Chapter 4 : A freezing beauty.

"Speech".

"Thoughts".

The golden light of the setting sun bathes the landscape in a soft, nostalgic glow as I trudge along the familiar path through the plains. Each step feels heavier than the last, weighed down by memories that cling to me like the last remnants of a fading dream.

"Three months," I think, gazing into the horizon. "It's been three months since Grandpa passed away."

"Three months since I last heard his laugh," I remember. That laugh was always good for brightening even the darkest days. "Three months since the village women stopped grumbling about the old man's peeping habits. And three months since we last shared those late-night talks about our favorite hero stories—those tales of bravery that he used to tell me in when i was a child."

"But now, home doesn't feel right without him," I reflect. The small house that used to be filled with his warmth now feels so cold and empty. "I…. I couldn't stay there any longer. Not without him around at least."

"I left a week ago," I remind myself. "Sold everything we had and set out on this quest. I needed to escape the emptiness of that house and find something new."

Grandpa always spoke about Orario with such excitement. "The grand city where legends are born," he used to say. "A place where people from all over come to forge their own stories. Where adventurers fight monsters, rise to hero status, and even find a chance to meet beautiful girls in the dungeons. Orario is the city where myths become reality."

I can still hear his voice, chuckling as he'd add with a grin, "And don't forget, picking up girls is a man's romance, rrrrrromance!" He'd roll the r's in a way that made it sound both dramatic and ridiculous. "A real hero's journey isn't complete without a bit of romance, eh grandpa?"

"I can almost hear his voice," I think, a mix of longing and determination filling me. "Describing the towering walls, the winding streets, and the colossal dungeon at the city's heart. He told me stories of adventurers who faced impossible odds, saved damsels in distress, and emerged victorious against all expectations."

"And here I am," I said chuckling a bit to myself. "I sold everything we had and set out to chase this dream of becoming a hero. I want to make a name for myself in Orario, and who knows? Maybe I'll even find someone special along the way, like Grandpa always joked about."

As I walk, I can't help but feel like I've left behind more than just my old life. "Heh...Feels like a piece of me stayed back there," I think to myself. "But thinking about all the new stuff waiting for me in Orario makes me feel like I'm on the edge of something really cool. It's just the kind of excitement I need to keep moving forward."

The path stretches out before me, leading toward the distant silhouette of mountains against the evening sky. "Orario, with all its legends and dreams," I tell myself, trying to stay positive. "It's going to be tough, but this is what grandpa would've wanted."

"Can a country bumpkin like me really become a hero?" I ask myself outloud , my voice filled with a mix of excitement and nerves. My steps quicken, and I practically bounce with energy as I think, "Can I actually make my own story in a place where so many others have tried and failed?"

I take a deep breath and keep going, even though Orario's still a long way off. "Yeah, it's a bit uncertain," I say with a toothy grin, "but Grandpa always believed in me. He thought I could do this. So, even if I'm on my own, I've gotta keep going."

The path ahead stretched out before Bell, winding through the dense forest. The sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the ground. His water bottle was nearly empty, and his rations were running low. Each step felt heavier as fatigue set in. Bell glanced at the map the village elder had given him. He scanned the parchment for any sign of relief.

"There's a clearing with a river not too far from here," Bell muttered to himself, trying to stay hopeful. "If I can reach that, I'll be able to refill my water and get something to eat."

With renewed determination, Bell veered off the main road and into the overgrown path leading to the clearing. The foliage was thick and tangled, but he pushed through, clearing branches and vines as he went. The forest seemed to close in around him, the shadows growing longer as the sun dipped lower in the sky.

As he pressed forward, a strange croaking sound reached his ears. Bell stopped in his tracks, his heart racing. He peered into the dimming forest, trying to locate the source of the noise. The croaking grew louder, and the ground seemed to tremble slightly beneath his feet.

