The path to the swamp started as a simple dirt trail, weaving past the town's outer vegetable fields and a small creek that smelled faintly of algae and rotting onions. A few wooden signposts marked the trail, the carved letters dulled from weather, but Toby seemed to know the way without needing to read them.
Knight followed silently, hood pulled up over his helmet, sword strapped at his side, boots caked with old mud. The pouch at his hip jingled softly with the last of his copper.
Toby was still talking.
"Y'know, I heard this rotleaf stuff smells like wet socks when you crush it. Apparently alchemists use it for, like, burn salves or poison resistance, depending on how it's mixed. Don't ask me how that works. I just pick the plants."
Knight didn't reply. He kept his eyes forward, watching the road turn from dry dirt to something darker and softer beneath their feet.
"I've only been to this swamp once. Didn't go deep, just enough to scrape up some slimes and a few bundles of this leaf stuff. Not the worst job, really. Better than shoveling goat crap out of a stable."
Still nothing.
"You know what's worse than goat crap, though? Chicken coops. Small spaces, angry birds. You ever been attacked by a rooster?"
"No."
"Lucky."
The path narrowed and dipped slightly as the grass thinned out and puddles began to appear in patches along the sides. The trees came in lower here, hunched like old men, their branches tangled with gray moss. The further they walked, the thicker the air felt—damp and heavy, like a wet cloth hanging over their heads.
Knight adjusted his grip on the strap of his cloak. His boots squelched lightly in the mud.
"Alright," Toby said, stopping near a half-rotten tree stump. "We're close. Rotleaf usually grows near the base of trees that have fungus on the bark. Should be long, dark green, with curled edges and black spots. You pull it up with the roots."
Knight knelt without a word and began searching the moss-covered trunks. His movements were careful, methodical. The air buzzed with flies and the occasional sharp chirp of some bird hiding deeper in the bog.
Toby moved further off to the right, humming to himself again as he bent low to scan the undergrowth.
Knight found the first patch behind a pair of ferns, already soaked through from the swamp mist. The rotleaf was sticky and wilted in his gloves, but it matched the description—dark, curling edges, black spots. He didn't bother sniffing it.
He pulled it out gently by the roots and stuffed it into the burlap sack the guild had provided.
"Got one," Toby called from somewhere off to the side. "Ugh, smells like old cheese. Yours stink too?"
Knight didn't answer.
They worked for a while without speaking. The buzzing of insects filled the gaps between motion. Knight's cloak dragged against the occasional branch. Water splashed around his ankles every time he moved too quickly.
At one point, he slipped and nearly fell, catching himself on a slimy rock that left his gloves coated in something green and questionable.
He didn't complain.
He just wiped his hand off on his cloak and kept going.
Toby, of course, noticed.
"Swamp's got it out for you, huh?" he called, stepping over a shallow pool with far too much ease. "You good?"
"I'm fine."
"Alright, swamp assassin. Don't die on me. I'm not carrying you back."
Knight dug up the third bundle in silence.
Knight was up to five bundles when his left boot sank too deep into the muck and refused to come out. He yanked hard once, twice, then braced both hands against a tree root and pulled harder. The boot stayed in place. His foot didn't.
He stepped back with a wet squish, now standing ankle-deep in sludge with one sock soaked in green water.
He stared down at it.
"Need help?" Toby called from the other side of the clearing, already stuffing another rotleaf bundle into the sack on his hip.
Knight didn't answer.
Instead, he leaned down and dug his hand into the muck, fingers slipping through thick, cold sludge until they found the edge of the boot. It made a sound like suction when he finally pulled it free.
He jammed it back on and kept going.
By the sixth bundle, he'd slipped twice, walked directly into a thorn bush, and gotten something that smelled like wet garlic on his gloves. But the sack was full, and they were just about ready to leave when Toby paused, standing straighter.
"…You hear that?"
