1

Tratovia’s southern grasslands stretched from one edge of the horizon to the opposite without distinct landmarks or fantastic elements. It was not much of a feast for the eyes. The view reminded Izumi of the North American prairies she had seen in the televised documentaries at home. Once populated by tribal communities much like said prairies, these lands had since been brought under the black-silver Imperial flag, divided into easily managed territories, and cultivated to bring food to the steadily growing population.

There were very few proud castles to be seen, no mysterious ancient ruins, or hidden vales of the seclusive fae folk, but only farm towns and detached ranches, all close in likeness, occupied by simple people and not mystic in the least.

The only view worthy of real admiration was the majestic Abserim Range in the east, its pale, snow-capped peaks well visible even far from the distance. Those mighty mountains stopped the hot winds from the western sea and caused them to pool over the lowland spreading at their base, making it into a gigantic simmering pan. The persistent heat made Izumi begin to resent the mountains themselves.

Each day on the road looked quite as plain and uneventful as the towns the travelers passed, forcing the two to come up with various more or less nonsensical conversations to kill time. In the more lucid moments, the bard lectured Izumi on the many wondrous things of the world they lived in, some very mundane in nature, yet all still largely unknown to the woman who had lived there for a scant three months.

As days turned to weeks and they drew further southward, a strange sense of unease arose within Izumi. It was unrelated to the aching longing she held for the marvelous Imperial capital and the girl she had left behind. The occasional cool, firm gale greeting them from ahead smelled of strangeness and foreboding. This haunting impression of something unpleasant about to come continued to gain in strength as the travelers neared the southern limits of the Empire.

As if to reflect the change in the mood, the overall weather also began to gradually shift, towards chillier and more humid.

“So what’s out there?” Izumi asked Waramoti one night, as they were setting up their small commando tents by the road. It had been drizzling all day, making camping outdoors less than pleasurable. The rush to get under cover made Izumi careless and her tent kept collapsing.

The tents both belonged to the well-equipped bard, but he had graciously lent the spare to Izumi. The idea of sharing one was naturally out of question, even if physically possible. Izumi made sure to teach the concept of personal space to her travel companion right at the beginning of their venture.

“We have the Henglog marsh to deal with as soon as we leave Tratovia,” the man replied, hanging up his wet socks on wires under the tent opening. “I only know the land by the stories I overheard in the army. The vilest, most treacherous wetland known outside of Darkwood, Henglog forms a natural barrier around Sepris Channel and Alderia, making the island impossible to invade by land. The marshland is home to many malicious monsters and evil spirits, which seek to trap and eat all who enter. Countless narrow footpaths once led through Henglog, they say, used by the hunters of yore. But times have changed and no one alive remembers those paths anymore. Even if we find our way through, it is likely we will meet our maker on the receiving end of the elves’ arrows, long before their houses are in our sights.”

“Great,” Izumi muttered, making double-checking that her little tent could stand on its own, and crawled inside. With effort, she dug out a towel from her backpack and tried to dry her hair. Having it shorter had proved quite convenient.

“Why were bows ever invented?” she complained. “They’re barely less boring than guns.”

“Fear not,” Waramoti told her, with no idea what was a gun. “Most likely, the elves will not bother with us. They will simply leave us to wander the marsh, blocking our way here and there, tricking us to endlessly looping paths with their magic. There we wade on, one torturous mile after another, our blood sucked by countless mosquitoes, fleas, mites, and such, until we go mad, run out of rations, and throw ourselves on our swords. Well, beats having to cite poetry to those hags at the Grand Temple.”

“Was it really that bad?” Izumi frowned. Then, looking down, she added in murmur, “it’s not like I have anything left to lose.”

The two sat without a word for a time, gazing out of their tents into the misty rain, like a pair of rats hiding in their tunnels, listening to the background hum.

Things looked bleak, but in a way, it was also a little soothing.

It was safe to be at the bottom, with no way further down. Life could only get better from there, and even if it didn’t, it wouldn’t be getting any worse either.

“Look,” Waramoti broke the silence. “Plenty of fish in the sea. Trust me on this. You will find someone else. Someone new, who will simply blow you away, make you blind to all else. And then it’s as if none of the bad things ever happened, life will be rainbows and sunshine, and all of this will only be a distant memory.”

“And you know this by personal experience?” Izumi asked.

