Chapter 10: Sanctuary Forest (3)

Fog fiends came in every shape imaginable, hailing from countless different worlds. Their powers and traits varied wildly, but they shared one crucial feature.

That thin layer of gray mist clinging to their bodies—the very thing that gave them their name.

That mist was their ultimate defense. A barrier between dimensions. It granted them unconditional protection, functioning without pause. All forms of attack by the people of Yardelan were rendered ineffective by it. Punches and kicks, blades and axes, strangulation and burial, fire and ice, magic—even force-feeding them poison. All of it would be nullified by the mist. Even drowning them was useless. Though fog fiends appeared to breathe, they didn’t seem to require air. The mist kept their bodies functioning regardless.

The only somewhat effective tactic was ‘restraint.’ While attacks couldn’t harm them, they could still be physically touched. If people could make contact, then so could ropes, chains, and cages. Capturing them with snares or pinning them under boulders—these things worked, though they couldn’t kill them.

‘Restraint’ might have been viable in the short term, but it wasn’t a long-term solution. Tying up every monster during an assault was impossible. And it wasn’t realistic to contain fog fiends forever. If they couldn’t be wounded—couldn’t be killed—then all resistance was ultimately futile.

But now, the facts were undeniable. We, the ones from another world, could hurt them.

Whenever we attacked, mist also formed around us. And that mist—ours—seemed to cancel out the gray mist that protected the fog fiends. A punch would work; the mist wrapped around the fist. A weapon worked too; the mist gathered at the blade’s edge. Even ranged attacks were valid; throw a stone or a knife, and the mist would cling to it. Fire also worked; the mist would mix with the flames, burning through their so-called invincibility.

Each of us tried it. The results were the same across the board. At the chieftain’s suggestion, we even performed other tests.

I stabbed my sword into the lizardman’s body. Where the tip touched its skin, its gray mist was neutralized. I held the position, and Jols brought another sword down, aiming at the same spot—the small zone where the gray fog had dissipated.

It didn’t work.

Jols’s sword was repelled.

Only I could still hurt it. It became clear this nullification of the mist only worked for Earthlings. Even with our aid, Yardelanians couldn’t deal damage.

There was another experiment too. With my consent, Jols punched Mizan square in the shoulder. 

The result? Mizan winced and rubbed his arm.

We couldn’t help but laugh. So no, unlike fog fiends, we didn’t have invincibility in this world. We could be hit, stabbed, and fall flat like anyone else.

One last observation: the monsters’ mist was always gray, but ours differed in color.

Mine was a deep navy blue—almost black—with a heavy, solemn air. Felice’s was silvery-white with a tinge of violet. Jelena’s was a reddish-orange with a hint of brown. Mizan’s was teal. Rena’s, bright pink.

And Booker—

“Don’t. Everyone just shut up.”

“…”

“…”

“Please. I get it. Just do me a favor and don’t say it, fuck.”

“…”

“Let’s just keep it silent, okay?”

Booker’s face was a thundercloud. The five of us exchanged glances.

Then Mizan spoke.

“Shit-brow—”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up! Ochre! Call it ‘ochre,’ at least!”

“Ochre sounds earthy and dull. Might as well just call it sh—”

“I said enough already!”

“What’s the big deal, Uncle Booker? It’s just a color. You shouldn’t label people by it.”

That last line came from the youngest, Rena, puffing out her cheeks and placing her hands on her hips.

“Cheer up! We’re gonna be world-saving heroes from now on! No time to be sulky!”

“You precocious little imp. Wait, speaking of saving the world…”

It was like someone had doused us in cold water.

If this conversation kept going down that road, we, a bunch of total amateurs, would end up heading into battle with monsters.

“Um, Chieftain?”

Jelena spoke carefully.

“Maybe we’re the only ones who can help this world, but… aside from hurting those monsters, we don’t have any special powers. And, sorry if this sounds heartless, but we don’t have any obligation to help.”

Silence fell instantly.

