Unique Encounter

The first thing that hit me was pain.

Not just a dull ache or a sharp sting—no, this was something else entirely. It felt like fire had seeped into my bones, burning me from the inside out, twisting, splintering, festering deep in my muscles.

Every breath a new torment, my thoughts drowned in a haze of agony. I tried to move—big mistake. Even the slightest twitch sent fresh waves of pain rolling through my ribs. My fingers barely responded, twitching uselessly against the cold stone floor. My body felt... wrong. Like it wasn’t mine, just a barely functional shell I was trapped in.

But then, through the suffocating fog of pain, something shifted. Awareness. Slowly, like the first hints of dawn creeping over the horizon. The blindfold was gone. The chains were gone. That should have been a relief, but instead, a strange, electric dread crept up my spine. Something flickered at the edges of my senses—a crackling energy, foreign yet familiar.

My foot.

My breath hitched as I forced my gaze downward. It was there. Whole. Perfect. Impossible. I curled my toes, half-expecting the illusion to shatter. But they moved. I remembered the moment I’d lost it—the blinding pain, the snap of bone, the wet tear of flesh, the sickening rush of warmth as my blood spilled out. That had been real. Undeniably real. And yet, here I was. Whole again. A cold shudder ran through me.

In the corner of my eye a strange figure is captured.

The nightmare in the shape of a woman. The creature that had worn Grilda’s face like a grotesque mask. She stood there, motionless, just watching me. My breath stalled, every muscle in my body screaming at me to run, to fight, to do anything but sit there, frozen.

My limbs trembled too violently. She didn’t attack. She just waited like the others undead creatures, waiting for a command. The dim light barely touched her, but it was enough to make out the details—cracked porcelain skin, glowing white eyes that held no emotion, the soft clinking of chains around her wrists as she tilted her head, ever so slightly.

She had healed me. She saved me.

A cold touch brushed against my arm, and my entire body jolted in response. A sharp inhale. A surge of something foreign shot through my veins—mana. The exhaustion, the emptiness, the unbearable weight dragging me down—it was gone. My body felt stronger, my mind clearer, the raw pain in my chest reduced to a dull throb. This wasn’t normal. Healing magic was one thing. Mana potions, another. But this? A direct transfer? That was supposed to be impossible. And yet, my foot was whole. My mana was back. And the realization of what that meant chilled me more than the pain ever could.

Now, the scent hit me. Thick. Metallic. Fresh.

I turned my head, stomach twisting before I even saw it. Lestor. Or at least, what was left of him. His body was in pieces, limbs bent at unnatural angles, torn apart with monstrous force. His insides were spilled across the floor, still steaming in the cold air. His head rested nearby, mouth twisted into a grotesque half-smile, like he had died laughing.

I swallowed hard, bile clawing its way up my throat. I had done this.

No. She had done this to protect me. My gaze snapped back to her, still standing, still silent, unreadable. A shiver ran down my spine.

What the hell are you?

I pressed my hands against the stone, forcing myself up. My legs trembled, weakness lingering despite whatever unnatural restoration had taken place. I glanced down at my chest. The wound was gone. In its place, an ugly scar—deep, raw-looking, a permanent brand of what had happened. A reminder that I had survived. Somehow. A slow, shaky breath escaped me.

"You’ve done enough," I murmured, the words barely a whisper. I didn’t even know if she understood. If she could understand. But she tilted her head, just a fraction. Acknowledging? Considering? I had no idea. "Rest now."

Dark mist curled around her, swirling like smoke caught in a breeze. Piece by piece, her form unraveled, dissipating into nothing, leaving only the faintest trace of something cold and unnatural in the air. The room was empty again.

I should have felt relieved. But I didn’t. There was just... nothing. A void where relief should have been. My hands moved on their own, searching through the wreckage, gathering what I needed. The Infernal Fang. The Frost Fang. Needles. My coat. The Ozymandias mask. I pulled the fur-lined hood over my head, fastening the cloak tight around my shoulders. The mask was heavy in my hands before I finally slid it into my pocket.

The scent of blood still lingered. Thick. Unforgiving.

I cast one last glance at the carnage behind me. Then I turned and left, not daring to look back.

***

The first thought that crossed my mind was to reach for the mask, to hide my face, to slip back into the safety of anonymity. But really, what was the point anymore? Ozymandias had a price on his head—I knew that well enough.

I let out a tired sigh and stepped out of the abandoned house, the very place where they had shattered me, making no attempt to conceal myself.