“Well, no,” the man admitted. “But it's because my heart is already filled by the Art. The uncultured experiences of lesser people never made an impression on me. I was born with a mission, I strongly feel this way. Such is the fire that Destiny has lit in my heart. I was meant to elevate human consciousness. Because I knew of my lofty calling, I could not find comfort in the embrace of women, no matter how many times my human weakness drove me to seek it in them.”

“Have you ever thought that maybe you simply aren't into women?” Izumi suggested, not hiding her annoyance with the topic.

“Oh, I have,” the man replied without hesitation. “I have sampled offerings from both sides of the road, one at a time, one after the other, and many at the same time, and found that while adequate on the physical level, both were equally lacking in the healing they offered my restless spirit.”

“Why did I ever expect this barbarian to know shame...?”

“Perhaps I was, as an artist, destined to stand above the senses of common mortals.”

“Yes, yes,” Izumi interrupted him. “I'm going to sleep now. Good night. And come within five feet of my tent with your restless spirit and you’ll be sliced ham.”

Izumi drew the tent front close, pulled a blanket up to her ears and, listening to the quiet drumming of rain on the canvas, eventually slipped into dream.

The past was full of painful memories and the future looked little better. But, as for so many others, in this world and the other, sleep was the one place where respite from the waking world could be found. Sometimes.

2

On the following day, the travelers reached the town of Myule. It was the southernmost inhabited settlement in the Empire, only a short distance from the Thassil Pass at the base of two facing ridges. And roughly four miles further south from the pass, in the great basin stretching until the end of all land, laid the infamous Henglog marsh in all its unabashed misery.

Officially, it was Tratovian territory all the way to the sea, and so marked on all available maps by the Imperial Academy, but this could hardly be seen the factual state of the matter. In truth, the marsh and its immediate surroundings had ever been kept clear of all habitation, due to the dangers posed by the wildlife and also the looming threat of Alderia beyond.

Eight long centuries had passed since the emiri immigrants, hailing from the faraway land of Amarno, had settled on the lonely island below the continent. The elves kept to their dwellings, and by this day, their presence had become little more than an old fable. Yet few ever felt like verifying the truthfulness of the stories. Of all the daring entrepreneurs who ventured into Henglog, none ever returned, and so the locals saw it best to maintain a generous distance, teaching their children to do the same.

Considering all this, it was more accurate to say that the Empire’s border was drawn at Myule. Anyone going further south from there was outside modern civilization, and anyone’s aid.

The travelers didn’t let the knowledge stop them.

In town, the summoned champion and Waramoti rested for a day and purchased additional supplies to prepare for their hike into the marshland. They acquired a portable stove, pans, pots, lanterns, spare clothing, and other camping necessities. They also stocked up on dried meat and fruits, grain similar to couscous, seeds, nuts, beans, clean water, anything that stayed edible for extended periods of time, while also nutritious. As a seasoned traveler, Waramoti knew what to take and his company thereby proved more valuable to Izumi than any spell or a magic weapon.

The most valuable part was likely the bard’s wallet, seeing as Izumi was flat broke. She assured the man that it was only a temporary loan, and that she—or the Empress—would pay him back if he ever made it back to the capital in one piece. On the other hand, Waramoti insisted that he cared not for money. As the former top-ranking warrior of Tratovia’s legendary Guild of Heroes, silver had long since ceased to be a problem for him, and having spent nary a coin in the past, his banked fortune remained considerable to this day. He had even considered his wealth as something of a hindrance to his quest for pure artistry, and had contemplated donating it all to charity. Fortunately, he hadn’t followed through with the plan just yet.

Savoring the comforts of organized society by spending one last night at a well-equipped inn, the two travelers set out early in the following morning, to seek paths untraveled.

Between the solemn ranges of Voylum in the east and Sarit in the west stood a vast, gently sloping vale. The Thassil Pass. The land was covered by emerald, knee-tall grass, untainted by footpaths or cart trails. Merchants and messengers occasionally took this way to circle around the mountains to the barony of Ludgwert in the east, although the way was unpopular due to the proximity of the marsh. The mountain trail up north was not only better guarded but also shorter.

