The sky was gray and gloomy.

Cold raindrops beat against the thin windows of Ironboot Town's cheap inn, the muffled sound grating on the nerves.

In the soundproof-lacking room, the air was thick with the smell of cheap tobacco and damp wood...

And ceaseless arguing.

"You absolutely have to go? That... that swamp full of monsters?!"

Lola's voice rose with anger and fear as she tightly hugged two frightened children—a boy hiding behind his mother's skirts and a girl quietly sobbing.

"Arno Belmont! Look at you! Look at us! You're descended from knights, not some lowly traveling merchant! And certainly not lizard bait!"

Arno stood with his back to her, stuffing the last few pieces of rough cold-weather clothing into a badly worn leather pack, his movements showing barely perceptible stiffness.

"Lola, 'knightly descent' won't fill their stomachs, much less pay Sol Arcane Academy's tuition."

His voice was low, carrying suppressed exhaustion, and he didn't turn to look at her.

"Ironboot Town adventurers say the lizardfolk along Reed River are desperate for grain and salt after spring, prices... triple what they are in the kingdom. One trip, just this one trip, will keep you secure for years."

"Secure? How will we be secure if you're dead?!"

Lola rushed in front of him, her golden hair somewhat disheveled, blue eyes brimming with tears—no longer the admiration of old, but deep disappointment and confusion.

"You could have found decent work! Even guarding the city gates! Why here of all places? Why now of all times? Those demi-humans... savage, filthy, untrustworthy! Everyone in the kingdom knows it!"

Arno spun around sharply, his light brown eyes flashing with pain and stubbornness beneath deep chestnut hair.

"Decent? The coppers from gate duty aren't even enough for rent! Lola, be realistic! I need money! Lots of it! So you and the children won't have to endure others' condescension later!"

The lingering, unconscious commanding tone in his voice stung Lola.

"Endure condescension? Right now we're enduring the sight of your madness!"

Lola picked up their young daughter, grabbed their son's hand, her voice icy and resolute.

"Fine, go then! Go to your swamp, go deal with those monsters! Trade your Belmont 'noble' life for filthy gold coins! Children, we're leaving! Back to grandmother's in Havensstone! Let your father play his... great merchant!"

She practically spat out the final words through gritted teeth.

"Lola! Wait!" Arno reached out to stop her.

"SLAM—!"

The door crashed shut with tremendous force, the impact shaking dust from the walls.

Arno's outstretched hand froze mid-air as he listened to his wife's suppressed sobs and children's confused questions rapidly fading away outside. Like all strength had been drained from him, he leaned back against the cold wall and slowly slid down to sit on the filthy floor.

He lowered his head, trembling as he raised his right hand.

In the dim lamplight, he saw the skin around his little finger and ring finger joints had taken on an unnatural, grayish-white marble-like quality, feeling stiff and numb.

This wasn't dirt—it was the erosion of petrification disease.

Like a demon lurking in his bloodline, it was slowly gnawing away at his life, and at his dignity as a husband, father, and even as a "person."

He clenched his fist tightly, the stiff joints sending needle-like stabs of pain.

"...For you... I must go..."

He rasped the words hoarsely to the empty, cold room, to the demonic spreading stone patches.

Darkness and a suffocating dampness surged forward.

The scene shattered violently!

"Ugh... hh..."

Arno Belmont's eyes snapped open as he gasped sharply, his throat producing a wheezing sound like a broken bellows.

Blinding white light instantly made his eyes water, and he instinctively raised a hand to shield them.

"Damn this sunlight!"

He cursed inwardly, feeling the radiance like countless fine needles stabbing into his sore eyeballs.

Every time he woke from that shattered farewell nightmare, it came with this nauseating physical reaction and deeper mental exhaustion.

This nightmare, along with the damned curse in his body, clung to him like maggots in bone, harassing him with increasing frequency.

Feeling the familiar stiffness in his finger joints.

He laboriously rotated his wrist—the gray-white stone patches clearly visible at the base of his fingers like ugly brands.

