The commission slip was heavy in Frieren’s hand, thick parchment marked with an absurd amount of zeroes. High pay always meant trouble. The kind that lingered. Fern noticed the pause immediately. Stark noticed the number.

“We need this,” Stark said, trying not to sound hopeful.

Frieren gave a small nod. Spell materials, travel costs, food—mundane things that never seemed to run out. The Adventurers’ Guild seal shimmered faintly, proof of urgency. A coastal town destroyed. A dangerous beast. Bring back its head.

—

The sea greeted them with stillness.

Too still.

The town by the shore was ruined—homes crushed inward, fishing boats shattered, stone walls torn apart as if pushed aside by something enormous. Yet there was no blood. No bodies. Only silence, and the steady rhythm of waves rolling in.

Fern frowned. “No casualties were reported.”

Stark tightened his grip on his axe. “Then what did this?”

They followed a soft sound—water splashing, light and careless.

At the edge of the sea sat a tiny figure.

A monster child.

They were small, barely reaching Stark’s knee, skin shimmering faintly like wet glass. They laughed as they scooped seawater with their hands, utterly absorbed in their game. No hostility. No fear. Just curiosity when they finally noticed them.