The grass carpeting reached high up the nearby mountainsides, under steepening faces of cobalt rock. Bewilderingly high up on the slopes climbed herds of nimble wild goats. Here and there across the bottom of the pass pastured packs of larger beasts with long, light brown fur, close to the otherworldly buffaloes in build, though not quite as buff. High up in the clear sky flew birds similar to seagulls in great flocks.

The weather today favored the trip, at least.

From Myule, by Izumi’s idea, they had bought a small, two-wheeled cart for Waramoti’s gelding to pull, thereby freeing Izumi from looking for a new driver, or learning how to ride a horse herself. Since Tratovia’s former hero was going to follow her no matter what, it was only natural that he contributed to the progress. And while riding together with him on the same horse was not going to happen, this was the ideal solution, clearly.

However, the reality of it went against Izumi’s intentions.

“Do try to keep it steady, will you?” Waramoti instructed her. “I wouldn’t want to poke a hole in the page. I only have so many left in my notebook, every line matters.”

Lazing comfortably in the cart with their supplies was the self-proclaimed bard, handing the reins over to the woman.

“Easier said than done!” Izumi yelled back, sitting stiffly on the driver’s perch, feeling anything but in control. “How does this even work? I told you I don’t know how to control a horse without a gamepad!”

“It’s really quite simple,” Waramoti replied. “Easier than coming up with something fresh that rhymes well with ‘summoned’.”

“What’s its name?”

“Name? The song?”

“The horse,” Izumi clarified. “It does have a name, right?”

“Beats me, I never asked,” the man absentmindedly replied.

“You can talk horse?” she asked.

“The seller!” he clarified. “I didn’t ask the man I bought the horse from if it had a name.”

“Why didn’t you name it yourself then? I thought you grew up in the boonies? Don’t all country folks love animals, horses in particular.”

“I don’t hate them,” Waramoti answered. “But a warrior’s horse tends to not live for long. I’ve had many, and...stopped naming them after a while.”

“Hmm.” Izumi fell silent and sat holding the reins, hoping the horse knew where it was going. “...Yukimura!”

“What?” The bard frowned at the foreign word.

“The horse,” she said. “I’m going to call it Yukimura.”

“Yu...I can’t even pronounce that.”

“Welcome to the club!” Izumi cackled. “It’s the name of a famous hero from my country!”

“I wouldn’t be able to call my own horse.”

“That’s it! From today on, you’re Yukimura! Hey, Yukimura, run faster!”

The horse neighed loudly. The pace of its stride wasn’t quickened at all, though.

“See?” Izumi still said with a wide smile. “It recognized its name! It likes it!”

“Probably just smelled something foul in the wind.”

“Yukimura! Tell your master he’s stupid!”

The horse neighed again.

“That’s right, I couldn’t have said it better myself!” Izumi laughed out loud.

“You...don’t understand horses, do you?” Waramoti asked, suddenly unsure.

In this lighthearted fashion, the two continued to ride downhill through the pass.

Far in the distance, Izumi saw a lowland without any distinct landmarks or roads, a mixed swirl of green and brown and the various tones in between. It seemed to go on forever, a loathsome stew, seamlessly blending with the dirty, baby blue haze obscuring the horizon line.

Their destination was somewhere in that haze.

From the marsh, the sense of unease Izumi had felt for days came stronger, as though a storm front was hiding just barely outside the view. Gazing into the distance, she felt she was beginning to understand the cause. Leaving the mountains behind, they would depart from the Empire’s sphere of influence. At the same time, they also exited the dominion of Divine Lord Aiwesh and her blessing, and faced an uncaring land foreign to all men.

Waramoti gave their heading a cautious glance, where positive excitement was absent.

“We will soon be in Henglog,” he announced. “And what comes after, I know not.”

Saying nothing, Izumi kept looking over the unpleasant landmass, not thinking about much anything. The idea of turning back never once occurred to her.

Whether it was hopeless.

Whether it was senseless.

This was where it would all begin anew for her. Burning all the bridges, she left the past behind, for the second time in her life. To once again start over her life in another world.

3

It had rained that morning. That particular morning, now nearly two months back.

Unable to sleep, Izumi left the cover of the tent, and faced the dark green wall of a majestic forest across the road. There stood bleak Felorn, the Darkwood, unrelenting and unforgiving, mourning the loss of the forest’s master, and the heavens themselves wept.

Izumi’s eyes barely saw the trees. She had no idea for how long she had been standing there, when the voice of another person brought her back to her senses.

