Translated by MissQ (ko-fi)

Chapter 4: The Frog Prince

Ian had braced himself for the sensation of drowning, but to his surprise, he felt no pain in his lungs as he submerged. Instinctively, he struggled to awaken, his hands and feet flailing against the water until he finally broke the surface. The full moon still illuminated the night sky, indicating that he had only been unconscious for a brief moment.

As he pushed through the tangled reeds, he caught a distant echo of the madwoman’s furious screams. Meanwhile, the knights continued their fierce battle against the rebels over the matter of succession, while a few soldiers searched the shadows for the missing prince. The thick darkness seemed to envelop everything, much like the depths of the lake, as the men combed the waters in search of a frog…

He had become that very frog.

The prince lifted his hands, only to discover that they had transformed into the webbed fingers of a four-toed frog. The sensation of kicking against the water felt entirely different from swimming with his new limbs, and even his vision had shifted dramatically. He had become the beast the madwoman had desired.

Finally, the woman’s unreasonable demands provoked the knights. They voiced their concerns about the dangers of entering the crocodile lake at night and decided to disobey her orders, returning to the battle instead. For the moment, Ian found himself safe from immediate danger.

Yet he dared not linger; he needed to escape!

Without a moment to waste, he hurried to the shore and pressed onward. If he could reach the temple, the priests would surely recognize him as a cursed soul and devise a solution for his plight. He had to trust in their abilities; otherwise, he truly had no idea how he would continue to live!

It took the prince three days to finally emerge from the woods. During this time, he successfully eluded the soldiers who were searching for him. Locating a frog no larger than a fist in such dense foliage proved to be a daunting task. Occasionally, he would glance up at the moon and chuckle to himself, thinking that, despite its blemishes and waning state, it still looked better than his own frog skin. Once free of the forest, he set his sights on the long road ahead, hoping to find a town or city.

What had once seemed simple as a human now became an overwhelming challenge as a frog. Everything around him felt colossal and perilous. He found himself constantly pursued by dogs, while passersby tossed shoes at him without a second thought. Occasionally, civilians swung their canes dangerously close, their casual indifference to his plight evident. Traversing the road was a treacherous endeavor; the threat of being crushed by a carriage or trampled by a stampeding horse loomed large. Ian felt despondent after navigating through a small town, and the thought of what awaited him in the city filled him with dread—there, the likelihood of accidental death would be far greater.

As a frog, he endured daily scorn and disdain from everyone around him. It felt as if the entire world had conspired against him, teeming with malice. When hunger struck, he had no choice but to feast on repugnant flies and mosquitoes. For thirst, he resorted to drinking from dank, filthy potholes. Exhausted, he could only find rest in damp, dirty corners; if he strayed from a humid environment, his skin would crack from dryness, amplifying his suffering.

If he had always been a frog, perhaps his life would be considered satisfactory. Yet, he was not; he was a man—a human being—trapped within this wretched shell. His predicament not only filled him with profound frustration but also forced him into a humbling state of existence. Each day he opened his eyes felt like an unbearable torment, inflicted by an unseen hand. Although he was fortunate to still draw breath, he sensed that the days and weeks threatened to drown and suffocate him.

Despite the arduous journey, he refused to linger in one place, continuously hopping along the official road where citizens traversed. Ian was uncertain of what lay ahead. Perhaps he held a flicker of hope for a chance encounter with the priests along the way. Would they be able to recognize him as a cursed soul, employing the magic at their disposal? After all, every part of him now resembled that of a frog. Was there a priest powerful enough to discern his true state? There has to be!

…

The scorching sun beat down mercilessly. Summer had arrived, and Prince Ian recalled that it had been a beautiful spring day when he first visited the Duke's mansion. It seemed he had been imprisoned for over three months since that fateful day.

The official road, worn down by countless horse-drawn carriages and heavy footsteps over time, offered little respite. The grass struggled to take root in the eroded patches, and much of the surface was strewn with pebbles and sand, rendering it dry and scorching. The summer heat was particularly oppressive; while humans might have withstood it, for a frog, it felt like hell itself. Ian felt as if he were on the brink of collapse from the heat, which only added to his already heavy heart.

With great effort, he hopped forward once more, only to collapse onto the ground. He realized he couldn't muster the strength to rise again. Exhausted from sleepless nights and reduced to a frail, emaciated state, Ian knelt by the side of the official road. If he continued to languish under the scorching sun, he would soon perish as a lifeless frog.

He couldn't laugh, so he emitted a feeble croak—a pitiful sound for a once-dignified prince reduced to this fate, on the verge of dying alone by the roadside. No one would be there to honor his remains; his body would likely be left for foxes or lizards to scavenge.

With a bittersweet smile, the prince finally closed his eyes, feeling himself cradled in a gentle pair of hands. Has Death come to embrace him? Was it truly his time to go? It seemed that, yes, the end was nigh.

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