It was the night of the big party. Artyom was dressed in the finest cheap suit he could rent from Aspa, with the heatscar spider silk clothes underneath it and the magic battery on his wrist retrofitted as a cufflink. Requisition orders would normally be filled out by now, especially with Gus pushing it along, but something must’ve been going on back at TOAL if it was being delayed so much. When asked, Gus offhandedly mentioned something about Artyom’s previous mission, and how something going on there was taking up all of TOAL’s spare resources. Thus, he was stuck with the middling gear he received last week.

Of course, Artyom was more upset about not being there to help the rest of the Defense Force, but he had faith that they could handle themselves. Besides, his attention was needed here.

He approached the gated complex and showed his invitation to the guard, who let him pass after a quick inspection. It was someone different from last time.

“Hey, what happened to Cress?” asked Artyom.

“Oh, he’s on vacation. He’d been meaning to take one for some time, but something happened last week that made him drop everything and practically run for the countryside. Wonder what got him so worked up?” replied the new guard.

“Yeah, I wonder.”

Artyom passed the opened gate and made his way up the hill to Lord Cabbafor’s manor. There were a few other sharply-dressed attendees making their way there as well, most of them in fancy horse drawn carriages, while Artyom was relegated to his own two feet. The front of the manor itself was brightly lit with dozens of floating motes of light, courtesy of simple yet tedious spellwork. There were a few nobles chatting outside amongst themselves, but the main doorway was uncrowded, save for a lone butler checking invitations.

Having learned his lesson from the week before, Artyom made sure to prepare for the worst. While a noble’s party was believably one of the safest locations to interact with others, what with the societal pressure to act polite in such company, the safety net only remained as long as people were willing to keep the act up. If someone truly wanted to draw blood, there would be blood.

Artyom cast D-U Dermal Armor and Kinetic Distribution on himself as he approached the gate, along with a light Aura of Friendliness in order to subliminally influence those around him to see his presence favorably. It might not make anyone want to take a bullet for him, but it could help him gain more information. With a final casting of Psionic Barrier to replace his already active Psychic Shielding, Artyom was ready to join the party. He tugged at his magic cufflink and approached.

He handed his invitation to the butler at the door, who took it and allowed him into the manor. The foyer was similarly decorated as it was when he was last there, with its carpeted marble floor and wannabe picasso pieces lining the wall. He made his way to the main hall in front of him, following the red velvet ropes pointing the way, while casting Detect Life in order to prevent ambushes. Luckily, there were no assassins hiding next to the doorway, and Artyom walked through with his most handsome smile on his face.

The guests inside were dressed just as well, if not for their higher quality clothes, the men in suits matching his own but with slightly varying colors and patterns on the outer coat. Charcoal gray, coal tar black, and in one case dark blue. The womens’ dresses on the other hand were an explosion of creativity. Reds, blues, and greens swaddled them as they moved around the hall, the fabric billowing behind them creating an illusion of them gliding across the floor. Artyom was disappointed he couldn’t have something equally fabulous, but put away the feeling as he got down to business.

He walked along the edge of the room, keeping an eye out for anything important, such as Lord Cabbafor, the Great Hero, or the buffet. He found the former, and approached the host of the party with a facetious smile on his face.

“Ah, Lord Artyom, a pleasure to see you here!” exclaimed Lord Cabbafor. “I can only assume you’ve been able to deliver the invitation to the Great Hero? I haven’t seen him here yet.”

“I did my best to get the invitation into his hands,” said Artyom. “Whether he shows up or not is up to him.”

“Yes, of course, of course,” Lord Cabbafor replied, somewhat disappointedly. “I really do hope he shows up. After all of the trouble I put into throwing this party.”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be here,” said Artyom, patting Cabbafor on the back with a big grin on his face.

“Self-conscious much?” thought Artyom to himself. “Why are you venting your fears to a stranger like me? Even if you think I’m another lord?”

“And all of the other nobles are expecting him too!” Cabbafor continued.

“I need to get out of here!” Artyom whined to himself. “Say, Cabbafor, do you know where the food is? I’m famished,” he said out loud, putting an ostentatious emphasis on that last word.

“Oh, right. Just outside of this room, through that door,” replied Cabbafor, pointing to another door. “But please, do let me know if the Great Hero arrives!”

Artyom thanked him and quickly left, not wanting to put up with his worrying any longer. Even if the hero didn’t show up, it wouldn’t be any skin off his back… no wait, it would. Artyom hoped that the hero would show up, at least for his own sake.

After using detect life again to check for hidden assassins behind the doorway, Artyom crossed the threshold into a smaller hall, one lined with heated metal trays containing various bits of finger food. He walked over to the trays and placed several of the items on a plate. Detect Poison, Detect Parasites, and Bodily Compatibility all returned negatives for danger, so Artyom took a cautious bite. The last spell was probably overkill, as it was meant to determine if something was at all edible and compatible with his metabolism. Useful when dining with other species such as Elves, who in one World offered Artyom literal grass as a meal.