“—Hey, are you all right?”

Alerted by the extended absence of her partner, the princess had come out to check up on her, and found Izumi dazing off a stone’s throw from the Imperial camp. Izumi didn’t answer the question. As though she had lost the ability of speech altogether, there was a heavy, crippling pressure on her, which prevented the very attempt.

The princess’s timid, concerned tone, the emotional look in her clear, gleaming eyes—Izumi gave it a quick glance and faced away. She continued to stand and stare into the woods, like bound by a spell. Like trying to run away, but without moving. Like trying to cease to exist.

Seconds crawled by under the ceaseless rain.

“If you want to talk about it—” Yuliana resumed.

“—I don’t,” Izumi suddenly regained her voice and interrupted. “It’s fine.”

She had tried to sound cheerful and confident. She had tried, but had only come across as blunt and callous instead. Almost cruel. But Yuliana didn’t let it get to her.

“You don’t have to hold it in,” the princess said. “I know it hurts. I—It hurts me too. Even though I wasn’t as close to her, though I didn’t know her as well as you did, and though we had our differences, I still cared for—”

“—No, really, it’s okay,” Izumi interrupted again.

“Why do you say that...?”

“People die,” Izumi said, drawing a deep breath. “That’s only natural. It’s the most natural thing in the world. Me. You. Everybody else. One day sooner or later, we all gotta go. It doesn’t have to be sad or painful. It’s just what it is. It was her time now. Nothing I could do about it, nothing anyone could’ve done. What’s past is past, and dwelling on it won’t do any good to anybody.”

How forced it had sounded, even in her own ears.

Nevertheless, the princess had patiently listened to her, before quietly speaking,

“...All I’m saying is, you don’t have to bear it all alone.”

“...”

But I do. We all do.

Who had she tried to fool?

How could she hope to deceive others, when she couldn’t even trick her own self?

But there was no choice.

No choice. No choice. No choice. No choice.

So Izumi had repeated to herself, over and over.

After all, if I let this break me——there’ll be no future for me in this world!

Still, regardless of how hard she tried, Izumi couldn’t bring herself to forget about that person. She kept seeing her in dreams, sometimes even while awake, and each time she recalled the thief’s face, the sense of loss was brought back as fresh as if it had only just happened.

There was no denying the truth.

I miss you, Ris_____!

“Hn…?”

Izumi regained awareness with a start. She was back in her cramped solo tent again, and heard rain lightly drum the cover a few inches above her face. It seemed that another damp day was upon them. That familiar, natural sound had most likely been the catalyst for the dream—the unconscious recollection.

As early as it had to have been, Izumi knew she wasn’t going to sleep again—she didn’t even want to—but crawled out to get a campfire started.

The light, airy shower hindered her efforts little. The Rune of Ignition lit the firewood without trouble, even though the sticks were soaked through. The logs hissed and cracked, emitting obscene amounts of vapor and smoke, but eventually became the source of strong, warm flames.

Izumi loathed using the rune.

It reminded her of the person who had taught it to her.

She stared sullenly into the fire until the sun slowly crawled up behind the dark, heavenly curtain, changing the color filter from deep blue to light gray. It was then that Izumi slowly lifted her chin to gaze over the marshland up ahead.

Five days had passed since the Thassil Pass.

Tall, reddish-brown grass spotted drooping, otherwise murky green turfs, which grew in batches between countless puddles of water. The water looked shallow on the surface, and sometimes it was, but there was no trusting one’s eyes; one such plash could comfortably carry a walker, while another could swallow him whole.

Here and there grew black and decrepit trees, no thicker than one’s wrist and barely any taller than a person, devoid of leaves or other signs of life. Wind had to have delivered the seeds from somewhere afar into this hostile land, where they had lost the struggle for nutrition to more resilient plants and withered.

That was all Izumi saw, the scenery as it extended into the unseen distance in every direction. All that varied was the density of it. There were no signs of human presence, no buildings, no roads, paths, not even elder remains of such. Fortunately, the constant frizzle and the mist it brought along veiled a good deal of the depressing view.

“Ah. Rain and poison swamps,” she sighed. “My favorite map.”

“Still haven’t changed your mind?” Waramoti asked Izumi, opening his tent front and dragging himself out for breakfast.

