Nozomanu Fushi no Boukensha (LN) - Volume 2 - Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Dragon Blood Blossom 

“I suppose I should... Accept a proper request. This time,” I said as I stood by my lonesome, staring at one of the guild’s many request boards. 

Although I resolved the incident at the lake not too long ago, that request wasn’t filed through official guild channels, and it wasn’t something I could take credit for. 

I have to get my act together. 

I continued my search... 

“One right here...” 

My eyes stopped on this particular request. It was nothing noteworthy since the reward for completing the request was a single bronze coin. No wonder it was left on the board as-is; one could earn more coin by slaying a Goblin. 

But what, exactly, did this request entail? 

My interest piqued, I examined the rest a little more closely, only to find that it was by no means a simple task. 

“Rentt...? Are you thinking of taking up that request? We would be most grateful if you did...” 

Turning around to the source of the familiar voice, I saw none other than Sheila, who had apparently been on receptionist duty this entire time. 

I only visited the guild during its more quiet hours, so there were few, if any adventurers in the hall at this time. Sheila, too, didn’t exactly have much receptionist work to do, hence her wandering over to where I stood. 

“The reason why... This request. Still remains here... It is not a matter of... Compensation, isn’t it? More of... The request’s details.” 

“Yes. At a glance, a single bronze coin isn’t very much, but seeing who requested it, it does make sense. It is a tradition of the guild, after all.” 

This tradition was the offering of a single bronze coin as a reward. This was something done by individuals who needed an adventurer’s aid, but couldn’t afford to offer a large sum of coin as a reward. I suppose one could say it was something quite similar to volunteer work. Requests like these have been common from the establishment of the guild itself, and new adventurers often learned of this tradition from their seniors. 

Clearing her throat, Sheila continued. 

“However, even though there were adventurers willing to work on a pro-bono basis, the contents of the request are...a little...” 

“To gather... A Dragon Blood Blossom. A difficult request... Around these, parts. Very difficult.” 

A Dragon Blood Blossom was a flower with crimson petals as red as blood. It was a rare plant, with both ornamental and medicinal uses. From these flowers, a fluid of the same color referred to as Dragon-Flower Blood could be extracted, and from this fluid a variety of medicines could be made. 

Legend has it that a human maiden fell in love with a Dragon, their relationship transcending the boundaries of species. Through a series of unfortunate misunderstandings, however, a hero came along and slew the Dragon. Its blood, in turn, became these flowers as it seeped deep beneath the ground. To this day, Dragon Blood Blossoms are sometimes given as gifts to fair maidens in love. 

Perhaps a strange idea of a gift, given the sad nature of the tale. But in the story, the hero was the maiden’s brother. Although the Dragon could have defeated him without much effort, it instead chose to offer up its own life out of its love for the maiden. As a result, this flower came to represent one’s unyielding determination in the face of all odds, hence its contemporary status as a romantic gift. 

Its rarity meant it was near-impossible to obtain such flowers. They were hardly sold at the common florist, and they commanded a large sum of coin. 

This request asked for the retrieval of these very same flowers. It was highly logical to assume the common adventurer wouldn’t be motivated to take up such a task. 

Although, Sheila did mention that quite a few adventurers considered taking the request. The reason was due to the name of the client in question. 

Written clearly in block letters on the request were the following words: 

“CLIENT: ORPHANS OF THE SECOND ORPHANAGE OF MAALT” 

Despite its nature, it wasn’t written to invoke pity in any way. The details of the request were written neatly, clearly, and formally. And while the reward for this task was negligible at best, it was up to the adventurer to decide if this request was worth his or her time. 

“What will you do...?” Sheila asked, with a slight smile on her face. Knowing Sheila, she already knew my answer. 

“I shall... Accept. This request.” 

The Second Orphanage of Maalt— 

Although Maalt was a frontier town in most manners of speaking, it was blessed with the existence of two labyrinths in its vicinity, and as a result, it had a sizable population of its own. Maalt was by and large a somewhat well-established township. There were a fair number of public facilities available—at least a number proportionate to Maalt’s population. The orphanage I was heading toward was one such facility. 

Depending on the area and kingdom, orphanages were run by a variety of organizations. This particular one in Maalt was run by a collective of monks and nuns belonging to the Church of the Eastern Sky. This church believes that an angel once descended from the skies over the eastern parts of Yaaran, with said angel apparently performing a variety of benevolent miracles. The Church, in turn, thinks of the angel as a materialization of God, thus being the target of their worship. As their activities suggested, they were a comparatively peaceful organization, not engaging in aggressive missionary work, nor demanding donations from the general public. 

However, they were more impoverished than other organizations of a similar vein. Followers of the Eastern Sky were known for their frugality and noble intentions, and they were respected throughout the Kingdom of Yaaran. This phenomenon only extended to Yaaran, though. Due to the fact the organization never did expand much, its name was apparently not heard often outside these lands. 

In any case, I suppose that was how local religious organizations concentrated in certain parts of the land fared. 

The presence of the Church in Maalt was represented by the Second Orphanage, although it didn’t make for much of a pleasant image. The building itself was run-down and in dire need of repair, but I suppose that was just how things were. Cracks and holes in its walls were filled up with pieces of white gravel here and there. While the makeshift repairs seemed to do their job, the general lack of funding that plagued the Church of the Eastern Sky was painfully evident in these observations. 

According to the books I had read and some of Lorraine’s ramblings, a certain empire to the west of Yaaran was home to quite a few large religious organizations. The power they wielded was immense, holding as much power as the empire itself. Its priests and representatives were said to be dressed in such an overwhelming amount of gems and finery that one would often mistake them for jewelers. In Yaaran, however, not a single one of their followers could be seen. 

Looking at the state of the orphanage, I felt the Church of the Eastern Sky would do better with a copper cooking cauldron as opposed to jewelry. But copper cauldrons were expensive, so that was neither here nor there. 

I soon found myself standing in front of the orphanage, its door equipped with a sizable knocker. Raising a hand, I gripped the metal handle, intending to announce my presence. That was what I wanted to do, until the knocker itself ripped off the door, now an inert metal part sitting in my palm. 

“...I saw... Nothing.” 

Fortunately, metal contacts existed on both the knocker and the door, so a simple repair job was in order. Withdrawing a vial full of Slime fluid from my tool belt, I poured some onto the knocker before holding it in place against the door for a few quiet seconds. Slowly releasing my hand, I was satisfied to see the knocker return to its original position. 

Not wanting to demolish any more of the orphanage’s infrastructure, I rapped on the rickety wooden door—softly, lest I take the door off its very hinges. Avoiding the area around the knocker, I continued my rapping, ensuring enough sound transmitted through the door’s surface. A most technical maneuver, this was probably the most elaborate door-knocking I had ever performed in my career as an adventurer. But the act of doing so caused me to momentarily ponder what exactly was I doing with my life. Thankfully, the door soon began to open, jolting me out of my increasingly sidetracked thoughts. 

A series of wild thuds emanated from the other side of the door—and to think I had just repaired the door’s knocker! In the next moment, the wooden door finally opened, the person on the other side apparently not caring much about the state of the door, nor my suspicious, skull-masked presence. In fact, she smiled. 

“Ah, a guest? I do apologize, but Lillian is not in today...” 

A girl about 12 years old, at best. Her short, but tidily-cropped hair stood out. Despite her poverty, she was well-groomed, with an air of refinement about her; I suppose even the perils of poverty weren’t enough to take that away from her. 

But I had no idea who Lillian was, and no idea how to respond. So I decided instead to explain my reason for visiting. 

“...I am an adventurer... From the guild. Who accepted your... Request. Or would you turn one... Such as myself, away?” 

The girl’s eyes widened at my words. 

“Ah! Why didn’t you say so? I assumed you were one of the debt collectors... Please, do come in. I hope it isn’t too cramped for your liking.” 

The girl opened the door wide, welcoming me into the orphanage. 

“...Do the children... Need something, from me?” I asked as we made our journey inside the building. 

Many pairs of curious eyes stared at me as we walked—orphans of all ages and sizes. Some were young girls holding infants in their arms, while others were near an age where they would soon be working in the outside world for their keep. 

Orphans came in a variety of ages, sizes, and histories. Some were orphaned when they lost their parents to monsters or bandits, and others were simply abandoned at the steps of an orphanage after they were born. Although the latter was somewhat rare in Maalt, the former was an all too common occurrence. After all, anything could happen once one left the safe confines of a walled town. Even if a village was established in an area that was supposedly safe and not frequented by monsters, it could be just as easily demolished by a roving band, or monsters that were attracted to human presence. These unfortunate events occurred daily, and more often than not, were too numerous to count. 

Such was the state of affairs in the world, as tragic as it may be. These orphans could be counted as lucky, if only because they still drew breath and had a roof over their heads. 

The gazes of those girls would perhaps be understandable, given my appearance. 

Having been led into a reception room of sorts, the short-haired girl left to get me some tea. In her absence, the room started filling with children; orphans filing into the room one girl after the other, eventually turning into quite the crowd. I suppose I looked interesting to them—I was a masked, robed adventurer—and was probably not the type of person they came across on a regular basis. 

There were countless adventurers dressed in a similar fashion as myself, but to those outside the profession, I suppose mine was a different sort of look. 

Occupational hazards common to the standard adventurer weren’t exactly shared with normal townsfolk. For instance, a townsperson wasn’t exposed to encounters that could irreversibly burn or scar their face on a regular basis. The darkness of my robe only contributed to this image; although adventurers mainly wore robes for concealment from monsters when moving through labyrinths or forests, they commonly wore dark brown robes for this purpose. Mine was pitch black. 

Considering all this, I could hardly blame the girls for gawking at me. To top it all off, I, an adventurer, personally paid a visit to their orphanage. Needless to say, the typical adventurer wasn’t exactly known for visiting orphanages, if only because most orphanages couldn’t afford their services. 

This phenomenon was echoed throughout most other kingdoms and countries in the land. Being a nonprofit organization to begin with, few funds would be assigned to an orphanage like this. Discounting the Church of the Eastern Sky’s frugality and financial troubles, one didn’t have to look too far in Maalt to find that other religious groups’ orphanages were plagued by a similar lack of funding. 

In other words, the presence of an adventurer in any orphanage was a rarity in and of itself, hence the curious crowd before me. 

This sight somewhat saddened me. While I was relatively harmless, adventurers were typically characters of questionable morality, and they were hardly the type of people children should be so readily approaching. 

The orphans didn’t seem to understand this. 

As if to interrupt my internal monologue, the door to the room opened once more, revealing the girl who had greeted me at the door. In her hands was a tray, along with a simple cup and saucer set. Tea for me, perhaps. 

The girl stopped right in her tracks, the tea-tray still in her hands. The presence of such a crowd seemed to have surprised her, if her rapidly widening eyes were anything to go by. 

“What are you lot doing?!” she shouted, visibly agitated. 

This girl was clearly different. She knew of the dangers a typical adventurer posed, and she was warning the other orphans to steer clear of me. 

I wouldn’t put it past a typical ill-tempered adventurer to cut down a child who carelessly approached them, or for them to beat up a room full of curious children who got a little too close for comfort. 

“Why don’t you listen? I told you clearly not to approach our visitor under any circumstance! Do you lot understand?!” 

With a mighty roar and a cacophony of numerous crying orphans, the girl chased her “siblings” out of the room, before turning to me with an apologetic expression. 

“I... I mean... I am most sorry, I didn’t mean to suggest you were an unsavory character...” the girl said, somewhat stuttering. Her tone was immensely forced. 

Is she scared of my response? 

“...No. In fact, I am... Reassured. Those children approached me... Without a trace of suspicion. If anything, I was... Worried. I was beginning to wonder... If no one had told them... Anything. About adventurers.” 

I accepted her apology without much fuss. 

The girl’s words rang true. Although the way in which she shouted at the other children in my presence was slightly unbecoming, she had done so in the name of the other children’s safety; she had the right idea. 

It just so happened the adventurer present at this establishment today was myself, and not some violent lout from a local tavern. This did little to change the fact that adventurers were inherently dangerous individuals, though. 

With that said, an adventurer that took on an orphanage’s request for the grand price of one bronze coin probably wasn’t a violent individual either way, but it was always more prudent to err on the side of caution. It was common sense to the weak and downtrodden to be wary of the strange and eclectic—namely, adventurers and their ilk. 

The girl, having inferred my intent from my words, lowered her head slightly. “I really do apologize... Those children, they never listen, even if I tell them not to stick their noses into danger. They’re always so much trouble. They’re usually well-behaved, but once you look away...” 

Once their caretaker looked away, curiosity took over. I understood what the girl was trying to say. I supposed all children were like this, but there were some slightly older orphans in their midst. They, too, had no sense of danger or apprehension. 

“A sense of curiosity... Is not necessarily a bad. Thing. Not with the young. However... They would do well... To be more careful. Although most of Maalt’s adventurers... Are well behaved. Drifters often... Visit the town on their travels. If the appropriate caution... Is not taken during those... Moments. It could become... Quite the incident.” 

Murders and the like always led to huge problems, but even if it didn’t come to that, there always remained the potential for large, undesirable problems. Even if one was to look for the culprit, a drifter could easily move to the next town on their map—and that would be that. 

“Yes. I understand. I will make sure to lecture them sternly afterward.” 

