There was no moment of rest for the soldiers of Esparia. It was not because they yearned for frequent conquest or to defend deadly wars, no. What they specialized in was adventure and diplomacy, traveling to countless realms as negotiators, missionaries, or at some point, colonizers.

There were no large battalions… No generals, no military hierarchy, no weapons. We had scholars and mages. We never needed an army, but we were once considered to be the most powerful neutral faction in existence. It was not because of our outstanding wizards and their universities, but it was because of Valor and his roundtable of knights, most commonly known as the “Order of the Stars.“

When he first proposed the idea, I wasn’t very keen— especially not when the first 6 he recruited were malnourished orphans from a dying world. I deemed it to be pointless and unrealistic. Father, on the other hand, gave him a chance. In hindsight, he probably just did that so Valor would stop begging.

By some miracle, they were still able to thrive, reaching over a hundred members— each of them strong enough to topple a nation singlehandedly. Valor’s training regiment must’ve been hellish… Well, it is in character.

What impressed me the most was their resilience. I can’t ever grasp what made them special or what Valor saw in them that made them the way they are… but some part of me wanted to be part of it… part of what he created…

Siron would’ve been a good knight.

My eyes opened to a reflection— a reflection I had hoped to reflect someone stronger. But all I saw was a half-dead, half-eyed, half of a man.

My skin had gone as pale as my hair. One of my sockets lay empty, letting in a small amount of murky water to drip in.

If I don’t stand up now, I would catch an infection… Hell, I might already have it.

With a grimace, I pushed myself up from the riverbed, the frigid water clinging to my tattered clothes like a second skin. The only intact piece of garment that remained was my cloak, which felt heavier as I struggled to sit up against a tangled mess of tree roots.

It was a miracle I hadn’t bled out already. Aside from the headache, my injuries turned out to be more minor than I thought. A trace of divine healing magic lingered from my wounds. It was the same type I saw Siron wielded. Was this part of his abilities as well? If it was, I doubt I deserved it.

I scanned the area, half-hoping that I somehow escaped the fog. Alas, the silver mist remained, even after what I presumed hours of being unconscious. My moving through the river must’ve extended my time in the fog. Judging from the daylight peeking from the canopy, I must’ve been unconscious for the whole night… or days.

As to how much time I have left in the fog? Only the gods know… but the fact that I was still alive meant that The Kieran had lost track of me.

Thankfully, the fog was thinner, letting me see my environment clearly— save for the fact that half my vision was completely blind. It didn’t take long for me to realize it was a swamp, likely far from where we camped.

“Juuust great,” I exclaimed. Remembering the rules of the fog, I immediately covered my mouth so as to not make any more noise.

Normally, the best course of action was to stay in this spot and let the fog pass. Walking around would only extend my time of being trapped. However, there was no telling how long I needed to wait or if there was any beast around… besides…

My stomach rumbled…

This was no time to be held back by mortal needs. Fucking embarrassing.

“So it’s either I starve to death, or risk being trapped in the fog forever, huh?” I whispered.

I stood still, leaning against a tree. Dark memories replayed in a loop in my silence as occasional insects came to bother my thoughts. It was as if the forest was built to cause despair… an evil joke to whoever caused this… That damn goat-head deserves a taste of vengeance, I say.

I waited out my hunger for a few minutes before the urge to walk overtook my impulses.

High risk, low rewards.

With a resigned sigh, I pushed myself to my feet, wincing at the ache that radiated through my body. There was no point in waiting if it meant I wouldn’t accomplish anything. Right… There was no point… In my eyes, I was already dead.

Taking tentative steps, I tested the stability of the ground. Mud and leaves lapped at my ankles as I gambled sinking into deeper trenches. There was not much solid ground to stand on. The difficult terrain made me reconsider my decisions.

A small piece of wood seemed to tug on my boots. It was Siron’s bow, stringless, and still gleaming with divine magic. I can’t use its mana. For me, it was nothing more than a piece of wood, but I picked it up anyway. At least I have something to bonk ghosts with if they ever come back. It would definitely be useful for scaring the undead, though I doubt it would kill anything.

Rather than a weapon, it served more like a cruel reminder of my mistakes. I would mourn if I had the luxury.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

A single croak disturbed my introspection. Sitting at over 3 feet tall, a large, rough-skinned brown toad stood in my path. Its stubby legs and round body sunk deep in the mud as it stared thoughtlessly.

Its bulging yellow eyes regard me with unnerving senselessness. I consider all creatures to be intelligent, but this one seemed to have no brain at all. It almost reminds me of a turd after eating something foul for lunch.

"Hey there, big guy," I chirped, crouching down to get a closer look. The toad blinked lazily, its expression unreadable.

I reached in for an exploratory pat. Then, in a sudden movement, its large tongue snatched the bow in my hand with surprising agility. It turned around and hopped away, splashing mud into my face.

My beautiful, disgraced, bruised, tired face…

I felt the mud slowly drip down my chin and into my clothes. Not in my 350 years have I ever reached this low. I am not one to bitch about how difficult the past couple of weeks but there is no universe where I would allow myself to be humiliated.

I sloshed through the mire, eyes locked into the bow as I chased the oversized fucker. It seemed to taunt me with every splash of mud it kicked up. It dared block my already half-blind vision. No respect for the disabled, I see.