Out of the underbrush, three frog-like monsters emerged, known as Frog Shooters. Their bulging eyes were fixed on Bell, and their slick, green skin glistened in the fading light.

"Oh no, not these guys!" Bell's voice trembled with fear as he recognized the creatures. For a moment, both Bell and the Frog Shooters froze, locked in a tense stare. Bell could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he sized up the monsters, their eyes unblinking and predatory. The silence between them was suffocating, each side waiting for the other to make the first move.

Then, as if a signal had been given, the Frog Shooters sprang into action. The creatures moved with surprising speed, their long, sticky tongues flicking in and out of their mouths.

Bell turned and bolted down the path, branches whipping against his face and the underbrush grabbing at his legs. His breath came in ragged gasps as he ran, adrenaline pumping through his veins.

Behind him, the frog shooters let out a series of menacing croaks, their tongues darting out like whips. Bell's fear surged as he heard the wet, slapping sound of their tongues cutting through the air, their long appendages aiming for him.

In his panic, Bell's foot snagged on a protruding tree root, sending him crashing face-first into the dirt. He scrambled to get up, but before he could, one of the frog shooters lunged at him. Its long, sticky tongue shot out with lightning speed, wrapping around his waist and lifting him off the ground.

Bell's eyes widened in horror as he was hoisted into the air. The world spun around him as the frog shooter's grip tightened. He was thrown violently against a tree trunk, the impact sending waves of pain through his body. The monster swung him around, slamming him into the ground and crashing him into the surrounding trees with frightening force.

"This is bad, really bad!" Bell grunted, trying to focus through the haze of pain and fear. The frog shooter's relentless grip made it difficult to think clearly. The monster's swinging motion was like being tossed in a wild ride, and Bell struggled to regain his bearings.

Desperately, Bell reached for the knife strapped to his hip. His fingers fumbled as he managed to unsheathe it, but the knife felt heavy and awkward in his trembling hand. He tried to stab at the monster's tongue, but the blade seemed to slide off the tough, slimy surface.

"Come on, come on!" Bell gasped, his voice strained. He could feel the bruises forming where the tongue constricted around him. The frog shooter's grip was unyielding, and Bell's strength was waning.

In a sudden burst of clarity, Bell noticed a less dense part of the tongue. Summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, he shifted the knife's angle and aimed for this vulnerable spot. His breaths came in sharp bursts, and his heart pounded with a mix of fear and determination.

"I won't… give up!" Bell gritted through his teeth. The adrenaline surging through him gave him a fleeting burst of energy. He jabbed the knife with all his might, and finally, the blade pierced through the tongue's surface. The frog shooter let out a startled croak, its grip weakening.

Bell dropped to the ground, panting heavily. He was barely able to catch his breath when another frog shooter seized the opportunity. As he scrambled to his feet, the second monster's tongue lashed out, wrapping itself around his chest and lifting him up again.

"No, not again!" Bell cried out, his voice breaking with panic. He was swung around once more, the force of the impact making him lose his grip on the knife. It fell from his hand and clattered to the ground, just out of reach. His vision blurred as he was slammed against the ground, thrown into trees, and tossed through the air.

"No! This can't end like this!" Bell thought. "Not before I reach Orario!" His mind raced as the crushing grip of the Frog Shooter tightened around his chest. The pain was excruciating, and his breath came in short, ragged bursts. The Frog Shooter's tongue constricted tighter, and Bell's voice broke into a high-pitched scream of agony. "KYAAAAAAAAA!"

Tears of pain streamed down his face as he was tossed and slammed repeatedly. The forest around him seemed to blur, the world a chaotic whirlwind of pain and fear. Bell tried to focus, struggling to think of a way out, but the relentless grip of the frog shooter made it nearly impossible to concentrate.

As the frog shooter's grip tightened, Bell's mind raced with a mix of pain and despair. His thoughts became a jumble, punctuated by the relentless assault on his body.