Nodding at my words, the girl looked at me, her expression tinged with a mix of curiosity and disbelief. “Even so... You’re a kind adventurer, right? Although it’s known that most adventurers based in Maalt are reasonable... Few would care to this extent.” 

While it would be inaccurate to say that adventurers who cared as much as I did didn’t exist, many would choose to ignore the children and laugh vaguely when offered an apology. Few would care to give their client a lecture on the dangers of adventurers. 

I wasn’t exactly in the business of lecturing my clients either, but at the very least, I thought it reasonable to give this much of a warning. That way, I wouldn’t regret not having said enough should anything unfortunate occur somewhere down the line. 

It was probably a blessing that we were having this conversation now, then, given that it only happened because I met with those children moments ago. 

I suppose I have come to appreciate life a little more, given my own experiences with life, rebirth, and undeath; even so, I did overstep my boundaries slightly. 

“Even if... It was another adventurer... Instead of me, they, too... Would have said something, given how... Innocent. Those children were. I suppose that... Is in indicator of just... How happy they are, living... Here.” 

An orphanage was by no means hellishly poor. They did receive funding to operate, but orphans were treated in various ways, depending on where they lived. This variation can be clearly seen in orphanages not run by the Eastern Sky; orphans in those places were often treated as a burden, and they weren’t cared for kindly. 

The orphans here were different. They’d been showered with love and treated adequately. This much was evident from the way they had behaved: curious, but not with fear or resentment. 

The caretaker of this orphanage must be an individual of upstanding morals. 

While I had accepted requests from the First Orphanage of Maalt twice, maybe thrice a year, I never took on a request posted by the Second. This was because someone else always accepted the requests before me. I, however, didn’t remember much of this individual, and try as I might, my recollections were hazy. But their name was on the tip of my tongue. 

The girl’s response interrupted my monologue once more. 

“Yes... Lady Lillian was really good... I mean, she took great care of us...” 

While the girl had been exceedingly formal up until this point, she seemed to have forgotten about her forced tone of voice while referring to herself. She spoke well for a child, but her manner of speech was by no means perfect. 

Even so, her effort was admirable, if not misguided, since addressing someone like me in such a formal manner was strange, at best. 

“You seem... To be tripping. Over your words. I do not... Mind. Do speak... Freely.” 

“Eh? Really? But...” 

“Do not... Worry about it. Perhaps you should... Be careful. When speaking with other... Adventurers. But I am not... Particular. About such things.” 

Adventurers who were particular about such things did exist, but they were the exception and not the norm. Adventurers who had a formal and somewhat more refined way of speaking were often thought of as a bit snobbish. Adventurers often made fun of each other for various things, their manner of speech being a common topic. Such jibes were absent when a particularly refined adventurer spoke to a female guild staff member, however, and their so-called chivalry was praised. Adventurers were indeed a complicated and conflicted existence in many ways. 

Most adventurers weren’t beyond speaking to and sleeping with the common wench, but it is said they often seek women of class to make up for their own lack of social elegance. That’s just not a notion I can understand or empathize with. 

In any case, I didn’t care much about a formal tone of voice—quite the segue I went on. 

Basically, most adventurers didn’t particularly care for being addressed formally. 

Pausing momentarily, the girl stopped to think, before nodding at my words. “I understand. But don’t get angry, okay? You said it yourself,” she said, speaking in a more natural manner. 

I suppose this was a more natural manner of speech for a child, or so I presumed. 

Due to the fact that she resided in this facility, she was probably an orphan, much like the other children here. She would have to make an effort to train herself in speaking formally and being socially alert, lest she become embroiled in some unpleasant incidents down the road. Should she not have these skills, she would be unable to resist, and possibly lose her life, seeing as the social position of an orphan was not strong by any means. 

From that perspective, maybe I’d done something unnecessary. The girl did seem more relaxed speaking as she was, though, and maybe that was for the best. 

Even if I did her a disservice in some capacity, I would at the very least see to it that her request was fulfilled. 

“Yes... Of course. I will not... Be angry. About the... request. But... Before that. We should really... Introduce ourselves. My name is... Rentt. Rentt... Vivie. A Bronze-class... Adventurer.” 

“Bronze...? I assumed you were an Iron-class adventurer... You know, since this is an orphanage’s request and all that... Oh, I’m Alize. I have no surname.” 

Since orphans came from a variety of backgrounds, it wasn’t uncommon for some orphans to have no surname, if only because the identities of their parents were not known. Orphans were often given a surname if they were ever adopted, or when they became independent. 

Alize was probably in similar circumstances. 

In fact, it was a well-known practice for orphans to adopt their caretaker’s surname should the need arise. For this particular case, I didn’t feel that it was necessary, as I was an adventurer, not an office or organization of some kind. 

Essentially, I didn’t need Alize to have a surname to sign the relevant documents. 

“Now that... We know each other’s... Names. I would like to... Inquire more. About this request.” 

With that, Alize readily nodded, quickly offering an explanation. “About that... It’s nothing fancy. What I want is written on the request.” 

“You want a... Dragon Blood Blossom.” 

“Yes. Can I ask that of you?” 

“Well... I have already. Accepted it once. There is no reason... For me to refuse. But... I am sure... You understand. This plant is not... Commonly found. In the areas around... Maalt. At the very least... I would like to know. Why you would ask... Such a thing of me.” 

Alize turned her gaze downward, a difficult expression on her face. 

“That’s...” 

I suppose she had her own reasons. Despite this, she soon continued her explanation. 

“Yes. I know. You aren’t convinced... Well... Could you wait for a while?” 

“Sure...?” 

I was under the impression that Alize would speak plainly of her reason to me, but she was soon out the door. I didn’t have to wait long for her to return, however. 

“Please, come this way... I’ll show you why we asked for such a thing.” 

Beckoning me with her hand, Alize turned, walking out of the reception room. 

I followed behind Alize, but we didn’t have long to go, as we soon stopped outside a room. Approaching the door, Alize knocked on it twice. 

“It’s Alize...” she said, as if looking past the door before her. 

“Enter.” 

It was a quivering, almost inaudible voice—the voice of a woman. 

Alize nodded. “Pardon me...” 

With that, Alize opened the door, stepping into the room. Glancing over at me, Alize tilted her head slightly, motioning for me to enter as well. 

It was a simple room, furnished with a small shelf and table, along with an equally simple bed. In that bed lay a middle-aged woman, who struggled somewhat to sit up in her bed at the sight of Alize and me. 

“Pleased to meet you. Thank you very much for accepting our request...of cleaning the orphanage’s basement storage rooms. We do not have very much to repay your kindness with, but know that we are truly grateful for your charity. I am the caretaker of this orphanage, Sister Lillian Jeunne, of the Church of the Eastern Sky. We are in your generous care.” 

The disparity between Alize’s request and the sister’s words made me turn my head slightly. Alize’s gaze back convinced me to remain silent on the matter. I supposed I should introduce myself, either way. 

“Ah... Yes. I am... Rentt Vivie. Of the adventurer’s... Guild. Taking on requests... Like this. From time to time. Is not... Too bad.” 

Realistically speaking, I took on this request because I felt like I should; therefore, the acceptance or denial of requests was up to the adventurer. But as long as one accepted the request in question, one would work, and such was an adventurer’s way. The client and adventurer were both considered to be equals, so there was no real reason for the client to defer to the adventurer in question. 

“Your words bring strength to my heart... The basement storage space of the orphanage is small, but due to the presence of monsters, I could not have the children do it. If I were in better health, I would fight the monsters myself, but now...” 

I wondered if it was possible for Sister Lillian, a slightly rotund woman in her forties, to be fighting monsters, but Alize’s relative silence and respectful gaze were enough to convince me otherwise. Monks and priests were often trained to have some sort of combat capability, so they were the only profession other than adventurers to commonly have proficiency in combat techniques. 

There were considerations of the use of divinity, as well, in which case the sister’s physique hardly mattered. The cleansing flames brought about by one’s divine aura were more than enough to set monsters alight in a small, confined space. 

Compared to what Sister Lillian was theoretically capable of, my own divine powers were weak. I wasn’t a devout believer in any religion, after all, so nothing much could be done about that disparity. 

I did not mind too much, having learned a great deal about the possible applications of divinity at Clope’s. As long as I was creative about how I used my divinity, I could produce respectable results. 

On that note, I did try a Fusion Art with divinity and mana, and that test ended in a failure. The reaction observed when mixing divinity and mana was far too violent, especially when compared to that of mana and spirit. Mixing divinity and spirit didn’t yield more positive results, primarily due to the fact that the energies within the weapon dissipated the moment they were mixed. Maybe they were simply incompatible, or at least of a low compatibility. In any case, a successful application felt possible with enough practice, or maybe some sort of technique yet unknown to me. 

Sister Lillian used to have combat ability, but she was now unable to fight like she used to. It was plain to see that the good sister was unwell. 

“Are you ill... Sister Lillian...?” 

“Yes, unfortunately... It would seem like my strength has left my body as of late. However... I never did have any problems with my health. I am sure I will recover with some rest. So... if you would be so kind as to assist us during this time...” 

Unsure of how to respond, I turned to Alize, whose expression seemed to be one of pleading silence. 

“...I will do. What I can. Do take care... Of yourself. Sister Lillian. I should... Get going soon. Alize.” 

“Yes... Well, then, Lady Lillian. We have to discuss the specifics of the request at hand...” 

Lillian nodded at Alize’s words. “Yes. You are a most helpful child, Alize. Mister Rentt... Do think of Alize as my second. If there is anything at all that you do not know...just ask Alize.” 

Nodding, we both made our way out of the room, Alize closing the door behind her. 

“...I have many... Questions. Alize.” 

“Well... Let’s return to the room we were in first.” 

Alize started walking down the hallway—I suppose it would all be for naught if Sister Lillian caught wind of our discussion. 

I held my peace, following closely after Alize. 

“...Well?” 

It was only a single word, but Alize understood my question well enough. 

I suppose that was a given, if only because Alize was the one who signaled me to remain silent during our conversation with the sister. 

“Sorry for all the trouble... There is a reason...” Alize said, apologizing. 

I couldn’t blame Alize for what she did, especially not with her finally willing to tell me the truth. I had no intent on grilling Alize or putting her on the spot, but I did want to know why we had to lie in front of the sister. 

“Well... You saw how she was doing, right? Lady Lillian... She doesn’t realize it herself. But she’s very sick...” Alize finally started to explain. 

“I see.” 

With those words alone, I largely understood the nature of Alize’s request. However, I didn’t want to make any assumptions, so I allowed Alize to continue. 

“We saw a healer for it... Sister Lillian’s illness, I mean. But it can’t be healed with magic... Only with the divine powers of those who have been blessed by healing spirits of some kind...” 

“Perhaps it is... Rude of me... To be saying this. But you must have paid... The healer. A fair sum of money... For them to even see... Sister Lillian.” 

Alize laughed at my words, pointing a finger at me. “There are more people like you than you realize! They said they wouldn’t take any money if it was for Lady Lillian. Well, that’s what they said, anyway.” 

I suppose that was understandable since the sister was a member of the Church of the Eastern Sky, as well as a nun who took care of an orphanage. Surely there were many who have been saved by her benevolent hand, or even by her divine prowess against certain odds. She was quite capable of fighting monsters while she was still in good health. 

“Well... So, that’s why. Unless a priestess-saint or a great priest comes by, we would need medicine to cure Lady Lillian. In fact, a priestess-saint did come by a while ago, but Lady Lillian was still in good health then...” 

If memory served, one such priestess-saint visited Maalt while I still drew breath. I suppose they would consider me a target for purification should we cross paths now... 

Some say that simply looking at a priestess-saint made them feel better. If I were to carelessly approach such an individual, I might just disappear. I should definitely be more careful about this from now on. 

“And for this... Medicine. You need a... Dragon Blood. Blossom?” 

“Yes, exactly. The medicine will be made with the aid of that healer I mentioned... They said they’ll look for someone who can make it. And as for the fees... Well, I said I would pay, but they declined to receive anything from us.” 

Surely, the healer in question intended to pay on Alize’s behalf. I suppose things like this happened from time to time, and in this case, Sister Lillian’s kindness had come full circle, with many individuals now wishing to aid her. 

“I see. I understand... Your circumstances. Now. If I may ask... What is the name of... The sister’s illness?” 

“It’s apparently called Accumulative Miasma Disease... It’s a type of illness that only afflicts practitioners of divinity. The stronger their divinity is...the more miasma their body absorbs every time they use their divinity, like a kind of recoil, I guess... And their health deteriorates over time. But...a Dragon Blood Blossom has the ability to dispel that miasma...” 

Accumulative Miasma Disease... 

Given that I am a practitioner of divinity myself, this could one day concern me. But I didn’t recall having such experiences in the past, probably because the amount of divinity I could muster was far too small to begin with, leaving no space for any miasma to enter. Purifying a cup of drinking water, or easing the infection in a wound was just about all I could do. Compared to my minor feats, Sister Lillian probably channeled quite a lot of divinity in her lifetime. 

Come to think of it, even I utilized a fair amount hunting monsters... But that was a thought for another time. 

“...What about that... Talk, about the basement... Storage?” I asked, recalling Lillian’s words. 

“Just a...roundabout way of speech. After all, if I asked outright for an adventurer to gather Dragon Blood Blossoms, Lady Lillian would know what I was trying to do right away. After all, only Sister Lillian is capable of using any divinity here...” 

“Is it a big... Problem. If this is publicly known...?” 

