CHAPTER 24: CHAPTER 24- FOUND YOUR FAT ASSES

Yuuta finally—finally—felt a moment of peace. Standing like a battle-hardened war veteran amidst the charred remains of his enemies, he raised his arms and flexed proudly... even if there were no real muscles to flex and no audience to witness it besides some cracked ribcages and melted tusks.

"Look at me now," he muttered, voice laced with smugness and spit. "From dickless frog to death-dealing overlord."

His ugly frog grin stretched wide, smug and stupid, as he bounced lightly on his toes. Bits of ash crunched beneath his webbed feet, and somewhere nearby, a blackened femur cracked under his heel with a satisfying snap.

He turned and resumed his vacuuming session, the familiar whip-pop sound of XP orbs zipping into his chest like moths to a bug zapper making him feel like a treasure-hoarding gremlin. Each orb entered his body in a soft pulse of light, and each time, he nodded with a little squint of pleasure like he was sipping fine wine.

"Yeah, come to daddy. Get in there, you delicious little glowing fucks."

Yuuta reached the blood-drenched, scorched battleground—the very place where the pig army had once thought they had him cornered. He remembered the way they came swarming like pink cockroaches, oinking and grunting, armed to the teeth with clubs and steel and enough stench to kill a sewer rat.

Now?

It was nothing but fried pork.

The dirt was layered in dark crusty stains, the remains of intestines were coiled like hell noodles, and some of the pigs were frozen mid-scream, their blackened forms twisted into horrific statues. Lightning Bolt had turned them into unintentional abstract art.

Yuuta crouched and whispered mockingly to one particularly crispy pig corpse whose tusks had melted together like a cursed pretzel. "Look at you. Roasted to perfection. Should’ve brought some barbecue sauce."

He moved to another—just a head and part of a torso—and poked it with his toe. "Damn, you look like a failed meatball experiment. Your mom must’ve cried blood the day she squirted you out."

Yuuta’s eyes flicked to a particularly bloated pig body, half-popped open from the blast, with guts that had dried in the sun like rotten jerky.

He pointed at it. "And you—you look like a microwaved tumor. You really tried to stab me? You were waddling around with your balls stuck in your thigh gap. Get the fuck outta here."

The insults didn’t stop.

"Pigfaced freaks. Shit-skinned bacon bastards. Sausage-brained, dirt-huffing, greasy-ass sons of squealers."

He didn’t even care if anyone heard him anymore. It was therapeutic.

After the last round of XP orbs came flying to him, the system gave him the news:

[XP Increase: Level 6 — 98% Progress]

[Total Gold Coins Amount: 2840]

Yuuta blinked. His frog mouth twitched. "Ninety... eight... percent?"

His right eye twitched violently.

"That’s some bullshit."

He exhaled slowly, trying to center himself. "It’s fine. No big deal. Two percent is nothing. Just a couple more orbs. Easy."

He took one deep breath. Then another.

Then a third.

Unfortunately, the third breath decided to punish him.

As he sucked in the air, a sudden gust of wind kicked up from the canyon floor. Fine powder, baked blood particles, and gritty flakes of disintegrated pig skin swirled straight into Yuuta’s face.

His frog nose sucked in the full cocktail of nature’s betrayal.

The smell was horrifying. Earthy? Yeah. Dusty? Of course. But layered beneath that was the thick, gag-inducing stench of rotting meat, dried shit, and something else Yuuta could only describe as "burnt diarrhea stew."

"ACK—!" Yuuta choked mid-breath, clutching at his throat as his eyes bulged.

He hacked and coughed like he’d swallowed a cactus. His frog limbs flailed in all directions as he staggered backwards, gagging.

"FUCK—!" he wheezed, pounding his chest with both fists like a caveman trying to break free from his own lungs. "What the fuck was that?! Who let a damn pig fart into the wind?!"

He dropped to one knee, coughing violently, mucus flying from his wide frog mouth.

"This world..." hack "...this fucking world is out to get me!"

He rubbed his snout furiously with one webbed hand, trying to scrape the trauma away. "First I get turned into a dickless spell frog, then I have to kill an army of bacon addicts, and now I’m inhaling corpse confetti?!"

He let out a long, raspy sigh and collapsed backward, spread-eagle on the blood-soaked ground.

Of course, the moment his back touched the crusty terrain, his left thigh made contact with something wet.

"...please be mud."

He looked down.

It was not mud.

"OH, FUCK ME."

He rolled over like he was on fire and leapt to his feet, rubbing his leg furiously against a nearby rock. "That’s it. I’m done. Done with pig guts, done with pig dust, done with pig world!"

He kept rubbing his thigh against the stone, practically humping it in desperation. "I better level up soon or I’m gonna snap and start licking lightning bolts for fun."

Once he finally cleaned himself off (emotionally questionable), Yuuta gave one last sweep of the battlefield. His eyes scanned the far end of the carnage—hoping, praying—for more orbs. But the area seemed dry. Empty.

