"…Probably not…" Weston replied uncertainly.
"Hmph! It's not like I haven't seen this kind of thing before. In situations like this, veteran players always try to use the newcomers. Don't trust them so easily. If they meant well, why wouldn't they share how they plan to survive? Maybe they're lying to us on purpose!"
The plump Weston, already weak with hunger, could hardly think straight—his stomach felt like it was devouring itself. His eyes remained fixed on the steaming fish soup in the wooden bucket, unable to resist swallowing hard. Hunger clouded his thoughts, drowning out Silas's words.
Seeing this, Silas clenched the last piece of chocolate in his hand, eyes flickering as he muttered casually, "Smells amazing, doesn't it?"
Inside the room, the walls of the lodge were thin. Erik could vaguely hear voices from the living room, but the rain muffled the words. She paid them no mind and continued chatting with Emery, explaining the basics.
"Points?" Emery asked, puzzled. "I remember you mentioned something—4444 points to resurrect, right?"
"Mm. Points can also be used to buy healing kits, as long as you're not completely dead…" Erik went on to explain how the kits worked. Since the storm made it impossible to go out, a little idle talk did no harm.
"No wonder you're not even worried about the food…" Emery trailed off awkwardly, glancing away.
Erik didn't mind—Emery was simply stating the truth.
When the explanation was over, Erik stood by the window, peering into the storm.
No villagers were outside. From this vantage point, the river was barely visible through the rain, and in the distance, she thought she saw a few small black specks.
Boats?
Fishing boats going out in this kind of downpour?
She lifted her binoculars. Indeed—three fishing boats were braving the storm, faint candlelight glowing through the misty veil of rain.
Night had already fallen. Where could they be going?
On the great river, the village chief led several able-bodied men through the storm to fish.
"We didn't catch enough this morning. We'll haul in another batch tonight so they can eat tomorrow."
"They returned just as the rain began. Looks like the Dragon King's already been informed."
The chief's brow furrowed deeply, and at those words, the crease grew even more pronounced. "They came from the river. What *doesn't* the Dragon King know?"
"The Dragon King sees all! Let's hope he's pleased with the offerings and blesses us with calm winds and timely rain."
"He *must* be satisfied. Why else would it rain? Now hurry—bring back a good catch of human-headed fish. Feed the sacrifices well so the Dragon King will be pleased!"
The river stretched wide, and it took the boats over half an hour to reach their destination.
There, they cast their nets into the central current.
Once they had caught enough human-headed fish, they turned back immediately without lingering. The river's heart was the Dragon King's domain—home to constant whirlpools stirred by his turning form. Anyone or anything caught in them was lost forever. Only during this time of year did they dare sail so far, and only with the Dragon King's tacit approval for ferrying offerings and harvesting the sacred fish.
If not for the fact that these human-headed fish appeared only during the three days before the April festival, and only before sunrise or after sunset, no one would risk traveling the river in such darkness.
The rain made lighting difficult, and they had to carefully shield their lanterns from the downpour.
At the prow of one boat, the village chief adjusted his straw hat. Through the hazy glow of candlelight and rain, he saw a second whirlpool forming near their earlier fishing spot. It grew rapidly, and he thought he saw the gleam of scales—of a tail—within.
His chest tightened like a hand had gripped his heart. Taking a deep breath, he turned away.
The boats docked. Villagers hefted their nets ashore. A small canopy provided shelter at the pier, its four corners lit by lanterns. Two wooden barrels sat underneath. Four women stood waiting. As the fishermen approached, the women stepped forward to receive the catch, carefully transferring the fish into the barrels.
*Bang! Bang!*
The fish thrashed violently, slamming against the sides of the barrels. One lid rattled loose, and a woman hurried to fasten it down with rope.
"Let's go—quickly. Deliver them now."
Two women took up the barrels while the others held umbrellas and lanterns, guiding their way. The men remained behind to care for the nets—prized possessions in the river village, handled with reverence.
Night blanketed the village. Only these fishermen and the four women were still moving through the rain-soaked streets.
The women walked in pairs, moving with silent coordination. They stepped cautiously through the night, clutching the barrels as though afraid to lose their precious contents.
No one noticed the figure hidden in the shadows.
Erik crouched in the dark, then flung several glass marbles onto the muddy path.