The rotted-face villagers, who had just been celebrating, froze.

Hundreds of eyes turned on us, unblinking. It was suffocating.

“She’s right,” Mizan added. “If we’d volunteered for this, that’d be one thing. But we didn’t. None of us chose this. We were just going about our lives and then, bam, your god yanked us here. You could call it kidnapping.”

“Exactly!” Booker jumped in. “Sorry, old man, but there’s no way we can meet your expectations. If you’re victims, then so are we—fucking victims! Snatched from home and thrown into this hellhole, nearly dying right out the gate. How the fuck is anyone supposed to take that?!”

“…” Felice didn’t say a word, but her gaze toward the villagers was icy.

“Hey, that’s enough. Stop.”

I stepped in quickly to cut them off. Around us, the villagers’ expressions were starting to shift—from awe to confusion. If my companions kept lashing out, who knew what might happen? Desperation could make people dangerous.

“…”

Even the chieftain seemed to hesitate. He looked down, silent. Jols stepped forward, troubled, but the chieftain raised a hand and stopped him.

“I understand. I see now what your situation is.”

He sighed. His already aged face seemed to wither another ten years.

“You’re victims too. I see that now. It was God’s will that brought you here, not your own. You are not obligated to help us. That is true.”

“But, Chieftain!” Jols tried to speak.

“Silence.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Everything you said is reasonable. To force untrained civilians to fight is indeed reckless. So let me promise this: I will never force you to fight. Whether or not you choose to help is entirely up to you.”

Booker muttered, “Now that’s more like it,” and the others all looked visibly relieved. 

But my sense of unease only grew. There was something behind those words.

“However…”

The tone shifted.

“I understand you. I won’t compel you. But the god of this world may not be so merciful.”

His eyes gleamed with a piercing depth, the kind of gaze only someone who had lived through countless ordeals could wield. Instantly, we all fell silent again.

“Your greatest wish right now is to go home, yes? Back to your own world?”

“Of course! So hurry up and—”

“Hurry up? Hurry up and what, exactly?”

“…!”

“It was the god who summoned you, not me. I know no more about this than you do. And I certainly don’t have the power to send you back.”

“…”

“There is no lie in my words. This world has never known a magic capable of crossing between dimensions. That is the realm of gods alone. A miracle. Only the one who brought you here can send you home. We have no means to help you.”

“…”

Everyone’s expressions soured. Booker leapt forward, furious, but I stopped him with a hand.

Let me be the one to say it.

“So in other words, Chieftain, the only one who can send us back is the god.”

“That is correct.”

“And this world, Yardelan, is overrun by fog. The god summoned us here, ultimately, to clean up that mess.”

“Indeed.”

“That’s the task we’ve been given: ‘Save Yardelan from the scourge of the fog.’ Unless we complete it, we’re stuck here.”

“Exactly.”

“So…”

I drew a deep breath.

“We don’t have a choice. If we want to go home, we can’t run or hide. We have to fight the fog fiends. Whether it’s under the banner of justice or just to survive and return home, our only path is battle.”

The chieftain looked genuinely apologetic.

“Yes, Mr. Zhou Yuhong. I understand it may feel unfair… but this is the reality. I sympathize, truly, but I am powerless to change it.”

“…”

At that point, I had made up my mind.

From here on, our relationship with the rotted-face people would be equal. Our interests aligned; they sought to end the fog; we sought to go home.

Which meant—

“In that case, I trust we won’t have to worry about housing, equipment, or support?”

“But of course. Whatever you require, we will do everything in our power to provide.”

The chieftain bared his teeth in a grin. I returned it with a slightly awkward one of my own.

I’d made up my mind.

Looks like there’s no avoiding it; we mortals would have to slay monsters. I was mentally prepared. Whether I liked it or not, this was how it had to be. And honestly, watching these people suffer without cause left a bitter taste in my mouth. Still, this path was dangerous. I couldn’t force the others to follow me.

“Hey, everyone—”

“This is great! Super cool!”