“Of course it is! Lady Lillian would never ask for anything like that. Also...people don’t die from Accumulated Miasma right away, and that fact only makes asking for help more difficult. It’s a disease that slowly eats away at the person... From what the healer said, it would take a previously healthy person at least five to ten years to perish from it... Lady Lillian would just ask for her to be replaced by some other nun from the Eastern Sky if she got wind of this!” 

Sister Lillian’s frugality was the genuine article. 

One couldn’t hope to hire an adventurer to go Dragon Blood Blossom picking with a normal sum of coin, so I suppose this was the reason Sister Lillian held off making such a request. 

One would think the good sister would ask for help, given that the orphanage wouldn’t run without her. Due to the nature of the illness, however, it would seem like she preferred to have another of her colleagues replace her instead of spending coin on a cure. While it made some degree of sense, it was a most troublesome thought process. I began to see why Alize had pleaded with me to keep silent on the true nature of this request. 

While most of the nuns and monks who lived by the teachings of the Eastern Sky were indeed saintly in disposition, this same behavior had now become the root of this problem. Even when threatened with death, Sister Lillian thought of it as nothing more than her divine duty. 

The disease could be easily cured as long as one had the appropriate amount of coin. Sister Lillian, on the other hand, would be loathe to spend such an exorbitant amount on herself. This was probably why Alize had to resort to such a roundabout method, and it was indeed a good thing that I held my tongue. 

But Alize appeared to have other worries. 

“Well... That’s how it is. But...can you really obtain a Dragon Blood Blossom? What you said is true; if one were to obtain it near Maalt...it would only be in the ‘Swamp of Tarasque’...” 

The swamp was, as its name suggested, a swampy area ruled over by a fearsome monster, appropriately named Tarasque. They were a type of monster somewhat related to Dragons, primarily inhabiting swampy areas. They were armed with a thick shell, six legs, and a potent poison—a truly terrifying beast. Low-ranked adventurers couldn’t hope to face such a monster in combat, let alone go searching for Dragon Blood Blossoms in the swamp. 

It was inevitable for Alize to have doubts about a Bronze-class adventurer such as myself, and not about my commitment to the request, but if I would even make it back alive. 

A valid consideration. 

“I do not think... I could. Best a Tarasque. Though... I do have my ways. After all... They are not exactly... Goblins. There are not... That many. Of them.” 

“Really...?” 

“Yes. All you have to do... Is wait for me. I will definitely... Retrieve the requested flowers.” 

“Thank you. We’re all counting on you... Well... Will you be leaving right away, then?” 

“...Not quite. The Swamp of Tarasque... Is quite a distance. Away. Many of the... Monsters there. Are nocturnal. I will be headed there... Tomorrow.” 

Alize probably wanted me to set off right away if it meant I could cure Sister Lillian just a little faster, but that wasn’t a wise course of action. If I just up and left without any due preparation, the chances of me never returning to Maalt again were considerably high. Taking some time to prepare in advance was the logical choice. 

“Is that right? Hmm... I guess you’re an adventurer that knows his stuff, even for a Bronze-class. Since you know this much, I guess you really are a professional.” 

Alize’s words piqued my interest. 

“Are you, perhaps... Interested. In the ways... Of the adventurer?” 

“Oh, have I been found out? Well, yes. It’s been my dream since I was a little girl. I do have some luck, I suppose. I have a little bit of mana in me. Given how things are at the orphanage, though...it seems like I won’t be able to do very much for a while. At the very least, I need to stay with Lady Lillian until she recovers...” 

If the words of Sister Lillian were to be believed, Alize was her second in the orphanage, so it wasn’t too strange for Alize to feel like she had to shoulder all responsibility. 

In fact, if Alize was indeed blessed with a reservoir of mana within her, she had potential to become a great adventurer, unlike the two-bit counterpart I was in life. 

“When you want to... Become an adventurer. Tell me. I will... Aid you.” 

“You’re really a nice person, aren’t you? Well... I have no idea when it’d be possible, but I’ll definitely come looking for you when the time comes,” Alize said, a small smile lighting up her face. 

Although I wanted to return to Lorraine’s and make the appropriate preparations for the morrow, Alize had one more request for me. Apparently, her talk of monsters in the basement storage of the orphanage was, in fact, real, so I decided to offer her my aid. 

The greater half of monsters that did infiltrate human settlements weren’t very threatening. While those that had the ability to disguise themselves as humans, attack from the skies, or infiltrate towns through some special means could be dangerous, the same could not be said for monsters that snuck around in the basements of buildings. 

Following Alize’s lead, I made my way to the basement storage, wondering about the kind of monster that decided to nest there. 

The cool air of the basement was somewhat appealing to me. I suppose becoming an Undead had a major influence on my preferences. Specifically, I found myself more drawn to dark and damp places like this, moreso than I was in life. Not necessarily a bad thing, but I digress. 

“...Ah. There they are.” 

“Eh? Where? Where?” Alize asked, turning her head this way and that. 

In her hands was a small knife, probably meant for self-defense. One could never be too cautious; we were dealing with monsters, no matter how weak. 

I pointed at the dark corner of the room. “There... Do you see it? It is sitting right... There. That round... Thing.” 

“Ah... That? That, huh... It’s a little big, isn’t it?” 

Sitting in the corner of the room was none other than a Puchi Suri, a small, mouse-like monster. 

Recalling my past discussions with Lorraine, it was a monster that was frequently experimented upon by scholars. Under normal circumstances, they were only slightly bigger than a sewer rat. This one was at least five times bigger, hence Alize’s observations. Perhaps the environment here was conducive to its growth. 

Finally noticing us, the Puchi Suri turned around, hissing and baring its teeth. I had to give the mouse some credit: its teeth were considerably sharp, like knives shining in the dark. 

Maybe I shouldn’t have brought Alize with me—a lapse of judgment. 

Still, I readied my knife. While I would usually draw my sword, the basement was by no means a large space, and swinging it around here would not bode well for anyone. 

I suppose it was a stroke of luck that I had my dissection knife with me, even if it only allowed me to channel mana through its blade. Given that my opponent was a Puchi Suri, however, this wasn’t much of a problem. 

“Steel yourself.” 

Saying so, I tightened my grip on my knife, before promptly putting my foot down on the cold bricks of the basement and propelling myself toward the monster. 

Puchi Suri were simple organisms. They were faster than the average townsperson, which made catching them quite a task. 

But this wasn’t the case for an adventurer. Before one who strengthened their body with mana or spirit, a Puchi Suri had no hopes of victory. 

Taking aim, I lightly slashed at the incoming Puchi Suri with my dissection knife. The monster was sent flying, and I had my mana and my undead strength to thank. 

Hitting the basement wall with a thud and squeak, the monster slowly slid downward, eventually coming to rest on the cold, brick floor. It still drew breath, though there wasn’t much left in the creature. 

All I had to do was put it out of its misery. I slowly advanced toward the fallen monster, knife raised high. What I did not expect, however, was for it to spring back up at me in a final move of defiance. 

I could dodge such an attack, given its pathetically slow speed. But the problem was that Alize was behind me. Instances like this made me reconsider my stance on solo adventuring. All the time I spent adventuring alone had seasoned me to only think about my own safety, as opposed to that of any others. A lapse in judgment indeed... 

Given that Alize was behind me, there was no way I could dodge the monster’s final blow. And even if I were to strike with my knife, the angle it was currently held at did not lend itself well to such an attack. 

I had little choice—I instead struck out with my free hand, intercepting the airborne monster. Though, I had the misfortune of punching the Puchi Suri right in the teeth. I could feel a tingling sensation in my hand, but that was an afterthought. 

Did I finally slay the beast? 

What I saw confused me: I hit the monster with enough force to kill it instantly, yet it was convulsing on the ground, its breath in short, painful gasps. 

“What is... This?” 

Not wanting to take any more chances, I slowly put some distance between myself and the writhing mouse. I had no idea what was about to happen, or what could possibly happen. 

The Puchi Suri, for its part, continued to trash for a few moments, before finally relaxing entirely, sprawled out on the cold, damp bricks. Its previously gray fur had now turned a deep, dark shade of black. At the same time, I felt a strange sensation well up from deep within my being. 

Shaking its head, the Puchi Suri slowly stood up, quietly staring in my general direction. Our eyes met, and I finally understood. 

The monster somehow developed a connection with me. 

Lowering my knife, I approached slowly, quietly, cautiously. The Puchi Suri remained quietly unmoving, maintaining its gaze at me. 

“Eh...? Wait... What? What is this?” 

I could hear Alize’s panicked and confused voice from behind me. Even I didn’t fully understand what I was looking at. In any case, the Puchi Suri continued its silent vigil. 

“Slowly. Turn three times... On the spot.” 

As if obeying my words, the monster did as it was told, turning three times slowly where it stood. Alize’s confusion seemed to intensify upon witnessing such a sight. 

“Eh? Ehhh? What’s going on?” 

I finally understood what had happened. 

Raising my punctured glove up to my eyes, a dark fluid could be seen oozing from the wound—blood, I suppose. My blood. 

Although my Thrall body was dry and withered for the most part, there were parts of it that were more human than corpse. There wasn’t very much of it, but some amount of blood flowed through my veins. Even so, I didn’t bleed much when cut. 

It just so happened that the Puchi Suri’s teeth had come into contact with a living part of me. In doing so, it ingested some of my blood, with this being the result of that contact. It made some degree of sense, given that I was a Thrall. Thralls were Vampires, albeit not very powerful ones. Vampires created familiars by biting humans and injecting their own blood into the unfortunate victim. The victim would then transform into a monster, and sometimes they would transform into a Thrall. Going by that logic, it was safe to assume that Thralls, too, could create familiars of their own. 

Under normal circumstances this shouldn’t be possible. Thralls were said to be mindless, shambling zombies of some sort, so they were by no means capable of complicated thoughts. One would be hard-pressed to find a Thrall that actively sought out victims to create familiars with. Even if it somehow succeeded in creating a familiar, it would not have the required intelligence to direct and instruct it. 

A Thrall did have a will of its own, no matter how simple and frail. This simple will allowed them to follow orders from higher-ranked Vampires, and enabled them to create, albeit not control, familiars. In that case, a Thrall would be able to create familiars by injecting its own blood into a victim. The victim of a Vampire attack would then have their bodies forcibly altered by the Vampire, eventually transforming into a familiar-Thrall. 

And now...my blood somehow found its way into the Puchi Suri, hence the convulsions, as its body was forcibly altered by my blood. 

The result of the process was the mental link I now had with this creature. If I had to put it into words, the Puchi Suri felt like a part of me, albeit a smaller, detached, mouse-like part. 

The Puchi Suri had become my familiar; this was the only educated guess I could make. 

Of course, telling that to Alize would not be a good idea. Only Vampires and some other kinds of monsters were capable of such a feat. I had to find some excuse to justify what she had just seen, somehow. To Alize, this entire spectacle must have been incomprehensible and strange. Thankfully, I had the perfect explanation to gloss it over with. 

“It would seem like... My will has passed into the monster.” 

“Pass” was an ancient and specialist term used by monster tamers. It was used to describe the moment in which their specialized magic dominated a monster’s mind, turning it into an obedient servant. I was basically trying to convince Alize that what she had just seen was an act of monster taming, and not of me turning the monster into my familiar. 

“Eh...? What does that mean?” 

Apparently, Alize didn’t have much knowledge concerning monster tamers. If anything, she seemed even more confused by my words. 

Nodding, I offered an explanation. “I have... Succeeded. In taming and dominating the mind... Of that monster.” 

“So...you are a monster tamer...with the ability to control monsters?” Alize was beginning to get the picture. 

I was by no means any sort of monster tamer, but with this, I could control what Alize knew safely. She could discover that I was no such thing with some simple research, and this was why I said: 

“Not... Quite. I am a swordsman... But. I learned the methods... From a monster tamer... Acquaintance. Of mine. A long time ago... So I thought I... Would try it out.” 

“Oh! Adventurers are really something else, huh? That’s amazing...” 

Although the art of monster taming was exclusive and usually never taught to those outside their secretive order, Alize didn’t need to know that. Even if she did do some research on me after the fact, there was no way to deny that such a thing was possible. With this, there were no more problems. 

“Then...” Alize continued, “is that monster safe now? It won’t attack us anymore?” 

Now this was a question I could answer truthfully. 

“Yes. In fact... It will now listen to whatever... I say. This is... Convenient. We could have it... Guard the basement storage. You did say that... Monsters occasionally found their way... In. Yes?” 

A cold, damp place that often attracted monsters... I felt somewhat sorry for Sister Lillian, who must have purified this basement numerous times. 

In any case, we now had a newfound guardian for the basement. But Alize didn’t seem too convinced. 

“You’re sure...? About it not suddenly turning around to bite us in the behind? Really sure?” 

Despite Alize’s suspicions and apparent distrust, she eventually relented after some waving and pokes, placing some degree of trust in the oversized, reanimated monster-mouse that had become my familiar. 

Given that the Puchi Suri in the orphanage’s basement storage had become my familiar, I suppose I could say he was no longer a threat. Either way, dealing with the monster in question was never part of my contract to begin with, so my intervening probably changed little in that regard. 

