CHAPTER THREE: The Road to Jozen and the Girl with Guild Dreams.

Dirt Road, South of the Southern Gate to Jozen  - Afternoonish?

There are many dignified ways to arrive at a city.

Some ride in on noble steeds, shimmering in enchanted armor. Some arrive in caravans, trailing the scent of spices and gold.

Others, the elite few, descend from the clouds in dragon-shaped airships, heralded by trumpets and divine tax exemptions.

Me?

I waddled.

Barefoot. Still a frog. With a bindle slung over one shoulder and a hat that smelled faintly of mildew and crushed dreams.

“Is this... moss-braised tumbleweed or a fungus with commitment issues?”

I muttered aloud, poking at a sketch in Frogustus’s journal.

I had been flipping through pages for the past half hour as I trudged along the winding dirt path that led to the southern gate of Jozen. It was slow going. Both because I stopped to read every few meters, and because my legs were only marginally longer than extra large soup spoons.

I muttered as I walked, reading entries at random:

"Avoid boiled Emberfruit unless you're hoping for spontaneous emotional confession. Side effects may include weeping, over-apologizing, and sudden marriage proposals. Proceed with caution Pg. 66."

“Wyrmroot Soup: pairs well with regret and stale bread. Not recommended before duels nor tax audits.Pg 32."

He was insane. Brilliant, possibly, but definitely insane.

I turned the page again - this one was dedicated to various insults for nobility.

“‘Filthy purse liches’... heh, that’s actually not bad.”

I was so absorbed that I didn’t notice the massive shadow looming until I walked directly into it.

And by “into it,” I mean into a thigh the size of a beer barrel.

The man - no, the mercenary boulder with a pulse - looked down at me, scowling through a tangled nest of beard and scars. He wore a greatsword strapped to his back and enough iron plating to qualify as a mobile armory.

I stepped - hopped - back.

He stepped forward.

“Well well,” he grunted, voice like gravel in a wine glass.

 “Another weird, dirty little beast trying to cut the line eh?”

“Oh, no - no no, I’m just, uh... admiring your kneecaps. Really lovely architecture...heh...so...um...wide."

He frowned harder. “You mocking me, frog?”

Okay, fun fact: when someone that large asks if you're mocking them, you’re already in trouble. I clutched my journal and prepared to die again.

Maybe this time I'd come back as moss. At least moss doesn’t owe rent or can walk.

I slid my hand to my sword...

But before my life could flash before my eyes (again), a voice called out - 

“Ah- Um...Excuse me! He’s with me!”

Both of us turned. Further up the winding queue stood a young woman, waving in our direction.

She looked... normal.

Which, in this world of magic-touched madness, made her absolutely glow. A soft breeze seemed to wave through her Chestnut-brown hair, tied in a messy braid. Soft hazel eyes. Boots worn from real walking, not style. Her clothes were practical and patched - likely homespun - but clean. And she wore the smile of someone who hadn’t given up on people yet. She was beautiful.

The mercenary blinked, grunted, and backed off with a shrug. I did not question the miracle.

She waited as I hurried up to her in my full frog-hobo glory.

“You alright?” she asked, warm concern in her voice. 

"He didn’t squish you or anything, did he?”

“No, no squishing. Just a near-death experience. You know...makes the day spicy.”

She laughed. She laughed. That was new. It was delightful.

“I’m Mira,” she said. “You looked a little... lost.”

"Not at all..."

She stared at me, face borderline between amusement and concern.

“That obvious?”

“You were reading a book while walking in a straight line - right into a man with a visible murder rating.”

“Ah. Right...that.”

And so began our conversation - me, Frogustus J. Scrapper (name recently crafted, body stolen, dignity pending), and Mira, a venturing scholar from the rural provinces of Jozen.

She told me she was heading into the kingdom centre to join the Doctors’ Guild, a prestigious medical order that taught advanced healing - both magical and mundane. Her village couldn’t afford trained physicians, so she intended to return home one day, establish her own branch, and make sure nobody else in her town had to die from a dirty splinter.