“Nobody forced you to tag along,” she told him.

“No,” the bard casually shrugged. “The Art did.”

4

Enemies they might have once been, but this unusual pair now pushed towards the unknown in the absence of any arguments. Rather, the days and miles they steadily gained welded their spirits together, bringing about a state of mutual understanding that required no words. They treated their herculean quest as nothing but an average day job, and approached it with the matching mindset as colleagues.

Though Izumi had turned a shut-in in the later stages of her past life, she was not a complete stranger to hiking or camping, and adjusted to the discomfort of outdoors life through time and perseverance. If anything, not having to deal with new people all the time was a relief. Even as her body was tested, she found her wounded heart strangely healed.

Waramoti, on the other hand, had known no other life but the outdoors one from birth, and was quite at home even in the foreign marsh. Perhaps a little too much so. He would jump into ponds without hesitation to see how deep they were, and after coming up would kick off his trousers to peel off the thick eels that had latched onto his bulky legs. Watching it, Izumi thought she was going to faint, and couldn’t be sure if the cause were the eels, or the man’s utter lack of shame.

Still, even as the two gradually grew accustomed to the wetland and each other’s company, Henglog never ceased to test them.

The travelers couldn’t brazenly ride through the marsh, but had to look for a solid path on foot, and finding a way wide enough for Yukimura and the cart was ever a challenge. Sometimes, they were forced to backtrack and make lengthy detours to circle around the deeper pools, and a few times they very nearly lost the whole cart when a loose peat suddenly gave away under the wheel, on the brink of a deeper chasm.

Still, no better way existed.

No known path led across this desolate land, and even if one did, the travelers could have spent the remainder of their lives in the futile search for it. They could only test their luck by pursuing the most direct route through Henglog—or else accept defeat and turn back.

The way forward, the way back—day after day, no matter where Izumi turned to look, the scenery remained largely the same, and the lack of perceivable progress got to her nerves.

The impression was far worse than in Felorn, where unusual trees, large stones, and other suitably distinct elements served as markers for the wayfarers. No such easily identified features could be seen on the marsh. Every malformed tree looked the same. The puddles and ponds appeared to change shape depending on which direction you looked at them from, turning new and strange over the course of a few steps. The undergrowth veiled old tracks with seemingly deliberate effectiveness. Waramoti had to consult his compass and the position of the sun several times each day, to make sure they hadn’t strayed from their course.

Nevertheless, they persisted.

Waramoti scouted the land some fifty yards ahead, a long staff in hand, pointing the direction, while Izumi followed behind, guiding the horse. Yukimura the horse learned to step across the hummocks without much stumbling, and the light cart followed bouncing along. Izumi still didn’t know how to ride the beast properly, and it was dangerous in the unstable terrain, so she merely pulled it along by the reins. Sticking to this arrangement, they developed a surprisingly functional partnership, and Yukimura shortly learned to follow Izumi’s lead without resistance, responding to the slightest gesture.

Before noon on the sixth day, the rain abruptly ceased, and as an immediate follow-up, swarms of mosquitoes and horse flies came to harass the travelers.

“Here, rub this on,” Waramoti came to Izumi and held out his fist.

Izumi reflexively extended her open palm—and immediately regretted it, as the man stuck a pile of muddy filth onto it.

“This isn’t Valentine’s day chocolate, is it?” she asked, not looking at the fistful of stinking material that resembled excrement.

“I crushed some flowers and mixed them with mud and barlang feces,” he explained. “I found that the insects hate the smell. It doesn’t appear to be harmful on the skin either. Try it. Should be better than nothing.”

“Well, I hate smell too, Aragorn,” Izumi told him. “You expect me to rub this literal crap on my face?”

“Would you rather get sick from bug bites? It’s a long way to the nearest doctor.”

“How about I just cast Iron Hide?” Izumi suggested. “They can’t bite through it.”

“And exhaust yourself after a mile? It’s heavy, isn’t it?”

“Then I’ll cast Gram to power up.”

“And collapse for the overuse of magic next?”

“You’re not arguing the benefits of your poo-lotion just to make fun of me, are you?”

“I trust fate to keep you alive,” the bard answered. “But in this case, I felt it necessary to help fate just a little. Having you perish on the way would make for one poor end to my legend. And waste a lot of costly paper.”