The air was thick with salt and sweat, the usual filth clinging to the streets of Cradena. The city thrived around me—merchants haggling, vendors shouting, laughter drifting through the humid air. It all felt distant, disconnected. Like I was an intruder in a place I no longer belonged. Maybe I didn’t belong anywhere after all…

Jester had told me I had a little time before Blackbeard’s crew figured out I was still breathing—enough, he had hoped, for me to grab my belongings from the inn. I kept my head low, weaving through the crowd. No one spared me a second glance. The only one who had ever truly seen my face beneath the mask was Lestor, and now he was...

I pushed the thought away before the image could claw its way back into my mind. I wouldn't gain anything by thinking about it.

Hunger gnawed at me, a sharp, hollow ache in my gut. Even conjuring water to drink with Aquapura had done nothing to ease the emptiness in my stomach. My limbs felt like lead, my breaths came in shallow gasps, but I pressed forward.

When I reached the inn, I slipped past the distracted attendant, a ghost moving through the bustling lobby. My room was exactly as I expected—ransacked, torn apart. They’d searched every corner, every crevice, stripping it bare. I feel no anger, no surprise. I just knelt by the wall, pressing my hand against the aged stone wall. Mana stirred at my touch, and with a faint flicker of Terraforma, the hidden compartment slid open. My gold. My Velmora staff.

I stared at them, exhaustion washing over me.

How the hell was I supposed to drag all this through the dark forest in my current state?

My hands moved on instinct—daggers secured, gold tied to my belt. The staff... I unfastened my coat, wrapping it tightly around the mana pearl embedded in the wood, masking its glow. Now, it looked like nothing more than a bundle of fabric tied to a stick. Just another worthless piece of junk.

A weight settled on my chest, pressing, suffocating. The room seemed smaller, the air heavier. Every moment I had spent in this city crashed down on me at once—every breath, every wound, every second of pain. I ran a hand over the scar on my chest, rough and raised beneath my fingers. A reminder. Proof that it had all been real. That the hopelessness, the despair, had not just been some passing nightmare. I forced the memories down, but they stuck to me like tar.

Schopenhauer once said the will to live is an irrational impulse, that people cling to life even when there’s no reason to. I didn’t know if I agreed. I didn’t even know why I was still standing, still breathing. But I forced myself to take another step forward. Even with everything I suffered I still want to live…

I needed to leave.

The window latch clicked softly as I pushed it open, the cool night air biting against my skin. The second floor wasn’t too high. I could make it across the rooftops, avoiding the busy streets. I’d be exposed if someone saw me jumping across the rooftops, but it would be quicker to get out of here that way.

A sliver of mana to my feet—just enough for a controlled burst of Ventocaptura. The wind lifted me, just barely enough to propel me upward. My body screamed in protest, every muscle aching, bones feeling like they’d turn to dust. But I landed, barely steady, on the sloping roof. I kept moving. Jump after jump, rooftop after rooftop. Every impact sent sharp jolts of pain through me, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

Jester had told me to head east, towards a place called Vandal. I had never heard of it. It didn’t matter at this point.

What did matter were his next words, the ones that had lodged in my brain like a splinter: Buy an elf slave.

Why? The thought made my stomach turn. I already despised necromancy—the way it twisted corpses into mindless soldiers, forcing the dead to move against their will. And now I was supposed to claim ownership over a living, breathing person? Another choice that dragged me further from whatever principles I had left.

I clenched my teeth, bile rising in my throat. But I didn’t question it. I didn’t have the energy for this…

The city lights faded behind me as I reached the dark forest’s edge. My body threatened to collapse, exhaustion wrapping around me like a vice. But I kept walking. Because there was nothing left to do but keep moving.

***

A full night had passed since I entered the Dark Forest, though calling it "restful" would be a lie. Every time I closed my eyes, Lestor’s face twisted its way into my dreams—his grin, the sound of tearing flesh, my own screams. I barely got any sleep, but at least no wolves tried to rip my throat out while I was vulnerable. Small victories.

Still, I wasn’t completely useless during the night. I managed to hunt a few flufftail rabbits—not the hardest prey, but enough to keep me from starving. Their meat was juicy once cooked, and while I ate, I collected some paralyzing fruits Valtheria once pointed out to me. Bitter, but effective.

That’s when I had an idea.

The needles I bought back in Cradena… If I coated them in the fruit’s juice, they could become silent, deadly weapons. So I squeezed the fruit, soaking the needles in its venom, and spent the rest of the night practicing my aim. Turns out, throwing needles isn’t as simple as flicking your wrist and hoping for the best. You need precision, control.

