"In this world, there are people who can walk through hell with a smile. The problem is… one of them is on our side."
The western gate was already visible on the horizon. And with it… him. The guard. Sentinel posture, unfriendly face, and that automatic expression of someone who'd seen more of Kael's screw-ups than coins in his own pocket.
As soon as he spotted them, the guard's neck started to rotate, shoulders shifting into place. That wasn't stretching. That was a full-body warm-up for tongue combat.
"Ugh, here comes that half-baked fire hazard again…" he muttered, arms crossed, chest puffed like he was the final boss of the gate.
Kael closed his eyes. Breathe. Just ignore him. Just ignore him…
Tharon, of course, wasn't going to miss the chance.
"Let me know if you want me to shove you in front of a cart. Saves time and pain."
But then… came the scene. A scene Kael wouldn't have imagined even in his worst nightmare or most cursed fever dream.
Leon, chest out, smile so white it should be illegal, waved at the guard like he'd just reunited with a childhood friend.
"Oh, greetings, brave defender of the walls! What a fine job you do guarding this gate that separates civilization from chaos!"
Elren spun an arrow between his fingers and winked.
"Imagine the responsibility… protecting the city from even…" He glanced sideways, feigning innocence. "…minor combustible incidents."
Sylphie twirled on her heel, hair flying like a ribbon.
"Seriously, respect. How many can keep up that heroic energy through rain, wind… and surprise fires?"
The guard blinked. His scowl began to unravel.
"Ah… ah, yeah… well… yeah, someone's gotta do it… cough cough… tough job…" He adjusted his helmet, chest now puffing up with pride.
"After all…" Leon placed a hand on his shoulder, "…men like you are what keep this world standing."
"Wow…" The guard looked around, checking if anyone else was listening. "No one's ever… ever said that to me, you know?"
And the most terrifying part… The guard was laughing. Laughing out loud.
"You guys are good. Man… you're REALLY good. Hahaha!"
The scene was a direct insult to reality. The guard who usually acted like an NPC programmed solely to insult Kael… was now laughing, slapping his thighs like he'd just heard the joke of the year.
Leon smiled, adjusted his cape, and pointed toward the horizon.
"Well then… we've got a world to save. Another adventure, another story. May the winds carry us to Erloth!"
The whole group turned in sync. Chests out. Toothpaste-commercial smiles. And off they marched down the road.
Kael stood frozen, blinking, unsure if he was alive, dreaming, or suffering a full-blown breakdown.
"What… what just happened?"
Tharon's sword clinked in its sheath as he held back a laugh so strong it could crack steel.
"That, Kael… that's called reality collapsing in real time. Write it down. Might be on the final exam of life."
"But… he hates me… he's hated me FOREVER… how… HOW?!"
Kael flailed, nearly tripping over his own mental collapse.
"My guess? Charm. Or dark magic. One of the two. Maybe both. And honestly… I'm starting to think this 'charm' thing is stronger than any spell."
Tharon was vibrating — half sarcastic, half genuinely disturbed.
While the Sunbeam Squad marched ahead — light steps, bright smiles, hair flowing in the wind like life was a shampoo commercial — Kael dragged his boots through the mud.
The sky was heavy with clouds, still undecided whether to bless them with sunlight or dump misery.
The scent of wet earth rose up, mixed with existential dread, accumulated failure, and that classic seasoning called "questionable decisions."
"Hey, Tharon… if life were a dungeon… where's the exit?" Kael asked, staring at the horizon like he was searching for a glitch in the map of reality.
"There is no exit, Kael. It's a closed map. And the worst part… pain respawns, but dignity doesn't." Tharon's reply was dry. Sharp.
And the steps continued. Each meter, another chance for life to prove that yes… it can always get worse.
And Erloth… Erloth had no idea what was coming.
Leon, smiling like life was a flower festival, threw an arm around Kael's shoulders, pulling him close in full "childhood bestie" mode.
"So, Kael, my dear friend… about the Screaming Toad… we need to discuss strategy. It's a fierce enemy, you know? Lethal. Extremely dangerous."
Kael blinked twice. Froze. His mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out.
His brain short-circuited, trying to process if he'd heard that right. "Fierce enemy…"
He looked down, kicked a pebble.
"Yeah… fierce…" he muttered. "Fierce like… I dunno… a stale loaf of bread."
Tharon's sheath rattled, sharp and venomous.
"See, Kael? I WARNED you. I said joining this was gonna be a low-budget tragedy."
Leon laughed, chest puffed.
"Ah, ah! A witty talking sword! That's great for team morale!"
Tharon vibrated, half in disbelief.
"Witty talking sword… If I had a stomach, I'd have puked on your boots already, fancy boy."
Leon, flawless smile intact:
"What wonderful energy you have, Tharon. I like it! Brings balance to the group!"
Kael squinted, wondering how many sins from a past life he was paying for to deserve this.
The archer, Elren, pulled out a lute — yes, he carried one — and began strumming a melody so sweet, so ethereal, it made you want to bite your own hand just to stop him from playing.
