The morning sun had just peeked over the hills when Harits dragged a rickety wooden cart into Lempung Village. Atop the cart lay half the remains of the Mythical Striped Snakehead, its bronze scales still reflecting the sunlight, alongside the giant fish head whose jaws were tied tightly with a thick rope.
Trailing behind Harits was a stout figure completely covered in a thick straw cloak, topped with a wide bamboo hat that obscured his face.
"I cannot believe you forced me to wear this itchy garbage," grumbled the figure beneath the cloak, Azazil's deep voice muffled.
"Just consider it an identity security protocol," Harits replied casually without looking back. "If the villagers see your freaky purple form, they won't give me a reward, they'll call the holy knights to burn us both at the stake. Besides, you already agreed to shrink down to a normal human size for a slice of roast meat last night, right?"
Azazil merely snorted loudly from beneath his hat, opting to stay silent.
Their arrival instantly brought the village to a standstill. Farmers preparing to head to the fields dropped their hoes. Mothers pounding rice stared in horror at the cow-sized monster head sitting on the cart. Children ran away in terror, their imaginations fueled by Lempung Village's mythical tales.
"A-Angler boy!" cried an old man with a white beard, hobbling out of the village hall. It was the Village Chief. His eyes bulged as he stared at the carcass. "Y-You actually killed it? The mythical fish?"
"As per our agreement yesterday, Chief," Harits smiled brightly, patting his cart like a traveling merchant. "One Mythical Striped Snakehead, exterminated. Job done, no monsters left in the lake. Here is the physical proof. Now, let's discuss what you promised during our chat at the tavern yesterday."
The Village Chief gulped, his face suddenly draining of color. He exchanged panicked glances with several other village elders.
"A-Angler boy... we are incredibly grateful that such a massive fish is dead," the Chief said, his voice trembling. "But I must be honest. That was actually just an old myth... made up to scare children from playing near the lake at dusk. We never thought a fish that big actually existed..."
Hearing this, Azazil chuckled softly from behind. "I knew it!" he growled with satisfaction, relishing in human stupidity.
"In that case, Chief, please cut off your ear as promised," Harits said with a beaming smile. He cleared his throat and intentionally mimicked the old man's deep, gruff voice from the other day. "I'll give you ten gold coins or cut off my own ear if you actually manage to catch that nonsense mythical fish!" Harits let out a crisp laugh. "...That's what you said, right? Hahaha."
Harits' laughter echoing through the silent village sounded like a death sentence. The Village Chief's face turned pale as a corpse. His knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the dusty ground. The surrounding villagers held their breath; several mothers covered their children's eyes.
"M-Mercy, Harits... Mercy..." the old man whimpered, clutching both his ears with trembling hands. "Forget ten gold coins, this village's treasury only has rusty copper coins left. And please, not my ear... I'm already half-blind, do I have to go deaf too...?"
Beneath his straw cloak, Azazil's purple eyes narrowed. He whispered sadistically to Harits, "Just cut it off."
"Shh, be quiet. Don't ruin the mood," Harits whispered back from the corner of his mouth.
Harits slowly drew his hunting knife from its sheath. The sound of metal scraping against leather made the villagers take a collective step back. But instead of pointing it at the Village Chief, Harits slammed the knife down onto his wooden cart with a loud THWACK!
"Chief, I'm an angler, not a butcher," Harits stated casually, crossing his arms over his chest. "Your wrinkly ear won't sell as bait. And if this village is broke, demanding gold from you is like squeezing blood from a stone."
The Village Chief looked up, a glimmer of hope appearing in his teary eyes. "S-So...?"
"Let's renegotiate the contract," Harits declared with the finality of a master negotiator. "In exchange for keeping your ear and the ten gold coins, I want three things."
Harits held up one finger. "First, barter the rest of this striped snakehead meat for your best supplies. Spices, salt, clean water, hardtack. Everything."
He raised a second finger. "Second, let my friend here, who is suffering from a terrible flu—" Harits pointed at Azazil, who was dressed like a beggar "—rest in the village hall, while you guys cook up some of this fish meat for our breakfast."
"W-We can do that! Absolutely!" The Village Chief nodded so vigorously his bamboo hat almost flew off. "And... the third?"
Harits smiled faintly, his eyes sharpening. He remembered the Orc Sheet safely tucked inside his pocket.
"Third," Harits said slowly. "I know an old village like this holds many tales of the past. I need all the scrolls, old maps, or even just rumors you know about the waters in the northern region. Especially... territories or ancient ruins once ruled by the Orc race."
Silence once again blanketed the village. The Chief exchanged glances with the other elders. Their faces showed hesitation, not out of reluctance, but out of fear for something utterly useless.
"Why, Harits, are you asking about the territory of the Red Race?" the Chief whispered, his voice barely louder than the breeze. "There is no clean water there. All that's up north is a dirty brown lake that reeks of rot."
"Because I want to prove that the myths, rumors, and folktales circulating in this world are real," Harits answered breezily. "Even if they're not proven, it doesn't matter, my main goal is just to fish. But catching mythical creatures and showing them off just to see the shock on people's faces... that's infinitely more fun! Hahaha!"
