Leaving Aqua Grand Sizo, I grabbed a few things on my way out. New clothes, a compass, some precious stones, and, of course, a sword resembling a broadsaber. Not that I knew how to swing the damn thing, but just the sight of steel on my hip was enough to scare off any troublemakers.

  By the second day, the desert gave way to a sequoia forest, and suddenly, I felt like I’d stumbled into a Discovery Channel documentary.

  The first creatures I ran into were armored deer. They grazed at the forest’s edge, and if not for their antlers, I’d have mistaken them for moss-covered boulders. Then one shifted, and I realized their "armor" wasn’t armor at all—just some kind of ossified skin, cracked and oozing yellowish fluid. Their heads were deer-like, but their eyes—too big, too wet—blinked out of sync.

  Next up was a fungal jackal. Its hide wasn’t fur but a writhing carpet of mycelium that pulsed with every breath. Instead of a snout, it had a funnel of fleshy tendrils, like some deep-sea anglerfish. When it found the corpse of a blind spider-owl, it didn’t eat it—it burrowed inside, releasing spores that liquefied the flesh.

  Near a swamp, I spotted a pelican-mouthed seal lounging, a couple of three-headed bears, two-tailed wolves with ribs jutting outward, and something that looked like a cross between a chimp and a snail.

  At night, the local wildlife unleashed a chorus of horrors. It felt like I’d plunged straight into hell—or the goddamn Mesozoic era. But I didn’t judge creatures by their freakishness, only by their actions. None of them attacked me. If anything, some seemed wary of getting too close.

  All in all, I’d seen some wild shit. But the real spectacle came the next day.

  It was early morning when I first heard the distant roar. The closer I got, the louder it grew.

  I slowly dragged my gaze across the endless canyon sprawling below. I stood at the cliff’s edge, only then realizing I’d been climbing uphill this whole time. The view had been hidden by thick trees—but here, for some reason, the trees were bare.

  Before me stretched a wasteland dominated by three colossal volcanoes. Nothing else—just them, black and nearly silent. Thick, heavy smoke coiled from their craters, settling over the land like a suffocating blanket.

  "A-a-a-a-a-ah!" The roar shook the air, sending leaves raining from the trees.

  Then came the quake, rattling the ground beneath me. Beige finches and crows burst from the branches, flapping wildly toward the clouds. Droplets in a puddle literally jumped.

  With slow, earth-shaking strides, a giant lumbered toward one of the volcanoes. His skin was gray, as if hewn from stone. Moss and ivy clung to his body, giving the illusion of a long, green beard dangling from his chin.

  With each step, the tremors grew stronger.

  Finally, the brute reached the volcano. He shoved his face straight into the crater and stood there for a solid minute while I gaped like an idiot.

  When he pulled back, his eyes rolled up, tongue lolling. His legs buckled, and down he went.

  A fissure split the earth, and a shockwave of wind blasted toward me. Thank fuck I had the sense to grab the nearest tree.

  Bark cracked. Branches snapped. The fissure multiplied, spiderwebbing across the canyon. As the wind cleared the smoke, I saw the truth—not one or two cracks, but hundreds.

  The giant was a junkie, huffing volcanic fumes for a high before collapsing in laughter. No wonder this part of the forest was practically deserted. Who’d want a neighbor like that?

  What other freaks lurked in this world? Only one way to find out.

  According to the signpost, the village I arrived in was called Apelfaund. It hugged a river where I’d bathed the night before. Playful girls and women scrubbed laundry, splashing each other with soapy water. Nearby, ducks paddled, and on a wooden bridge, a fisherman dozed—guess the fish weren’t biting.

  Kids sprinted through the streets, trailed by yapping dogs. The main road cut through the village, so traders and travelers likely passed through. A horse stable, packed with loaded carts, confirmed it.

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  The place seemed peaceful. At least, no one had given me the stink-eye yet. Most just smiled and nodded when we made eye contact.

  The small houses, looking like they’d sprouted from the earth, reminded me of the zombie village. Walls of yellowed logs had darkened with age. Thin wisps of smoke curled lazily from clay chimneys poking through thatched roofs. Carved patterns adorned the beams. The windows were tiny, curtains likely made from burlap.

  Like in Aqua Grand Sizo, there was a church—but no crosses. Here, they worshipped the sun. Next to it stood a short bell tower, its chime marking what I guessed was eight in the morning.

  First stop, as always: the tavern, nestled beside some crumbling houses. This time, I had cash, so no worries.

  The place reeked of fish, spilled ale, and damp wood. Cramped but nearly empty—just five men at two rough-hewn tables, drinking and laughing loud enough to echo off the low ceiling. One glanced up, eyed my sword and boot knife, then promptly returned to his mug.

