Regeneration isn't going to help with that.

"If it makes you feel any better," Travis continues, "I didn't detect any scents on the crossbow. At least not during this expedition. No one has been tampering with its ammunition."

Shrugging, I tap the pen against my notebook.

The asura might have interfered with it. Light asura can distort smells even in small amounts. The scents might have been erased by it.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"Travis," I look at him, "You don't have much experience with light asura, right?"

Flicking out his tongue, Travis places a hand under his head. "Mostly small bits of it when I was younger." Something flashes through his eyes as he hunches into himself. "Quite ironic how they use it, considering how you humans symbolize the thing."

"What do you mean by that?"

Narrowing his eyes, Travis sighs and rubs his shoulders. Suddenly standing up, he stretches his arms before turning to me.

"If you see him, tell Matthew I'm sleeping and not to bother me," he says firmly, then pauses, staring at the ground in concentration. "Actually, just say I'm busy with a project. He knows better than to bug me during that."

"Already? Didn't you say you could handle a bit of extra work?" I ask him.

"Mental exhaustion, idiot," Travis rolls his eyes and snorts. "I need time to relax and unwind. It's not like I'm a robot or one of those lifeless animated armors."

"Animated armors? Well, that's a funny comparison."

But a very accurate one. I remember meeting one back in my academy days. He embodied every stereotype about animated armor. If there's one good thing that came out of my transformation, it's not having to endure another lecture about laws."

Rolling his shoulders, he huffs, "Pfft, those lugnuts are basically robots with how lifeless they are. The ones in Aequitas Guild are even worse." He drags a hand down his face and lets out a groan. "Trust me, I've met one before. He lectured me to death about laws, justice systems, and a bunch of other nonsense just because I accidentally littered in a public space."

That's weird. That's the same name as the animated armor I met. Maybe Travis is talking about a different one?

"Well, I'm off to bed now," Travis yawns as he slowly slithers away. "Don't let the bed bugs bite you." He pauses, smirking at me. "No, wait, let them. I need the extra protein."

Chuckling at his joke, Travis continues on his way.

Glad to see someone is going to have a good time. Meanwhile, all that awaits me is countless sleepless nights.

----------------------------------------

'Puak!' 'Puak!' 'Puak!'

The man continues to swing his pickaxe while I haul some of the ores into a cart.

'Puak!' 'Puak!' 'Puak!'

Pieces of stone break off, tumbling to the ground as the man pauses in his mining and wipes his forehead. Mentally urging my tentacles to lower themselves, I cautiously approach him. With narrowed eyes, he thrusts a cart of ores towards me.

I grasp the cart's handle and push it toward a table where some porters are stationed. They promptly take the ores, inspecting and cleaning them with care.

After the cart is empty, I return it to the man. My tentacles continue to drag behind me, incessantly reminding me of my hunger.

If these parasites tentacles won't help, they could at least be quiet.

"Beatrice!" Mary's voice calls from behind. "Do you mind harvesting some of the plants over there?" She points towards a rocky wall covered in vegetation. "We're a bit behind on that."

"Sure," I reply.

Thank goodness. I could use a break, but harvesting some flora beats mining any day.

"Thank you," Mary says, brushing some mud off her face. "I wish they wouldn't be so adamant about meeting the quotas for minerals and plants. It might be a while before we get a break, with how short-staffed we are."

"It's okay. You did your best under the circumstances," I reassure her, glancing around.

All around me, the porters are engrossed in their work, their clothes caked with deep layers of dirt and their faces etched with exhaustion.

This turned out better than I anticipated, considering the extra work

Frowning, I place a hand under my chin.

Come to think of it, things haven't been so bad since Mary took over. Oddly enough, I didn't even notice when she assumed leadership until recently. It's almost as if it became natural like it was meant to happen. Strangely, I feel relieved. That can't be normal.

"Mary!" a woman calls out cheerfully as she walks toward her. "Are you coming to the celebration this evening?"

"Wouldn't miss it for the world," Mary replies with a smile, then turns to me. "Are you coming as well?"

The porters who had invited Mary suddenly grow pale, their faces showing discomfort and their eyes filled with disdain as they glance at me.

"I'm going to get started on harvesting now," I say quickly, slowly backing away. "Wouldn't want the asura hunters to see us as lazy."

They will still see us as lazy either way, but it's good enough as an excuse.

Swiftly moving away, I traverse past several porters engrossed in harvesting their plants. A subtle wave of amusement emanates through our bond, accompanied by an amusing mental image of me awkwardly retreating.

Right, and somehow a couple of tentacles can do better.

Pulses of confirmation rang out through the bond.

As I walk by, someone comments, "The porters sure are more organized these days. I haven't seen this in quite a while."

"Yeah," replies the person next to them, "It can be annoying at times, but at least we don't have to watch out for dissenters constantly."

Huh. So even the guards have noticed the change as well.

The two guards turn a corner and continue on their way. Once they're gone, one of the porters holds something to the light. A strong smell of rotten eggs fills my nostrils, making my head spin.

What is that smell?

"Doesn't this look kind of weird?" the porter mutters to the person beside them. "I mean, these things don't often grow here, especially in this kind of terrain."

Moving closer, I quietly observe the plant. The mushroom is as dark as coal with a rocky-like surface, and it has a few cracks that reveal a reddish, magma-like glow.

Isn't that a Ucroil? I thought they only grew in warmer environments or places with fire asura. What is it doing here?

"Maybe it's from the last time this dungeon got unstable," Another porter comments tiredly. "The previous expedition was pretty sloppy with their work. They probably missed it, just like everything else that went wrong."

That's true, but I thought the dungeon's asura drastically decreased without changing its element to fire.

Something prods at my back like an insistent slap from the bond, urging me to 'get on with it'. Mentally pushing the tentacles away, I move forward.

Maybe I'm just being paranoid. Seeing shadows where there are none. Besides, who would listen to a sleep-deprived, melodramatic Essevian anyway?