I had to figure out a way to push them forward with my mana—to guide them rather than just toss them. After hours of trial and error, I finally cracked it. By flowing mana through my fingertips in a wave-like motion, I could propel the needles at a greater speed, almost like a slingshot. By the time the first rays of sunlight cut through the forest canopy, I had refined it enough to be somewhat reliable.

It was a great way to clear my troubled head.

Yawning, I stretched, letting the morning light wash over me. For a brief second, I felt a pang of nostalgia. I used to wake up in a warm bed, with well-seasoned meals waiting for me at the mansion. Now, my reality was a cold forest floor, stale rabbit meat, and the constant threat of being hunted.

I wonder how the others are. The Dundragon family must’ve been shaken by the news of the Lachius family’s deaths. Arthur... he must be grieving the most.

The rustling of leaves snapped me back to the present. Footsteps—firm, deliberate, close.

I moved on instinct, scaling a tree and perching on a thick branch, watching the forest floor below.

Just a few meters away, a group of men walked through the underbrush.

"Are you sure he's here?" one of them muttered.

"Absolutely," the tallest one replied. He carried a massive axe on his back, his head completely bald and covered in scars. "Someone saw a kid jumping rooftops, heading this way. And last night, smoke was spotted in this area. He must’ve made camp nearby."

I recognized them. I saw them in Torak’s bar, playing cards. Mercenaries.

So the news had already spread. Not only did I survive, but now I had a bounty on my head.

I exhaled sharply, gripping the tree bark.

I wanted out of this cycle of death. I really did. But if these guys tried to kill me, I wouldn't hesitate to follow the law of nature—kill or be killed.

The bald one was obviously the frontliner, and the other two had bows. The archers would be easy enough to deal with, but the brute… if I didn’t take him out in one clean strike, he’d be a problem.

No. I wasn’t at full strength yet. I had to avoid fighting if I could.

Carefully, I climbed down, grabbed my staff, and bolted in the opposite direction. I ran until my lungs burned, until my legs felt like lead. Eventually, I collapsed against a tree, gasping for air.

"Shit..." I muttered under my breath, my hands trembling.

They were still after me. And at this rate, they always would be.

Just when I think I can finally have a moment of peace, rustling comes from a nearby bush. My body tenses instantly. I grab Velmora’s staff and turn toward the sound, ready to strike.

A flufftail rabbit jumps out.

My mouth nearly waters on the spot. The thing is massive—fat, well-fed, and covered in rich brown fur. A perfect meal.

Without hesitation, I cast Ventocaptura, but the damn rabbit dodges, its thick legs carrying it faster than I expected. I try again—nothing. It weaves effortlessly between my attacks, despite its plump size.

Looks like I’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way.

Moving slowly, I grip my staff tightly and creep toward it. The rabbit’s nose twitches, its beady black eyes locked on me. It knows I’m the predator.

I lunge—

And my face slams straight into the ground.

The earth beneath me suddenly crumbles, and before I can react, I’m falling.

“Shit—!”

Darkness swallows me. The drop is long—too long.

I’m going to splatter all over the cave floor.

Except… I don’t.

Instead of cold stone, I land on something soft.

Bouncy.

Like the finest mattress in the Lachius mansion.

I blink, trying to adjust to the pitch-black surroundings. I lift my hand and summon Lumius, a floating sphere of light flickering to life above my palm.

That’s when I see them.

Slimes.

Everywhere.

The walls, the ceiling, the floor—dozens of gelatinous creatures in all colors. A hidden nest, deep beneath the Dark Forest.

And the thing I landed on?

A massive slime. Easily the size of a double bed, maybe bigger. Its body is a pinkish-crimson hue, slightly translucent, and as the light from Lumius reflects off it, I notice something.

Two small black dots near the top of its form—Which I guess it's the eyes.

“Are you going to get off me or not?”

I freeze.

The voice is thin, almost childlike, and it echoes through the cave. But there’s no one else here.

I slowly lift myself off the slime, landing on the ground.

“Ooh, thanks!”

The massive slime shifts, its jiggling form turning toward me. The black dots I assume to be its eyes blink—if that’s even possible for a creature like this.

"Are you a friend or a foe?"

I keep my hands close to my daggers, just in case. "I didn’t come here looking for a fight, if that’s what you mean."

The slime vibrates with excitement. "Oh! So you’re a friend then?"

"I… guess?"

"Yay! That means we’re best friends now! What’s your name, buddy?"

I narrow my eyes. "Castiel."

The slime bounces so hard the entire cave trembles. "Castiel? That’s a beautiful name!"