A more detailed search after we dealt with the larger Puchi Suri revealed quite a few of his smaller counterparts. These small ones weren’t much of a threat, and I figured it was safe to let Alize tackle one of them head-on. It goes without saying that Alize only fought a single one, as opposed to the entire flock. Even so, she managed to defeat the Puchi Suri successfully, a jubilant look on her face. It reminded me of the look novice adventurers had upon scoring their first monster kill. 

I told Alize to keep the magic crystal as a bit of a supplement to her allowance, if nothing else. One had to register as an adventurer to sell one’s spoils to the guild, but one could also easily trade the crystal away to some merchant in the surrounding area. Their prices were fair, as far as street merchant prices went. 

While Alize was busy celebrating, I decided to test out the capabilities of my newfound familiar. Although he ran into some difficulty on his quest to subdue his speedy brethren, my familiar had a trick of his own up his proverbial sleeve. A quick stare from him was enough to immobilize the lesser Puchi Suri, much like how a mouse froze in the gaze of a snake. So potent was his immobilizing stare that his victims wouldn’t move a step, not even after I approached and poked them with my finger. The Puchi Suri just stood in place, as if afraid of some sort of punishment should it dare move a muscle. 

“...Did you make it... Obey you?” 

I felt a sense of affirmation through our shared mental link. It would seem my familiar had an ability to control weaker variants of its species, much like how Vampires could control the Thralls they created. It was a phenomenon observed in monsters from time to time in which a greater variant of the monster ruled over the lesser of their kind. 

A good example would be that of Goblin Generals or Goblin Kings who, as their titles suggested, had many Goblins under their command. The vampiric ability to turn monsters outside of its species into its obedient slaves could be thought of as a higher-ranked version of this skill. A Vampire had to inject its own blood into the victim for the process to work, though, and Vampires probably prioritized quality over quantity, unlike the ever-present Goblins. 

I couldn’t be sure of my familiar’s commanding abilities, however. Exact perimeters, such as the area in which its control would remain effective, were unknown to me. There was always the possibility that this larger Puchi Suri ruled over his smaller relatives in this basement from the very start, and their obedience had nothing to do with my familiar’s skills. 

More research was required on the topic, which would thrill Lorraine. 

I thought to simply take my familiar-mouse home with me, despite having him originally tasked with guarding the basement in Sister Lillian’s absence. But with his smaller relatives now heeding his every word...could I not have the smaller mice guard the place while we were gone? 

Yet another question for my familiar, so I projected a thought at the oversized mouse. 

“I wanted... You to guard this basement... At first. But could we leave it... To these smaller ones, instead?” 

Fixating its red eyes unto me, the Puchi Suri stared straight ahead, before transmitting what felt like yet another affirmative thought to me. 

I supposed the ability to communicate without words or a shared language was a unique boon between master and familiar. And quite convenient, as well. 

I turned to Alize, explaining the situation. 

“I don’t really get it...at all. So you’re telling me that...the monsters will guard this place from now on? Will the other children be fine down here? I tell them not to play in here, but sometimes they sneak in...” 

I relayed the question to my familiar, and soon received a strong mental impulse in response. It was calming and reassuring in nature. 

Turning to its smaller brethren all neatly lined up before him, my familiar stared, his intimidating gaze hanging heavy in the air. The smaller Puchi Suri straightened their backs as they squeaked in response. 

“It says... That there will not be. Any problems.” 

“Looks that way...” Alize said, nodding as she continued observing the Puchi Suri with surprise all over her face. 

To me, it seemed more like some sort of obedience brought about by fear—the Puchi Suri were terrified of my familiar. I suppose traditional hierarchies no longer held water, given that one of them was a half-Vampire mouse. 

Satisfied that the problems at hand were solved, I took my leave, intending to finally return to Lorraine’s to make the appropriate preparations. 

“Welcome ba—?!” 

As usual, Lorraine was lying down on her sofa, holding up and reading a book against the light. The sound of the door opening caught her attention as it always did. She slowly turned to face me, only to stop halfway through her greeting as she very audibly swallowed her breath. 

Finally, with a deep breath, Lorraine began speaking, slowly and calmly. 

“If I may ask, Rentt... What exactly is that rotund and oddly-sized black mouse doing perched on your shoulder? I don’t suppose it is some sort of hallucination.” 

So shocked was Lorraine at the sight of the Puchi Suri that she assumed she was hallucinating. 

Sniffing the air slowly, I caught wind of a foul odor—Lorraine had been mixing strange medicines with the windows closed, yet again. Striding toward the windows, I threw them open, then returned to my original spot. 

“I found him... In the orphanage basement... Storage. He will be in our... Care. From this day on...” 

“A bit too apt a summary, Rentt. You would at least have to start from the beginning for me to comment on the matter.” 

“Yes... I suppose I would.” An explanation was in order. 

After sitting through my description of recent events, Lorraine nodded, seemingly lost in thought. “I see... It is very like you to take on such a request. But to the Swamp of Tarasque of all places? Even I dread to set foot in there, Rentt. Will you be all right?” 

“I have thought of... Many. Contingency plans... There will be. No issues.” 

“I suppose there would be no problems if you put it that way, but I still worry. Yet, not much can be done about it now, either way. To think you are capable of even creating and controlling your own familiars... I have performed many experiments, yes. But none that involved feeding your blood to other living things.” 

Lorraine’s conclusion was reasonable; being a lower-level Vampire, Thralls were thought to lack the ability and intelligence to create familiars of their own. It made sense that she wouldn’t feed my blood to any animal she got her hands on. Lorraine, for her part, mentioned that her experiments centered around ensuring I was healthy to begin with, along with any other major traits and abilities my Thrall body possessed. I suppose less prominent abilities like this would naturally escape her detection. 

“Can we... Keep him?” 

“Do as you like, Rentt. A little late to be concerned about that, no? An Undead lives in this house, said Undead being you. One more mouse or two hardly makes a difference. He will, however, have to earn his keep.” 

“He has to... Pay. Rent?” 

“Don’t be so daft. Samples! A blood sample from the mouse, and some hairs, will suffice. I can think of many experiments, yes... A great deal of tests. Of course, I would not drain him dry. A healthy amount is enough. Speaking of health, Rentt. What does he eat?” Lorraine extended her hand toward the Puchi Suri. 

My familiar leaned out, sniffing Lorraine’s fingers and closing its jaws around one. 

“Oof!” 

It was a light bite, enough to puncture Lorraine’s skin, but not cause grievous harm. 

Loosening its grip on her finger, the Puchi Suri licked Lorraine’s wound, small droplets of blood rising to her skin’s surface. 

“I see. Blood? Like your maker? Hmph. Predictable,” Lorraine said, exasperated. “At least he is easy to understand. Even so...my blood is quite the commodity these days, no?” 

I couldn’t quite make out if Lorraine intended her statement to be a joke, but she seemed to be in a good mood. I supposed that was enough for now. Lorraine was no doubt excited over all the new experiments she had in mind concerning our newfound furry friend. My familiar, on the other hand, wasn’t too keen. 

“Spare me...” he seemed to be saying. Unfortunately, I couldn’t do much about Lorraine’s tendencies to engage in mad science, having endured the exact same processes and experiments in the past. All I could do was tell my familiar to bear with it. The Puchi Suri responded with a marked sense of apprehension and fear. 

A new day dawned upon Maalt. The sun, slowly rising above the clouds, flooded the streets of Maalt, or what I could see of it from my window. In the sun’s rays, previously purple clouds turned red, and with that, a new day began. 

It was a sight I saw on a regular basis. Not exactly a rare sight, but one I had to wake up for in life. Sleep wasn’t so much something I needed now that I was a Thrall. This seemed to be a fact that held true ever since I became one. I caught some shut-eye every now and then, but it was no longer necessary for my body to function. 

This was terribly boring. All I could do to pass the time was look outside the window, or light a lamp and read a book. This allowed me to operate around the clock while I was fulfilling a request, though an adventurer that didn’t require rest would surely come across as suspicious to others. Adventuring wasn’t exactly a job where one finished all of one’s tasks immediately; no matter how seasoned the adventurer, a lack of rest could lead to serious complications. As such, I had no choice but to rest. 

Thanks to my newfound nocturnal tendencies, however, I had become more of a scholar than before, and it had gone this way for the past month or so. My knowledge was nothing compared to Lorraine’s, though all I had to do to get answers was ask. A convenient benefit, if nothing else. 

The Puchi Suri I brought back with me from the orphanage required a fair amount of sleep on the other hand. He was currently snoozing on his back, sprawled out on the desk I was reading at. 

I found myself somewhat resentful of my familiar. Here I was, its tragic master, fighting an ailing battle with solitude in the middle of the night, while the mouse was sleeping soundly. 

Does a familiar not share all of my traits? 

I assumed it to be as such, but reality was quite different. 

What a carefree mouse... 

Then, I felt the slightest bit of thought from my familiar, as well as some basal emotions I could understand. I suppose being asleep didn’t completely sever our connection. Testing and proper experiments would most likely reveal more details, but I supposed the specifics could be left to Lorraine. After all, she would engage in such experiments unprompted. 

I felt a little guilty for leaving everything to Lorraine, but I had my Existential Evolution to worry about, so that was that. As things were, however, I found myself with an excessive amount of free time. One would possibly even call me a bit of a freeloader. 

I would do well to set such thoughts aside. Outside, the citizens of Maalt stirred, some already leaving their homes. It was during these idle thoughts that a strange scent wafted past my nose. 

Where was it from? Outside? Impossible. I made sure all the windows were shut and bolted after Lorraine had gone to bed. 

Then... 

My sense of curiosity piqued by this strange scent, I walked toward the source of the smell, which was apparently the kitchen of the abode. 

For now, I decided to leave my familiar where it was, for if it should wake, its keen sense of smell would tell me what the scent was immediately. 

I was greeted by a strange sight upon arriving in the kitchen. 

“I would almost... Think. That it would snow... Today,” I said, amused at the sight. 

“Don’t be silly, Rentt. Even I can cook if I put my mind to it.” 

That answer came from none other than Lorraine, who had decided to take a turn at cooking breakfast for one reason or other. Numerous magical and alchemical magic tools were present in the kitchen, and Lorraine manipulated each one with a trained hand. 

Normally, Lorraine would be sound asleep at this hour, but as she said, it wasn’t strange that she was reasonably capable at cooking. I could take credit for that, of course, being the individual who taught her how to cook in the first place. 

Lorraine, for her part, would cook from time to time should she feel like it. If I had to guess, today was one of those times. 

“Is there... Any. For me?” 

While I could survive off nothing but blood, I did enjoy a good meal every now and then. 

“Yes, yes.” Lorraine’s response was reassuring. “I am working on it, Rentt, as you can see. Sit down, it will be done soon.” 

Although her methods were somewhat unorthodox, Lorraine knew what she was doing. 

Nodding, I turned and headed for the dining table. 

“Well, then. Eat up,” Lorraine said, gesturing to the dishes laid out on the table. 

Black bread and milk, along with some steamed dishes... A classic Maalt breakfast. 

Lorraine was probably steaming these very dishes when I walked in on her in the kitchen a few moments ago. 

It was a simple steamed stew of the Orc flesh I had preserved some time back, along with some legumes and root vegetables. The rich aroma of stock permeated through the ingredients—quite a most mouth-watering dish. 

Being a Thrall, my stomach didn’t bloat or hunger very much at all, but I still had a sense of taste. My memories of food and their taste were vague during my brief tenure as a Ghoul, becoming much sharper upon my evolution. I could now enjoy and taste all manners of food, much like I did in life. 

If I had to pinpoint one change, it would be my newfound appreciation of blood. I found the taste of blood unbelievably enjoyable, though it wasn’t exactly something I would bring up at the dining table. 

Clasping my hands together before Lorraine’s hand-prepared breakfast, I closed my eyes briefly, uttering a prayer before picking up my set of utensils. Needless to say, I hardly believed in the existence of gods of any kind, merely doing so out of habit. 

“An Undead praying to the gods before a meal? A most jarring and strange sight, Rentt.” 

I didn’t need Lorraine’s reminder to understand the irony of the situation. 

While each major religion had its own separate views on the Undead, they were mostly viewed unfavorably, as enemies of the gods, traitors of the heavens, or far worse. In any case, I could always be sure of the fact that most of these religions viewed the Undead as a crime against the creations of God. 

“...What do you propose... I do. Walk into a church... And offer up a prayer there?” 

“Ho, would that not be blasphemy? Or perhaps you could even call it a change of heart... To think that an Undead would consider offering a prayer to God...” 

As expected of Lorraine, she had somehow managed to give serious consideration to what was clearly silly banter. I hadn’t really thought about defying the gods in the first place, nor had I thought much of the gods at all. To call it a change of heart would be inaccurate, but I did wonder what would happen if I entered a holy place of sorts. 

Come to think of it, that orphanage was run by the Church of the Eastern Sky, and if I had asked, I would have been granted access to their local altar or place of worship. A missed opportunity—most unfortunate. 

However, given that I was so close to a holy place and felt nothing amiss... Maybe there really was nothing to worry about, then. 

With that said, there was something strange about the food today. If I had to put it into words...it was, for some reason, most delicious. 

I didn’t mean to say Lorraine had somehow miraculously improved her cooking skills. Instead, it simply tasted...better. In fact, it tasted better than everything else Lorraine had ever prepared for me. 

For a while I sat, an expression of amazement on my face. Lorraine, noticing this, beamed widely, a satisfied expression coloring her features. 

“Oh, so you have noticed. It is good, is it not, Rentt?” Lorraine asked. 