“Oh, how romantic. I’m starting to want to throw myself in a quagmire just to sabotage your crappy tale.”

“Well, the choice is yours.”

Saying no more, Waramoti proceeded to wipe another stinking mudcake all over his crude face and bare shoulders, and turned to resume scouting, smelling like a composter.

“Geez...What would Chuck Norris do?” Izumi murmured with a sigh.

Still, the marshland wouldn’t kill them, and though it couldn’t be easily seen, progress was undeniably made. The two took frequent breaks, saved their strength, and advanced at a casual pace, not giving in to impatience or despair. They had supplies, no reason to rush things or ignore caution. And by the time darkness fell again each night, they could set up their camp tired but alive, suffering no significant setbacks or losses. And be revitalized by the knowledge of being that much closer to the destination.

5

Becoming less occupied with where to put her feet through experience, Izumi found more time to observe her surroundings. In doing so, she began to note gradual changes in the terrain. What she had initially dismissed as a bleak, lifeless wasteland suddenly showed a whole different face, an ecosystem of innumerable unique parts.

The previously modest heaps of grass became appended by tall dirt mounds between four to twelve feet high, covered by tough brown shrubs, like the manifold antennae on malformed larvae. Peculiar giant flowers grew everywhere, penetrating the dense layers of undergrowth with disturbingly long, slender legs. Common were also flowers resembling dandelions, which turned into fluffy, white balls of seeds on rainless days, and filled the air with their snow-like fragments at the slightest breeze. There were also toxic-looking buds, like yet unopened tiger lilies, and large plants of eye-disturbingly blue petals, like color-swapped hibiscus, which began to glow faintly in the dark of the night. A sweet, though also a bit putrid scent arose from the flowers, like aged honey. When the temperature rose over the course of the day, the scent grew stronger, drawing numerous insects to feed on the flowers’ nectar. Buzzing fly-types; enormous, vibrant butterflies; bees the size of little birds, and others resembling hornets, but with long, slim faces, like anteaters, sporting similar thin, black tongues.

Beetles the size of a man’s fist could be spotted scurrying on the ground under the grass, together with small rodents, thin little snakes, naked white spiders, and various other life forms, sometimes disgusting, sometimes beautiful, all undeniably strange to an outsider. At times, what Izumi initially took for a branch or a leaf turned out to be a living organism instead, and while she knew to expect such things out in the wild, the size and look of these otherworldly creatures kept catching her by surprise.

It was as if the whole land was in constant motion.

At first, this abundance of life disturbed Izumi and kept her constantly on the edge. Then, the accumulating fatigue from the hike made her altogether stop caring.

Trusting in the protection of their boots and the noise they produced as they went, the travelers wove past the mounds and ponds southward, ever southward. At nightfall, they would clear themselves a camp site, combing the grass for snakes and other obvious hazards, and rested as they best could, before resuming in the light of daybreak.

The second week into Henglog brought no notable surprises, at first.

The watery areas between the grass mounds grew larger, occasionally causing the travelers to scratch their heads in the effort to find a way around. Izumi tried to measure the depth of one such pool with the longest stick she could find, the end of which met no ground through the fluffy weeds at the bottom, even as she was down to her shoulder in the water. Such unpredictable obstacles made progress slower, and altogether impossible after nightfall. At least they wouldn’t be dying of thirst. Waramoti knew a simple spell to purify water, and so they could refill their stock virtually anywhere.

One day dawned bright, but with a humid, milky veil covering the region, scattering sunlight and ensnaring heat. It felt like walking through an enormous greenhouse, rendering the walkers lethargic and unmotivated. Even the plants appeared to be sweating. Yet, both wanderers being of formidable strength of will, they forced their feet to keep moving, and Yukimura followed along with commendable faithfulness.

Somewhere after midday, Izumi made a bizarre observation.

“Oh, look, it’s hitodama.”

There were small, bluish flames dancing above the puddles all around. Dozens of them.

Izumi had heard of the phenomenon before. “Ghost lights” were famous even in the folklore of her past land, and known by many names. According to the scientific explanation she had once overheard, the lights were produced by swamp gas ignited by lightning or static electricity, or some such reason, and burned in places where methane from pockets deep in the earth leaked to the surface.

Still, even if their cause was known and explained, those flames looked mysterious. They flickered a short distance above the undisturbed surface of the water in the shape of clean, round orbs.