"By the winds of the forest, by the stars that guide the hunters…" he sang, in that annoyingly perfect elven tone.
"If I ever find where those forests and stars are, I'll burn them down just to shut him up…" Tharon growled.
Leon, unfazed, looked back and smiled:
"He always does this on our journeys. Helps keep spirits high!"
Sylphie spun in place, twirling with a few wind sparks for flair.
"And it's great for magical energy circulation too!"
Kael pressed his temples.
"You guys are… a force of nature… or divine punishment. Still undecided."
Tharon didn't miss a beat:
"Punishment. Trust me. I've decided for both of us."
And so they marched on. The Sunbeam Squad, bouncing, posing, like life was a permanent stage.
Kael, dragging his soul. And Tharon, sharpening his tongue more than any blade.
Hours passed.
The sky cleared, settling into a washed-out blue with a hint of gold. The road became nothing but the sound of footsteps, elven singing, and mental lamentation.
And then… the fields began to appear. Small fences. Crooked wooden sheds. And on the horizon… Erloth. The village.
Sylphie spun again, smiling like she'd just stepped out of a magical fair poster.
"There it is! We've arrived!"
Leon raised a clenched fist, fired up.
"Another mission, another victory!"
Kael stared ahead, exhausted, holding back words that wanted to come out as punches.
"Mission… yeah… victory… sure."
Tharon clinked dryly.
"Kael… if this is victory, I'll take defeat with coffee and stale bread."
And Erloth… awaited them.
Their boots hit the muddy ground of the town. Few lights. Distant voices. The smell of old beer, wet leather, and something that probably shouldn't be named.
And there it was. A tavern. Rotting wood holding up the roof by sheer stubbornness. A half-fallen sign dripping something that might've been water… or grease… or blood. No one wanted to confirm.
Leon puffed his chest, flashing a smile that looked freshly polished.
"Perfect! The ideal place to gather information and—" He spread his arms wide. "—boost team spirit with good food and good friends!"
Kael blinked at him. Then blinked again.
"Good food and good friends…" he muttered, dragging the words. "Right. Sure."
Tharon groaned inside his sheath, pure crumpled steel soaked in irony.
"The only thing getting boosted here is your chance of getting stabbed."
They pushed the door open. That tavern smell hit instantly — sweat, beer, dried vomit, and fresh regret.
The sound… paused. Or almost.
Some kept tossing dice. Others just stared. People who looked like they had their faces on wanted posters. Closed expressions. Scars, tattoos, eyepatches, missing teeth.
The Sunbeam Squad, with their irritating glow, looked like a brand-new sticker slapped on a termite-eaten door.
Leon, of course, smiled.
"Good evening, noble citizens!"
Kael adjusted his cape, muttering:
"This is gonna go to hell."
And then… he stood up.
The brute. Two meters of meat, muscle, and probably half a dozen crimes. Square jaw. Crooked eye. Shirt open over a hairy chest, where a poorly inked tattoo read "Mom."
The guy walked over, dragging his feet, and stopped… right in front of Sylphie.
"Well now…" he rumbled, voice like stone scraping stone. "What's a pretty little thing like you doing lost in here?"
She smiled, apparently unaware of the threat embedded in his tone.
"Lost? Oh no, we're on a mission! Looking for information!"
Kael squinted.
"Oh gods, she's really like this…" he muttered.
Tharon clinked.
"Confirmed. Wind magic. Wind in the brain."
Leon, ignoring all signs of imminent violence, flashed his shampoo-commercial smile and stepped right in:
"Noble friend! Perhaps you can help us! We're looking for information… about the Screaming Toad!"
The brute looked Leon up and down. Silence. Then spat on the floor.
"Rookie," he growled, heading back to his corner.
His group burst into laughter.
"Look at this, came here for a tourist map of the toad!" one shouted.
"Take 'em to see the toad, Marrok!" another mocked. "Just don't tell them it's a mirror or they'll give up!"
Leon adjusted his collar, still wearing that smile like it was tattooed on his face.
"Well… not exactly productive, but at least we know he—" He raised a finger. "—knows nothing!"
Tharon groaned louder.
"Leon… if your brain were food, even sewer rats would pass."
Kael crossed his arms, staring at the floor, unsure if this was a mission or a collective breakdown.
"This… is actually happening."
Sylphie smiled, adjusting her hair — unnecessarily, since it hadn't moved.
"Maybe we should… try another table!"
Tharon shot back instantly:
"Maybe we should… try another planet."
The Sunbeam Squad kept their glow, their charm, their smiles. The rest of the tavern kept their scowls, their rotten breath, and their punch-you-with-a-glance energy.
And right there… the kind of atmosphere was forming that either ends in a brawl or in more booze.
They dropped into an empty table, chairs creaking like they were begging for mercy. The tabletop smelled like it had absorbed decades of cheap beer, dried blood, grease, and bad decisions.
Leon, of course, smiled that signature smile. He pulled out a chair, slapped his hands on the table with enthusiasm so strong it wasn't contagious only because the bacteria were stronger.
