“Walt! You’ve got a bite!”
Neneva shouted, pointing at the white float bobbing on the surface of the Poison Swamp. I must have been lost in thought while the fish was nibbling at the bait.
I flicked my wrist, snapping the rod upward. The rod flexed as it sliced through the air, and the line pulled taut. In that instant, a solid weight surged through the rod and into my arm.
Good, I’d hooked it.
The frantic energy of the fish struggling underwater throbbed through the rod. The wood arched into a deep curve, and the line let out a sharp, metallic creak. Murky water splashed as the fish thrashed near the surface, the sound echoing across the wetlands.
Keeping the rod high, I slowly shifted my weight back. I didn't fight the pull directly, instead focusing on maintaining enough tension to ensure it couldn't shake the hook.
The surface broke, revealing scales that glinted with a murky blend of silver and black—the dull, oily shine unique to creatures that matured within the Miasma of the Poison Swamp.
Gradually, the fish’s resistance began to fail until I was simply reeling it in.
I scooped the exhausted fish out of the water with a landing net and removed the hook. It stunk. It was a product of the Miasma of the Poison Swamp, after all; a foul stench was only to be expected.
Holding my breath, I dropped the fish into a pail filled with water.
“My turn,” Neneva said.
She had been sitting in one of the chairs we’d lined up along the shore, but now she stood and approached the pail. Fixing her eyes on the catch, she conjured a pale blue light in her right hand.
“Ha!”
The light spread across the water's surface before sinking in, enveloping the fish in a soft glow. The fish writhed as if it were choking, spitting out clouds of something black over and over again.
“That should do it. Old Man, dispatch the fish.”
This time, Graymond rose from his chair and stepped toward the pail. With his left sleeve rolled up, he gripped the fish and drove his knife into its skull. His movements were precise, executed without a hair’s breadth of error.
The fish convulsed several times and then went still. Graymond tossed it into a hemp bag with a practiced, detached air. The bag already held more than a dozen processed fish.
“Isn’t that enough for today?” Neneva asked.
“Indeed, Young Lady. Let us head back and start on lunch.”
Graymond shouldered the bag while Neneva grabbed the empty pail, and the two began the trek back toward the house.
I folded the three folding chairs we’d brought and tucked them under my arm. Their backs grew smaller as they walked away.
Several days had passed since I began my life with Neneva and Graymond in the mansion at the edge of the Poison Swamp within the Dusk Hollow Wetlands.
While developing new medicines in my capacity as an Herbalist, I was constantly searching for a way to change Neneva’s fate.
The “Prestigious Lineage” that had reportedly built that mansion was almost certainly the royal family of the Imuris Kingdom. Graymond had all but confirmed it with his subtle hints.
That meant Neneva was the Illegitimate Child of a royal, and her mother was being held by the state as a hostage to ensure Neneva’s compliance.
How could I possibly get close to her mother? I doubted Sasha or the Lizard Old Man would help me if I asked. There was no reward to be gained from saving Neneva, and those two didn't move without an incentive...
“Walt! What are you doing back there?!”
Neneva had stopped to look back at me, shouting my name while swinging the empty pail around.
“Coming!” I called back.
The mud clung to my boots, making every step feel heavy. It gave me the nagging illusion that I was slowly sinking. I wondered how Neneva managed to stay so cheerful in a place like this.
Is it because she still has hope?
Neneva’s birthday was fast approaching. I couldn't help but wonder what kind of Job she would be granted.
Treading through the same unanswerable questions, I followed them back to the mansion.
“Since Walt started helping out, the vegetables have tasted much better.”
“I agree completely,” Graymond added with a slight nod.
We were eating a stew of carrots, onions, and potatoes. This was our usual lunch.
In the center of the dining table sat a large pot of the boiled vegetables and a platter piled high with bread. We each helped ourselves, taking as much as we wanted onto our own plates.
“You’re so good with a hoe, Walt. Are you sure you weren't meant to be a Farmer?”
“Give me a break,” I grumbled.
My first Job actually was Farmer. Neneva’s observation was spot on. The vegetables harvested from the patches where I’d performed Soil Improvement and offered a Prayer of Abundance were objectively delicious.
Purifying the Miasma of the Poison Swamp was only half the battle; the rest was thanks to my Farmer skills, which were clearly still as sharp as ever.
“By the way, how is the new ointment working out?” I asked Graymond as he finished his meal.
Just yesterday, I’d processed some herbs from the surrounding swamp into a new ointment for him.
“Ah, it is excellent. My lower back doesn't hurt at all, and my entire body feels lighter.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
Graymond bowed his head to me once more.
“You really can do anything, can’t you, Walt?” Neneva chirped.
“You think so?”
“Yeah. Farming, cooking, fishing... and the other day you took down that Wolf Monster like it was nothing. You even shot those wild birds out of the sky with your bow.”
I’d been using my skills without giving it much thought, but now I wondered if I was being too conspicuous. I scanned their faces, but neither of them seemed suspicious. It was probably fine.
“I’m just a jack of all trades, master of none,” I said.
“Well, I’d rather be a master of none and filthy rich,” Neneva replied.
“What does that even mean?”
Neneva let her gaze drift toward the ceiling, lost in thought. She was likely thinking about her Job.
There were only a few days left until her birthday.