Like the disembodied souls of the dead…

“Don’t look at them!” Waramoti suddenly turned back to her and exclaimed.

“Hm? What’s wrong?” Izumi asked. “They’re not really dead souls, are they?”

“Something less noble,” the man explained with a grim look. “Irelights, we call them. Echoes of the deceased, irreconcilable regrets bound to clusters of residual mana. The ones to birth them were too weak in spirit to become proper wraiths. All that was left was the ill, disembodied will to bring harm to the living. Stare at them for too long, and they will put you under their spell. They’ll make you see whatever you desire and lure you astray.”

“Whatever I desire?” Izumi repeated, failing to conceal the intrigue in her tone. “Really?”

“It’s not supposed to be an advertisement,” Waramoti told her.

“Have you ever tried looking at them?”

“No, I happen to value my well-being. If there is something I desire, I prefer going to find the real deal. And I suggest you do the same. Attract one of them and the rest will gather to us too.”

“Yes, yes,” Izumi said, “but what if I desire to see Hatsune Miku? Think they could pull it off? Could they perform a live concert for me, if I really, really wanted it?”

“...Who?”

“Sigh. Never miiiiiiind.”

“It’s too soon for a break,” Waramoti said. “Let’s keep moving. If we stick in one place for too long, we might lure things less pleasant to us.”

“Hm,” Izumi kept thinking while she walked on. “If they come from people, how come they’re here? Why so many? I thought nobody ever lived in this place? Could it be, we’re walking on the scene of some big, ancient battle right now? The Last Alliance against Sa**** of Mor***?”

“How should I know?” the warrior shrugged. “Even if there was such a spectacle, no song I know tells of such, and a great many cycles have to have passed since then. No humans have lived here for centuries, that much is true. But that isn’t to say none have ever been here, ever. Most likely, the irelights are leftovers of deceased hunters, who ventured too far in search of prey, and never found their way home again. Or...”

“Or…?”

“...People who sought Alderia, the way we do. And were not welcome.”

The man continued on, Yukimura obediently following after him with the cart.

Gazing around for a moment, Izumi resumed walking as well.

“I really do think they’re just swamp gas.”

6

Evening came, the temperature gradually lowered, and the water that had evaporated over the hot day returned as rain once more. It wasn’t severe enough to force the travelers to stop. They had grown well used to such showers by now, and carried on under the steady, even a bit refreshing drizzle. It washed away the smelly mud and drove away the insects.

Still, despite the good points of the weather, Izumi’s legs were starting to protest going on.

“Can we stop yet?” she asked.

“No,” the scouting bard’s voice came from up ahead.

“What about now?”

“No.”

“...Three, two, one, now?”

“I’ll tell you when, and it’s not now.”

“How much farther do we have left, anyway?” Izumi asked. “Until we reach the elf land, I mean. It’s been more than two weeks!”

“I’d say we’ve crossed about thirty leagues, maybe thirty and two,” Waramoti gave his estimate. “That means, at our current pace, we have around three weeks left to go. Maybe a little more.”

“Weeks, huh?” Izumi listlessly echoed, trying to imagine the distance. “The trip takes over a month? This might not have been one of my brightest ideas.”

“Now you realize it? Pray tell, what did you expect?”

“Divine intervention? Unlocking fast travel? How should I know? They never get trapped on a swamp in the light novels I used to read!”

“Rather than novels, you should believe what real people tell you. Like me. And I told you it was a suicide from the beginning. Especially with your ‘planning’.”

“Yet you were only too happy to come along!”

“I must say, I wonder what manner of a miracle will deliver you from this predicament, or if you will actually walk across the entirety of Henglog. Either way, it will certainly be an event worthy of a song.”

“You’re putting awfully lot of faith in my status as a summoned champion!” Izumi replied. “There are tons of Divines out there, right? And if they can all summon somebody, then there’s no guarantee that the prophecy was ever about me, right?”

But Waramoti’s conviction wasn’t shaken by Izumi’s doubts.

“Has any one of those others achieved what you have since coming to this world? Do we know of another, who has overthrown an Emperor after besting his finest warriors, and brought about a revolution? Has another survived through the Darkwood, met a daemon, and lived to tell the tale?”

“I don’t know,” Izumi answered.