Hearing such an incredibly un-heroic reason, the tension on the villagers' faces eased slightly, replaced by looks that clearly screamed, 'This kid is definitely insane'.
Behind him, Azazil let out a sigh so heavy his straw cloak trembled. The Ancient Djinn felt his pride plummeting even further, forced to deal with a human whose sole motivation in life was showing off.
"V-Very well, if that's what you want," the Chief wiped the sweat from his brow, immensely relieved that his ear was saved from this crazy youth. "We do have one old leather scroll inherited from our ancestors. No one has ever been able to read it, so... ahem, we often use it to prop up a wobbly table leg in the village hall. I'll have someone fetch it for you."
Beneath his hat, Azazil's jaw clenched. "An ancient relic of the past used as a table prop? These mortal creatures are truly beyond salvation," he grumbled under his breath.
"Excellent! We have a deal!" Harits exclaimed, clapping his hands together loudly. "Now, let's head to the village hall. My friend's stomach here is growling for some striped snakehead breakfast!"
An hour later, inside the teakwood village hall, the savory aroma of spices and roasted fish filled the air. The villagers truly kept their word. The remaining Mythical Striped Snakehead meat had been magically transformed into an appetizing feast, proving that Harits' instinct for extreme cuisine never missed the mark.
Azazil, still hiding his true form beneath the cloak and hat, initially glared suspiciously at the giant meat skewer in front of him. But after one bite, his eyes widened slightly. The once-slimy meat was now incredibly tender and chewy, radiating a strange warmth that slowly healed the lingering wounds on his leg. Naturally, he ate it in complete silence so his pride wouldn't crumble in front of Harits.
Meanwhile, Harits was just wiping his mouth when the Village Chief arrived, carrying a dull, dust-covered leather scroll.
"Here it is, Harits. Please, take it. We've replaced the table leg with a brick anyway," the Chief said, handing over the scroll.
Harits accepted the scroll, blew the dust off it, and unrolled it onto the table. He squinted at the rough scribbles and the blank map drawn in faded red ink. Naturally, he couldn't understand a single letter.
"Hey, Old Man," Harits nudged Azazil's arm, who was busy chewing his final bite. "Take a look at this. Does this connect to that stone fragment from the fish's stomach?"
Azazil snorted in annoyance at his meal being interrupted. He swallowed his food, then leaned forward to look at the scroll. Instantly, his posture stiffened. His purple finger, poking out from beneath his cloak sleeve, traced the lines on the map.
"This is a geographical map of the northern region from the era before the new Gods took power," Azazil muttered, his voice quiet but filled with absolute certainty. "This outline... this isn't just some dirty lake like that foolish old man said. This is the Empedu Lake. The hiding place of the ancient Orc Kings, and allegedly... the resting place of that hideous creature."
Harits' eyes immediately lit up. He quickly grabbed his pen and notebook, scribbling a new line on a blank page.
"Oh, so that creature actually exists?" Harits murmured, a wide smile spreading across his face—a smile that looked utterly terrifying to Azazil. "I wonder... what kind of creature would show up if you were used as bait there?"
Azazil froze. He stared at Harits with a very, very bad feeling. He had just dug his own grave by explaining the map.
"Don't even think about using me as bait again, you damn human!" Azazil growled.
"Oh, come on. You're like a magnet that reels in the supernatural," Harits chuckled casually. "Every time I fish with you, the things that take the bait are always bizarre, and that mythical striped snakehead is just the peak of it for now."
"Don't be ridiculous, that was just a coincidence!"
"What kind of coincidence happens over and over again?"
"A coincidental coincidence!" Azazil grumbled, a hint of panic in his voice.
"Hahaha! But seriously, thanks, Old Man. Your presence brings about some truly abnormal and fascinating things," Harits said earnestly, his eyes radiating pure adventurous passion. "I can't wait to gather more info and adventure around until I've caught all the legendary fish people talk about."
"I don't need your gratitude," Azazil scoffed, turning his face away. He hurriedly searched for a way to distract this lunatic. His eyes then caught a small silhouette at the village hall's doorway. "Rather than babbling, I suggest you try asking that kid over there. See what scary stories or myths he knows about the outside world."
Harits followed Azazil's gaze. Behind the teakwood doorframe, a boy of about seven was peeking shyly. His round, sparkling eyes kept staring in awe at the giant striped snakehead tied to the cart.
Harits smirked. He picked up an untouched piece of roasted fish and casually walked over to the boy.
"Hey there, Champ," Harits greeted, offering the meat. "You like fish? Here, eat up. Don't worry, this one won't swallow you whole."
The boy hesitated for a second, but the savory aroma broke through his defenses. He took it with a wide smile. "T-Thank you, Mister Angler! You're so awesome for defeating the swamp monster! Mom always gets mad if I don't come home from the lake before sunset, but you actually beat it!"
"Of course it's real. In this world, I am the greatest angler," Harits chuckled. He then crouched down to eye level with the boy. "Now, in exchange, let me ask you something. Besides this swamp monster, what other scary stories do your friends or your mom talk about? Especially regarding the waters up north."
