The swamp stretched out before them, quiet except for the low croak of unseen throats. Mist clung to the water, drifting between broken reeds and moss-slick stones.

  And there, in the center of the room, sat three frogs.

  They perched on lilypads in a neat triangle, unmoving except for the slow rise and fall of their throats. Just frogs. Glossy eyes. Damp skin. Utterly ordinary.

  Leo Vince narrowed their gaze. “Only three? Suspicious. Dungeons rarely under-populate.”

  Harlada nodded, keeping her hands high as if juggling invisible spell components. “Don’t be fooled. Normal frogs don’t get their own room. They’re probably poisonous.”

  Bert cracked his neck. “I’ll crush ’em before they spit.”

  They crouched, watching.

  The frog in the middle adjusted its posture, straightening so stiffly it looked almost dignified. Its throat sac pulsed in slow, even intervals, as if it were taking notes on the adventurers.

  The frog on the left shifted constantly, hopping from lilypad to stone and back again, little feet flashing in the dim light. It twirled in a half-circle for no reason, then landed gracefully, croaking as if in triumph.

  The frog on the right just sat there, muscles bulging under its slick skin. It flexed, casually snapped a reed in half, and let it drop into the water with a soft plop.

  The adventurers stared.

  “…They’re mocking us,” Harlada whispered.

  “Coincidence,” Leo muttered. “Amphibians are incapable of mimicry at this level.”

  “Wrong,” Bert growled. “That one just flexed at me.”

  They readied their weapons.

  “Remember,” Leo said. “No direct contact. Eliminate them from range.”

  They hurled stones. Frogs leapt. Missed every time.

  The orange-throated acrobat frog spun mid-air before landing on another pad. The stern frog remained stiff, unblinking, throat pulsing like measured breath. The muscular frog puffed up its body until it was twice its size, croaking deep and proud.

  All three adventurers froze at once.

  “…Wait,” Harlada whispered. “Do they look… familiar?”

  ***

  Leo raised his book like a shield. “Strategy: attrition. Outlast their stamina. They can’t leap forever.”

  They launched another volley of stones. Splash. Plop. The frogs sprang aside, ripples spreading through the swamp. Not one hit landed.

  “Fine,” Harlada hissed. “I’ll use magic.” She snapped her fingers, trying to conjure fire. A spark fizzled, sputtered, and died against the damp air. The frog on the left twirled mid-hop as if mocking her.

  “Stop showing off!” she shouted, pelting it with another rock. Miss.

  Bert stomped forward, cleaver raised high. “Enough games. It’s smash time.” He swung with all his strength, the blade cutting clean through the stone beneath a lilypad—crunch—but the frog was already gone. Another croak echoed from behind him.

  Bert spun, panting. “They’re teleporting.”

  “They’re hopping,” Leo corrected, voice taut.

  Minutes passed. Stones thrown. Cleaver swings wasted. Mana sparks fizzled. Every attempt failed. The frogs never attacked, never closed the distance—just leapt, croaked, and waited.

  Finally, Leo dropped their last rock, exasperated. “This is impossible. Amphibians should not display this level of tactical acumen.”

  Harlada wiped mud from her gloves. “They’re too fast. It’s like they know exactly what we’re going to do before we do it.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Bert spat into the swamp. “Then we stop thinking. We go all in.”

  He charged. Harlada cartwheeled after him, gloves flashing. Leo muttered about inefficient battle formations but followed anyway.

  Three adventurers against three frogs.

  The swamp erupted in chaos—splashing water, swinging blades, sparks of magic—and three shadows bounding, dodging, leaping through it all.

  ***

  The fight was a mess of splashes, croaks, and shouted plans that never survived contact with reality.

  Bert swung his cleaver in a wide arc, nearly cutting Leo in half. Harlada tried to flip behind a frog, slipped in the mud, and landed flat on her back. Leo hurled his book at one of them in desperation, only to watch it bounce harmlessly off a lilypad.

  And then it happened.

  Harlada scrambled to her feet and shouted, “Bert, behind you!”

  He turned too quickly, slipped on the slick mud, and fell forward. His cleaver flew from his hand, spinning end over end through the damp air.

  Thwip.

  It smacked directly into the acrobat frog, sending it tumbling into the water with a final croak.

  Leo gasped. “That was… effective?”

  The remaining frogs froze for just a moment. Long enough for Harlada to clap her hands together, sparks finally flaring. A burst of steam exploded from the swamp, blinding them. When it cleared, one frog lay stunned. Bert stomped down hard, and it was done.

  The last frog hopped once, twice, aiming for escape—only to be smacked midair by Leo’s thrown notes. Pages fluttered like snow as the frog plopped lifeless into the water.

  Silence. Just the faint hiss of steam.

  The crystal screen pulsed.

  Attempts: 52. Encounter Cleared. Reward Generated.

  From the center of the swamp, the water bubbled. A stone pedestal rose slowly, slick with algae. Atop it sat a single gem, faintly glowing.

  They gathered around, dripping and bruised. The gem pulsed warmly in their presence, and words etched themselves in the air:

  Stat Boost Acquired. Allocate +1 to any attribute.

  The three adventurers stared at it, then at each other.

  “One point,” Leo said at last, reverent. “This could change everything. The question is: where?”

  “Dexterity,” Harlada said immediately. “I can actually land a spell if my hands move faster.”

  “Strength,” Bert countered. “Always strength. Never enough.”

  “Intelligence,” Leo snapped. “So we stop dying every five minutes.”

  The gem pulsed again, waiting.

  The gem’s glow sharpened, words etching themselves clearly into the air:

  Allocate +1 Stat Point. Recipient: One adventurer only.

  The three froze.

  “One?” Harlada said, frowning. “Just one of us?”

  Bert folded his arms. “Easy choice. Give it to me. I’m the muscle.”

  “You’re already too much muscle,” Leo argued. “We need brains. Clearly, it belongs with me.”

  “Excuse me?” Harlada snapped. “Dexterity wins fights. I nearly hit something this time!”

  They circled the pedestal like predators. The gem pulsed brighter, impatient.

  “This is absurd,” Leo said at last, voice tight. “We are a party. The logical path is to analyze roles, weigh probabilities, optimize—”

  “Rock, paper, scissors,” Bert interrupted.

  “What?”

  “It’s how my clan settles disputes.” He held out a fist. “Best of three.”

  They played. Bert won.

  The gem dissolved into his hand with a faint chime.

  +1 Strength applied to Bouldering Bert.

  “YES!” Bert flexed so hard his sleeves tore.

  The swamp groaned.

  Before the others could argue further, the crystal screen blinked again.

  Trial Complete. Path Forward Unlocked.

  The far wall rumbled, splitting into three archways. Mist curled from their thresholds, each one marked with a glowing sigil.

  The first door bore the jagged lines of flames and chains. Heat shimmered faintly from within, and the faint sound of bubbling magma drifted through.

  The second showed a stubby bird with flippers spread wide. From behind it came the muffled sound of honking, like distant laughter.

  The third was carved with a web pattern, strands etched so finely they seemed to twitch. A low chittering echoed from beyond, soft and endless.

  Above the three doors, the crystal screen blinked to life:

  Choose wisely. The Dimension of Lava. The Dimension of Penguins. The Dimension of Spiders. Only one path advances.

  The adventurers stared.

  Harlada swallowed. “Not spiders.”

  Leo adjusted his notes. “Not lava. That can’t be progress. That’s regression.”

  Bert cracked his knuckles. “Then… penguins?”

  The doors pulsed, waiting.