"I'm sorry, Grandpa," he thought, his vision swimming with tears and pain. "I... I couldn't keep my word. I promised I'd become a hero, to make you proud. But now… I don't know if I can even survive this."

His breath came in gasps as the crushing pressure around his chest made every inhale a struggle. "I thought I was ready for this… That I could handle it. But here I am, getting thrown around like a ragdoll. It was not supposed to end like this,"

The crushing grip around his chest became unbearable. With each painful squeeze, Bell's breath grew shallower until it felt like he couldn't draw air at all. His vision dimmed, his consciousness slipping away as the darkness began to close in.

"I'm sorry, Grandpa," he croaked out loud one last time, his voice barely audible as the darkness enveloped him. His final words were a desperate plea, a final regret before everything faded to black.

Just as the darkness was about to claim him completely, Bell's body was suddenly dropped to the ground. His lungs gasped for air as he lay there, struggling to breathe through his teary eyes. The pain was still there, but now it was overshadowed by a different kind of shock.

Through the blur of his vision, Bell saw a white-haired figure move with swift grace. The figure was a blur of motion, charging into the fray with a fierce determination. Bell's eyes, stinging with tears and relief, followed the figure as it slashed through the frog shooters with effortless skill.

The figure's movements were almost like a dance—elegant yet deadly. The frog shooters were quickly overwhelmed, their attacks futile against the figure's precise and powerful strikes. One by one, the monsters fell, their croaks and thrashes growing fainter until silence returned to the clearing.

Bell lay there, still gasping for breath but now trying to sit up, as the figure finished off the last of the creatures. The clearing, once filled with chaos, was now quiet, save for the soft rustle of leaves. The figure stood victorious, their bloodied sword gleaming in the dim light, the fallen monsters scattered around them.

As Bell's tear-blurred vision began to clear, he saw the figure approach him, their presence a beacon of hope amidst his despair. The overwhelming sense of relief mingled with the lingering pain, creating a powerful mix of emotions. Bell struggled to sit up, his body trembling, but he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of gratitude toward the mysterious savior.

When Bell managed to focus more clearly, he saw that his rescuer was a woman in her early twenties. Her white hair fell around her shoulders in a shimmering cascade, catching the last rays of the setting sun and casting a halo-like glow around her. She moved with an effortless grace as she approached, her presence bringing a sense of calm amidst the chaos.

Her eyes, a captivating shade of grey blue, held a serene depth, as if they had witnessed countless trials yet remained untouched by them. They reflected a calm authority and compassion that seemed to reach out to him, soothing his frayed nerves. Her face was beautifully symmetrical, with high cheekbones and a gentle, neutral expression that radiated both strength and elegance.

She wore a sleek, form-fitting outfit that combined elegance with practicality. Her attire consisted of a fitted black dress with silver accents, providing both mobility and grace. The dress was adorned with intricate patterns that glimmered faintly in the dim light. A black headband adorned her forehead, adding to her striking appearance. Her lower garment was a pair of fitted dark trousers that allowed for easy movement, complemented by sturdy black boots designed for traversing difficult terrain. A black belt cinched her waist, from which hung a beautifully crafted sword. The sword's hilt was decorated with delicate designs, and the blade itself gleamed with a deadly sharpness that had been used to vanquish the monsters.

Bell's breath caught in his throat as he took in the sight before him. He had never seen anyone quite like her—her beauty was mesmerizing, almost ethereal. Her presence seemed to command awe and respect, and he was momentarily stunned by the sheer grace and strength she embodied.

In his thoughts, Bell wondered if there were any stories where the hero was saved by a maiden like this one. The idea seemed almost too fantastical to be true, yet here he was, experiencing it firsthand. The lines between reality and the stories he had read began to blur as he grappled with his emotions.

She gently brushed a strand of white hair from her face, her movements fluid and precise. Her voice, though calm and measured, carried a soft, melodious quality. "Are you alright?"