“C’mere, you slimy bastard!” I angrily whispered, just quiet enough to not get The Kieran’s attention.

No matter how much I ran, the distance only seemed to grow. The chase only served to worsen the aches, mud, and grime on my person.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of pursuit, the toad came to a halt in a patch of moss before fixing me with another blank stare.

I stared at the toad, panting heavily from the exertion. “What the hell is your deal!?” I asked.

The toad did not react.

I stood there, chest heaving with exertion, staring at the toad as if expecting it to suddenly sprout wings and fly away, taking the bow with it. But it remained stubbornly in place, its amphibian brain seemingly incapable of comprehending the havoc it had wreaked on my dignity.

Since it wasn’t doing anything, I reached out to the bow in its mouth and pulled. The bow did not budge. It didn’t seem interested in giving away what it stole. I couldn’t comprehend its stubbornness. Even if it can sense that the item is magical, it has no use for it— unless the animals in this world use twigs to build nests which I highly doubt.

"Give it back," I hissed.

It took at least 10 minutes… I would’ve given up ages ago if only there was something else to do. So here I was, locked in a silent battle of wills with a mud-caked failure of a specimen over a seemingly insignificant piece of wood. It was almost comical, in a twisted sort of way.

“Your entire species is nature’s biggest mistake,” I growled.

It stayed still, silent and unmoving.

“You could only wish to become a frog!”

It blinked lazily… It’s times like these when I would remember Valor’s techniques during his training sessions. It’s always in times of need when a protagonist’s power blooms. Valor had this special move where he lifted one leg and drove it through an opponent’s stomach. I believed he called it a “kick,” but I insisted on naming it;

“Phantom Drill!”

Just when I was about to stomp its mouth, a surge of mana burst forth as it hopped and dissipated into a swarm of butterflies. The swarm flew up a rock and swirled back to converge into the form of a toad. Fae energy radiated as it cast the spell, before turning back to mimic an ordinary animal’s mana.

“No fucking way…”

I didn’t notice its aura at all. Hell, I didn’t even know that was possible. My magic eye never failed to let me see through illusions, spells, or even hidden dimensions… but this one did. A fae at that— usually associated with nymphs, spriggans, unicorns, or even trolls.

This creature’s magic in particular is closer to fairies. Faries of all things! Fairies!

I could accept it being a variant of a goblin or a fucked-up kelpie but fairies!? There’s not even a semblance of beauty or anything mystical.

"Who... or what are you?" I whispered, more to myself than to the toad.

It regarded me with those same blank, uncomprehending, bulbous eyes. It seemed unaware of the magical spectacle it had just performed as if it were merely going about its business in the swamp.

The remaining part of me who wanted to let the bow go vanished. There is no way in hell I am abandoning whatever abomination this is.

Actively choosing to chase the bait, I hopped onto the boulder it stood on. It hopped away, resuming the pursuit. But this time, it didn’t last long.

The moment I reached the peak of the rock, the fog seemed to thin down as I gazed upon a large, murky body of water. At the center is a tall hut, slightly obscured by a single tree whose trunk twisted and swirled around its foundation, merging into the building itself.

Around the hut is a lake, seemingly fathomless, and covered with reeds and lily pads duller than any foliage I’ve seen since coming to this world. Scaled shadows lurk beneath the blurry waters, as long as the lake itself— maybe even longer. It too radiated a faint fae energy, one that felt as corrupted as the foul spell that lingered here.

It was the only few parts of the forest that weren’t shrouded under the canopy, though the sky was still as gray as the fog, likely influenced by the sickening atmosphere and mana that was emitted from the center tree. The dull green aura flowed into its roots and up its trunks, and scattering into the air from its leaves. The eerie, twisted magic overwhelmed all my senses, enough to trigger my “freeze and shut the fuck up” response.

The toad hopped towards the entrance, crossing the rackety rope bridge that hung mere inches above the water. It squeezed into a small hole beside the large ornately designed door, decorated with skulls, hair, and bone.

“Hag magic,” I whispered to myself.

There’s no mistaking it. Even in this world, their influence on the mortal realm is eerily similar. This one is a particularly twisted form of fae magic, though most would refuse to recognize it as a part of the fae folk’s... But I beg to differ, both are inherently chaotic and mischievous. I deal with fairies the same way I deal with hags— which is to either kill them or avoid them.

It didn’t seem to be related to The Kieran. Fae and the undead don’t mix well thematically, though there are special cases where the two would meet. The chances are especially higher when hags or witches are involved. Of course, dealing with them is objectively foolish no matter what world you came from. Even if they had information, it would only serve them more than you.

Their contracts, If there’s even any, are notoriously misleading. At least devils, give you exactly what you want before taking your soul. Fae could just straight up refuse to fulfill their promise. And if they did, any wishes they grant could be twisted and unfair…

Every instinct screamed at me to turn and flee. I kept coming up with reasons, all reasonably valid, to not cross the bridge.

Not even curiosity would drive me to go there…

But…

“The bow…”

I turned around, preparing to cross the bridge.

Whoever they are, they must’ve wanted something to do with its divine magic.

One purely irrational decision.

I would flee but… I hate hags too much to let them have a divine artifact, even if it’s as weak as a cleric’s bow.