"Bring us the dish of the day! Portions for everyone! And beer too, on me!" He puffed his chest, looking around like he expected applause.
The tavern owner approached. Broad body, face like he'd never seen a smile — and if he had, he'd killed it. Beard like barbed wire. Eyes more closed than open. Expression darker than a storm at sea.
He spat on the floor.
"Dish of the day…" he growled, each word weighing a kilo. "Wolf liver skewers with whole roasted crying onions… so you can hear the lament while it cooks."
He paused, chewing the air.
"And beer… beer's mixed with the cook's tears. You want it or waiting for a miracle?"
Leon let out a clean, crystal-clear laugh, like the guy had just told the best joke in the world.
"Wonderful! I love this rustic humor, full of personality!" He slapped the table. "Perfect, bring it on!"
Sylphie smiled like she was at a picnic. Elren, the archer, gave a cheerful nod, nearly dancing in his seat.
Kael stopped. Stared into the void. Then at the tabletop. Then at his distorted reflection in someone else's beer.
"This isn't a joke…" he murmured, chilled.
Tharon clinked dryly.
"I'm a sword. And even I find this hard to digest."
The owner gave them a look that seemed to pierce bone and growled:
"I'm heading to the kitchen. And careful…" He pointed to a corner of the tavern, where a rat and a cockroach seemed locked in a life-or-death battle. "They're betting on who survives till tomorrow."
Leon didn't flinch. Not even a single hair moved.
"Personality! Way better than those generic adventurer taverns, don't you think?"
Tharon chuckled.
"The only thing generic here is the biohazard risk."
"Hey, noble sir!" Leon raised a hand before the owner disappeared into the kitchen. "By any chance, have you heard of a… hmm… Screaming Toad around these parts?"
The owner stopped, looked back, spat again in the same spot — now wetter than the tavern's own beer — and replied in a voice that sounded like it scratched the walls:
"Near the plantation warehouse… ask the locals there…"
He turned his back. Vanished.
Silence hit hard for a second. Then the kitchen door slammed open and he returned with a tray — or what looked like one. Honestly, it resembled a butcher's cutting board that had been recycled out of spite.
He slammed it onto the table.
The wolf liver skewers were arranged with zero care — some burnt, some raw in the middle, stabbed onto sticks that clearly failed every hygiene test. And the onions… oh, the onions. Roasted, but crying. Literally. Tears dripped onto the table, the food, the floor. It was like they were begging for mercy, even in death.
The beer… served in a cracked wooden mug, smelled like… well, alcoholic disappointment and actual salty tears.
Leon, with his toothpaste-commercial smile, raised the mug.
"Cheers!"
Kael held his cup.
"Cheers… for what, exactly?" He stared at the liquid like it was an abyss. "This stuff could dissolve rust."
Tharon vibrated, sharp.
"Nope. I tested it."
Elren, the archer, bit into a skewer and nearly danced in his seat.
"Wow! Surprising! Texture… crunchy…" He winced, holding his mouth. "…and kind of rubbery, maybe… artistically deconstructed."
Sylphie bit into an onion. She cried.
"Oh… this… this is really… salty…" She blinked, her own tears mixing with the onion's. "It's like… a cultural exchange!"
Kael dropped his skewer onto the table.
"Cultural exchange. Right. From civilization to savagery."
Tharon laughed out loud.
"This is more crime than cuisine."
They finished. Or gave up. Hard to tell which.
Elren, cheerful like someone who'd never been slapped by life, stood up, walked to the counter, and asked:
"Sir… is there an inn nearby?"
The owner looked at him, scratched his chin, and growled:
"There's one… near the square. Look for the door with the crooked handle."
"There it is! Found it!" Elren shouted to the table, waving. "Leon! Found the inn, let's go!"
Before leaving, Leon fished out some coins from his pouch and dropped them on the counter with that wide smile.
"For the meal… and the adventure," he said, like he was paying for an opera.
The group stood up like they were heading into an epic quest… or food poisoning.
Chairs creaked. Voices laughed. The sound of onions still sobbing on the table.
They walked out. And the tavern remained.
With its smell, its sweat, and the fresh memory of yet another group that might… just might… survive until tomorrow.
Leon raised his arms, walking sideways, half skipping, like he'd just beaten life itself.
"Good food! Good drink! Good friends!" He spun on his heels and pointed to the horizon. "Now all we need are… good beds to sleep in! And our adventure continues, my friend!" He slapped Kael's back so hard it nearly dislodged his soul.
"And I'll teach you… cough cough… what it means to be a true adventurer!"
Tharon nearly exploded from how hard he clinked with laughter.
"Pfff… I gotta see this."
Kael didn't respond. Didn't look. Just let his body go, dragged emotionally, spiritually, and physically. His eyes… that void. The void of someone questioning whether it's truly worth existing in the same plane as this group.
They kept walking. The town was already asleep — or pretending, because light behind closed windows always hides things you're not supposed to know.
End of Chapter 9.