As hesitant as the light peeped through the dense cover of leaves, the man stuck his toes into the outer perimeter of a raging stream’s wide, purple, iridescent bulge.

Although torrential and rather bone-crushing towards its centre, at the edges it was a harmless, almost stale trickle. Water masses gently seeped in between various lush aquatic plants and gigantic narrow-leaf cattails vested in different rainbow colours each lodged comfortably in the middle.

The contrast between gentle and raging, between mild dew and rampart waves, oddly calmed Linlin's weary soul. It washed away nervosity and distress, as if that body of water was as much within him as out there in the cradle between majestic giants.

Our hero's relaxed stay reduced tension, promoted blood circulation and with it the distribution and concentration of bioenergy. Only now did Linlin realise that serenity and calmness could unveil his body's many ailments, hidden problems caused by the adjustment efforts of [Gluttony].

It gave him the awareness and time to tackle them. However, this was not an easy condition to be in. Not for Linlin. As the physical manifestation of paranoia in the extreme, pistanthrophobia, the lack of trust in anyone and everything including his senses, Linlin's heated mind was constantly churning out conspiracy theories en masse.

It was nearly impossible to overcome the shadow of doubt and relax without the backing of at least a dozen contingency plans. Just to give an example: Linlin had to check thrice that the water was no slow-acting poison nor the river the equivalent of a freezer or phantom-like beast in disguise.

Only after crossing another dozen points of concern from his list had Linlin entertained the idea of bathing. 'It's missing something,' he thought out of the blue.

And he knew exactly what. Linlin's hand wandered to the heart-shaped leaf of a nearby purple water lily. Grabbing a cigar from the impressive stack he'd spent the morning hours rolling, he expertly ignited the tip and enjoyed a deep puff.

'Perfect. Coconut-flavoured, not bad. Not bad at all.' After a while and under the heavy influence of esoteric effects, his thoughts strayed further. 'On the list of the worst drivers ever known, there is first me.

Second, my dear sister. As far as I remember, she trashed the entire collection of that bastard as well as her seven Ferraris, collided with the street police twice a month on average and caused who knows how many incidents.

She's the only human I know that parked her car in a random living room on the 9th floor. Slippery street and a raised freeway, a bad combination. Her words. True that, yet she'd only conveniently omitted her insane speed...

Third place is reserved for the ants. They...' Our hero didn't continue immediately. Linlin mused for a bit, shook his head absentmindedly, took another puff, began his thought process anew, came to the same conclusion and added aloud in genuine stupor.

"Can it be? Second place?! Outranking her? They know two gears only–––snail's pace or full throttle. Evasion and turns are a foreign concept; splinters, shards and the like entirely reserved for the passenger to cope with. Love tunnels only they fit in and understand no swear words nor complaints."

For some inexplicable reason, Linlin suddenly lost all interest in the bath and stood up with a bad taste in his mouth. Ants definitively were charlatan taxi drivers who probably got the licence from the Devil.

That one had to be laughing each time he saw shit go down south. That silly thought calmed Linlin down somewhat and he languidly sat back into the cool wetness that was the river's bulge.

Luckily, the race didn't last long and Linlin was soon discharged, finding himself alone in an environment that couldn’t diverge more from the swampy horror-park-themed gruesomeness the ants dubbed home.

Less luckily, he had been left all alone in a landscape he was a stranger to. At least one guinea pi– no, helper should have come in handy... but no, he remained alone.

On a side note, during the short driving displeasure, his buttocks found themselves often painfully teased by the habitually contracting exoskeleton plates that accompanied the ant's every movement.

Long story short, he was safe yet his buttocks definitively not sound. Linlin would've preferred a timely warning if well-meant advice was impossible to get. Yet the bratty Queen gave him neither.

As gloom crept over his apathetic facial features, his itchy hand wandered into the pile of cigars once more. As of late, the current situation allowed him to calmly evaluate and analyse his amateurish performance with the sole end-scope of learning something useful for the future.

Yet the more he progressed in doing so, the gloomier and bleaker his evaluation turned out to be. Sadly, Linlin found out about his misdeeds only when it happened to be far too late to salvage anything.

Therefore, Pansy’s absence was somewhat welcome at the time. It was for the sole reason that given his own poor evaluation, our pondering hero’s alter personality would literally roast poor him alive. That could wait of course!

'Come to think of the fussy devil named Pansy... where the hell is he, and for how long does the sleepyhead desire to play opossum? For Pete’s sake, in the face of countless possibly wrong decisions, there is nothing left to do for me but pass time idly, everything else be damned,' or so Linlin thought.

