Ehrwin counted his blessings as he followed Chet, who deftly navigated through the thick underbrush. The negotiation had gone far better than he’d hoped. It felt strange as luck wasn't often on his side. He was born poor in his past life, and in the current iteration, he had been dealt a new hand as a noble with no aptitude for magic—an anomaly that made him an outcast to noble society, a disappointment to his family, and to himself. As such, he had learned to be grateful for the rare moments of fortune that came his way.

The forest grew denser and darker as they pressed on, despite it being early afternoon. The trees had narrow trunks that wound their way into ominous spirals, and the ground was littered with wild mushrooms and dark-petaled flowers with thorny, jagged stems.

“I’m warnin’ you, the man I’m about to introduce you to is as nutty as a wild dog. So, Leave the talkin’ to me,” said Chet.

Wonderful. Just the kind of guide he needed.

“I take it you don’t know anyone better who could help?”

Chet snorted. “You’re lucky I know even one.”

“And one more thing. He’s got piss for mouth. Might try to rile you up. Don’t let him get to you.”

“Sounds like my father, nothing that I’m not already used to.”

Though, Ehrwin couldn't guarantee that Gaul wouldn't crack open the guide's head should the guide dare to jeer at him.

Chet turned his head and shot a wide-eyed look at Ehrwin.

“Got an old man with a sharp tongue, eh? Guess we’re both in the same boat in that regard. Real shitty to have a Pa like that, but I reckon it has its fair share of upsides.”

Ehrwin raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“They help to thicken your skin, for one.”

Ehrwin chuckled, rolling his eyes.

He did have a thick skin, but he couldn't attribute that solely to Bartrem. Sure, Bartrem had helped by always finding occasions to make jabs at his inability to use magic like a "real noble." But, it was his job as a part-time call center representative while he was in college in his past life that really helped him in that regard. Nothing builds tolerance than routinely dealing with disgruntled customers. And you get a lot of them when you’re working for a company that sells questionable natural remedies for hair loss.

“Your father is a woodcutter, too?” Ehrwin asked as he sidestepped a bed of mushrooms.

Chet shook his head. “Fisherman. Or was one,” he said wistfully.

Ehrwin wasn’t sure if it would be appropriate to pry further. But, then again, what did he have to lose? “Why isn’t he one anymore?”

Chet sighed. “The place you’re ‘bout to visit took his sanity. Five years ago I reckon when Pa got close to the cursed Mire, he saw something that made him go cuckoo in the head. Now all he ever does is spend his days floating on that old boat of his, circling ‘round the Mire, but never getting too close. Spouts gibberish when he talks, and everyone at the tribe thinks he’s a lost cause.”

Ehrwin raised a brow. “By any chance the guide we’re about to meet wouldn’t happen to be—”

“Aye, it’s my Pa you’re meeting,” said Chet, face growing grave. “Sorry, didn’t mean to hide it. Just ain’t something I often like admitting to.”

"No need to apologize," Ehrwin said as he walked up beside Chet, extending a hand as if to pat him on the carapace, but at the last moment, he changed direction and patted him on the shoulder instead.

“Past five years must have been really tough on you.”

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Careful now, Ehrwin. Can’t start sympathizing with him. No need to further listen to his sob story. Especially knowing what may come next.

But, it was too late. Ehrwin's comment had opened the floodgates, propelling Chet to lament at length. He spoke of how he had moved to town four years ago to start afresh, after giving up on his father. In his second year there, he’d met Hasiba, and they had fallen in love, gotten married, and lived together happily for nearly two years, before the town's newly elected mayor chased them out.

"That fuckin’ prick," muttered Chet, the anger clear in his voice.

Ehrwin couldn't help but listen with concern, feeling a growing sense of empathy for Chet's pain. He too had had a hard time fitting in, both in this world and in his past life. Though he didn't intend on growing a soft spot for the tribal man, he couldn't help but feel a connection to him.