"Hey—calm down!" I snap as Lumius flickers under the shaking.

The slime immediately shrinks, its entire form compressing as if trying to make itself smaller. "Ah, sorry… I just got really happy! I’ve never had a friend before…"

I sigh, already running out of patience. "Look, relax, okay? I have a few questions for you."

"Ooooh! A question? This is the first time someone’s ever asked me something!" The slime wiggles happily. "Since you’re my best friend, I’ll answer anything!"

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "How are you able to speak human language?"

The slime bounces in place. "Because I’m special! Unlike normal slimes, I can mimic human vocal cords!"

That makes sense, in a weird way. But it doesn’t explain everything.

"That still doesn’t explain how you know human language," I point out.

The slime tilts slightly, as if thinking. "Hmm… Dunno! I was just born knowing stuff! Numbers, words, the world—I just knew!"

Born with knowledge? That’s… unsettling.

"Why are you different from other slimes?" I ask, my curiosity growing. "And why are there so many slimes in this cave instead of the plains?"

"You sure ask a lot of questions, friend Castiel!" the slime giggles. "But I’ll answer ‘cause I’m a great friend! The truth is… I don’t know why I’m different. I was just born like this!"

"As for the other slimes," it continues, "they live here ‘cause this cave is full of Fluxicles! It’s like… free food! So they stay here and eat all they want!"

Fluxicles… that explains it. I’d sensed something strange about this forest the moment I arrived. Turns out, beneath it is a mana-rich environment that supports unique lifeforms.

I cross my arms. "Then my guess is that you’re an anomaly. A Unique Monster."

The slime tilts again. "Oooh, that sounds fancy! Does that mean I’m super strong?"

"Probably," I mutter. "Unique Monsters are clearly different from normal ones. You have intelligence, speech… even a personality. That’s not normal."

The slime wobbles, looking pleased with itself. "Hehe! I am special!"

"Right. Well, thanks for the info, but I should get going." I glance up at the hole I fell through, already preparing to use Ventocaptura burst to escape.

"Wait—!"

I pause as the slime suddenly deflates, its entire body slumping like a punctured balloon.

"You’re leaving?"

"Yeah. I have things to do."

"But…" The slime quivers. "I don’t wanna be alone…"

I exhale slowly. "You live here, don’t you?"

"Uh-huh…"

"Then what’s the problem?"

The slime wiggles uncomfortably. "It’s dark… and cold… and really lonely. And… And you’re my only friend…"

I clench my jaw.

I am not traveling with a giant, overly excitable slime. I would practically have to babysit this thing and there is no guarantee that it won't attack me.

"No."

The slime wobbles. "B-but I—"

"I don’t have time to babysit," I say firmly.

The cave falls silent. The slime stays still, its form barely shifting.

Then—

A soft sniffle.

Wait.

Is it… crying?

I rub my temples. "Look, I—"

Before I can finish, the slime suddenly launches itself forward, its entire form squishing against my leg.

"Please don’t leave me alone!"

I stiffen.

This thing was born alone. It’s never had a companion, never had anyone to talk to. It knows so much, yet it’s still just… a child.

I sigh in defeat.

"Fine. Do whatever you want."

The slime trembles. "R-really?!"

"Yeah, sure. Just don’t slow me down."

The slime bounces so high it nearly hits the ceiling. "YAY! I won’t slow you down! I promise!"

I stare at it.

Great.

What the hell did I just get myself into?

***

In nature, there’s this thing called imprinting, mostly seen in birds, where the first thing a hatchling sees becomes its parent in its mind.

If I had to guess, I’d say that’s exactly what happened with this slime. It latched onto me way too quickly. Maybe because it’s always been alone, with no one like it to talk to? Or maybe it’s just how it is. I really don’t know…

After climbing out of the hole, we were greeted by an overcast sky, thick with rain clouds. The wind rustled the trees, carrying a strange sense of peace despite everything. I sat down against a tree, and the slime plopped itself right beside me.

“Say, slime… are you sure you want to come with me? This isn’t just a stroll through the woods. I’m being hunted. There are people out there who want me dead.”

The slime’s black eyes widened slightly, tilting its gelatinous form as if curious. “Why are they after you?”

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry as memories of that night flashed through my mind. “Because… I killed some slave traders and freed their captives. I went against the underworld.”

The slime let out a long “hmmmm,” its body wobbling slightly as it seemed to process my words. Then, with an enthusiastic bounce, it said, “But slavery is bad, right? If you stopped bad people and saved innocent ones, doesn’t that make you a hero?”

