Simon enjoyed the wind and rowing under the warm sun. A smile kept pying on his lips as he inhaled the scent of the salty sea.

  Despite its calm appearance, the locals called this area ‘Alimpuyo-an.’ It had a reputation for being treacherous. Larger ships could often pass without trouble, but smaller boats like his were at the mercy of sudden whirlpools that could form out of nowhere.

  Simon had crossed this perilous stretch before, both with the Old Man and on his own, so he was well aware of its dangers.

  The Old Man, with his keen understanding of the area, had taught Simon how to navigate these waters. Instead of scanning the surface for whirlpools, they relied on sensing the wind’s subtle cues. The journey typically took between 12 to 16 hours, depending on the whims of the swirling currents.

  But Simon used the current to travel faster, and after hours of navigating the currents, the familiar coastline finally came into view.

  There was a cove along the southern beach of the eastern continent. Using an oar, Simon guided the boat onto the sandy shore of the cove. It was a spot where he and the old man had once stayed for a while and trained.

  They even left behind a few crates that once served as makeshift tables; it was still there, but now overgrown with moss. He went down the boat and pulled it into the cove, taking it out of the water. He tied it to one of the rocks and grabbed his backpack.

  After storing the boat, Simon was ready to travel on foot. He wore a leather backpack, heavy with all his necessities. His coat, fashioned from green leather, bore signs of amateur stitching, but it served its purpose—shielding him from water, cold, heat, and exposure. Beneath it, he wore cotton underclothes, and his boots, though unevenly made, were durable, crafted from monster scales. Patches of the same scale reinforced the elbows of his jacket. He also owned a pair of hide gloves, but since he didn’t need them at the moment, they were tucked into his bag for easy access.

  HAVE PICTURE! CODE: 008

  Next to Simon’s destination was a small fishing vilge west of the cove. It was a good pce to exchange pink salt for more rations. He followed a familiar path, worn and rugged by many footsteps. The journey to the vilge took about four hours, but Simon didn’t mind the trek.

  Some flying monsters—harpies that preyed on schools of fish swept onto the beach—came from the hills and tried to attack him along the way, but he repelled them with ease. They retreated as soon as a few of their own were wounded. He didn’t want to waste time digging graves for them, so he made sure to injure them only lightly.

  After the encounter, he continued on his way.

  When he arrived, a few vilgers recognized him, exchanging greetings as he bartered salt for dried fish. Soon, another familiar face approached.

  “Simon! You’ve grown!” It was the vilge chief. Age had caught up to him—his hair was longer now, streaked with gray—but he still carried the same inquisitive look Simon remembered. He had been drawn over by the small crowd gathering around Simon, an unusual sight in one corner of the vilge.

  “Food?” Simon asked, offering some of his own dried goods. The chief had always been kind to him.

  “No, no need,” the chief waved it off. “It’s just that… now that you’re leaving, no one’s going to maintain the lighthouse.” His voice carried a hint of loneliness. He already knew the old man Simon used to travel with was long gone—Simon still came by often to trade Pink Salt and that soft dried tuna he always carried.

  “The lighthouse won’t shut down,” Simon said calmly. “Not for a long time.”

  “That’s good,” the chief smiled. “Wait here. I’ll bring you some sea vegetables—you like those, don’t you?”

  His wife was especially fond of the boy; Simon would eat just about anything.‘If the lighthouse holds until the fishing trip is over, that’s enough,’ the chief thought as he walked away. ‘I’ll need to send a message to Wolnd.’

  He kept his eyes closed during the exchange, as he had been taught. After securing enough rations, he didn’t linger, though twilight had already begun to settle by the time he finished.

  Opting to stay on the northern outskirts of the vilge, where merchants and carts usually gathered, he began preparing for the night.

  Simon didn’t have a tent; instead, his bag was full of food.

  ‘It smells so good!’ he thought as he was supposed to pull out a bnket. He fell for the dried fish that had been giving off its strong scent even earlier, urging him to eat.

  After collecting some dry wood, he set up a small fire and started cooking. The smell of the fish attracted the attention of others nearby. Some approached, curious to try it.

  He had to close his eyes again.

  The dried fish from the Fishermen’s Vilge was considered a delicacy all over the world. Simon had plenty and was feeling generous, so he began sharing it with those around him.

  An old merchant even offered his wine, while others brought vinegar, and soon, a small gathering of strangers formed on the outskirts of the vilge, enjoying a shared meal.

  Then one of the wayfarers stepped in the middle to entertain the group.

  “Gather 'round, and listen well. This is not just some old tale—it's a warning.” Everyone knew that he was going to tell a story.

  Years ago, there was a fishing vilge on the Eastern Frontier. Peaceful folk, hardworking, just trying to get by. But one night… the bandits came.

  They were no small gang. No, these were the scourge of the Eastern Frontier, a horde of cutthroats who had pilged farmnds for years. That night, they came from both nd and sea, ready to burn, steal, and sughter.

  But they never made it to the vilge.

  Because something else was waiting for them.

  A monster.

  It came from the darkness, slithering through the waves and the trees. A serpent with burning eyes and hunger beyond reason. It didn’t just kill the bandits—it consumed them whole, one by one, like cattle led to the sughter. Their screams barely sted before they were swallowed.

  By morning, the bandits were gone. Not a single body was found.

  The vilgers? Untouched.

  Since then, the monster has had a name: Bask.

  Some say it still roams the frontier, watching, waiting. It has no interest in honest folk. But if you are a thief… if you have taken what is not yours…

  Then beware.

  Because Bask is always hungry.

  The story was rewarded with a round of appuse from the crowd.

  ‘That was fun!’ Simon thought as he reminisced.

  But it was not the end, another stranger raised his hands ready to tell his own story. “My turn!”

  As the stories of the strangers began flowing he found an opportunity to secure a ride on one of the carriages that would be going north.

  The next morning, Simon hitched a ride on the cart. The driver, content with the dried fish Simon had offered him as a meal the night before, welcomed him aboard. It was a fair trade, considering the value of dried fish. Although Simon had to perch atop a pile of seaweed during the journey, he loved the smell.

  They were attacked by a Mossback Grizzly once during the course of their travel, as it was attracted by the smell of the seaweed.

  The driver, a merchant, used a rge axe to fight. It was a norm for the frontier for everyone to be attacked by random monsters on the road, especially when travelling.

  So the two safely defeated the monster and harvested the moss on its back. They divided the harvest equally, even though the merchant wanted Simon to have more since he was the one who efficiently felled the bear.

  Then, after less than half a day, Simon found himself disembarking to continue the journey on foot. The cart was bound for Elford territory, while Simon's destination y further east. Walking the rest of the way, he arrived at Creek Vilge by midday.