Suddenly the sound of rustling leaves reached his ears, making him swiftly turn his head and scan the area for signs of life. Could it be them? He was surprised they managed to stay hidden for so long. Had they honed their stealth, or had he simply misheard, and the lot of them got lost? The latter was more likely, knowing Dickbreaker Dolly who a had a shit sense of direction. Eagle-eyed Flint was a mute, and Gaul Hammers was only good for killing. Too bad their navigator marsh’s head hung on a pike at the Coldwyn mansion back at Prasthun. A price his group had to pay for the riches that afforded them a comfortable expedition. The plan went awry at the worst possible time. But then again, did plans ever work out as intended? Ehrwin doubted it.

The only foolproof plan was a plan to not plan at all. Not surprising given how unpredictable life was and all. One day he was high up on cloud nine, celebrating his birthday with his closest friends, and the next he was struggling to breathe as a virus ravaged his lungs, with hospital beds filling up and resources stretched thin, ventilators short in supply, culminating into a triage. It was in those moments he realized his worth in a society that valued money and status above all else. He was passed over for treatment and left to die like a dog, while his mother wailed in helpless despair. Not every life was equal. Ehrwin learned that the hardest way.

A wave of painful memories swept over him as his stomach twisted in knots. Ehrwin clenched his chest, squinting as he looked down at the ground. He would never stop regretting leaving his mother behind. She was a strong woman, raising him all on her own. His father, in his past life, had been even worse than the current – abandoning Ehrwin and his mother just after he was born. Some luck he had.

"You okay?" Chet's voice interrupted his thoughts, prompting him to take a deep breath and look up.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Chet said, sounding concerned.

Ehrwin shook his head. “I’m fine.”

Despite Chet's insistence, Ehrwin reassured him that he was okay.

“Almost there now. There’s the lake up ahead.” Chet pointed to a shimmering body of water, visible beyond the twisted trees couple strides away. The amber-colored lake was littered with withered leaves and partially obscured by a dense white mist, blending the water and sky into one ethereal landscape. The only sounds to be heard were the soft plops of water droplets falling back into the river and the occasional hoot of an owl in the distance.

As they reached the muddy shore of the lake, Chet turned to Ehrwin. “They say this lake is the barrier between the dead and the living. Sure you wanna do this?”

“Oh, fuck no,” was what Ehrwin wanted to say, but it was a tad too late for that.

“Shit on it. Let’s do it.”

“Your funeral,” Chet replied. “Aight, I’ll call out to him. This’ll take a while. So, be patient.”

Ehrwin watched as Chet cupped his hands around his mouth and let out a long, piercing whistle. The kind of noise that shepherds made to recall their flocks. Ehrwin winced as Chet repeated the whistle again and again.

As they waited, his chest grew heavy with unease. His gut was telling him to turn around and run. Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe—

A shape emerged from the mist: an old man paddling a canoe. The white tendrils of mist seemed to cling to his unkempt beard, making it appear as if it were made of smoke. The old man's lanky frame, with long, sinewy arms, guided the canoe through the water with ease, his unblinking eyes fixed on Ehrwin and Chet, the old man's deep breaths and gentle sound of paddling the only indication of life on the river.

"Weissen kall me gan, byu bool?" spoke the man as he paddled his canoe to the shore.

What? Ehrwin frowned. He’d heard strong accents before, but nothing quite like this. Chet responded in a similar accent, the two of them arguing back and forth.

“What is he saying?”

“He's being stubborn, says he ain’t letting an outsider on his boat.”

Ehrwin raised a brow. He started brainstorming for ways to persuade—

“Nothing a few broken teeth can’t fix,” came a feminine voice from behind.

Ehrwin and Chet spun around to see three figures approaching. The voice belonged to the tall woman in the middle, who was grinning at Ehrwin - it was none other than Dickbreaker Dolly. She was infamous for snapping men's genitals like twigs, and wearing them around her neck like trophies. She was flanked by Eagle-eyed Flint, looking as unassuming as ever, and Gaul Hammers, a burly man with a shaved head, war hammer resting on his shoulder. He’d used it to crush countless skulls, earning him his nickname.

A mischievous smile crept across Ehrwin’s face. Oh boy, here we go again.