While waiting for better times to come, for a certain someone to finally rouse himself from his deep sleep, for a masterplan to unveil itself at any moment, for the next meal to jump out ready-made of the reeds accompanied by good liquor–––our daydreaming hero gave a damn about everything he’d experienced thus far.

As if in paradise, he tore some leaves from the closest aquatic weed going by the name of Wailing Water Soldier–––only after professionally plugging his ears–––complacently dried them and rolled himself a magnificent, extralarge cigar, which he lit with a snap of his fingers.

The little flame he could produce that way was a product of high friction, sufficient oxygen and a bit of energy limited to but his fingertips. In a certain sense, lighting cigars was all it was good for.

That and nose-digging. Possibly also bombs, but… he essentially lacked the necessary materials to make some. Honey-coconut flavour. Not what he had expected of something with such an unforgiving-sounding name that soldier was, to be honest, but enough to satisfy his modest expectations.

And with the absence of a certain creature left in scary Azariah’s pampering hands, there was no limit to how much Linlin could indulge himself in. 'So far, so good.' Peace sure had been so hard to come by! And it shall last only till pussycat awoke…

After bathing in the water long enough to recharge empty batteries, slowly working off three cigars and welcoming the relief that accompanied the popping Cores in his mouth, our hero rose heavy-heartedly, roasted many a sticky, leech-like worm until they fell off him while gifting some noisy high-pitched screeches to all who cared, and sat down to sundry on a stone exposed to the strong midday suns.

Linlin’s sleepy yet emotionless gaze fell–––in accordance with his sinking head–––to the ground. At his feet grew a certain colonial plant whose discovery came at just the right time.

Dried and ground, Gooseneck Stink-Bloom Loosestrife’s blossom were a useful key ingredient to a potent wound ointment–––a most useful possession in a dangerous place like this.

Though only if certain issues such as the missing complementary ingredients, a secret place to concoct tinctures in peace and a cauldron for said concoction, as well as vials were accounted for.

‘Pansy, Pansy, Pan– uhhh, quite a lot of missing things… Pansy?’ At least it was something, however insignificant on its own–––just like his stray thoughts. Linlin began to skilfully harvest the flowers and put them into his small backpack, folded and tied up as a package.

No snowball chance in hell he would dance to Azariah's deadly tune without assuring himself of being prepared for the utmost. Her business could wait, his own less so.

As hunger caught up with him, he crushed another dusty, mouldy-tasting Core that Azariah had discovered who knew where and gracefully gifted him between his teeth and listened to the merry birds’ gregarious concert as he allowed himself to welcome a short instance of shallow sleep.

‘Uaaah, I slept just fine. Wait, why’s that an exception rather than the rule? Maybe because of that big shock in the other realm–––kiddin’, just kiddin’. Welp, let's get work done.’ Linlin's closed eyelids shuddered due to a very sinister premonition that suddenly gripped his heart even in his dreams.

In due time, Pansy finished his research, yet remained oddly… silent. Our hero, having now felt the change, woke up groggily and awaited the forecast thunderstorm. In vain. ‘Pansy?’ No response. ‘Hello, anybody home?’

Though feeling his existence clearly in his mind-space, there was still no response. ‘O-okay…?’ It'd look very grim if even sarcasm did no longer work on such a conceited consciousness as Pansy.

‘Did I screw up enough to put you in a coma,’ Linlin pondered drily. ‘Arf, arf, barkkk!’ ‘Eh?’ ‘Meee-ooowwww, meowww, meow?!’ ‘What the flying fuck... you sane?!’ ‘My words exactly, Stupid.

Are you out of your mind? Hogwash!’ ‘Huh?’ A supercharged, extra noisy tempest was on the loose for sure after brewing silently. ‘Don’t huh me. You big oaf, brainless, moronic agent!

Understand language? Actually no, I must say you definitely do not. By the way, that dog and cat onomatopoeia should be better recognised by the likes of you. Oh, I'm so lucky.’

This was no longer a mere instance of sarcasm, but terrible cynicism as scathing as it was scalding... and useless given the situation. ’All the hard work, gone up in smoke! Left behind a humoured, story-loving, good-natured brat-turned beast, with an obvious interest in us no less.

But what a masterpiece you’ve created! Not in my wildest dreams would I’ve thought it possible you could ever spoil things to such an absurd degree! Inexcusable!’