“What... Did you put. Into this?” 

“It is quite simple, really. I mixed in a single drop of blood for your sake at the very last step of my preparations. While I would not exactly call it a spice, I thought it would be more suited to your palate. Am I wrong?” 

I did appreciate Lorraine’s efforts in preparing food that was to my taste, but I couldn’t help but wonder... 

“...But then, Lorraine. That would mean... There is blood. In your breakfast... Too.” 

Was our breakfast really stew with a drop of blood? And Lorraine would be fine with it? 

“Well... Even if it is my own blood, I am not in the habit of having bloody stew for breakfast. Rest assured, Rentt, I simply removed a portion for you and left a droplet in that. Did you think I would simply give my finger a good nick and submerge it into the stew pot? That would really be a witch-like thing to do, no?” 

I was relieved Lorraine had not ruined an entire pot’s worth of breakfast for my sake. If I thought about it, I suppose mixing blood into food was somewhat witch-like, if the fairy tales were to be believed. 

“I do not engage in such practices, mind you,” Lorraine continued. “In older days, however...fortune-telling witches would often advise young girls to do strange things. I do pity the men, really.” 

A terrifying prospect. Thinking it just had to be a joke, I asked for more information, only to instantly regret it as I looked up and met Lorraine’s focused eyes. She was apparently serious. 

“When did they... Engage. In such a... Practice?” 

“During that one festival... What did they call it again? That one where it was socially acceptable for women to propose to men... It was on some saint’s birthday or the like. You remember the feasts, dances, and whatnot that went on during that time, yes? The deed was done then.” 

I recalled such an event. While I never attended it myself, nor had anyone propose to me, I often heard about it from friends and acquaintances—namely, former adventurers who had gotten married. 

Lorraine continued once more. “I suppose you could say it was a folk curse of sorts that worked much like how Vampires create Thralls to be their obedient slaves. In this case, however, the women have bound men to their will. Almost parallel examples, if you would.” 

Lorraine, apparently satisfied at giving me a historically accurate explanation of the custom, sat down and continued eating her breakfast without another word. 

“Do be careful on your journey, yes?” Lorraine said as I made to leave the abode. 

Come to think of it, there was meaning in having this specific type of stew for breakfast. According to local customs, it was something akin to a blessing or prayer for a peaceful journey ahead. This was why Lorraine had woken up early to prepare it. The Swamp of Tarasque was a dangerous place, after all. 

“...Don’t worry about... Me. Lorraine. If it ever gets... Too dangerous. I would escape... Without hesitation.” 

“And you expect me to believe the words of one who was eaten whole by a Dragon in his previous life? Well... I suppose that was a stroke of bad luck, more than anything... Ah, yes. One more thing... This mouse over here. Will you not be giving him a name?” Lorraine asked, pointing at the familiar-mouse on my shoulder. 

While I was surprised at myself for not having thought about it until now, I did agree with Lorraine: a name was needed for my familiar. I hadn’t thought it necessary due to my simply treating it as a pet monster of sorts, and didn’t expect much from it. I couldn’t imagine calling him a Puchi Suri forever, as that was a most inconvenient thing. Now would be a good time to fix that problem. 

“Well... He is. Black in color. We could call him... Black.” 

Lorraine’s brow furrowed at my terrible naming sense. 

“A little more effort would not hurt, Rentt. ‘Black’? Really?” 

“Even if you... Say that...” 

I’ve been pursuing my goal of becoming a Mithril-class adventurer all my life. Therefore, I had no children, and naturally didn’t have much of an opportunity to give names to anything. Come to think of it, I didn’t raise any pets when I was younger, either. 

“You are hopeless, Rentt. I will give him a name, then. Hmm... Aha. How about Edel?” 

Edel... 

I didn’t have strong feelings for the name, nor anything against it. But I was certainly curious about the origins of such a word. 

“Where did... Such a name. Come from?” 

“Well, from what you told me, that mouse of yours lords over smaller Puchi Suri, yes? Much like a king of sorts... Hence, ‘Edel.’ It means ‘noble one’ in an older, lost tongue.” 

“Noble... One.” 

Personally, I felt my familiar was more of a mob boss than a noble; an intimidating dictator than a pious king. Catching wind of my thoughts, my familiar gave my shoulder a thump with his foot, as if disagreeing with my analysis of his character. 

Was I wrong? 

I wasn’t, but that was an argument best left for another time. 

Lorraine continued: “I do have other suggestions, considering how large he is. The fat and rotund Moppel, or the gluttonous Fressa...and other ancient terms. What do you think?” 

I stood, thinking about Lorraine’s suggestion for a few moments. My familiar was quite the glutton, having finished the small portion of Lorraine’s blood-stew I had offered him in mere moments. So fast was the mouse that we could hardly keep up with his actions, and I suppose that left quite an impression on Lorraine. I didn’t think fondly of either of those names, and my familiar seemed to prefer Lorraine’s first suggestion, strongly projecting that thought to me in response. Perhaps it was a quirk of this particular familiar, but I felt the mouse on my shoulder had too much a will of his own. 

Maybe I should just call him Moppel and be done with it. That, however, would be the gesture of a petty man. Though, I was no longer a man at this point; at least, not a living one. 

“Let us go with... Edel. The others... He does not seem. Fond of.” 

“Is that so?” Lorraine seemed a little disappointed at my words. “Both Moppel and Fressa are great names, are they not? Yes?” 

It would seem like Lorraine had taken quite the liking to Moppel and Fressa. In any case... 

“The man... Well. The mouse. Himself. Says that Edel... Is good. We should respect... His wishes.” 

“Ah, yes. That mental link between you and the mouse. You mentioned that earlier... Well, if he prefers it, then Edel it is. It is a pity, but I will not insist. From this day on you are Edel, and I am the person who named you. Don’t you forget!” Lorraine exclaimed, patting Edel on the head. 

With that, we said our goodbyes to Lorraine, turning and finally walking out of her home. 

“Hey... We’re here,” the coachman said, before stopping the carriage and horses and allowing me to disembark. Edel, for his part, was calmly perched on my shoulder. 

Alighting, I looked out into the distance, near the vicinity of the swamp in question. 

“From here on out ’n’ down that path s’the Swamp of Tarasque... You’ll be all right? S’not a place for solo ’venturers!” the coachman warned, worry apparent in his voice. 

He was right, of course. This wasn’t a place I would’ve thought of wandering around in while I still lived. Even if I was forced to enter such a dangerous area, I would simply enlist the help of others and form a last-minute party of sorts, forgoing my solo philosophy in the name of safety. 

This time, though, I had no such options. There were several reasons for this, but now was not the time to be reminiscing. 

“I have... No intentions. Of fighting the Tarasque. Just a little in and... Out. Trip. So do not... Worry. About me.” 

The coachman didn’t seem convinced. If anything, he seemed even more concerned. 

With a shrug and an exasperated sigh, the man continued. “You ’venturers’re all like that. Well... You’re ’sponsible for your own life, but don’t do anythin’ reckless, y’hear? If the situation turns sour...y’should run back here immediately.” 

Kind words, but rare ones as well. Individuals like him weren’t usually so overly concerned about their passengers. 

Curious, I asked after the man. 

“Y’know of recent goin’s on, yeah? What with new ’venturers goin’ missin’ in the labyrinths ’n’ all that. S’a lonely thing, y’know, the folks y’met yesterday, suddenly gone. So... Maybe I’m gettin’ a little emotional. Anyway... Do your best. I’ll return in the evenin’. I pray you’re here then since I can’t approach the swamp any closer’n I already have. Well’en... I’ll be goin’ now.” 

The coachman raised his whip, spurring his horses forward. Soon, he was just a speck in the distance. 

Adventurers that challenged the Swamp of Tarasque were few and far between. Horse carriages stopped at this pick-up point twice a day: once in the day and once in the evening. Should an adventurer miss the carriage, he or she would have to spend the night in the wilderness. I made a mental note to be aware of the time lest the same happened to me. 

With that, I headed down the path, following the advice of the kind coachman. 

The Swamp of Tarasque— 

Northwest of Maalt, it took a few hours to reach by horse carriage. As its name suggested, it was a swampy, dreary area. To be precise, the swamp had some other official name assigned to it by geographers a long time ago. That name, however, had been forgotten, with society at large referring to it as the Swamp of Tarasque instead. This was presumably done in honor of the strong monsters that lived there. 

Tarasques were a subspecies of Dragon, or a distant relative. Armed with a turtle-like shell and three pairs of legs, it also sported a potent poison, making it a truly fearsome beast. While its armored shell, scales, and poison veins served as incredibly useful materials for weapons and armor, one had to be a Silver-class adventurer or above to even stand a chance against it. However, even an adventurer of such a rank would find themselves hard-pressed to hunt when surrounded by a few of the beasts. 

In other words, it would be unwise for a Bronze-class adventurer such as myself to fight with, or even cross a Tarasque’s path. 

Of course, merely running into one wouldn’t kill me. Though, it would still put me in quite a pickle. This was why I had a principle of exploring carefully: instead of desperately fending off a Tarasque, it would be best not to encounter one at all. To make things worse, a wide variety of monsters called the swamp their home as well, so it would be foolish to not take precautions against them, too. This, along with a few other unpleasant factors, made swamp exploration a most taxing affair. 

To think I’m doing all this for just one bronze coin! 

Even so, it was only right for an adventurer to be charitable from time to time. If I went about my hunt in a prudent manner, I might even be able to gather some rare materials from the monsters here, or at least some medicinal plants that could fetch a fair sum of coin. 

It was obvious to see this wasn’t a place an adventurer would willingly visit. This meant there was always a demand for rare materials that could only be found here. Even if I really did end up in a bad spot, all I had to do was escape—not necessarily a skill I could brag about, but escaping was a more attractive prospect than dying a second time. 

In fact, I was now able to employ a mobile distraction. Edel bristled at the thought. My familiar apparently wasn’t too keen on the dangerous jobs I had in mind for him. 

Are you not my familiar, Edel? Should you not be risking your life for your master? Or so I thought would be the case, but Edel didn’t seem very loyal to me. 

I suppose that’s just the way it is. 

I set foot into the Swamp of Tarasque, hoping not to cross paths with one of the menacing creatures in my travels. 

If I had to describe the various dangers that filled the Swamp of Tarasque, I would definitely have to talk about the Tarasques themselves. Not to say there weren’t a multitude of other dangers, though. 

There were many lakes and ponds in the swamp that were extremely poisonous—as were the jets of air that occasionally erupted from them. Even walking around in the swamp in and of itself was a dangerous thing. To adequately conquer the swamp, one would first require a means of breathing in such a hostile environment, in addition to neutralizing the poison in the air. A poison-resistant magical tool would fulfill this purpose, as would the continued usage of divinity to purify the air around the adventurer. One would also need protective gear and attire to safely traverse the poisonous terrain. 

To make things worse, such an intensely poisonous environment had profound impacts on its inhabitants, most notably the monsters that lived in the swamps. There, Slimes had evolved into Poison Slimes, Goblins held poison-coated weapons, and the Sea Snakes swimming in these murky waters were armed with deadly poisons in their bodies. 

Taking all those factors into account, one realizes the treachery of the swamp: one does not simply walk into the Swamp of Tarasque. 

And as I said, there was the issue of the Tarasques themselves. The swamp was a place that people avoided at all costs. 

While there was a high demand for ingredients from the place, most adventurers held their life in higher regard than a pile of gold coins. Even I wouldn’t have come here if I had a choice in life. It was the common perspective that most adventurers held. 

But in my current state, the Swamp of Tarasque didn’t pose very much of a threat to me at all. I would’ve avoided the place upon the pain of death while I still drew breath, but as an Undead, I cared little about the poisonous terrain, air, or gas that permeated the swamp. Due to my newfound poison-resistant nature, as verified by Lorraine’s experiments, I could safely disregard 80% of the swamp’s dangers. Even poisons from monsters had no effect on me; to me, the inhabitants of the swamp were quite unchanged from their normal brethren. 

Hypothetically, should a dangerous poison affect me, I would be able to easily cleanse it with my divinity. As such, I could safely write off poison from the list of environmental threats I had to deal with. 

Even Edel, who was still resting upon my shoulder, had some degree of resistance to poison. While we didn’t have much of a chance to experiment and verify this, I suppose it would only be natural that my familiar inherited some of my traits. 

Since Edel lived in a basement to begin with, he should be used to dirty air to some degree. I did purify him with divinity before bringing him back to Lorraine’s, however. 

Even if I did fall into a pool of poison, my divine aura would cleanse us both, allowing us to board the carriage in a relatively clean state. 

I put another foot forward, venturing deeper into the swamp. 

The terrain of the Swamp of Tarasque was most unfavorable. More than half of the ground was soft and unstable; not exactly the best conditions for combat. There were also the issues of sinkholes and pitfall traps in which one would need to be relatively agile to escape such deathly maws. 

In addition— 

“Huh...?!” 

I drew my blade swiftly, jumping backward and slicing an incoming arrow in half. 

Am I flanked? 

“Squeak!” Edel quickly informed me of the position the arrow came from via our mental link. 

Turning quickly, I spotted a bow-wielding Goblin staring in our general direction. The Goblin seemed to show no interest in approaching us. Instead, another arrow flew at us from a different direction. Slicing the arrow in two once more, I turned and, as expected, found another Goblin. 

