SOME TIME AFTER PRETENDING TO FAINT, my body had really given up and I drifted into a dreamless sleep. At first, it was short bouts of sleep where I tried to remember the details, count the seconds passing and had my ears opened to everything. The hands feeding me, the eyes drilling a hole into the side of my face and the hushed whispers. Everything.
And I was doing quite a good job. Sure, the amnesia was an act but the injuries were very much real. Before I knew it, I got lulled into a deep sleep. Or was it death or the Neutral Space? I really couldn't tell.
Until it hit me.
It's the smell that gets to me first.
Something sharp and bitter—like crushed leaves and singed wool. Then comes the ache. My arm screams. My spine is a knot of regret. My skull feels like it's been used as a punching bag by someone who takes their cardio seriously. Very seriously.
I don't open my eyes immediately. I do what any normal person would do in a strange world where I've nearly died at least two times and fainted thrice for dramatic effect.
I listen.
Soft wind, rustling linen. A window open somewhere, creaking lightly. Someone humming—no, that's a voice. Raspy.
A female.
I crack an eye open. A thatched ceiling greets me. It's uneven and rustic, with fat wooden beams holding it up like the bones of some ancient beast. Wet moses run in the creaks of the wood, like it was taken right out of the sea—wood ruins out of a sunken ship. There's a lazy sway in the walls—probably not earthquake-safe. Not that zoning laws matter when you're in a world run by a god-know-who and a flying meatball and a passive-aggressive game System who is hellbent on keeping me clueless.
My mouth tastes like dust. My body feels like dust. And my brain... decides to go full lizard.
I bolt upright.
"OW—OWOWOW—!"
Every nerve in my body yells in protest. The bed creaks violently under my sudden movement, and my vision swims. There's a clack as a chair scrapes the floor, nails on a chalkboard, followed by the hurried patter of footsteps, growing loud by the second.
"Oh, so you are alive, after all," a voice says, amused and distinctly unbothered. "Knew you looked too dumb to die young."
I blink, blearily turning toward the voice. Standing in the doorway is a petite girl with short, dark blue hair and a wooden ladle in one hand. She wears a long, pastel blue dress —not a cloak this time— but it is reminiscent of the people I previously saw in my few moments of consciousness.
"You—uh—hi?" I rasp, eloquent as always.
"Stay right there, strange one," she snaps. And now the familiarity kicks in. Those monolidded, brilliantly lined eyes. It's the same, cautious girl from the first time. "You've been passed out in my spare room for nearly two days. Thought you were another brain-dead rogue from the fields, but turns out you were just regular stupid."
Okay, rude. And definitely a sharp raise in attitude from the previous time. But I'm still collecting my soul and my words, so I let it slide.
"Where… am I?" I ask.
She frowns. "You don't remember?"
I blink slowly.
I don't know what part of Brumdn Cove is this, or who she is, or how far the fire from Gaal's Grove reached, or if the System is still breathing down my neck (I really can't feel her)—but what I do know is that this girl doesn't look like she's in a rush to throw me out.
So I do what any rational, traumatised, recovering protagonist would do.
I lie.
"I… I don't know," I whisper hoarsely. My acting is nowhere near Oscar worthy but I try. "I don't remember anything."
The girl stills. Maybe the old woman did not tell the others about my supposed memory-loss but I remain firm as her eyes scan me. For a moment, I wonder if she's going to call my bluff. Maybe there's some world law here where faking amnesia is a capital offense and you get turned into compost.
But then she sighs. Deep and long and irritated.
"Well, that explains why you tried to eat the soap on day one."
"I… what—"
"Hush," she says, already turning to skip back into the hallway. "If you're faking it, you're either good at it or stupid enough to make it real. Either way, I don't care. You're in Brumdn Cove. You're alive. You're in my Granny's house. You're eating my food. Don't waste it with dumb questions."
Noted.
Brumdn Cove. A confirmation. That means… the first quest must've technically been completed.
Reach the city gates of Brumdn Cove.
Well, congrats, System. I stumbled my way here while on fire. Where's my reward? A sword upgrade? A banana?
The girl returns with a tray and sets it down beside me on the rickety, wooden nightstand. Thin soup, a chunk of bread, and a weird jelly that glows faintly purple.
"Eat. Rest. You look like a boiled rat," she says, stabbing the bread for emphasis.
Charming.
"Are you going to feed me?" I ask with a shrug and my lips tug when her face frowns.
"Well if your burnt palms can hold a spoon, why not?" she bites but she still dips the bread in the soup and thrusts it to my face. "Eat before I change my mind, strange one."
Oddly, in a way, she reminds me of my sister.
"What should I call you?" I ask, taking a bite. Testing the waters. The bread tastes amazing. And the soup tastes salty and warm. The perfect proportion.
She eyes me for a long second. "Call me Toad."