“Precisely. Whether there are others like you or not, you are the only one we know. And isn’t the fact alone that I, the great Waramoti, have chosen to follow you, sufficient as proof that you are the one the prophecy describes?”

“I correct myself: all you have faith in is yourself and your silly dream.”

“How could I not believe in myself?” the man replied. “I did not care one bit about being a warrior, yet my life as one brought me both success and fame. Now, how could I possibly fail at the one thing I am willing to put all my strength and passion into? It’s inconceivable.”

“Wow,” Izumi reeled. “Your narcissism is pretty gross, to be honest. Then again, if you can actually make our hike through this soup seem interesting to anyone, I’m willing to admit you’re a literary genius.”

“...I believe this is the part where something called ‘a time skip’ will occur in the finished work.”

“I’ll correct myself again—no matter what happens to us, you will only ever be a total hack to me.”

At this point, Yukimura let out a displeased cry, followed by an abrupt stop, and refused any further urging by Izumi.

“Well then,” Waramoti looked back and stopped. “It appears we should begin to look for a place to stay the night.”

“You’ll rather listen to the horse than me!?” Izumi cried.

“What can I say? The horse is smarter than you are.”

“Oh, is that right? If it ever comes down to a choice between the two of you, guess which one I’m leaving to the vultures?”

Regardless of reasons, stopping seemed unavoidable. The worsening weather had made dark arrive quicker than it normally would have, and as the sun drifted beyond the distant, snowless peaks of Voylum in the north-east, the travelers were swiftly losing what little visibility they had.

“This is no place for a camp,” Waramoti remarked, looking around. “We need to find somewhere with better footing. And drier, preferably.”

“Leave this to me!” Izumi exclaimed and hurried to climb atop one of the taller mounds nearby, to survey the area for a good camping spot. “With the mystic Eagle Vision I inherited with the blood of my ancestors, I’ll sync this viewpoint in a zip!”

“What are you talking about?”

Reaching the top of the mound, having near unobstructed view over the marshland, Izumi invoked the Rune of Perception, Osil. The natural light entering her eyes was magically amplified, allowing her to see through the mist and drizzle as clearly as during the day, and quickly grasp the topography of the region.

As Izumi gazed around, something strange caught her attention.

Among the lingering irelights dotting the scenery like so many tiny candles was a source of light much brighter than the rest, roughly three quarters of a mile ahead from where she stood. Wondering if it was the boss of the evil spirits, Izumi focused her sight, shortly coming to realize her mistake.

“There’s a fire!” she observed aloud. “It’s people! There are other people out there!”

“I told you not to stare at the irelights...” the warrior below groaned.

“That’s not it!” Izumi protested. “There’s a real campsite over there. Why would someone as antisocial as me fantasize about strangers? There’s no mistake about it!”

“That’s impossible. You’re seeing things.”

“Come see for yourself then!”

Unable to trust Izumi’s claim, Waramoti also climbed up to the mound and looked in the direction she was pointing at. He didn’t know Osil, but the vision of the man known far and wide as the greatest warrior of mankind was not too poor either. Soon enough, he let out a reluctant, affirming grunt.

“Yes...It’s faint, but it appears to be a campfire and not an irelight.”

“Told ya!”

Annoyed by Izumi’s haughty smile, Waramoti scowled at her and asked,

“What are you planning to do?”

“Go say hi, what else?” she replied. “It’s people in the same soup as we are!”

“Did you not label yourself as antisocial not a minute ago?”

“That is that, and this is this. Don’t you see? This is the very definition of a fateful encounter. I bet we’ll make some good friends, who will share our burdens and improve our chances of getting out of this mess alive. And pull the cart for me. Maybe they’ll even gift us legendary, game-breaking items or rare outfits! Let’s go, let’s go!”

“More likely, they will eat our supplies, attract beasts, get in the way, and drag us down to an untimely death together with them. I would recommend circling around instead.”

“Who’s talking now?” she asked him. “The pragmatic warrior they call Heaven’s Hand, or the guy who’s going to become the greatest bard in the world? Where’s your curiosity and sense of wonder?”

“...I sure hope they prove worthy of a line or two.”

Converting Waramoti thus as her ally once more, Izumi took the lead on the way towards the flickering fire in the distance.

And an encounter that “fateful” wouldn’t even begin to describe.