A quick scan of the surroundings confirmed my fears: we were surrounded by Goblins. 

There were about ten of them in all. I couldn’t help but wonder where they had appeared from. With my sword drawn, I did yet another quick visual sweep of the area. A distinct scraping sound filled the air—sounds from beneath my feet. Burrows, perhaps, or a series of warrens and caves present in the area. 

I wondered how these Goblins could breathe in the swamp muck. My question was answered with a more detailed glance at the bow-wielding Goblin, holding a long, narrow, stick-like object in its teeth. A straw of some sort for breathing as they swam in the swamp? 

The swampy terrain also worked in the Goblins’ favor; even if I was alert, it was impossible to immediately notice something hidden in the surrounding bushes. 

Cursing at myself for being distracted as I trekked through the swamp, I began formulating a battle plan—I could not be defeated here. 

Their long-range attacks were annoying, and the Goblins still showed no signs or intents of approaching me. A strategically sound choice, given the fact that they were faced with one such as myself. I suppose the Goblins felt some degree of caution was necessary. If they carelessly approached me, I would swat them aside with ease. 

I infused my legs with spirit, allowing myself to step on the swampy ground without sinking. In a motion that was all but too familiar, I readied my blade, rushing toward the Goblin Archers. 

While I was moving at a pace that was significantly slower than what I was capable of on solid ground, I was still several times more agile than these muck-dwelling Goblins. 

Panicking at my rapid advance, the Goblins lowered their weapons, turning and attempting to escape. Goblins were known for their cowardly nature, though I wasn’t too different a short while ago. 

A rapid escape was a sound choice if one couldn’t win—this much was never in doubt. 

Death was the great equalizer, the proverbial end for both humans and monsters. I suppose I was an exception... 

In any case, I had no intention of letting the Goblins escape. Not all Goblins were necessarily evil or malicious. Some Goblins were known for being peaceful and cooperative, while in other parts of these lands, such Goblins were seen as a sort of beastmen, and were able to live without fear of persecution. 

The Goblins here, however, sought to prey on adventurers exploring the swamp. I didn’t feel like they were benevolent Goblins in any shape or form. 

Of course, they did live in this swamp, and probably had varying views on humans in general. Even so, dying wasn’t exactly in my interests, and should I let them go, they would definitely attack other adventurers. 

Given that they had chosen to interact with humans in a hostile way, mutual bloodshed was unavoidable. This was why I brought my blade down upon them without hesitation as soon as I caught up with one of them. 

They seemed notably stronger than the Goblins in the Labyrinth of the Moon’s Reflection. I suppose this was a given due to their ability to live in these poisonous environs, and their ability to hide in the swamp’s waters. 

But that was really all there was to it. 

While the Goblins were intelligent enough to use the terrain to their advantage and shoot arrows at unsuspecting adventurers, they didn’t seem to have many close-combat capabilities. 

With a single swing, a Goblin fell face down in the muck. The next soon followed, and the one after it. Before long, all ten Goblins were dead, sprawled out on the mud. 

Confirming there were no more immediate threats in the vicinity, I made my rounds, collecting magic crystals from the Goblin’s corpses. The crystals were mediocre in quality at best, but at the very least, would be worth some amount of coin. Since there were no known uses for a Goblin’s skin, I simply made a large incision with my dissection knife, prying out the magic crystals from next to the creatures’ hearts. I would leave their corpses here as fertilizer for the swamp’s flora. 

Then...it occurred to me that Edel did little to no work at all in this encounter, other than telling me where the first arrow had been shot from. 

Does this mouse even think of itself as my familiar? 

I instructed Edel to earn his keep in our next battle. Edel just told me that he would work should there be a need to. 

Does this mouse even think of me as its master...? 

I couldn’t help but wonder... 

While the swamp wasn’t a place most people would voluntarily enter, one couldn’t deny there was a wide variety of flora and fauna there, all of which could be harvested and utilized as ingredients or materials. For this reason, certain elements of infrastructure to facilitate this process were in place. 

For example, bridges and the like were often found over large bodies of water. This much was necessary for a normal human being to explore the swamp, since no human with my degree of poison resistance existed in these lands. And given that no sane person would try swimming across a large body of poisonous swamp-water, bridges were a necessity in these parts. 

Even though I was immune to the poison’s effects, I wasn’t exactly interested in taking a dip if I had the choice. Basically, I would gladly cross a bridge should I come across one. 

And yet, there was still one problem— 

Creeeak... Creeeak... 

A sound I did not wish to hear; not here, of all places. 

The material of a bridge differed depending on where it was built, and this specific bridge was made of wood. Ease of construction was the main factor when choosing materials for a bridge. However, one would be hard-pressed to find enough materials to build a metal bridge in a swamp. In fact, such a feat would only be possible if multiple adventurers were hired. These adventurers would also have to work on the project for a long period of time. 

This was why a wooden bridge hung here instead. 

Naturally, the wood used for this bridge came from a type of poison-tolerant tree that grew in the vicinity. Due to its properties, it was a lot hardier than normal wood. 

Even so, a wooden bridge was a wooden bridge. For all intents and purposes, this bridge was a simple affair, and its simple construction led to it decaying at an accelerated pace. One day it would fall into and be devoured by the swamp once more. 

—And today was the day this bridge decided to fall, with me on it. 

Snap!!! 

I had no choice but to steel myself; even so, I wasn’t quite steeled enough, so I attempted to run off the bridge, putting considerable weight in my steps. If I had calmly thought about the situation at hand, I surely would have chosen a different course of action. 

Unable to withstand my weight, a rotting plank gave way. 

Now, Thralls had significantly more physical strength than the average human. Thus, my careless stomping had brought about an all too predictable outcome. 

My foot, now firmly driven through the plank, caused the already weak bridge to deform, with me dropping dangerously close to the surface of the swamp. Edel, for his part, had already jumped off my shoulder, clambering up the strained bridge and onto the safety of the opposite shore. 

You traitorous mouse, you! 

Edel’s actions had merit, for I didn’t know exactly how resistant to poison he was. The possibility that such a fall would be fatal for Edel couldn’t be discounted, so I forgave my familiar for now. 

The bridge, finally giving way, plunged into the depths of the swamp, taking me with it. I didn’t feel any pain or shortness of breath; I suppose the Undead did not need to breathe very much, if at all. This was news to me, if only because I had water-stepping boots during my excursion to Todds Village. 

If I could swim in the first place, I probably didn’t need such an expensive magical tool. But I guess I would’ve appeared suspicious to Ryuntus and Amiris. 

That was all in the past, however. 

That said, I did breathe when on land—I would’ve appeared strange if I didn’t. Humans did this unconsciously, though in comparison, my ability to not breathe while submerged in a poisonous swamp was indeed convenient. Although I looked unsavory and strange, I probably wouldn’t mind having such a body for the rest of my life. 

Needless to say, I would be single for my entire life, but I would still have my dream of becoming a Mithril-class adventurer to keep me company. 

Well, I hadn’t intended to get married to begin with, so that was neither here nor there. The fact that I occasionally had such thoughts, however, probably meant that I hadn’t given up on the notion of doing so. 

Bringing my mind back to the current situation, I realized that the poisonous waters of the swamp seemed impossible for most living things to live in. This was because most living things would instantly turn purple if submerged in the swamp, then die in the next five minutes or so. 

But the sight that greeted me as I sank into the swamp’s waters was quite different. I couldn’t call it a beautiful or scenic sight, but there were living things in the depths. Fish-like monsters, each about the size of a man, headed toward me with their jaws wide open. There were more than just a few of these fish, as I could count about ten in my immediate vicinity. 

I probably wouldn’t die if nibbled on by these monsters, and I even wondered if I was edible to begin with. As long as I endured it, these monsters would probably leave me alone after some time. What little parts of me that did remain human, however, seemed revolted at the prospect of being eaten by these monsters. 

Drawing my sword from its sheath, I readied myself in a combative stance as I faced the approaching fish abominations. Fortunately, my feet were now on solid ground, and I was able to fight. 

The plank that I had unfortunately stepped through was still stuck to one of my feet, but I planted it firmly upon the ground in response. I could swim freely if I simply cut the plank free, but I instead decided to remain in place, striking out at the attacking fish. 

Immediately, a large fish rushed toward me, its jaws wide open. Holding my ground, I brought my blade down on its head, neatly severing it from its body. My sword was still sharp enough for my purposes, despite being significantly heavier under water than on land. While its current performance couldn’t compare to what it was capable of on dry ground, the infusion of some spirit into the blade was more than enough to behead a giant fish. 

Even so, I found it somewhat difficult to defend against four or five of the beasts at once. It was difficult for me to be aware of all directions if only because I remained standing in place. My movements in the water were also considerably sluggish. 

The fish, on the other hand, had evolved to move through water quickly. I should have thought more about the predicament at hand. 

The fish didn’t care about my regrets or bad decisions. Approaching me from all angles, they instead clamped their jaws down onto my body. Swinging my sword in a broad horizontal arc, I managed to dispose of three of them approaching me from the front, only for two others to attack me from behind, sinking their teeth into my skin. In response, I thrashed about, swinging my sword wildly. My actions, however, had little effect. 

I felt a renewed sense of peril; if I didn’t act quickly, I would be in danger of losing my foot. I was in a situation where my life was in jeopardy, so I should feel threatened. It wasn’t my skills that lulled me into a false sense of security, but this ridiculously sturdy undead body of mine. I probably wouldn’t die even if my head was removed from my body, and as a result, I no longer had an accurate or reasonable sense of danger, unlike what I had in life. 

This was most unbecoming. I had to do something about it; well, after I got myself out of this mess. So, I resolved to put up a real fight. 

No longer maintaining my spirit aura, I instead infused my body with divinity. Divinity went a longer way to strengthening my body; although a mana-spirit Fusion Art would have been stronger in this situation, I didn’t dare use it while under such strain. If I really had to use it, it would be when my life was truly in danger, as opposed to me facing the loss of a foot. 

As the divine aura coursed through my body, I felt my movements quicken. As expected, it was now easier for me to move through the water. 

With renewed strength, I pulled one of my feet away from the offending fish. The other fish still remained resolutely attached, refusing to let go. 

Was this undead, bony flesh of mine really that delicious? I suppose food was in short supply in the swamp, and it was part of the fish’s instincts to not let go once it caught its prey. 

That was horribly unacceptable to me. I had greater plans in life than rotting away at the bottom of this swamp. 

With one of my feet now free, I was able to change my orientation. Twisting my torso, I raised my sword high, intending to end this fishy menace once and for all. 

The trajectory was clear: I would now slay this foot-chomping fish. 

Just as that thought crossed my mind, however, understanding seemed to dawn upon the fish. Rapidly swimming upward, the fish dragged me along with it, before finally leaping out of the water’s surface and hurling me onto dry land. 

“Guh...!!!” 

And with that, my crossing of the swamp was complete, albeit ending with me slamming onto the ground with a pathetic sound. 

I was completely soaked, poisonous water dripping onto the ground. Surprisingly, my robe remained impossibly dry. A testament to its quality, I suppose. Maybe it was never wet to begin with... This robe was as mysterious as the woman who gave it to me. 

Turning around this way and that, my eyes came upon a familiar sight: Edel, the very same familiar who abandoned me to my watery grave. 

“...You. What... Are you doing?” 

Edel’s face...snout, more likely, seemed oddly puffed out. Grabbing him roughly, I opened his mouth with my gloved hands, only to find an assortment of nuts stashed in his cheeks. 

My familiar left me, its master, to die, deciding instead to gather food from the surroundings. 

It would seem like Edel had less of a reliance on blood for sustenance when compared to me. 

But there was also something else that disturbed me—namely, Edel’s lack of faith...and loyalty. 

Are the familiars of Vampires all this way? 

But of course, no one could answer my question. Who would I even ask...? 

Perhaps expectations existed to be betrayed. A sudden and blunt observation, and maybe even a tad fatalistic; quite sad, really. But I wasn’t in a situation where I could just lie on the ground and ponder philosophy. Not to say I didn’t still feel an overwhelming sense of despair, however, probably because that despair was now standing a short distance away, staring at my drenched figure. 

With a turtle-like armored shell and six powerful legs, it was covered in tough scales, sporting a relatively plain, but still impressive Dragon-like body. Its eyes indicated a creature that was more savage than intelligent—the eyes of a beast. Reflected in those eyes was my own image, a weaker organism that would be hunted and consumed. 

—A Tarasque. The very creature from which this swamp’s name was derived from. 

While I preferred not to have encountered one on my journey, I wasn’t surprised that I ended up crossing one’s path. Simply put, the Dragon Blood Blossoms that I was looking for only bloomed around trails and areas favored by Tarasques. Completing my task without ever bumping into one would be difficult, if not impossible. If one had a keen eye for such matters, however, one could identify Tarasque tracks, as well as the territorial markings they left to warn other monsters of their presence. I tried to do the same—and then spectacularly failed at my task. 

What a predicament... 

Looking at the situation at hand, I had little choice but to fight. 

If there was any silver lining to this situation, it would be that I was immune to Tarasque poison. So all I had to do was fight it like a normal monster, presumably leading me to victory. 

While I wondered if I possessed the necessary skills, the Tarasque didn’t seem keen on my ponderous thoughts. 

“GRUAAAAH...!!!” 

An ear-splitting, thunderous cry that was no doubt a declaration of hostility. This wasn’t what I had planned for at all, but I had no choice but to fight. 