The boy chewed the meat enthusiastically before answering. He looked left and right, as if afraid someone might eavesdrop on his big secret.
"Mom always forbids us from playing too far up the river heading north, Mister," the boy whispered seriously. "Mom said, at the border of the red lands before the smelly lake, there's the... Moon-Pinching Crab."
"Moon-Pinching Crab?" Harits raised an eyebrow. Behind him, Azazil was still busy chewing on the leftover striped snakehead meat.
"Yeah! It's as big as the Village Chief's house!" the boy added with exploding enthusiasm. "They say its pincers are so strong they can slice through boulders. When the full moon appears, it comes out of the quicksand to pinch the moon's reflection in the water. Anyone who dares to get close will be snipped in half, snip! Like that!"
Harits fell silent for a moment, his face looking incredibly serious as he processed this information. He gently patted the boy's head and stood up. A second later, he spun around to face Azazil, who was still sitting in his chair.
"Azazil!" Harits called out cheerfully, his eyes sparkling again like a kid in a toy store. "Don't you think a crab shell as big as a house would make a fantastic shield?"
"Uh, are you going to defeat the Moon-Pinching Crab too, Mister?" the little boy asked, his eyes shining with hope.
"Yep, I'm going to beat it!" Harits replied, pumping his fist in the air. "By the way, I have a secret about what happened yesterday when I beat that giant striped snakehead. I actually had to run away in terror for a bit, because it turns out there's a Blue Crocodile in that lake that wanted to eat us both!"
"B-Blue Crocodile?"
"That's right! Its size is way bigger than the striped snakehead your mom always talks about. I bet that crocodile could swallow you whole in a single gulp. So, please make sure you're home before dusk if you play by the lake, okay?"
"U-uh... A Blue Crocodile bigger than the striped snakehead... t-that's so scary!" the boy mumbled, his face turning pale.
Hearing this, Azazil—realizing that Harits had just invented a new fictional myth that could potentially cause an uproar in the whole village—immediately interjected with an annoyed tone.
"Don't go adding fabricated lies just to scare people," Azazil scolded as he stood up. "Let me tell you something, Human. Speak to a child as you would speak to an adult. Do not play them for fools. I know your intentions are good, wanting to keep him from staying out late, but lying is not the right way."
Azazil then crouched down, matching the little boy's height. Because his face was still hidden by the shadow of his hat and straw cloak, his expression was invisible to the child.
"Child," Azazil said in a deep, authoritative tone. "There is no such thing as a Blue Crocodile. It is all a lie spun by your angler friend here to keep you from playing out late. Besides... did you know that I am far more terrifying than that nonsense blue crocodile?"
The boy blinked innocently. "I wouldn't know, Chubby Uncle. You just look fat, like a sack of rice. You're not scary at all."
The former Archon's pride was instantly shredded to pieces.
Without warning, Azazil manipulated his facial anatomy. Eight spider-like eyes sprouted asymmetrically across his purple face. His rows of fangs elongated sharply like a prehistoric beast, and his gums tore through his cheeks, forming an utterly horrifying grin.
Swiftly, Azazil flipped his bamboo hat back right in front of the boy's face.
"I AM FAR MORE TERRIFYING THAN THAT FAKE BLUE CROCODILE!!!" Azazil roared, his dual-layered voice echoing so loudly it shook the village hall.
A moment of silence. The boy froze, his pupils shrinking to the size of pinpricks.
"WAAAAAAAAAA! MOOOOOM! THERE'S AN EIGHT-EYED RICE SACK MONSTER!"
The boy screamed hysterically and immediately bolted, running away from the village hall as fast as his legs could carry him while sobbing violently.
Harits could only stand there, completely stunned, watching the boy disappear. He then slowly turned to Azazil, who was gradually shifting his face back to normal, looking incredibly pleased with himself.
"Didn't you just say... don't scare people and don't lie to children?" Harits deadpanned.
"I didn't lie. I am far more terrifying than a Blue Crocodile," Azazil replied nonchalantly. He pulled his bamboo hat back down, hiding his face in the shadows once more. "Now, we better wait for the village bard to tell his tales. We need information."
"Fine," Harits agreed as he packed up his remaining supplies. However, his face still radiated lingering traces of suppressed enthusiasm. He looked over at the Djinn. "By the way, does that Moon-Pinching Crab actually exist?"
Azazil glanced at the youth from beneath his hat, then let out a dismissive snort. "That creature? Of course not. That is just a cheap fairy tale made up by parents so their children don't play too far up north."
A moment of silence. A gentle breeze blew through the village hall.
The epic image of a house-sized shell and super-strong boulder-slicing pincers that had been magnificently built up in Harits' head instantly shattered to pieces.
Harits blinked twice. "Oh. Okay."
Without much protest, he pulled out his crumpled notebook again, grabbed his pen, and firmly crossed out the words 'Moon-Pinching Crab' from his To-Do List.
Disappointing, indeed. But as a professional angler, Harits knew when to give up on fictional targets and start preparing for the real monsters in the Empedu Lake.