Chapter 270

After a quick glance, Queo-tlan… Hmm, let’s just call him Queo from now on. It’s simpler that way.

Queo’s physical condition was an utter mess. According to his memories, he had spent several days hanging onto a small raft without properly eating or drinking anything.

The fact that he’s still alive is nothing short of fortunate.

A typical Lizardman would have stored abundant nutrients in their thick tails, but Queo’s tail had grown alarmingly thin due to using all its reserves for survival.

Perhaps it was thanks to the nutrition stored in his tail that he managed to hold on this long.

Anyway, while malnutrition was concerning, dehydration was by far the most serious issue.

Surrounded by undrinkable seawater and exposed to relentless sunlight, every reflection off the ocean seemed to sap the remaining moisture from Queo’s body.

Lizardmen are already sensitive to hydration levels, so enduring such conditions where everything conspired against him must’ve been excruciating. All Queo could do was regret his choices and send numerous prayers my way.

Sure, he might’ve managed to drink a bit of rainwater during a storm, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

Alright then, how should I help little Queo?

The simplest solution would be sending him back home. Just load him onto any old boat and let the waves carry him back downriver—it’d be quick and easy.

But that wouldn’t be fun at all, now would it?

If his prayers were strong enough to disturb my slumber, they should at least spark some interest in me. There needs to be some payoff for saving his life!

Therefore… Let the Queo-tlan Drift Adventure begin!

Shall we spruce up this tiny island a bit?

We’ll make it livable enough for a single Lizardman and keep an eye on him while offering occasional assistance.

It’d be great if he could find a way to escape while living here!

—

Queo-tlan woke up after being swept away by a violent storm, realizing he was stranded on an unfamiliar island.

The sound of waves crashing against the shore echoed around a sandy beach lined with grassy hills. Beyond them, the soft murmur of flowing water reached his ears.

Even in his disoriented state, Queo-tlan followed the sound of water, pushing through tall grass until he discovered a small stream.

His keen sense of smell, dulled by dehydration, detected fresh, salt-free water—a clean source of hydration.

He cautiously extended a hand toward the stream, feeling the cool dampness seep into his fingers before losing control and plunging his snout straight into the water.

“Phew, phewwah!”

Desperately gulping down mouthfuls of water, Queo-tlan gradually regained his senses, remembering his dire situation.

“Where am I…?”

Thanks to the refreshing water, his surroundings became clearer: the clear stream, lush vegetation, and the distant sight of the shoreline.

Remembering the salty lake he had drifted across—an enormous expanse known as the Lake of Death—Queo-tlan shuddered. How had he survived? Had the Creator Dragon God answered his fervent prayers?

As he scanned the coastline, fragments of his shattered raft caught his eye.

Had it broken apart from the rough seas or simply reached its limit after delivering him safely to the island?

Seeing the remnants of his first-ever boat—a vessel he bought with hard-earned money after leaving his parents—filled Queo-tlan with sorrow. Though old and worn, regular maintenance had kept it functional until now.

Unfortunately, the harsh waves proved too much for it.

With no boat, crossing the deadly waters was impossible. And since swimming wasn’t an option either, finding another route seemed necessary.

Could he build a new boat? But even if he did, could such a crude craft survive the terrifying waves and storms?

Shaking his head, Queo-tlan realized exploring other options was essential.

Korrrlek.

His empty stomach growled loudly, reminding him of another pressing concern: hunger.

Normally, he could go a few days without food, but his tail, once full of reserves, was now dangerously thin. Surviving much longer without sustenance seemed unlikely.

Thus, clutching his rumbling belly, Queo-tlan stood determined to fill it somehow.

—

The island Queo-tlan washed ashore on appeared relatively small.

Though unable to climb the tallest peak due to exhaustion, walking along the coast revealed no connections to other landmasses.

Fortunately, the island boasted rich vegetation and fresh water sources, ensuring temporary survival wouldn’t be too difficult.

Various fruits hung ripe for the taking, and larger fish swam in nearby ponds formed by the stream.

Despite the oddity of such large fish inhabiting such a small stream, Queo-tlan didn’t question it. Simply having enough food to avoid starvation felt like a blessing.

Focusing on recovering his depleted stamina through fruit and fish, Queo-tlan believed there must’ve been a reason behind surviving the treacherous sea.

Perhaps the Creator Dragon God intended something greater for him.

Regardless, he vowed to fight tooth and nail to stay alive.

—

Queo adapted surprisingly well.

Using sticks sharpened with his claws, he constructed a makeshift tent for shelter. He also managed to start fires by rubbing wood together and prepared fish accordingly.

Were Lizardman claws truly multipurpose tools? They certainly proved versatile.

With sufficient food, water, and warmth secured, life on the island posed little threat from predators.

Understanding there were no immediate escape routes, Queo began looking towards the mountain for answers.

Hopefully, something useful awaited him there.

Of course, I’d arranged for something helpful at the summit, but whether Queo could persuade it remained uncertain.

—

Having explored the entire island, Queo found nothing aiding his escape.

Though blessed with fresh water and edible resources, these wouldn’t last forever. Escaping the island remained paramount.

Without proper tools, constructing a sturdy enough raft seemed risky, yet it was the only apparent choice left.

Before giving up entirely, Queo decided to ascend the mountain one last time.

Hoping against hope, he started climbing.

At the summit, he discovered a small spring radiating pure clarity.

Mesmerized by its beauty, Queo instinctively reached out.

Simultaneously, a translucent figure emerged from within the pristine waters.

An ethereal entity made entirely of crystal-clear liquid materialized before him.

—

Oh Spirit of Pure Water. Oh Guardian of Crystal Streams.

We offer our scales unto thee.

In return, grant us thy blessings of pure water.

Wrap our journey in thy breath-like purity.

With thy guidance, we shall traverse any path.

-The Prayer of Pure Water

A traditional prayer recited by Lizardmen embarking on voyages or navigating perilous seas.

By offering their scales, they receive divine protection from the Spirit of Water, alleviating their species’ susceptibility to dry environments.

Why the Water Spirits desire Lizardman scales remains unknown—even to the spirits themselves.

Perhaps they merely feel a strange longing for them.