“Let me get this straight,” I said, peeking up at her as the line shuffled forward. “Your plan is to become a professional healer… for poor people?"

“Yes,” she said simply, with zero irony.

“Are you aware that such behavior may result in being arrested for treason against the rich?" I joked.

She snorted. “Well, I’d just heal them too. Probably.”

Gods. She was nice. Like, dangerously nice. 

The type of person who would've Daiki would've loved. Gentle, honest and a burning desire to help...and here was I.

As the day wore on, we kept chatting. She didn’t seem fazed by the whole frog thing, which was either an act of supreme politeness or some kind of rural tolerance I’d never heard of.

I told her I was a wandering cook, which wasn’t technically a lie. She was fascinated.

“Oh, you’re Eastern frogfolk then?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Yes...that's what I am?”

“I knew it! A bit rare around these parts, mostly found down in South Rica. I'm suprised you made it out here with all the tension bubbling down south. Oh look, you’ve got the glimmer lines in your skin - see?”

She gently pointed to the faint blue iridescent streaks along my arms. I hadn’t noticed. Huh.

"Wait tension?" I said, my mind racing.

"Yes, Royal speakers say that there's high tensions. It should quit soon though - I mean there always is. Knight and their swords - a bit of sparring and it'll all resolve." 

Glorious. Tensions...

“So there’s more of me...around here?” I asked.

“Totally. Probably. You're the first, I've seen. Though I doubt they wear hats like that.”

“Rude. This hat is the only thing holding my brain in.”

We laughed, the kind of easy laughter that makes you forget you died in front of a gas station last week.

By nightfall, the line had ground to a halt. Some bureaucratic mess with the gate - surprise, surprise. Mira and I set up a modest camp just off the road with some others.

She offered her travel rations: root vegetables, dried herbs, and a single onion with a suspicious ambition.

“So..." she started, licking her lips.

"Do you want to try cooking something?” she asked, handing me the bundle. Her eyes wide.

Ah. She's a foodie

I looked at the book.

Frogustus had dozens of recipes marked as “safe,” “mostly edible,” or “non-lethal when boiled.”

“...Yeah,” I said.

 “Let’s see what’s for dinner.”

Frogustus’s Forager Stew (Page 18)

"A simple dish for cold nights, empty pockets, and warm fires."

Ingredients: root veg(s), onion, clean water (optional), salt (wishful thinking), and one secret touch (F.M.S - secret technique- Pg. 207.)

If you can’t make it taste like home, then make it taste like hope. 

- F.M.S

I stirred the pot slowly, the smells of earth and broth mixing with firewood and evening air. Just before it finished cooking, I titled the pot - ever so slightly - and whispered, 

"you're - ahem - Souper?"

The pot shuddered. Gods...

It was a simple soup, but hearty. Comforting. Not poisoned.

We ate in silence for a moment, side by side near the flickering flames.

“It’s really good,. Hmm.” Mira said, surprised.

“It's...soup-er I guess.”

She laughed again, pulling her cloak tighter around her. Her eyes looked up - the stars danced across the night.

“You know,” she said softly,

“my dream is to open my own guildhouse back home. A real clinic and school. Doctors, nurses, herbalists. Studenrs A place where no one’s turned away - noble, royal, poor or broken. It'll be magnificent, it'll save lives."

I looked into my bowl.

What was my dream?

I had lived half my life, after Daiki, making excuses and the other half watching it crumble. Now I'm sitting here, by this fire, beside a kind stranger, sharing a stolen identity and soup...

I wasn’t sure yet.

But I did know one thing:

It’d be nice to do something that helped someone.

Even just once.

"Thank you Mira."

"For what Froggyman?"

Froggyman?

"For saving me - earlier."

"Well...that's what I'm all about, Doctor Mira - at your service."

As the stars emerged and the fire dimmed, I stretched out on the grass, the journal under my head like a lumpy pillow full of unsolicited advice.

Tomorrow, I’d face Jozen. A city I didn’t know. In a world I barely understood.

But tonight?

Tonight, I ate soup with a dreamer.

And for once, that was enough.

TO BE CONTINUED...                              CHAPTER 3: END