The Belmont family's "glory"—petrification disease.

A slow, cruel death sentence that first stripped away freedom of movement, then froze breathing, ultimately turning a person into a silent gravestone.

Those white-shrouded, grotesquely posed "statues" in family history were the deepest fears of his childhood.

And now, that fear was playing out vividly in his own body.

He, Arno Belmont, former knight squire, devout follower of Cardos, warrior who once wielded a longsword defending the frontier... now huddled like a base thief in rotting leaves and cold mud of the swamp forest, reeking of sludge and fear.

All this, to cast aside that long-worthless "noble honor," and like the most pathetic peddler, stake his entire fortune and dwindling life to try crossing dangerous Reed River banks, trading with those green-skinned, scaled demi-humans.

Just so he could, before completely turning to stone, leave enough money for Lola and the children to survive, letting them escape poverty, giving the children perhaps a chance at proper education instead of bearing the double disgrace of bankrupt nobility and "stone-man" descendants.

"What... supreme irony..."

He self-mockingly twitched the corner of his mouth, disturbing dried mud patches on his face, then struggled to sit up, leaning against a massive dead tree emitting decay.

Looking around, dense canopies blocked most of the sky, casting dappled, eerie light patterns.

The air was so humid you could wring water from it, mixed with rotting plants, fermenting sludge, and the faint sweet-rotten scent of some animal carcass—utterly nauseating.

Silence, a silence full of watchfulness, enveloped everything, with only occasional unknown insects emitting short, sharp chirps.

Even if he'd luckily escaped the lizardfolk tribe's conflict, losing his way forced him to flee in disarray here.

His once decent merchant coat was torn to shreds, covered in mud and dark brown stains.

Expensive leather boots were stuck in muck, one already missing.

He felt at his waist—the pouch holding his hoped-for money was still there, but only a few cold silver coins and coppers remained inside.

As for the pack animal cart loaded with grain and salt?

Long gone.

Those damned, demon-worshipping gray-scale bastards!

And now, that fear was playing out vividly in his own body.

Those veteran Ironboot Town adventurers he hired, who usually boasted extravagantly, were torn apart like paper under those corrupted monsters' sharp claws!

Piercing screams, dull sounds of shattering bones, the feeling of warm blood splashing on his face... and those pairs of turbid, insane, utterly unreasonable dark red eyes!

Fear coiled around his heart like an icy serpent.

How did he escape? He couldn't remember clearly.

Only recalled the guard captain shoving him before dying, roaring "Run!"

Then, relying on a warrior's residual instincts, he scrambled and stumbled into this even deadlier dense forest.

The rainstorm... right, that damned, world-drowning rainstorm lasting two days!

The rain was biting cold, washing away bloodstains but bringing bone-chilling cold and agonizing pain that nearly paralyzed him—every time the petrification disease accelerated its erosion during magically active rainy days.

He moved like a walking corpse, trudging through mud and despair, finally collapsing here exhausted, surprisingly undetected and uneaten by the Magical Creatures in the forest.

Probably even those monsters found a "thing" reeking of death and stone utterly unappealing?

Two days... he'd been lost like a headless fly for two days in this damned, green-skinned brute and unknown danger-filled swamp forest!

"Cardos be merciful..."

Even if he'd luckily escaped the Lizardfolk tribe's conflict, losing his way forced him to flee in disarray here.

Groping around, he pulled a barely intact dagger from his torn coat's inner lining.

The cold metal touch offered a minuscule sense of security.

He had to find a way out, find direction back to Ironboot Town, or... find any possible chance of survival.

For Lola, for the children, he couldn't die here, becoming an unclaimed pile of bones in the swamp... or stone.

He disgustedly spat out the muddy taste in his mouth, struggling to stand, when he heard prey's dying cries from hunting in the dark woods.

Those damned scaled beasts again!

Arno cursed aloud, but inside he was utterly terrified. Panic-stricken, he picked a direction at random, entrusting his fate to the god of luck, and plunged headlong into the dark woods.