The food was, not surprisingly, incredible. Artyom figured that Lord Cabbafor must have some amazing chefs working for him. Or at least high leveled ones. Artyom made his way to a group of chatting nobles, intending to kill some time before the hero arrives. The duo was a man and woman, both dressed exceptionally well in higher quality clothes than his and holding a glass in their hands, taking occasional sips.

“Why hello there,” said Artyom, attempting to mimic Lord Cabbafor’s embellished speaking manner. “I hope you won’t mind me taking part in this conversation?”

“Oh, not at all, darling,” said the lady, tilting her head back and letting her black hair billow as she spoke. “We were planning to look for more company, actually!”

“Mmh, please, tell us about yourself!” said the man. He had the beginnings of a moustache that matched his brown hair, and the movements of his lips accentuated it.

Artyom introduced himself and began polite conversation with the two. They were nobles who lived in the same gated community as Lord Cabbafor, and were looking forward to meeting with the Great Hero along with all of the other partygoers. Apparently, Cabbafor had all but screamed from the high heavens that the hero would be attending the party, and so everyone attending was anticipating his arrival with rapt enthusiasm.

The conversation, to no surprise, was incredibly banal. Most of it was about their latest luxury purchases, or the equivalent of rich people gossip. Who said what, giggling at sordid affairs, and guessing what the Great Hero would be like. Artyom considered that spending all of this time by himself would’ve been more fun. Before he could cut the conversation and find better company, an idea occurred to him. Everyone in this world was inflicted with the taint, so what would happen if he tried to remove it from others? The thought that he could’ve experimented with fighting it a week ago passed his mind, but a quick self-reminder of his priorities pushed it back out.

“Psychic Shielding”, Artyom cast on both of the nobles. He waited with bated breath to see the effects. Both nobles continued their conversation, their dreariness unabated. Artyom let a look of frustration at his failure escape, his lips twisting into a light yet intense frown. He then eyed their glasses as each took a sip.

“Excuse me, but what exactly are you two drinking? I don’t suppose it’s Sparkle, is it?” asked Artyom.

“Oh no, this is actual alcohol!” exclaimed the man. “The drink is incredibly rare, so good old Cabbafor must have broken open a barrel for the occasion!”

“Well that figures,” thought Artyom. “Then let’s remove that variable from the equation. Purge Toxins!”

Artyom silently cast the spell on the nobles. Their kidneys, now magically charged, began to work overtime in clearing out any sort of foreign substance from their body, whether be caffeine, alcohol, or poison. Artyom was clever enough to adapt the spell to work on non living objects as well, but this default variant worked by influencing the target’s metabolism.

As both of the nobles began to sober up, their conversation still remained as it was. No mention of feeling sharper or coming to great philosophical revelations. Just the same conversation. Artyom was dejected at his failure, more so for the lack of making better conversation partners than saving them from stupefaction.

The conversation ended soon after, when the nobles experienced the main side effect of the spell; a case of a full bladder and bowels. They excused themselves and went to find the restroom, while Artyom decided to head back to the main hall, but not before filling up his plate again. It wasn’t every day he could eat food this good.

Artyom picked up one of the metal tongs and began piling his plate with a manner of mini-wraps, mini-filet mignons, and empanadas. As he began reaching for the mini-cakes, another pair of tongs clanged against his. Artyom looked up at this opposing gourmand and saw a young man wearing a suit very similar to his and holding a similarly stacked plate. The suit looked a bit too tight on him however, somehow outlining the muscles in his arms and making him wince slightly whenever he moved.

“Oop, sorry about that,” said Artyom, letting the man get at the desert first.

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” he replied casually, looking up from the buffet. Upon noticing Artyom’s equally high platter, he couldn’t help but break out into a boyish grin. “Hey, another food lover! All of these nobles are too busy trying to look fancy to bother with all this great food. I guess you must not be one of them?”

“Yeah, that’s right,” answered Artyom, caught off guard with the man’s more astute than average observation. “You’re the first one I’ve met who’s been able to figure it out.” The fear of getting caught wasn’t something that bothered Artyom, as he’d been personally invited. If the truth left a bad taste in Lord Cabbafor’s mouth, he’d just skip town and continue his mission.

“I was blessed by the Goddess when I was born with the gift of knowledge, so I’m good at figuring things out,” he replied. “I’m Tommy, by the way.”

“Artyom,” he replied back, shaking Tommy’s hand. “So what brings you here? You’re obviously not a noble either.”

“Yeah, I came to town looking for some… treasure, but instead I found an invitation to this party! Apparently whoever left it there said I’d be able to get it here. Have you seen anyone who looks mysterious or really strong at the party?”