  Behind the counter stood a sweaty, pot-bellied jug, but no barkeep. Though the sounds from the cellar suggested he’d just stepped out for more booze.

  I pulled out a pouch of gemstones and idly tossed it, waiting. Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long.

  The cellar door creaked open, and I got my first look at the tavern keeper. Not the grandest entrance—his bulk got him stuck in the doorway. But his slimy, fish-like skin helped him squeeze through, and after bracing against the wall, he took his place behind the counter.

  To put it bluntly, the man was a humanoid catfish. Same beady eyes, same whiskers, same gaping, nightmare-inducing maw. Short in height, but wide as a barrel. A grimy apron hid his swollen gray belly, and though his arms looked bloated, they were oddly muscular up close.

  With a disgusting belch, he started picking at his jagged teeth.

  "A guest?!" His tiny eyes bulged as he jolted upright, sending empty mugs crashing. "Sorry, didn’t see ya there."

  "Bring me everything on the menu. And ale," I said, tossing him the gem pouch.

  No clue how much these stones were worth. But today, I’d finally taste real food—not zombie brains or my own blood.

  "Are you joking? ‘Everything’? This’ll barely cover a couple snacks with beer."

  Either he was scamming me, or I’d looted some lowly guard’s purse, not Joji’s. Whatever—no point arguing now.

  "Then forget the ale. Just give me one decent meal. The best you’ve got."

  "Decent or the best?" the catfish asked.

  "The best."

  "Got a few of those."

  If he kept this up, I’d eat him alive. Literally.

  "Okay. What are they?" I snapped.

  "Fried carp with boiled potatoes, or vinegar-soaked eel with pickled onions. Caught ‘em myself!" He stuck out his long tongue, showing off burns.

  What, was he saying the eel electrocuted him? Wait… Did he fish by swallowing them whole? Did he just hold them in his mouth or actually gulp them down and puke them up later?

  "Well, if you worked that hard, give me the eel," I said, then claimed a table.

  While the catfish fried the eel—god, that sounded stupid—one of the patrons sat across from me. I cracked one eye open, glared, then shut it and went back to whistling.

  "Good morning, sir. Might I ask your name?"

  "I’m Q," I grunted.

  After cycling through a dozen names, I couldn’t settle on one. The moment I gave up, I decided on Qwerty—then cringed hard a day later and shortened it. Not exactly a thrilling backstory.

  "I’m Vergo. I overheard you’re short on funds. Maybe I can help."

  I opened my eyes and studied him. A brunette in his mid-thirties, lightly stubbled. His clothes stood out—cleaner, almost modern compared to the villagers.

  "What, you some kinda philanthropist?" I scratched behind my ear.

  "No, no. Apologies, I should’ve phrased that better." He sounded too refined for a backwater like this. "If you help me with a task, I’ll pay you."

  "Not interested. Try again."

  "But you’re the only one who can solve this."

  "Sounds like a scam. Why me?"

  "Your sword. You follow the Path of Crimson Flame, don’t you?" His gaze flicked to Joji’s winged hilt.

  Follow the Path?

  "Nah, I stole it," I admitted.

  "Ah… You’re so disinterested you’d lie? Fine. I’ll double—no, triple your pay."

  His logic lost me, but whatever. The offer was tempting. Though I had no idea what the original amount even was. Was I really this reckless?!

  "Fine, I’ll hear you out. But first, I’m eating."

  "Then I won’t disturb you!" He moved to the next table.

  Right then, the catfish brought my food.

  "And pour this young man an ale. On me, of course." Vergo patted the catfish’s belly and winked at me.

  No idea how to react… But I did want to talk to this guy. He mentioned the Crimson Flame, and he seemed sharp. Maybe he knew about the local pantheon.

  I wanted to learn about the Tenth Titan.

  I wanted to find them.

  Maybe they could grant my wish.

  Long ago, the giant lived with his mother. It’s still unknown how they ended up in the canyon, but the junkie’s mother was ill. Tragically, she was eaten alive by underground worms. These worms are actually the reason the junkie giant is still alive—by eating them, he was quite literally consuming his own mother. The worms have chitin stronger than steel. But they aren’t the canyon’s top predators. A cunning underground race (whose name is unknown) hunts the worms’ eggs and peels the chitin off the helpless hatchlings, since they can’t handle the adults. They smelt the chitin in their forges, releasing toxic smoke into the air—smoke the giant breathes in. As for metal? Rumor has it the mysterious race sells it to those who use it to build mechs.

  This story was originally meant to be part of the main chapter to showcase the world’s diversity. But the character introduced in that chapter was moved to a different story segment. Since the protagonist couldn’t have known any of these facts, they had to be cut.