Jenjo glanced around at the odd scenery.

He had always known the place was unique even in comparison to the already rather bizarre Elvanera Island by virtue of its unusual history, but he had never imagined that it would be so otherworldly as to feature giant elephants who knew morse code. That was a little outlandish, even by his standards.

It was true that he had encountered many things crazier than this during his time as a commodore for the navy of Bolumbatto—his home country—but it had been many years since that part of his life, and he was no longer used to encountering such brazen oddities. His eyes glimmered with weary intrigue while his heart grew heavy with an ever-worsening dread of uncertainty.

The air atop Jugrim was thick with heavy humidity and the smell of exotic flowers and, for the first time in a while, the sound of chirping birds reached his ears. Solemn-looking willow trees grew around the pond, their drooping leaves providing much-needed respite from the heavy rain, and swathes of fireflies danced over the waterline. Besides the sensation of thick mud burying his feet a little more with every second, Jenjo judged that it was a hospitable place, and the wildlife here seemed much more agreeable than the hellish creatures native to the swamp waters below.

Looking back at the other members of the group, he was left with the impression that they felt much the same. The journey to get here had been a brutal one and, for the sake of them not becoming especially traumatized, some rest would be necessary. His time on the battlefield had imparted a belief in him that a soldier with a broken mind was arguably more troublesome to command than one with a broken body, and so keeping the others in usable condition, even at the expense of short-term productivity, was near the top of his agenda. He had wanted to order the others to start working on a shelter upon their arrival but, with everything that had happened thus far, he refrained from doing so.

“Feel free to look around or do whatever else you feel like,” he said, “Jugrim said that this place is safe for the time being, so you can relax for now. I also have a bottle of whiskey in my bag if anyone wants some.” Jenjo gave a dejected sigh, trying to match the somber mood of everyone else. “I’m going to look for Midday now. You’re welcome to join me, but don’t feel obligated to do so.”

A giant snake had attacked them on the way to Jugrim, resulting in the death and subsequent zombification of Honey Beeson—their weakest member, probably even moreso than Midday—and though the girl had been nothing more than a vaguely acquainted stranger to them, the realization that the month ahead would likely be rife with similarly awful things loomed at the forefront of their civilian minds. Only Jenjo, with his ample experience surrounding the topic of death, was jaded enough to what had happened to remain unphased. He had dealt with the zombified Honey by kicking her down off the branch she had been standing on, and he hadn’t seen her since.

Jenjo, while by no means happy about losing a member, wasn’t especially worried about it. Himself included, the group still had eight surviving members. That number would dwindle in the near future, no doubt about that, but their numbers were still high enough for it not to be too serious of an issue.

“If you don’t mind, I’d like you up on that whiskey offer,” said Bell as Jenjo and the others began to disperse. The old hunchback had been silent ever since the trouble with Honey about thirty minutes before, and Jenjo had no qualms about obliging the request. Besides himself, Bell struck Jenjo as the most competent member of the group and so keeping the geezer in high spirits would be important.

Jenjo, who had already begun walking toward the pond, took out a bottle of cheap but strong whiskey and took a small sip for himself. He then passed it to Bell, who took an equally tiny swig as he walked beside the former guard.

“No need to hold back,” said Jenjo. “I’m only having a little because I need to stay sharp at all times, but you don’t need to worry about that as much.”

“Hmm. I’m getting notes of pepper and oak on the nose, perhaps with a hint of peat,” answered Bell after a short silence. He took another sip. “Not bad for a cheap whiskey. My wife and I used to enjoy Elvanera Group’s whiskey every Friday. Before the slavers captured us. It was our weekend ritual.” He gazed up at the trees above. “I wonder how my she’s doing these days…”

“Survive to the end of the month, and you might get the chance to find out.” Jenjo, despite his better judgment, grabbed the bottle once again, took a big sip, and passed it back to Bell. “Never had the chance to get married myself. Got engaged at one point, but the Coalition made me an international outlaw before we could go through with it. Had to disappear after that. Didn’t want to drag her down with me. That’s how I ended up here, I guess.”

“Sorry to hear it.” Bell took another sip. “You wouldn’t happen to know if there any slaves on the island named Velvet Tollson, would you?”

“That’s your wife?” Jenjo sighed, once again taking a sip. “I’ve never heard the name but, if she’s still alive, I would guess that she’s probably somewhere on the island. The capture crews Elvanera Group hires for that sort of thing usually take everyone in the villages they attack so, unless she was out of town when the capturers arrived, my guess would be that she’s in a different Neighborhood.”

“I see.” Bell looked off into the fog.

“It’s not all bad. Did she have an Ability?”

“It was called Quicksand. Gave her improved reflexes and agility when standing on sand.”

“Hmm. We don’t have any sandy biomes here on Elvanera Island, so I doubt that any specific Neighborhoods would have taken a special interest in her. She probably got sent to a random Neighborhood among the lower six. If she’s high-level enough to have an Ability, though, I’d wager that she’s still at the very least alive—though it’s probably better to operate under the assumption that she’s not. No need to set yourself up for disappointment.”