Nothing but busted bones, melted armor, and the faint crackle of scorched air.

"Two percent..." he muttered again, voice tight with anger.

_____________________________

After that cursed dust debacle and his brief war with pig-scented air, Yuuta stood still, one webbed foot planted atop a chunk of blackened ribcage like a victorious gremlin. His breathing had settled—somewhat. The lingering taste of ash and mystery fluid still clung to his throat, but his pride refused to let him look weak to the scorched remains of his enemies.

He sighed, deep and heavy, puffing out his cheeks.

"Can’t believe I’m still stuck thinking about those damn pigs."

The words left his mouth like he was some broken-hearted ex-girlfriend, still clinging to the bastard who cheated on her. Except in this case, the cheating bastards were war-thirsty pork faces who buried him alive, made him crawl like a wounded bug, and forced him to dig like a dirt-hungry mole just to survive.

He clicked his tongue.

"Fuckers really left an impression," he muttered, arms crossed. "Like a bad tattoo of bacon I didn’t ask for."

Yuuta squatted down, idly tracing a circle in the dusty ground with his finger, looking all sullen and bitter like he just got dumped by a girl who stole his favorite hoodie.

"Still," he said with a growing smirk, "if those damn pigs had some hot milf tribe back at home, maybe I’d show mercy. Just maybe."

Then, like a switch flipped, his smile dropped.

"...but I don’t got a dick right now. So, they all need to die."

He stood up again, rolling his stiff frog shoulders and letting out a low grunt. His stubby frog chest puffed with righteous indignation.

"This wasn’t even my fault. I didn’t start this shit. They did. All I did was exist, and they came running in with swords, fireballs, and bows."

His wide frog eyes narrowed into venomous slits.

"Oh, especially that bow bastard..."

Yuuta clenched his webbed fists at the memory. That smug, arrow-flinging porkface was the real reason he got nearly kebab’d and had to crawl through half a canyon like some discount horror movie creature.

"Should’ve saved him for last," Yuuta growled. "Would’ve given him the deluxe massage package. Real slow. Real painful. Fucking arrow bitch..."

He blinked and shook his head. "Focus, Yuuta. Focus."

Forcing his thoughts away from pork-related murder fantasies, he looked around the ruined battlefield. The sun was still as radiant as ever, enveloping the jagged cliffs with sunlight. He turned in a full circle, taking in his surroundings like a grumpy, amphibious detective at a crime scene.

"What do we got?" he mumbled. "Rocks. Rocks. More rocks. Cliff. Charred leg. Charred torso. Ooh—ugly charred face."

He squinted at the last one.

"Yup. Still ugly."

Then his gaze hit something else—something he hadn’t really processed before.

"...Footprints?"

He blinked.

He blinked again.

"Footprints!" he said louder, the word echoing slightly through the canyon. "They came from somewhere. Of course they did. They didn’t just spawn outta piggy thin air!"

The trail of wide, heavy tracks led from deeper within the canyon, winding like a river through the dust and blood and scorched chunks. Yuuta’s eyes lit up, and a grin began to stretch across his already-too-wide frog mouth.

He rubbed his hands together greedily.

"Ohoho... I knew there was a base. A nest. A fucking pig pen."

His voice rose as he started pacing in place, practically vibrating with anticipation.

"They got huts, they got fires, they got leaders... and they probably got more ugly-ass pigs waiting to be turned into grilled bacon!"

Yuuta stopped and snapped his fingers with dramatic flair.

"I knew I was destined to bring judgment to this world. I am the green reaper. The sticky death. The—"

He stopped himself.

"...nah, too cheesy. Work on the branding later."

He leaned forward and inspected the trail. The pig footprints were slightly uneven now—maybe some of the injured ones had staggered back. He could see old drag marks, boot treads, maybe even wheel ruts from carts or something.

Yuuta nodded slowly.

"This is it. The road to Piggyville."

Then he cracked his knuckles, cracked his neck, and widened his stance like he was about to enter a wrestling ring.

"I hope they’re ready for a barbecue party... because I’m about to cook every last one of their porky asses."

He took one final breath—making sure no dust came with it this time—and carefully followed the trail.

His barrier shimmered faintly as he moved, a nearly invisible dome wrapping around him like a divine condom of protection. Every step was careful, each toe placing itself firmly on solid ground, weaving between shattered bones, old weapons, and crusty piles of what he hoped was just dirt.

Yuuta grinned like a frog with a mission. Which, technically, he was.

"Let’s go," he whispered, already picturing the shocked faces of whatever unlucky pigs would be guarding the entrance to their hideout.

They’d hear a sound—maybe the faint whistle of a spell. Maybe the squelch of his frog feet.

And then... boom.

Their world would end in fire, magic, and insults too vulgar for their pig moms to understand.