It took all of Artyom’s willpower to not bug out. He double checked his preparations to make sure they were in place. His magic battery was just under half-charged, its capacitance keeping all of Artyom’s defensive spells maintained so far. He nonchalantly reached into his pocket to make sure the spell scrolls were there and primed. He’d purchased the materials to craft them with this remaining money, using them to distil his magic into the equivalent of a set of spell-loaded grenades. Of course, with what he could afford, he could only achieve simple spells, but he’d gone for ones that had additional time and material costs he wouldn’t be able to afford in a tight situation. Smoke bombs that could fill up an entire warehouse, flashbangs that could generate enough light and sound to stun even the largest monsters, and the like.

Satisfied that everything was in place, Artyom took the plunge. It was now or never.

“That’d be me, actually,” said Artyom in a casual whisper, careful not to look away from the Great Hero in front of him.

“Wait, really?” the hero asked, not bothering to hide the surprise from his face. “You don’t really look the type.”

“Uh, well, you know. I like to speak softly and carry a big stick, so to speak.” Artyom decided to test the waters with a semi-obscure reference.

“Ah, I get ya. Girls love a humble guy,” he said with a wink. “But what does that have to do with getting the piece of the key?”

“Wha? No, I mean I look soft and kind but I’m actually pretty strong.” Artyom looked awkwardly at the hero. That was the first time he’d heard someone turn a Teddy Roosevelt quote Freudian like that.

“Oh, alright,” he replied. “So, can I have the key piece?”

“Uh, sure,” said Artyom, pulling out the relic and handing it over to Tommy.

“Thanks!” he exclaimed, before turning around and walking away with his plate of food.

“Wait wait!” shouted Artyom, following him with his own plate. “I only got that so I can talk to you!”

“Oh right, you’re a fan! I still had to go through the dungeon for nothing because of you, so if anything, you owe me.”

“Well, I did get you into this party. And you wouldn’t be stuffing yourself if it weren’t for me.”

The hero stopped and was silent in thought for a moment, before replying. “Ok, that’s fair. So what did you want to talk about?”

Tommy didn’t seem one for subtlety, so it was time to ask him directly. Artyom triple checked his getaway gear and primed the flashbang before speaking.

“Well, I heard rumors that you know about this faraway place. I think it was called Cali-something?”

“You heard right! It’s California, and I’m actually from there!” he replied, matter-of-factly. “What did you want to know about it?”

Bingo. “Oh, neat!” Artyom replied with a cheesy grin, but the surprise in his voice was entirely genuine. “How’d you get here from all the way over… wherever California is?”

“I died there and got reincarnated in this world, with all of my memories intact,” replied Tommy. “Apparently it’s a thing that happens because of the Goddess so she could make me the chosen one.”

It most certainly was not a thing that happened, from what Artyom knew. Earthers got brought over to these fantastical Worlds by portals, they were never simply born there. Sure, it was a common trope in the stories associated with the isekai/”in another world” genre, but it wasn’t an actual thing that happened! Mostly because it defied everything that TOAL knew about souls and afterlives. Each World generally had its own afterlives, governed by its deities, and dying in a particular World would bring your soul to one of its afterlives. Such was known only because the deities in fantastical Worlds were more likely to directly involve themselves in its happenings and reveal their presences to the mortals below. Though the same couldn’t really be said of Earth, it could be assumed that there was some sort of deific presence and afterlife back there due to the vast libraries of mythology which are apparently confirmed as real in other worlds.

If what Tommy was talking about was true, then Artyom got what he came here for. He found the Earther and confirmed that his summoning was in fact through an entirely new method that couldn’t be tracked through traditional means. He’d call Gus after the party to give him the news, but he was sure he already knew what his response would be. Now that he’s found the who and the what, it was time to focus on the how. How did he get reincarnated, circumventing whatever potential afterlife was awaiting him on Earth? And how did he keep his memories through the process? This was the first time anything like this has ever been found by TOAL, and if it wasn’t the last, then they’d need to know how to search for such an event in the future.

There was still a conversation waiting for Artyom outside of his head, and he knew that the best way to find out more about the hero’s strange case was straight from the horse’s mouth.

“Oh, that’s awful! The dying part, I mean. But now you’re saving the kingdom!” said Artyom.

“Yup! It’s really great here!”

“Say, you know I’m a really big fan, right? And I was able to get through that dungeon on my own,” began Artyom. “Do you think I can join you? I can be a lot of help as a spellcaster!”

“If you got through that dungeon on your own, then you must be pretty strong. And you seem like a really nice guy, seeing as how you got the key piece for me and got me into this party. You know what? Sure, you can join!”

“Nice, thanks!” cheered Artyom, a calculating expression hidden beneath his exaggerated mirth.

“No problem, but first, I should probably introduce you to the rest of the party! Get you to know the whole group!”

The hero led Artyom away from the buffet and into the main hall, towards phase 2 of his mission.