Drawing my blade, I stood still, facing the Tarasque. As soon as I braced myself, the beast charged, hurtling toward me at full speed. 

Given the Tarasque’s size, any normal human hit by such an attack would surely be sent flying, or be trampled and crushed underfoot. Needless to say, both these options didn’t particularly appeal to me. 

I held my ground, waiting for an opportunity. 

Since a Tarasque was encased in a hard shell and had a long, flexible neck, my strategies were limited. I really only had two options open to me: I could either break through its shell with an attack, or send its relatively softer neck flying. 

To even think of breaking a Tarasque’s shell, however, one would have to possess enough strength and skill, as well as a well-forged weapon. Its shell was commonly used as an armor material favored by Silver- or Gold-class adventurers, after all. 

A Tarasque’s shell could be turned into quite a respectable material, provided one found an equally respectable blacksmith. Tools and armor produced of this material had immense defensive capabilities. 

Logically speaking, it would be extremely difficult for me to crack such a shell. There was the option of fusing mana, spirit, and divinity into my blade all at once, though... While that could possibly breach the beast’s shell, the consequences of the move backfiring caused me to indefinitely shelve the thought. If I were to carelessly lose my weapon in such a fashion, I would surely lose my life. It would be a last resort, and hopefully one that I didn’t have to employ. 

I decided to go after the beast’s neck instead. 

Jumping up and toward the charging Tarasque, I landed on its shell, steadying myself and swinging my weapon down upon its neck—that was my intent, anyway. 

Clang! 

With a sound similar to that of clashing steel, my blade bounced off the Tarasque’s skin harmlessly. The beast, now alerted to my presence on its back, quickly threw itself upon the ground, rolling its large body over in an attempt to dislodge me. 

Ka-thung! 

With a low, rumbling sound, the Tarasque continued rolling, sweeping up the swamp around it as it went. Kicking up a cloud of poisonous gases and flying mud, the Tarasque retreated behind this smokescreen, as if to obscure my vision. An intimidating attack, one that would fell a normal person. Unfortunately for the beast, I cared little about poisons. 

It was an attack that was both defensive and offensive at the same time; quite the treacherous beast. Poisonous mud was nothing more than mud to me, however. In addition, I possessed eyesight superior to that of a normal human’s. While the beast’s efforts did impede my vision slightly, I could still make out its shape beyond the settling mud and gas. 

A curious and convenient ability, and one that I hadn’t used so consciously before. 

Deciding that I could trust my enhanced senses of perception, I leapt through the rain of mud and swamp water, making a beeline for the Tarasque. The beast, on the other hand, still maintained a low profile, having slammed its shell into the soft, swampy ground to deter my advance. While the tremors were impressive, the Tarasque was now in a disadvantageous position, as its neck was now much closer to the ground. That was an opportunity I would greatly exploit. As long as I struck at the right moment, I would surely be able to behead this beast. 

I suppose this would be as good a time as any other to enhance the sharpness of my sword. And I had just the technique in mind for this very purpose. 

I began infusing two auras into my blade, the auras of mana and spirit. It was time to put my technique to the test: a mana-spirit Fusion Art. 

If I couldn’t cut through its shell, all I had to do was crush its organs from the inside, and that would be it. 

Of course, true practitioners of the Fusion Arts would be able to focus both these auras into the edge of their weapon, increasing its sharpness by an almost astronomical degree. I, on the other hand, was currently incapable of such a feat. I would instead rely on my brute strength, and blow through the beast. 

I steeled myself, expanding my spirit aura from my blade to my entire body. Propelled by an intense concentration of spirit, I found myself beside the Tarasque’s neck before I knew it. 

The beast continued to struggle, and I had no intention of waiting for it to right itself. With a swift motion, I swung my sword down on its neck. 

A thunderous crack filled the air as steel met scale. 

As the aftermath of my attack resounded through the air, it was accompanied by a small shower of broken scales, apparently having been freed by my blow. 

Did I slay it, I thought, momentarily stopping. Unfortunately, a Tarasque wasn’t a weak monster by any means— 

Before I could react, a series of sharp claws flew toward me, intending to crush me right on the spot, robes and all. 

Dodging the blow with a panicked step, I reoriented myself, intending to strike at its wound once more. Instead, I discovered that the Tarasque had raised its neck up high. 

Looks like the beast has finally righted itself... 

All that trashing and rolling couldn’t have been good for me had I still remained a human, but the beast’s currently raised neck wasn’t good news either. A human wouldn’t be able to fight a Tarasque to begin with—but now wasn’t the time for idle thought. 

With its six legs, the beast bore down upon me once more, albeit at a slower speed than before. Already, the Tarasque was wary of being mounted by me again—truly a fearsome monster. 

To think that it could learn and adapt in such a short time... It was a savage beast that largely lived and died by its instincts and senses, but one would almost think it was in possession of a somewhat logical mind. Personally speaking, I would much rather prefer a stupid, brutish Tarasque. 

I supposed nothing could be done about the intelligence of my foe. I had to think of a new strategy. 

While climbing onto its back and striking at its wounded neck was the best way to end this fight, my opponent seemed aware of this fact, and it was now visibly more cautious. 

What should I...? 

Edel— 

Edel, the familiar-mouse on my shoulder, was missing. 

Where did he go? 

Looking around, it didn’t take me long to spot Edel’s silhouette, running at breakneck speed in the midst of the Tarasque’s feet. 

It was a dangerous approach—one wrong step, and my familiar would be crushed! But Edel weaved and danced through the monster’s legs, avoiding its frenzied stomps and neatly landing on its back. 

You’re pretty good, little mouse. 

For the first time since I had set foot in the swamp, I felt grateful for Edel’s existence. 

And yet, Edel was still nothing more than a Puchi Suri, a small, mouse-like monster, compared to the large and ferocious Tarasque. 

Just as this thought entered my mind... 

“...What?!” 

Almost falling over, I caught myself; it was like all the strength in my body just left it all at once. Then, Edel’s body started glowing. 

What is happening...? 

I could sense Edel’s intents. He had a plan, and all I could do now was watch. 

I stared at the scene unfolding before me, of Edel and the Tarasque. 

Now shrouded in what appeared to be a veil of light, Edel ran up the Tarasque’s neck, propelling and slamming his body into the exposed wound left by my previous swing. 

Edel was large for his kind, but he was still a Puchi Suri. His valiant attack couldn’t possibly leave much of a mark on the Tarasque. 

Contrary to my expectations, however, the beast began trashing, evidently in great pain. 

“Gruuuaaaaaarrrggg...!” 

It was a howl of fury—fury at having been injured in the same place twice, and possibly the indignation of having been dealt a blow by something so much smaller than itself. While only the Tarasque would know which of these was more frustrating, the force and resultant impact of Edel’s attack couldn’t be denied. 

Twitching and struggling, the Tarasque suddenly rippled its neck like a scaled whip. It swept across its back in a wide horizontal arc, at a speed I didn’t think possible for an injured monster. It would seem like Edel shared my thoughts as the sheer speed of the blow caught him unawares. My familiar was soon sent flying, the victim of a suitably violent impact. 

Running in the trajectory of his flight, I leapt, catching him before he hit the ground. 

“...Are you. All right?” 

Edel, however, insisted he was fine, and I should do more than just running around catching flying mice. 

You terribly cheeky thing... I suppose I should appreciate his vigor. I began healing his wounds with divinity, but he didn’t seem to have any injuries. Come to think of it, I was drained of a significant amount of power just now—not mana or spirit, but divinity. 

It would appear Edel utilized the divinity he drained from me for both offensive and healing purposes. I did not recall giving him permission, but here he went again, doing it anyway. I suppose that was just how familiars were... 

Do all of them simply demand and claim power from their masters as and when they feel like it? Why does our relationship feel so inversed...? 

My thoughts were quickly interrupted by a series of overwhelming roars— 

“Gruaaaarrgg...! Gaaarrrg! Gaaarrrgg!!!” 

The Tarasque’s pained cries jolted me back to reality. It would seem like the beast had been running in circles all this time, the weight of its large body working against it. It possessed fearsome speed when charging straight in one direction, though it didn’t seem to handle turning very well. If there was a chance for escape, it would be now. 

Despite being some distance apart, I couldn’t guarantee that an escape would be useful or prudent. The battle could evolve into a stalling game, with both sides waiting to see if the opponent would run out of stamina first. Or perhaps I could stall for time and heal myself? 

Though, Edel needed no such rest. In any case, Edel’s attack on the Tarasque seemed to have left quite the mark. The beast could no longer move its neck as freely as before. 

Slowly approaching it, my attention was drawn to a plume of smoke rising from the Tarasque’s open wound. 

Did Edel have the capability to launch fireballs? I didn’t recall seeing such a thing. No, this phenomenon was unmistakably caused by his body slam. 

Is it some special ability of his? 

No...that didn’t seem to be the case either. 

Although he glowed, that glow was brought about by my divine aura, so the Tarasque was reacting in this fashion after it had been struck with a divine attack. 

Quite the hint, little mouse... 

I guess a Tarasque was more vulnerable to divinity, as opposed to spirit or mana. If only I used my divine aura from the very start... The hints had been in place long before I set foot in this swamp. 

Due to the habitat of the Tarasque, they hated holy water, so most adventurers in these swamps carried some as a ward. It was said that dousing oneself in holy water could make even the most ferocious Tarasques wary. 

To tell the truth, I wanted to do the same, and had purchased some Holy Water for myself, but this was the unfortunate result. This was no fault of the water itself, and all things considered, I probably ended up purchasing fake holy water by accident. I spent a fair amount of coin on the preparations for this trip, and ended up skimping on certain supplies. For instance, I had purchased this holy water from a somewhat suspicious roadside store—not exactly the wisest choice. 

Holy water could only be obtained from churches, and it fetched a high price. I didn’t really want to set foot inside a church, at least, not with my body being what it was. This was why I purchased this relatively cheaper bottle of holy water from a roadside merchant... 

I suppose one gets what one pays for. A lesson well learned. 

Although I wanted to make a supply of holy water for my own personal use, the methods involved in its creation were closely guarded by the church. My attempts at creating holy water were unsuccessful, as any aura injected into the water would only hold for a few seconds, before once again becoming normal drinking water. After several tries, I gave up. I suppose it was impossible to create without some sort of special method. 

Craaack! 

A deafening crack snapped me back to attention. A nearby tree had been uprooted and tossed through the air. 

The Tarasque’s neck remained wounded, but its body still functioned normally, and the beast was once again hot on our trail. This time, it was spewing forth clouds of poison, not that this concerned me. 

Edel, who was once again on my shoulder, didn’t pay it much heed, either. To us, it was nothing more than a warm, purple cloud. In fact, its poison breathing opened itself up to attack. 

I felt sorry for the environment around us, but I wasted no time diving into the cloud, quickly emerging on the other side. I was now close to the Tarasque—a bit too close for comfort, judging by its panicked attempts at retreat. 

It wasn’t too difficult for me to understand how it felt. I suppose I was the first poison-immune being it ever came across in its life. At the very least, a human being would require some sort of magical tool that completely nullified all sorts of poisons. But I had my Thrall constitution to thank. 

Regardless, I should finish the job. Unlike my previous halfhearted blow, I would now go in for the killing blow. 

I focused my divine aura, wrapping it around my sword. Reacting with the poisoned air around it, my weapon glowed a faint gold-blue, the purple haze surrounding me receding rapidly. With my surrounding visibility improved, I saw a clear path toward the Tarasque’s neck. 

I leaped— 

With a single, decisive swing, I struck at the Tarasque’s already wounded neck. In the light of my divine aura, the beast’s scales melted and distorted. Unlike my attempts at slaying the beast with a mana-spirit Fusion Art, my divine-infused blade cut through the Tarasque’s flesh without a sound. The resistance its soft flesh offered was much like that of lesser monsters I had encountered. This was an interesting observation... 

The Tarasque put up quite a struggle. It intended to break free from the burning blade that was now in the process of removing its head from the rest of its body. But I didn’t allow that to happen. 

With a final burst of strength, I drove my blade into and through the beast’s neck, scales, flesh, bone, and all. With a dull thud, the Tarasque’s head fell to the ground. 

Yet another peal of thunder echoed through the swamp as the beast’s gigantic body fell to the ground. Struggling and thrashing for a few brief moments, the body of the headless Tarasque eventually fell silent. Its snake-like neck, coiled up in agony, was a disgusting sight to behold. 

To think that something of this size could writhe and squirm in such a fashion; a sight I hoped to never see twice. 

Probably a strange statement for me to be making, given that I had slain the Tarasque. I didn’t really intend to do so in the first place, though; I blame the beast for chasing us down. 

I won’t apologize, monster. 

Being the beast it was, the Tarasque held a magic crystal, much like all other monsters. While the position of the crystal varied between monster types, one could usually and safely assume it was near the beast’s heart. 

But for a Tarasque’s crystal, it was buried deep within its shell, and I had no choice but to dig it out. But doing so would take a considerable amount of time, and the Swamp of Tarasque wasn’t a place in which one could safely idle. It was almost warranted that another Tarasque would come trudging along while I set about my dissection work. That was something I had to avoid at all costs. 

I suppose defeating one more Tarasque was possible, given that I now knew the weakness of their kind. But I had no way of knowing this until we actually fought. Though I also realized I didn’t have much to fear from a Tarasque. Edel would be able to assist me as well. 

