Chapter 320: The End of a Swampman (1/2)

Flotog was a 33-year old peasant and believer of Sothos, the God of Herbs and Poisons. He lives at the common residence on the east district of Crookes and was unmarried.

He worked at a nearby Sothos potions chain store-an enterprise founded by the believers of Sothos and the source of their religion’s main income, it was a common establishment in most major cities which majorly traded tobacco and potion ingredients.

Be that as it may, Flotog tend to work overtime every single day, and would not go home until the stars were twinkling brightly over the night sky.

Moreover, although his work was connected to tobacco, he didn’t smoke, and he also did not drink frequently.

He would go to bed as the stars shone directly above his head, sleeping for eight hours every night with a goblet of hot ale and twenty minutes of prayer just before. He would fall asleep the moment he hit the bed until daytime, all his tension and fatigue never carrying on to the next day

Even the acolyte from the Temple of Life claimed that he was very normal.

Indeed, Flotog wasn’t behaving out of the ordinary at all until he went off work today.

That was, aside from the fact that he was an impersonation-a swampman had taken his place.

Ordinary people like him who was somewhat isolated and without strong ties with others were swampmen’s favorite food: there were very low risks in taking their place since others would hardly notice, and the swampmen could easily play their role despite their lacking wit.

***

At present, Flotog the Swampman was kneeling before an idol of Sothos and praying. Swampmen were creatures without faith, nor would they gain the gods’ favor through prayer. However, after they had impersonated any human, they would inherit everything from appearance to habits and memories. It was why even if its prayer now served no function at all, it would keep going about the routine.

Thud, thud.

That was when someone knocked on the door.

Flotog frowned.

In his memories, Flotog was an orphan with no familial relations, and what passed off as friends for him were his colleagues at the potion chain store. They were certainly not close enough to randomly visit each other houses, and no one should have come calling at this hour.

That said, Flotog shouldn’t be ignoring the guest. “Who is it?”

He stood up and went to open the door warily, and was taken aback by the scene outside.

Three youths who stood out like a store thumb were standing there. In truth, two of them looked normal, but the one on the right was such a strapping figure that he resembled a clothed bear at a single glance.

The silver moon had just rose to the skies, at an angle which prompted the illusion that the three youths were standing right beneath the moon.

“Sorry for disturbing!” The bearlike youth exclaimed loudly. “It’s Uncle Joe!”

“Please don’t be alarmed, this is just a small survey.” The youth on the right had a slim figure, but despite having the looks of a sincere and guileless farmboy, he gave the impression of being cunning and shrewd for some reason.

“Are you a swampman? Actually, you don’t need to answer that.” The youth standing at the center then spoke. He was holding something that was either a magic staff or a torch and looked like the leader of the trio. “We could see for ourselves.” Nonetheless, his words left Flotog apprehensive.

“Ho? Looks like there’s no need to confirm it…”

Even before the youth holding the fiery staff could finish, Flotog’s muscles suddenly expanded as it promptly tore the door out of its hinges and flung it at the trio. At the same time, it promptly shot out like an arrow, aimed for the empty space on the left and fled!

“Spirit familiar!” The bearlike youth cried.