‘Take it easy, it can’t be that bad. I keep my head still.’ ‘...bad,’ Pansy voice wavered in a delicate balance between spitefulness, viciousness, helplessness and wrath as he came to literally poison Linlin’s thoughts thereafter.

‘Bad, does the donkey hee-haw?’ The mental barking turned dangerously soft. ‘Bad, so the monkey gibbers? No, not bad, not bad at all! Unsurpassable.’ After a dramatic pause, he whispered: ‘It's fatally dreadful. A diplomatic feat of the deepest dye!’

Just as Linlin had finished separating the useful flowers from the useless stems and turned to the now dried clothes with the calm of an unsuspecting man, grumbling ‘...done my best,’ and hoping to be done with it, his alter ego clearly wished for confrontation.

‘This, I can see!’ Not desiring to be the only one getting scolded, Linlin put his hard-acquired Pansy-Immunity to the test. ‘But you didn’t wake up.’ ‘…and that’s all you have to say?’

‘No. There’s more. But don’t flip the table, it’s both that are gonna suffer from the headache, remember?’ ‘…state it already!’ ‘Well–––consider us even. You made a mistake, so did apparently I.’

Even with all his diplomatic shenanigans and meticulous political and analytical inclinations, Pansy still saw no reasonable way to invert black and white. Hard facts stood against him. Pansy ground his metaphorical teeth.

‘Get on the move, you clumsy arse. Northwards, we’ve got information to collect. Or do you believe our words alone gonna demolish the accursed steles?’

Linlin clicked his tongue, scratching his cheek in embarrassment with one of his trousers’ overflowing hard leather straps that made a punk-obsessed shepherd out of him. Azariah’s questionable sense of fashion... was still better than his own.

‘Today? It’s afternoon, and I’m getting a little tired.’ ‘Tired is the Lord? What can I say about my headache, then? Oh yes, when I think of how I’ve to teach you what has to be done and in which darn way totally impossible for the good Lord to misunderstand, I'd rather have your tiredness!

All my fucking work’s gone down the frigging drain!’ ‘Enough sarcasm, Pansy. I got it, I’m no fool. The situation’s just that.’ At this very moment, Linlin conveniently forgot that he'd done the same to his alter ego when Pansy last archived a stellar blunder.

The very same Pansy that believed himself to be a proud member of the exclusive club of grown-ups and thought it below him to point it out and rub it in further. But there were other considerations he just had to voice out.

‘Listen.’ He now sounded more like an old man reprimanding his naughty grandkid for his misdeeds, fully aware he would just repeat them no hour past like the brat he was.

At the very least, doing so made him feel better–––and that was all that counted, no? ‘While you torpedoed our relationship with the Big Boss and couldn't think of anything better to do afterwards than take a bath and enjoy a beautiful day in peace, did it ever occur to you that 23 Cores as snacks are a drop in the bucket considering our demands and that time’s running out?’

‘Deadline? Where did you dig that up?’ ‘Well, I bet her mood is growing gloomier by the hour, for reasons you still seem oblivious about! And that part of the forest doesn’t look like it has enough resources to keep them going any longer, I have to absolutely concur.

I believe, they’re gnawing on mouldy bark and rotten tinder already.’ ‘...love?’ ‘Boy, oh boy, Stupid. That’s a new realm of stupidity altogether.’ If Pansy had hands to facepalm, he would have slapped his cheeks red by now.

‘…you surely forgot not we're incapable of such? Both of us. But enough about meaningless chit-chat. Lemme put it this way, so it hopefully gets through that thick skull of yours that thinks he has to joke around when he’s obviously not capable of doing so: Producing no good results in due time equals a neck wrung clockwise.’

‘You said it yourself, we hardly produce.’ ‘@!xx?!’ ‘Translation’s off?’ ‘Be glad ‘bout it!’ ‘A joke, man.' 'Yes, of the same kind that almost murdered Azariah in cold blood. Get a hold of yourself, Stupid!' 'Yes, yes, alright... My instincts tell me something along these speedy lines too. I’m not that clueless, you know.’

‘You were told, and still dare not be on the move?’ After a very stressed sounding sigh, Linlin reminded Pansy about what might go wrong when racing helter-skelter into dangerous adventures without sufficient preparation.

And a day or two more or less did not matter, if it meant surviving unknown dangers. Pansy certainly wasn’t happy to be contradicted, yet a long discussion finally convinced him.

Marching off with dark circles around the eyes, an empty stomach and fuelled only by hasty zeal empowered by a heavy dose of fear, was outright stupid.

