CHAPTER 62: WHO THE HELL LEAVES LORE LYING AROUND LIKE THIS?

Finn opened the door.

He thought things couldn’t possibly get worse.

They did.

Oh, they really did.

What lay before him made him wish—no, pray—to be alone. And unfortunately for him... he wasn’t.

’Why the hell did she give us this room...’ Finn thought, defeated, staring inside like a war survivor returning to the battlefield.

There was only one bed.

A twin.

Not a queen. Not a king. Not even a glorified futon. Just a sad, scrawny little twin-size mattress—barely wide enough for a single person, let alone a hormonal disaster party of four.

The room itself wasn’t much better. Small. Cramped. The kind of place where dreams go to die.

A coat hanger leaned beside the bed. A desk sat against the wall with a single melted candle, a dusty ink pot, a feather quill, and some brittle paper—like someone once tried to write their will in here.

Above the desk, a grimy window faced out toward Moistvile.

Because of course it did.

’Give me a funking break, man...’ Finn sighed.

The girls walked up behind him, curious about why he was just standing there. Then they saw it.

Majestria’s face went deadpan. Chestelle blinked twice.

Lickthorn? Her eyes sparkled.

Without a word, she dashed into the room and dove into the bed like it was the last slice of cake on earth. Face-first. Butt arched unnecessarily high in the air.

"So we have to share this bed..." Finn muttered, already emotionally checked out.

Majestria crossed her arms. "I’m not sharing anything."

"Cool. Floor’s all yours," Finn said, too numb to be sarcastic.

She blinked. "Do I look like someone who sleeps on floors?"

’You look like a narcissistic asshole of a goddess,’ Finn thought.

With a dramatic gasp, she placed a hand over her chest. "The divine do not sleep on floors—unless we’re stepping on the necks of mortals."

She pointed at Finn. "Like you."

He didn’t even react. He was already wandering the room like a ghost.

"You should be proud we’re sharing a room—" she began, only to pause mid-monologue when she realized he wasn’t even listening.

Finn stood at the far wall, inspecting a strange painting: a moon-clock hybrid, its hands ticking over the face of a pale, white moon.

"Hey, that’s kinda cool," he muttered, genuinely impressed.

Chestelle mimicked him immediately, placing her hand on her chin. "Interesting indeed."

Majestria’s eye twitched. He ignored her entire divine presence for a clock painting? She flushed in embarrassment, fists clenched.

"You piece of..." she grumbled under her breath.

Meanwhile, Lickthorn was kicking her legs like she was at a slumber party. "This is going to be soooo much fun."

Majestria’s voice sliced through the room like a blade of frost.

"Like hell it is."

Majestria slammed the door behind her, fuming. Her divine rage wasn’t even subtle—she was clearly pissed. Especially at Finn.

Finn, meanwhile, couldn’t care less. He wandered the room, bored, more interested in the interior design of a fantasy shit-hole than the goddess sulking behind him.

Eventually, he found himself standing before the desk.

A candle. A quill. A bottle of ink. And... paper.

’Huh... This’d be one hell of a spot for an author.’

Curious, he leaned in. His eyes scanned the page lazily—until he squinted.

Then his eyes widened.

"Wait..."

It wasn’t just blank paper.

It was a diary. Or maybe a log. Someone had stayed here before.

"Who the hell leaves lore lying around like this?" Finn muttered, flipping through the pages like he was browsing Reddit conspiracy posts.

’No way...’ Finn’s heart ticked up. Something about this felt... important. Like it wasn’t just left here by accident. But then again—why would something like this just be sitting in a random guest room. Who the hell leaves this kind of information just lying around?"

Leaning closer, Finn began to read:

"Day One of staying here.

This place is overall disgusting—a repulsive hellhole no person should live in. That damn beautiful smug god dropped me off near here, and this was the only place I could find before nightfall.

Thankfully, the god granted me the skill: ’Coin Producer.’ I was able to cough up the funds to stay here."

—

Finn gritted his teeth.

’Coin Producer?! Are you kidding me?!’ Finn clenched his teeth, suppressing the rage of being stuck with Trip God powers instead.

Not only that...

"A beautiful, smug god," Finn repeated in his head. Not Majestria. So... someone else sent this guy here. How many of us are there?

He kept reading.

"Day Two:

Everything about this town is awful. The swamp keeps making these loud burping sounds at night. I also saw some weirdo rubbing strange substances on the buildings whenever it’s foggy. No idea what that’s about.

I hate it here. I think I’m losing it. For now, I’m just staying in my room producing coins until I can leave. Or buy a horse. Or set the town on fire. Whichever comes first."

—

Finn’s pupils shrank.

He remembered when they left for their first quest—when he saw a man out in the fog, smearing something along the alleyway walls.

Just thinking about it made his skin crawl.

He kept flipping through the pages. Most of the entries were about mundane experiences in this very room. One was about completing a "Dung Rank" quest that involved cleaning a toilet.

But then he saw it.

Day Eighteen.

Finn’s breath slowed. He read carefully:

"Day Eighteen:

I’m starting to lose my mind.

Nothing in this town makes sense. The buildings are rotted and disgusting on the outside, yet strangely pristine inside. It defies all logic.

And the swamp... I swear it whispers to me at night.

It feels like this entire town is alive. Like it’s sitting on something that shouldn’t exist.

I don’t know how much longer I can take it. My mind, my dear mind..."

—

Finn swallowed.

His forehead was damp with sweat.

Whoever wrote this... had been here. Just like him. Brought in by a god. A beautiful god. Not a goddess.

So... not Majestria.

Which meant there were others. Who would have guessed.

’At least I’m not insane...’ Finn thought. But that thought didn’t bring much comfort.

Because whoever wrote this?

They might’ve already gone mad.

Or worse...

They died.

DUN. DUN. DUUUUNNN.

Finn instinctively looked up toward the window—half-expecting a skeleton to be waving back at him with a "Welcome to Moistvile" sign.

But what he actually saw?

It shook him.

To his core...