The only problem in all this was the amount of strength I had left in me. Having used a large amount of divinity, I would be hard-pressed to cut off another Tarasque’s head. To make things worse, I had a considerably smaller reservoir of divinity, at least when compared to that of my mana and spirit. As a result, I often ended up using more of it, and it naturally took longer to recover. 

I couldn’t rely on employing the same techniques over and over again without rest. This was why I was trying to conserve my divinity, and, as a result, why I ended up using up most of it. 

Quite the conundrum. 

Then shall I give up on the corpse of the Tarasque, and the magic crystal within? 

No. I could do no such thing. 

I wouldn’t do such a thing. 

I was incapable of doing such a thing. 

—I was greatly in debt. To make things worse, the orphanage’s reward for me retrieving a Dragon Blood Blossom was the princely sum of one bronze coin. Despite my debt, however, I made sure to pay out of my own pocket for a very specific item before arriving at the swamp: none other than a magical pouch. 

I already owned such a pouch myself, but that one was comparatively small, barely able to contain the body of an Orc. There was no way it could contain the body of a beast as large as a Tarasque. 

I could just dissect the Tarasque and extract the valuable materials in it, but this wasn’t a location conducive to such an effort. This was why a large-capacity pouch was needed, and why I obtained such an item before my foray into the Swamp of Tarasque. 

My justification for obtaining such a pouch ahead of time, however, was much simpler: I had, as of late, taken into account my relatively terrible luck. Who, exactly, could say they were eaten by a legendary Dragon and turned into a Skeleton merely exploring a beginner’s labyrinth? 

If anything, I came to expect the worst from the world. 

What, then, would happen if one such as myself ventured into the Swamp of Tarasque? Against all odds, I would run into a Tarasque. Yes, quite the fatalistic vein of thinking, but it appeared that my assumptions—and gut feelings—were correct. 

Maybe I obtained some sort of primal instinct after becoming a monster... 

As it turned out, I had run into a Tarasque. I could even say my instinct was reasonably honed. 

With that being said, this high-capacity magical pouch was just an item I had rented. A given, perhaps, considering such high-quality magical tools were worth their weight in gold. One would even be able to buy a house with the asking price of this bag. 

Luckily, renting it was possible, as long as one had sufficient amounts of coin. One would think such a valuable item wouldn’t be so easily rented out, but they would have to look no further than the guild, from where I rented mine. Should any adventurer be foolish enough to run off with it, the guild’s trained retrieval specialists would be after them in an instant. Depending on the value of the tool in question, even Gold- or Platinum-class adventurers would be mobilized for the effort. That meant it would be difficult for any offender to live peacefully no matter the kingdom, which was why thefts of this nature were few and far between. 

These thefts almost seemed to represent the infinitely dark nature of man, and possibly the world at large. 

Either way, I was now armed with a means to transport the carcass of the slain Tarasque. 

Its body was a goldmine of materials. Even if I excluded the proceeds from selling its magic crystal, the scales and shell of a Tarasque on their own were worth enough coins to fish me out of debt. The overall proceeds from this carcass alone would be enough for me to turn a profit, and that’s taking into account the costs of this expedition. 

To think I would be able to freely spend once more, and that I managed to do so with the spoils from a single battle! This was one of the many reasons as to why I couldn’t stop adventuring. 

This was my first time experiencing such a grand windfall over the span of the last decade, most of which I had spent adventuring. Although I harvested a large magical crystal from the giant monster I had slain a while ago, the situation at the time meant I didn’t profit from the event at all. 

This time, it would be different. I opened the bag, kneeling down next to the Tarasque’s carcass. I didn’t mean to say I would have to somehow fit the bag over this impossibly large carcass, for that was unnecessary. One only had to allow the magical bag enough time to attach itself to the object, and before long it would be transported effortlessly into its bottomless depths. 

Most convenient tools indeed. 

Even the severed head of the Tarasque was valuable, so I dutifully allowed the bag to consume it as well. If memory served, its eyeballs, brain, and poison glands were of some value as well. 

Having finished my task, I took a quick stroll around the premises, mainly to verify if there were any other monsters in the immediate vicinity. As expected, there were a few Goblins hiding in the bushes, hoping to scavenge for leftovers, I suppose. 

To them, the body of a Tarasque contained many important crafting materials. One only had to observe a Swamp Goblin to discover they weren’t picky about the materials they used. Anything was fair game, even shattered fragments of Tarasque scales and shells. This was then weaved together in a haphazard fashion. 

A perfect opportunity to observe the swamp’s ecosystem, and the everlasting cycle of life and death that permeated its reaches. I, however, picked up a series of stones from the ground, hurling them with all my might at the Goblins in question. While this may seem cruel, I was merely acting in self-defense, for the Goblins had already started drawing their bows, pointing them in my general direction. 

The rocks, fanning out in a wide arc, caught one particularly unfortunate Goblin between the eyes. Witnessing the sudden collapse of their compatriot, the other Goblins promptly scattered. Not a single Goblin stopped to help their fallen friend, and the unfortunate Goblin remained shivering on the ground for some time before finally getting back up. Shaking its head rapidly, it limped after its companions in a panicked fashion. 

A heartwarming, or somewhat amusing, scene. I felt some stability return to my nerves, my psyche decidedly frayed after my encounter with the Tarasque. 

Then, without warning, the fish-monster who had thrown me out of the poison lake arose from the depths once more, snatching up several of the escaping Goblins before disappearing again under the waves. The only surviving Goblin was the one stunned by the rock I had tossed. 

Just the laws of the jungle... 

Thinking about it, I realized this was more or less the status quo in these lands. 

Apparently stunned by what just transpired before its eyes, the lone Goblin stood, seemingly at a loss. Staring at its silhouette, I couldn’t help but wonder if it felt a sense of despair. Would it feel pity for the loss of its friends, given that they had abandoned him to his fate mere moments ago? 

Such was the way of the world. 

I suppose I should move on; I still had a Dragon Blood Blossom to find. 

Affirming there was now a fair amount of distance between myself and the lone Goblin, who had at some point decided to retreat into the swamp, I returned to my search. Needless to say, I moved cautiously and slowly, not wanting to encounter another Tarasque. 

Luckily, I didn’t run into any more dangerous beasts, perhaps in part due to my cautious advance. Plus, the outcome of my battle affirmed that Tarasques did indeed dislike holy water. Along that vein of thought, I suppose I could assume they disliked divinity in general, and would avoid sources of it whenever possible. 

I shrouded myself in a faint divine aura, slowly advancing through the swamp once more. 

Having finally exited the Tarasques’ territory, I found myself in a truly breathtaking place, and was momentarily lost for words. 

Given that the Swamp of Tarasque was filled with poisonous gas, water, plants, and monsters, one would assume it was an unbridled hellscape. A reasonable assumption, to say the least. After all, the only individuals who set foot in the swamp were fearless adventurers, and those who weren’t quite as right in the head. Townsfolk and other more mundane folk would hardly dream of approaching it in the first place. 

One would also assume that the very depths and heart of the swamp played host to the most dangerous of monsters and the most potent of poisons. While it was logical to think this way, what I saw before me defied that logic. 

Yes... This must be true beauty... 

I never imagined such a sight was possible, and within the Swamp of Tarasque of all places. It was undoubtedly a paradise. 

Before me was a beautiful pond, with waters so clear I could see the bedrock beneath. Crimson flowers ringed the waterside, with the occasional petal falling and floating on the water’s surface. The flowers surrounded and bloomed around the pond, like an army of red, loyal soldiers protecting their queen from the swamp’s other flora. 

Among the flowers were insects, birds, and even the occasional beast, all milling about in relative harmony. This was the last thing I expected to see at the end of a poisonous swamp. 

The reason for its existence was due to the flowers. These red flowers were the very same blossoms I had been looking for: 

Dragon Blood Blossoms. 

These blossoms had the ability to purify and cleanse their environment, and it was these very flowers beneath my feet that were responsible for the purified bubble that I now stood in. 

Although the flora and fauna within this bubble seemed protected by the Dragon Blood Blossoms, reality was much more cruel. While they could live and breathe freely within the protective bubble of the Dragon Blood Blossoms, they would die within the hour if they had somehow been transported outside of it. 

A paradise, yes, but at the same time, an eternal prison. 

A variety of rare birds, insects, and beasts called this prison their home, and they were worth their weight in gold if transported out of the swamp. This process would be exceedingly difficult, given that one would have to transport the organism out from this bubble of clean air and into the poison of the swamp that surrounded it. Just transporting one creature was a tremendous undertaking, as one had to retain a relatively pure area of air around oneself at all times. Certain magical tools could achieve this, as well as some specific types of wind magic, when indefinitely maintained by a mage with high reserves of mana in their being. 

While one could expect a certain degree of recognition for such a feat, the effort involved often dwarfed the rewards. This was why the ecosystem of this fragile bubble had been largely maintained. 

If someone did manage to damage one of the few ecosystems in which Dragon Blood Blossoms could thrive, they would surely come under fire from a multitude of groups and organizations. As long as one was careful with the way they harvested the flowers, there wouldn’t be any lasting damage. Dragon Blood Blossoms possessed a particular zeal for life, and they would often regenerate any damaged portions relatively quickly. A testament to this was that said blossoms grew here, of all places, along with the fact that they had the ability to absorb poisons in the environment, converting it all into life energy. This was most likely why it had taken root here, among the multitude of poisonous gases, beasts, and Tarasques. 

The carcass of a Tarasque did give off tremendously poisonous gases while decomposing, and this was one of the many reasons why the swamp was so polluted. This also led to a strange gathering of organisms that fed off the poison, eventually culminating in this strange wonderland amidst the poisonous fog. 

The Tarasques truly were the pillar of the swamp ecosystem; if they didn’t exist, neither would these Dragon Blood Blossoms before me. Ironic, considering the legend behind these flowers, and the fact Tarasques were distant relatives of Dragons. 

...Maybe I should return to the task at hand. Lorraine would be far more suited than I when it came to explaining such concepts. 

Now, to fulfill the details of the request.... 

I put one foot forward, stepping into a crimson garden. I briskly walked through the flowers; brutish, but such damage was well within the regenerative means of these blossoms. 

According to a tome I once chanced upon, a Dragon Blood Blossom would recover in a day even if violently crushed underfoot. This was a necessary measure, if only to rid my boots of the poisonous mud that clung to them. 

The gathering of the blossoms was easy, as one only had to dig up the entire plant, roots and all. Even though one could cut and retrieve only the stem, such a method would result in the loss of some fluid. This would essentially defeat the purpose of my current excursion. 

Given the troublesome nature of this entire affair, one would wonder if it was possible to just transplant some of these flowers in a safe location, periodically feeding them with concentrated Tarasque poison. It had been attempted before, but such flowers hardly turned red, and they couldn’t be used to produce Dragon-Flower Blood. 

Instead, beautiful white flowers would bloom, albeit without any healing or medicinal properties. Known as White Dragon Blossoms, these flowers were purely ornamental, and they didn’t have any other known use... But I suppose that was just how things were. 

Kneeling down, I dug out a fair amount of earth, pulling out a bunch of flowers with their roots and all. Wrapping the extracted dirt in some cloth, I opened the magic bag once more, gently placing the flowers within its depths. 

I could have picked only the one flower, but several thousand of the plants bloomed here, and a few’s absence would hardly be felt. This patch of earth would probably be overgrown with Dragon Blood Blossoms again in a little under a week. 

Having come this far, I already had plans for the spare flowers, where some would make their way to the florist, and some others, to the apothecary. 

In life, I once thought of the benefits of owning such a medicine, and this sentiment was shared by my fellow adventurers. I would, of course, sell these at a suitably high price. Young couples who wished to propose to each other in particularly romantic ways could take a trip to the florist, while those who needed special medication could purchase some from Maalt’s apothecary. 

Even so, I wasn’t too greedy, taking care to only harvest about ten stalks. This was more than enough, and once again I couldn’t help but feel indebted to this high-capacity magical bag. 

Come to think of it, this was the first time I had managed to gather Dragon Blood Blossoms with my own hands. Given that there was no way I could have possibly gathered these flowers in life, I felt a little happy at the accomplishment. 

“...Ouch.” 

I felt a pinprick of pain run up my finger while digging through the ground, but if memory served correctly, Dragon Blood Blossoms didn’t have thorns. 

Curious, I examined a nearby flower closely, only to find that a numbing sensation ran through my finger when I touched a petal. Some sort of self-defense mechanism, I surmised. It was only natural, given how it survived in such an environment. 

Having finished my harvest, I stood up, dusting myself off. All that was left now was to return to the pickup point, return to Maalt, and hand a flower to Alize. Her herbalist friend would visit, and then my job would be done. 

I began making my way back to the entrance of the path, only to be greeted with a silhouette in the distance. 

An enemy...? No, not quite. It didn’t seem like a Goblin, and there were no other humanoid monsters in the Swamp of Tarasque. 

An adventurer of sorts, I suppose. 

Even so, I had to be cautious. Under certain circumstances, adventurers could very well draw their blades on each other. While adventurer cards were easily found in the confines of the Labyrinth, fighting in a place like the Swamp of Tarasque could very well result in the evidence of one’s demise sinking into the poisonous depths. 

More than enough of a reason to be cautious, so I drew my blade once more, steadying my stance as I waited, until I was able to see the whites of their eyes... 

To be continued...