“Do you think the higher-ups at Elvanera Group will let her go too if I survive to the end of the month?”

“No.” Jenjo took back the bottle and put it in his bag. “Not easily anyway. Mulberry might be willing to pull some strings if we successfully protect Solomon, but I doubt it. Still, the odds aren’t zero. The chairwoman is a fickle woman. Just focus on keeping Solomon and yourself alive. Do that, and it’s anyone’s guess what’ll happen afterward.”

“Right. I’ll do my best.”

“As will I.”

The two walked together for a short while until a frog sitting on an ethereal blue hand floated down to them from above. It was an ordinary frog, not unique looking in any way, but Jenjo knew at once who this was. He took a small wooden box out of his bag and offered it up to the frog.

“My name is Jenjo, and I’m the leader of the bodyguards Mulberry sent here to protect you. Additionally, Mulberry wanted this delivered to you. It contains seeds for Devil Peppercorn, Vigor Lentils, Metamorphosis Mushrooms, and Lordmaker Rye.”

“Thanks,” said Solomon.

Another ethereal hand appeared out of thin air and lifted the bag off the mud.

“Of course, sir. Now that my group has arrived, is there anything you’d like us to do?”

“Are any of you good at science?”

“Depends on how you define ‘good’ but, frankly, I doubt that anyone of us will be able to live up to your standards. I hear that your research is very complex. My apologies.”

“No worries. Just stay out of the way.”

“Yes sir.” Jenjo frowned. “Pardon me for asking, but where is Midday? He was the first person to arrive.”

“Not sure. He’s somewhere around here though. Bye.” Solomon flew away, taking the box with him.

“Odd fellow,” said Jenjo. “Not very talkative.”

“Well, he is a frog,” noted Bell. “I’m surprised he can speak at all.”

“Talking frogs aren’t that rare. In one distant region, several thousand miles away from the Kingmaker Plains, they’re more common than humans. They call that place Boiling Swamp, and my guess is that Solomon was born there.”

“The more you know.”

“Yup.” Jenjo shrugged. “Now we need to find Midday. Work can begin after that.”

♦

Midday was thankful for the warm weather. The humidity was so great that his rain-drenched clothes stuck like glue to his skin and the air felt weird to breathe but, if nothing else, at least he wasn’t shivering. As a matter of fact, as he sat there between two somber willow trees that existed especially close to one another, the general ambiance was one of much-needed peace. The roots and branches of the two trees overlapped to create an especially dense ceiling of foliage that acted as the closest thing to shelter he had come across since the Undead Rain had begun.

It had been a while since Midday had planted the Devil Peppercorn tree and, owing to the fact that it had taken a surprisingly long time for the others to arrive—more than an hour, in fact—he had gotten bored earlier and undertaken something along the lines of a botanical tour. Like his first attempt at exploring Jugrim’s back, the search had been fruitless, but he reckoned that had more to do with his lack of knowledge than anything else. Midday only knew about the plants Romulo had mentioned during their time in Slave Quarter #344. He was rapidly realizing that those plants only accounted for a minuscule fraction of the flora in the old growth. Discovering the identities of the unknown majority would be an undertaking all his own. He had no idea how he might go about starting that project but reckoned he ought to think of something.

If Solomon really had an Elvanerean Ring, there was no reason to think that he wouldn’t have used it to grow some ultra-powerful crops. Midday decided to get up and ask the frog about it but, before he could do so, Jenjo’s voice made him flinch.

“Midday.”

“That’s me,” answered Midday. “How was the trip? Seems like it took a while.”

“Honey is dead,” was the prompt response, “How was your meeting with Solomon?”

It took Midday a few seconds to process the news. He sat there in silence, staring blankly at Jenjo and Bell—who was standing behind him—for a few seconds, before offering up a response.

“The meeting was fine. Solomon flew over to me on some sort of weird floating hand thing and asked me if I was good at science. When I said no, he lost interest and flew away.”

“Hah. Nice response. I genuinely can’t tell if you’re genuinely unphased or if you’re just really good at compartmentalizing trauma.” Jenjo frowned. “Also, I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything here, but whatever. You probably have your reasons. Just know that I’ll kill you if you betray us.”

“I know.” Midday sighed. After hearing the news and feeling the gravity of the situation set in, he was tempted to mention the ring, but he refrained. Solomon, he believed, probably had a good reason for advising him not to tell anyone about its existence. “So Honey is dead?”

“Yeah. A giant snake crushed her.”

“Did she… turn into a zombie?”

“She did.”

“So… Where is she?”

“In the swamp somewhere.” Jenjo turned around and started walking away. “But nevermind that. You probably understand better than anyone else that you’re deadweight as you are now. Most of our members are like that. So get up and follow me. It’s time to rectify that.”