Knight stopped walking. The air was heavy. Still buzzing with flies, but something felt off. The wind wasn't moving anymore.
Then he heard it.
A faint blorp.
He turned his head just in time to see something round and translucent sliding out from behind a tree stump. It looked almost like melted glass, shimmering faintly green, its surface rippling as it pulsed forward.
A slime.
Toby cursed softly. "Alright, no touching it. These ones melt through armor if you're not careful."
Knight didn't need the warning. Even without understanding how slimes worked here, the way it hissed when it touched a patch of rotting bark was enough. The wood sizzled and blackened instantly.
Another blorp. A second one appeared from the opposite side.
Toby drew a short-handled hatchet from his belt. "I'll go left. Try to hit the core if you can see it."
Knight drew his sword and sidestepped toward the right, keeping low.
The slime surged toward him. It wasn't fast, but it didn't stop moving either—just kept pushing forward like a mass of boiling jelly. He swung, slicing through the top of it, but the blade hissed as the edge sizzled on contact.
His sword steamed. A piece of the slime's surface splashed onto the ground near his boot and instantly turned the grass black.
Toby cracked his slime with a clean vertical chop, and a thick glob of it flopped to the side, revealing a faint silver core inside. He struck again—quick, sharp—and the slime collapsed into itself with a wet splatter.
Knight swung again at his, this time trying to angle for the center. The slime split and hissed, bubbling around the gash. For a second, it looked like it would keep moving—but the cut had hit deep enough. It wobbled once, then melted into a puddle.
Knight stepped back.
His arms were burning. The edge of his sword looked worse than before. He could already see the corrosion eating into it.
Toby wiped off his blade with a patch of moss. "Guess we're lucky those weren't the big ones."
Knight glanced around. No more movement. No more slimes.
Just silence and swamp stink.
They collected the last of the rotleaf bundles in silence.
As they turned to leave, Knight took one wrong step and immediately sunk both feet into a patch of deep mud. He froze. Tried to pull one leg free. The other sank deeper.
Toby turned around. "Again?"
Knight didn't speak.
Toby walked over, grabbed the back of Knight's cloak, and yanked. It took three attempts, a loud squelch, and some ungraceful slipping before Knight finally stumbled free—both boots intact, pride not so much.
He didn't say thank you.
Toby didn't ask for one.
By the time they got back to the guild, Knight's pants were soaked through with swamp water, and the sleeves of his shirt were streaked with mud, leaf juice, and something that still smelled like vinegar. His gloves were ruined. His sword looked worse than it did that morning. He could feel something wet still squelching in his left boot.
Toby dropped the burlap sack on the receptionist's desk without ceremony. "Rotleaf delivery, fully intact. Minor exposure to trauma, possible early-onset swamp poisoning. But otherwise good."
The receptionist gave him a flat look and started counting bundles without saying anything.
Knight stood beside him, silent, dripping slightly onto the wooden floor.
"Six complete," she said eventually. "Forty-eight copper. Split?"
Toby looked at Knight. Knight gave a small nod.
They took their share and stepped outside.
The sky had turned a pale orange, the last light slipping behind the rooftops. The guild's windows glowed faintly from lanternlight inside. The street smelled like dry leaves and smoke. Better than rotleaf, at least.
Toby stretched with a loud yawn and rolled his shoulders.
"Good day's work. Kinda gross, but not the worst. Though you gotta admit, that slime looked at you like it wanted your soul."
Knight didn't answer.
"I'm just saying," Toby continued. "You really might want to invest in, like, a jacket. Or something thicker than swamp water and prayer. That helmet can't be doing all the heavy lifting."
Knight didn't bother explaining. It was the only thing he had. The only piece that mattered. The only thing he refused to take off.
He didn't say any of that.
He just kept walking.
Toby didn't seem to care.
He caught up quickly, still talking about something Knight wasn't listening to, and by the time they turned the corner toward the inn, the words had started to fade into background noise.