Before I could say more, Rena blurted out again. Her eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Heroes fighting monsters to save the people. Just like in fairy tales! C’mon, let’s help them! They really do look so pitiful!”

Her childish innocence left the rest of us speechless. But we weren’t stupid. We all knew by now: fighting was inevitable. All that remained was to decide whether to accept it.

“I agree,” I said. “We all have the same interests. I say we commit to the battle.”

“Alright, I’m in,” Mizan nodded.

“Doesn’t look like we have much choice.” Jelena sighed.

“Oi, oi, you guys… Tch, fine, fine! Fuck! This lordly bastard agrees too,” Booker relented.

“…”

Felice looked at me. For some reason, her gaze was unfocused. She opened her mouth… then closed it again, and finally just nodded.

“Then it’s settled!”

Rena bounced up to the chieftain, completely unfazed by his rotting skin, and grabbed his hand.

“Don’t worry, Grandpa Chieftain! We’re companions now! We’ll totally save everyone, just like heroes in a story!”

That was her promise.

And her smile was without a single shadow.

***

I awoke in a dim haze.

My groggy mind snapped to clarity in under a second. My eyes flew open. My left hand reached instinctively toward the gun holster at my chest, while my right clutched the hilt of the straight-edged short blade planted beside me. A searing pain tore through my right shoulder, but I ignored it on reflex and drew the blade, holding it defensively in front of me.

“Easy, Yuhong. The operation’s over.”

A woman’s voice caught my attention. She’d apparently been at my side the whole time I was unconscious. Only now did I notice my condition—bandages wrapped around nearly every part of my body, and a dull ache throbbed through every joint and limb.

“What time is it?”

“Just past two hours since you took down that big one. The fog’s starting to clear.”

“And the others?”

“Gone. They pulled back the moment things got serious, left you to hog the spotlight. Classic move, really.”

“Spare me the sarcasm.”

I shifted slightly. It hurt. Everything hurt. But it was within tolerable limits. 

My internal organs seemed intact—at worst, lightly bruised. No signs of internal bleeding. The mist seeping from the back of my left hand wasn’t behaving abnormally either. I was still in fighting shape. If any remaining fog fiends showed up, I could handle them.

“You really should rest. Your body’s about to give out.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

“Please. You’ve been muttering in your sleep for two hours. That’s a pretty clear sign of mental overload.”

“Muttering?”

What had I said?

Did I dream?

I think I did. But now that I’m awake, I can’t remember a thing.

“You kept repeating stuff like… ‘Seems like we really didn’t have a choice,’ and, ‘Rena was right, better to accept reality,’ and, ‘I’ll be counting on you for a while, Chieftain.’ Sounds like you were dreaming about things from a long time ago.”

“…”

More than just a long time ago.

Those memories had long since been stuffed into the corner of my mind, labeled ‘Never Bring Up Again.’

Rena…

Even just thinking her name—something I hadn’t done in so long—twisted my chest with pain.

Back then, when we first arrived, I knew nothing. None of us did. Not even the rotted-face villagers. We were all too naive, clinging to some childish ideal of “defeating monsters and saving the world.” Still hoping for a better tomorrow.

We had no idea what kind of hell was waiting for us.

I remember how she died with perfect clarity.

She was the first to fall after we resolved to fight. The first death I witnessed with my own eyes.

Even though I have now passed through countless hells—fought cultists, dueled sharpshooters, tangled with the undead, faced dragons head-on, and even challenged an entire World War II fleet alongside that bastard Lazell—whenever I think back to those unbearable early days, a chill still runs through me.

Many have died. But more are still alive.

And their presence reminds me, every moment of every day, that I have to keep fighting.

That time for rest is nowhere in sight.

Maybe,

The moment I finally die,

That’ll be the only time I can truly rest?

But that can’t happen. Mustn’t happen. Isn’t allowed to happen. As long as there’s still someone standing behind me,

I cannot fall.

This is my vow.

A curse I chose to carry.