I blink. "Sorry—Toad?"
"Toad," she repeats, clearly enjoying my confusion. "Don't like it? You can call me 'Your Grace, Lady Toad' if you prefer."
"JustToad is perfect," I say quickly. No need to make enemies with a girl clearly still going through puberty.
She snorts and dunks another piece of bread in the soup. "Eat. And sleep more. You'll need strength when that arm starts scabbing."
I spend the rest of the day staring at the ceiling. Not like I had anything better to do. Foras is still missing while The System hasn't slithered in any way since I woke up.
My body hurts in ways I didn't know were possible but the Grade D boots did work, I guess. If not, I could very well be badly tasting barbeque stuck to the barks of Gaal's Grove.
The room is simple—wooden shelves, woven rugs, and a faded tapestry on the wall that might be a map or a recipe or both. The wooden table beside me holds a cracked mirror and what appears to be a preserved rat skull.
Wholesome.
At night, the girl—Toad brings me another bowl of broth and grumbles something about half-dead boys and their mysterious injuries. At least, she still feeds me and for that, I'm thankful.
When she leaves, I check my arm again.
The burn is very much there—but the skin is red and inflamed. Still the scene I saw in the Neutral Space.
The thought hits me harder than expected.
I'm not just imagining this place. It's real. Real enough that the wounds carry over and Shin Woo could see them. Real enough that I carried over.
But how?
Where's the System now? Waiting? Watching?
And more importantly—where the hell is Foras?
Toad has decided that my recovery is splendid and I'm ready for chores.
I swear teenage girls scare me.
"Fetch water from the well," she grunts, tossing me a bucket. "Use the cloak. You look like a ghost."
The cloak is patchy, smells like garlic, and has a questionable stain near the hem. It also hides me from anyone who might be out and about—which, to be fair, is a good call.
Outside, Brumdn Cove is… quiet.
Not the sleepy, pleasant kind of quiet. More like the eerily, calm kind where it is too early for anyone to be up and around. Only, the sun was high up in the sky and if this were still Earth, I'd be stuck in traffic. The buildings are old but clean, made from stone and stained wood. There's no market in sight, just scattered homes and winding paths that lead toward the edge of the sea. Probably. I can't see it but I can hear them, the crash of the waves and the smell of the salt.
I pass a few people.
A woman clutching a basket of herbs. A man patching up a wall with tar. A child sitting silently on a cart, nuzzling the face of what looks like a horse with a lion's mane. And a deserted barrel.
Wait.
The barrel wiggles. Just once. A small, suspicious shake, like something inside has hiccuped.
I pause.
Another wiggle.
A faint thump.
I glance around—no one's watching. Carefully, I step closer and knock on the lid.
Silence.
Then, muffled and panicked: "Hyung?! Is that you? I swear, I didn't eat the jam! Please don't leave me in here—I'm dying—this is how I die, isn't it—"
My jaw drops.
"Foras?!"
The barrel opens with a CLANG, and out tumbles my floating meatball companion, covered in the purple jam I was familiar from Toad's meals, and humiliation.
"OH DEMIURGE'S LEFT TOE, IT'S YOU!" he screeches, hurling himself at me in a flurry of limbs.
Five days ago, I would have not down it. But today is a new day and I catch him, and hug him. Barely, but still. "What the—why are you in a barrel?"
"It was a tactical retreat!" he says dramatically, clutching my shirt like a damsel in distress. "These people—these monsters—tried to make me a pet! Do you know what they called me?! Fluffball! I was nearly bought by a child!"
"You're not fluffy."
"That's what I SAID!"
I rub my temples, groaning. "You've been here the whole time?"
"I followed you down the slope after the fire, almost till the gates, but you fainted and I got thrown into a cart to the market," he says, indignant. "Then the old woman who the men brought here after you fainted took you in and banned 'suspicious' people. I could not meet you."
"She what—"
"She said I looked like an imp. Or indigestion."
"Well…" she was quite right. Thankfully, Foras doesn't hear me as he continues ranting.
"I panicked, okay?! I've been hiding in that barrel like a marinating piece of meat, counting each second—do you know how boring this town is?"
I sigh, wiping jam off his face. "Well, congrats. You're back."
But Foras is simple and he smiles as soon as I shoot him a smile. "Yeah, thankfully. Foras is back, baby!" he cheers, doing a little mid-air spin before crashing into a fence. "OW."
Back at Toad's, Foras gets exactly four seconds of peace before she screams and swings a ladle at Foras. He ducks, barely before running—flying behind me. "What is that?"
"Hyung," he whispers. "Save me."
That was all he could get out before Toad flings the ladle at Foras… at me and like every other time, it is my nose that gets the worst hit. And my consciousness.
Great.
This trend needs to stop.
t o b e c o n t i n u e d