"The Golden Toad…" the mage began, his voice shaky, eyes flickering with a cocktail of fear and reluctant reverence. "He… he is a mage, yes—but that wasn't always the case."
He swallowed hard, as if the very name threatened to choke him.
"He was once a common toad. Just like any other. Mud-dwelling, bug-eating, harmless. But everything changed when he stumbled upon a stream of glowing liquid seeping through the sewers. A magical fluid… thick, luminous, and alive. He called it the Elixir of Rebirth."
The mage's eyes burned with envy as he spoke, greed surfacing like an oil slick.
"He drank it."
He paused, trembling at the memory of the toad's retelling.
"And from that moment… he began to change... To transform into something more than just an ordinary toad."
His voice dropped to a whisper now, as though recalling some forbidden transformation.
"First, his skin turned gold. Not painted… not stained. Gold. Shimmering, radiant, impossible to ignore. On noticing this, the other toads grew very wary. He was no longer one of them. He no longer looked or behaved like one of them, and unable to keep up with the changes; They exiled him—cut him off from their kin circles and mating rituals. A pariah in his own kind."
"Then came the mind…" the mage continued. "His thoughts sharpened. He began to think like a man—no, smarter than an average man. He started to learn the ways of man, the ways of power, and he immediately found his fascination with Alchemy. Absorbed in his study and training; his understanding of magic, of alchemy, of the world itself… it grew by the hour. And so did his body. He grew—fast. Towering over his kind, his body filled with strength. It was like the Elixir awakened every dormant cell, every hidden potential."
"And then…" He gulped, eyes wide. "The final shift. He could change. He could switch forms. No longer bound to a toad's form, he could transform—shape-shift—into a man. That was the latest gift the Elixir gave him before its effects wore out and its content were completely used up.
He searched for more of it, time and time again. Desperately. But never found it."
The mage's voice softened, trailing into bitter longing. His lips curled, revealing the hunger in his heart. He clearly wished he'd found the elixir himself.
Josh stood unmoving, letting every word settle into the air like dust after a storm. He nodded slowly, eyes unreadable.
"And how many of you serve him?" Josh asked, voice low, directed at none of them in particular. But the weight of the question was clear—it demanded an immediate and complete answer.
The mage who'd spoken swallowed hard. "At the very least… there should be more than five hundred of us. He promised us the Elixir. Said he's close to recreating it—he remembers how it felt when he drank it. Said the sensation never left him."
He spoke quickly, piling on details like a man building his own coffin—hoping the carvings might buy him mercy.
Josh said nothing. He turned to the third man.
And without warning…
SHLICK.
The blade moved like a phantom—clean, decisive. The man's head tumbled from his shoulders before his mouth could form a sound.
The silence that followed was heavy. The remaining captives trembled, minds racing.
"W-We'll talk! We'll talk too!" the last two shouted in unison, panic blooming like wildfire in their throats.
The second mage, still alive, clung to a false hope—that his words had spared him. But Josh had made no such promise. His justice had already been decided long before they opened their mouths.
Josh's eyes remained steady. Cold.
"Where is the Golden Toad?" he asked. "And how do we get in unnoticed?"
The question hung in the air like a noose.
This time, all three remaining men spoke at once, voices overlapping in desperation. Their words tangled, chaotic, until they realized Josh wasn't straining to hear them.
They quieted. Their lives were at the mercy of his discretion, so they had to cooperate or end up like their colleagues.
And then, like schoolboys presenting confessions, they took turns.
"Our base is in the next city," the first began. "Cumba City. There's a swamp region south-east of the gates—it's called Ruma. That's where we have our base of operations."
The second continued, nodding eagerly. "To enter unnoticed, just blend in. Many mages come and go—couriers, suppliers, taskmen. If you play the part, no one will question you. It's the easiest way to get close to the Golden Toad."
"And… and he's easy to identify," the third added, almost stumbling over his words. "In his human form, he has golden skin. Shiny. Scaled, almost. You'll know when you see him. And in toad form… he's a monster. A giant beast. Bigger than a house."
Josh absorbed every detail in silence. His face didn't flicker. Not a muscle twitched.
Then, slowly… he spoke.
"Good information."
He lifted the sword.
"Now it's time… to meet your maker."
"Wait—huh? No! You said—!" one of them began, but the words never finished.
SHWWIIIINNNNNGGG.
The blade danced.
Three heads fell, clean and silent.
No time for pain. No room for farewell.
Even the generals flinched. The speed was untraceable. The strike—flawless. The dead likely didn't even realize they'd been killed.
Josh sheathed the sword with a smooth, controlled motion. Its glittering surface gleamed once more, catching the light like divine fire.
He stood still for a moment, then turned to walk away. His generals watched him carefully, noting the way his hand lingered a second longer on the sword's hilt.
He had planned to pass it on to one of them. A gift. A reward.
But something had changed.
This sword… it was becoming his.
Not just a weapon.
But a part of his destiny.
Josh paused mid-stride, the gold-grade, high level blade still humming faintly at his side. His back was to his generals, but the weight of his authority settled over them like dusk over a field.
Then, slowly, he turned.
"We'll make camp for the night," he said, his voice calm—but beneath that calmness was steel. "At first light, we march on the Golden Toad, in Cumba city."
He let the words settle like judgment from on high.
"I'll take his head first," he continued, his gaze narrowing. "Then his men will serve. The higher-ranking scum—his executives—they die. Every last one. But the others… the lesser ones… they'll be useful. Labourers. Captives."
The air tightened.
"Yes, my Lord," the generals replied in unison, fists clenched over their hearts. The way they said it wasn't just obedience—it was reverence… and a tinge of fear.
Unspoken between them was a realization, deepening with every breath:
Josh Aratat was changing.
He was no longer the benevolent wanderer, the calm protector of the weak, the warm fire in cold lands.
Now, something darker simmered beneath his surface. Purposeful. Unrelenting.
His temperament had become layered—like a mountain cloaked in fog. One moment calm and thoughtful, the next a force of nature. He weighed lives like stones, judged swiftly, and acted without hesitation.
He was becoming an overlord in truth.
And perhaps the most frightening part… was how natural it felt.