Linlin, on the other hand, found a convenient spot on the riverbank where he assembled a spear from three reasonably straight sticks, flexible reeds and the salvaged blade of a broken knife.

The convoluted result–––a splitting image of a certain manly appendage–––would've surely made him blush was he like any other member of his species. At times like these, Linlin's horribly understaffed emotional department did a stellar job in brushing over myriad possible complications.

With spear in hand, it was only a matter of keeping watch and a good dose of patience to get things done. Reason to smoke more honey-coconut-flavoured cigars and stow the newly made cigs in his backpack for later merry consumption. ‘Yep, that’s it. Life.' 'It's not!'

Evening came, and our hero made himself comfortable around a small fire. Though instincts continued to whisper even now this might attract some potentially threatening lurkers, he didn’t care one bit.

At least one hot meal a day couldn’t be off the cards if he wanted to keep his body in reasonably good condition. Moreover, he was already camped at a water source–––the best place for random rendezvous with herbivores and carnivores alike.

The three-meter-tall fish he’d caught had been cleaned quickly and now smelled delicious on the makeshift skewer. Seasoned with hunger and mild forest herbs, he couldn't wait to devour the catch. Eventually, the fish was ready and soon picked clean.

Linlin then covered the still warm fireplace with wet earth from the river, chose a branch of comfortable size and climbed up.

He quickly examined the liana plants growing on it for poisonous lodgers, kicked a few spiders and other madly cursing creatures out, cleaned the innocent spotted orchid as best as he could and wrapped himself into its leaves so as to not fall off in the middle of a nightmare.

Tired from previous strains, Linlin’s gaze wandered up to the moonlit sky, his thoughts becoming increasingly sluggish as minutes went by. ‘That sure was dangerous.

You’re always so concerned ‘bout safety and whatnot.’ ‘...hm?’ ‘The fire, I mean.’ ‘Right, I wouldn't dare light one. Usually. But... see the bushes? The purple and green ones along the riverbank.’

‘What about the–––oh. I see, Funktrunks. Got lucky, huh.’ The Illusory Library and its tailored knowledge were worth something even in everyday life, or so it seemed to the Master Strategist.

‘Tomorrow, however, we must gather information. I can't shake off the unpleasant feeling that we might miss something important.’ ‘You’ve my word.’ ‘...by the way, the stars here shine brighter than in that place.’

‘Too bright, if you ask me. Bad for keeping things hidden. Worse for blending in.’ ‘Right, why must I mention that place.’ Linlin’s tired body became heavier and heavier, and, beguiled by the pleasant aroma of surrounding plants, his mind continuously groggier.

‘Have you seen the latest… skill, or what that is supposed to be?’ ‘The one from the Trioptic Speedster? Or the other one from way earlier? The snake's, or something?’

‘No, neither. Though the snake's might be a real late bloomer, given it literally crawls to completion.’ ‘Then I don’t know. Circumstances weren’t right in that sink-hole.’

‘For my health, it is better to never ever mention that episode again. Elevated blood pressure and some such; you know the gig by now. The skill I'm talking about... came out of nowhere. We have a new incomprehensible addition to our collection of questionable know-how.’ ‘Ah... that doesn’t sound important.

At least it pales in comparison to a good night’s worth of sleep. Sleep deprivation is the worst enemy of agents. We're trained to get some shuteye whenever and wherever possible. And that's what I'm gonna do.’

‘...maybe yer right, sleep tight… and forget my earlier bitchin’.’ In all likelihood, the man missed the latter part of their conversation, as he had peacefully fallen asleep.

Amidst the darkness behind closed eyelids, Pansy directed his attention towards the headache-inducing, cryptic line one last time, before following suit.

[ᚱᚨᚷᚾᚨᚱᛟᛖᚲ] [100]

!ᛗᛖᛚᛞᚻᛟ, ᛊᛈᛖᛊ, ᚷᚻᛖᚱᛁᛃᚨᛁ; ᚻᛖᛖᛚᛁᛃ, ᛊᛈᛃᛃᛗᛖ, ᛊᛖᛚᛞᚱᛁᚱᛁ, ᛊᛈᛃᛃᛗᛖ; ᚻᛃᛊᛚᛁᛚᛁ, ᛚᛈᛈᛃᚻ, ᚻᛃᛊᛈᛈ, ᚻᛃᛊᛈᛈ!

Comment │ sombody send me a translator!! Archaic and modern don't match!!!!!

End of Part I