I let out a small, dry chuckle. Not one of amusement, but of something closer to exhaustion. “It’s not that simple... I killed people. I erased their existence with my own hands. A hero wouldn’t do that.”

“You still saved lives, didn’t you?” it said, its voice as cheerful as ever.

I sighed. I guess I couldn’t expect something like morality from a sentient blob. To the slime, human life seemed as simple as erasing numbers on a chalkboard. Even though, deep down, I agreed that freeing those slaves was the right thing to do, I couldn’t ignore the fact that I had taken lives. Maybe my sense of morality was different because I came from another world… but in this one, life seemed to have no real value.

Sensing the shift in my mood, the slime wobbled closer, trying to spark up another conversation. “Hey, Castiel… do you have a dream?”

That question caught me off guard.

A dream…?

I’d never really thought about it before. In my old life, my only dream as a child was to make the world a better place and become a superhero. Now, in this world, I wanted to get rid of cruel people like Blackbeard and his crew… And the ones responsible for my family’s murder.

“I guess…” I muttered, staring up at the dark clouds. “To change the world for the better.”

As I start to speak, Jester’s words creep back into my mind. How I contradict myself. How I never truly valued the second chances I was given.

“I guess… I just want to live a life without regrets. To know that, in the end, I mattered to someone—that I helped, even if it was just a few people.”

The slime lets out a long hum, wiggling slightly. “Got it! Then I’ve decided, I wanna travel with you!”

I raise an eyebrow. “Really? And what exactly can you do to help me? What are your skills?”

It presses against my hand, his gelatinous body warming up slightly. “I can control magma and anything related to heat! Plus, I’ve got some unique abilities—Compression, Devour, Unlimited Storage…”

I blink. “Wait, what?”

Seeing my confusion, the bubbly little slime eagerly explains:

Manipulation: He can change his size however he wants. The bigger he gets, the more energy—Fluxicles, he burns.

Devour: Lets him absorb and break down inanimate objects.

Internal Storage: A complementary skill to Devour, giving him near-infinite space to store things inside his body. It sounds a lot like an inventory system from a video game.

On top of all that, he can literally turn his body into molten lava.

Even with those abilities, I doubt he’s that overpowered. The books I read back at the mansion talked about unique monsters, and they were all far stronger than normal creatures. Regular slimes can only use the four common elements—fire, water, earth, and wind. But unique slimes seem to be exceptions, capable of more specialized elemental control, like this slime’s magma abilities.

“And that’s not all!” slime wobbles excitedly. “I also have the Mimic ability. That’s how I can copy human vocal cords and talk!”

His body suddenly shifts, molding and stretching like clay—until I find myself staring at… myself.

Black hair, tired purple eyes, pale skin, dark coat… It’s been weeks since I last saw my own reflection, and the sight of him—me—makes my stomach twist. The contrast between the boy from the mansion and whatever I’ve become is… unsettling.

“Okay, I get it.” I look away, uncomfortable. “Now, promise me you’ll never turn into me again. That was disturbing.”

The slime giggles before bouncing back into his usual round, pinkish-crimson form. “Hehe! See? I’m strong, right?”

I sigh. “Yeah… I take it back. You will be useful.”

If nothing else, having a living storage system means I won’t have to carry my stuff everywhere. Maybe this little guy won’t be such a bad companion after all.

That thought brings up another question. “Ah… Hey. You never told me your name.”

At that, the slime shrinks into himself, his normally bouncy form deflating like a popped balloon. “I… don’t have one.”

Something tightens in my chest. My fingers twitch.

Could it be…? No. That’s ridiculous. There’s no way this slime is a reincarnated soul like me. I shake the thought away and force a smile, though it probably looks more unsettling than reassuring.

“Well… I could give you one if you want.”

Slime’s black, beady eyes brighten—just for a second. It reminds me of a child getting a long-awaited present.

“Really?! You’d do that for me?”

I tap my chin, thinking. Round, squishy, sweet personality…

The first thing that comes to mind is—

“Mochi. How about Mochi?”

Before I can react, he launches himself onto my lap, bouncing excitedly.

“Oooooh! Mochi, Mochi, Mochi!” He keeps repeating the name like he’s savoring it. “I don’t know what it means, but it sounds cute! I love it!”

I chuckle. “Alright, Mochi. Tomorrow morning, we head for Vandal. Hope you’re ready to pull your weight.”

And just like that, I gained a new companion.

I can’t help but wonder if this was part of that damned clown’s plan all along.

But… as long as Mochi proves useful, I suppose I can put up with his childish ways.

For now.