The marbles rolled beneath the women's feet. One woman stepped squarely on a marble, let out a startled cry, and fell.
*Crash!*
"Oh no—the fish!"
"Hurry, pick it up!"
The barrel toppled in the fall. The women dropped their umbrellas and lanterns, rushing to recover its contents.
In those few seconds, the barrel rolled, its lid jarred loose. A strange fish squeezed through the gap, flailing in the mud and rain.
The women reacted fast, grabbing it and shoving it back into the barrel. The shaking lanterns cast chaotic shadows—but in that moment, Erik got a clear look.
And froze.
A jolt of electricity shot up her spine. Her limbs went cold. She trembled.
What *was* that?
What *thing* had she just seen?
A fish—with a human head. A human head… with hair.
In that fleeting glance, she was certain—it even had facial features.
Suddenly, she understood the bizarre half-skull Brooks had discovered. It came from this: a strange, half-meter-long, slender fish with a grotesque humanlike head. The head looked like a person's, squashed at the ears. The nose was sharp. The mouth was a mere slit. The eyes—small, close together—were unnervingly human.
What *was* this thing?
"Oh, glass marbles! Which kid left these on the road?"
"Pick them up. Give them to the children at home."
"Save me one—those are rare these days…"
The women carried the barrels away. Erik followed at a distance.
They arrived at a stilted house and carried the barrels upstairs. Erik saw an elderly white-haired woman standing at the top, watching them leave. A boy—the same one she'd seen earlier—stood beside her, curiously eyeing the barrels.
The women dispersed to their homes. Darkness swallowed the street, save for a faint glow from the house ahead.
Using that flickering light, Erik crept closer. She slipped off her shoes, climbed the wet wooden stairs barefoot, each step cautious and quiet.
The rain masked the sound of her movement. She reached the platform and pressed her ear to the door.
"…Ah! Grandma, that's scary!"
"Scary? It's a gift from the Dragon King. Human-headed fish only appear these few days each year. Don't be afraid—watch carefully. Someday this task will be yours…"
"But Grandma, I'm scared…"
"Scared of what? Learn from me. It has to taste good—only then will the Dragon King be pleased. Only then will—sigh!"
In the kitchen, the old woman sighed but moved efficiently. With one clean motion, she severed the fish's head, tossing it into another basin.
It rolled and thudded against the side before settling. The boy clenched his fists and looked away in terror.
The delicious-smelling soup—they had all nearly eaten—had been made from this monstrous fish.
"Grandma, I've never seen this kind of fish before."
"I've only seen it a few times myself. You must live well—only once every twenty years do you get the chance… Sigh. Living too long isn't always a blessing…"
Hearing no more, Erik carefully made her way back to the players' lodge.
She was drenched to the bone. Emery rushed over. "Quick, change your clothes—you'll catch a cold!"
"Where are Brooks and Delilah?" Erik asked.
"They're not back yet."
When Erik spotted the boats heading out earlier, she had informed the others. Only Brooks and Delilah had agreed to scout with her.
At the ferry, they had split up to avoid drawing attention. Erik had followed the women; Brooks and Delilah must have kept watch on the fishermen.
Indeed, the two were tailing the fishermen.
After securing their nets, the men left the pier. Two broke off midway; Delilah followed them while Brooks shadowed the rest.
The fishermen weaved through rows of stilted houses and finally stopped before one unlike any other.
How could Brooks describe it? Standing tall amid the rain and dark, it loomed like a monster.
It was sack-shaped, its walls dotted with countless palm-sized windows. Through those narrow slits, a dull yellow light flickered. But it brought no warmth—only an icy chill to Brooks's chest.
The windows were too small for even a child to crawl through. The only entrance was a narrow staircase. After the villagers climbed up, Brooks carefully followed.
At the top was a squat wooden door, barely half a meter high. Above it hung a red lantern, its flickering glow adding to the building's eerie aura.
One villager stepped forward and knocked. Brooks clearly heard the latch being lifted.
Someone was inside.
There was a lock, too. They undid it and pulled away the chain before opening the door.
The villagers carried in the net, then quickly came out. Brooks crouched and listened. Murmured voices drifted from within, indistinct.
"…Go back…"
Brooks turned and slipped down the stairs the moment the door opened, vanishing into the shadows below.