Gladford was the same.

Extensive fields of wheat flowed with the wind, each plant waving its head. A grand reception for the arriving travelers on their way to the city. They had grown tall enough to act as a hiding place for the playing children. Not unsimilar to the image that I saw when I first entered this world. Only a month or two more. Nearly an entire year had passed since my arrival.

But this world’s residents didn’t use weeks or months. Instead, they used circles. In accordance with their belief in 14 gods, each circle comprised 14 days. With 14 circles each making up both the light and the dark half of the year. Hence according to the farmers it would be five or six more circles before the harvest. And seven circles before the dark half with its colder weather began. Almost 100 more days before the harvest needed to be done.

But Master Bernier’s explanation only served as background noise. One more try to endure the silent travel on the uneven path.

Next, the farmhouses around the city came into view. But just like their counterparts in the village, these buildings were much better described with the word hut. Or rotten. None of these buildings could offer shelter against any attacks. They would burn while their owners fled towards Gladford.

But safety and shelter remained a rare merchandise, even if one followed the winding path into the city. The stone houses, constructed with stolen stones from the ruinous city wall, were few and far between. The barracks, a few houses for the rich, and Freiherr Houdin’s manor, our destination.

It was questionable whether any of the owners would provide homeless and frightened farmers with safety. Let alone a future. Gladford was called a city, but the few guards and mercenaries were its only defense. The difference between a living and a burning city.

The market place, or rather the central square filled with peddlers, had regained its usual liveliness. Forgotten the sorrow after the recruits’ deaths. Forgotten the fact that the leprechauns’ army still aimed its claws at their homes. Life goes on.

Back on the Earth I had used my long stay in the hospice to watch a lot of documentaries and some information still surfaced from time to time. It was fascinating how the human brain would blend a constant threat to our lives out. As city dwellers, most of us have multiple weapons of mass destructions aimed at our heads during any moment. A giant threat, but our brains actively ignore it so we can still function during the day.

Gladford was the same.

Rhoslyn, the sword maiden, had made her speech occupying the same square. And the residents knew that an army of leprechauns existed out there. They had experienced the loss of life. But here they were, drinking their evenings away, trying to get a good handful of the farmer girls.

I wanted to get angry at them, yell at them, tell them about the dead farmers in the south.

But I couldn’t.

Hadn’t I been the same? Someone who ignored the threat to the city and the villages and only chased after his own goals. Someone who dreamed of the game’s areas while ignoring his immediate surroundings. Even someone who was frustrated over a failed mission while a mother buried her son.

And weren’t they the same? Farmers too busy to care for far away villages, merchants who dreamed of money and beauties, and those who would flee at the first signs of danger.

No. Gladford and its residents remained the same.

Instead, I had changed. A fresh perspective on things.

A sigh escaped my mouth. So much for my plans of traveling the world with the sword maiden, leaving the village behind. Now I wanted to get angry at strangers over them.

Still absorbed in my thoughts, I followed Master Bernier toward the biggest stone house in the city, its entrance bigger than the nearby barracks. Well-kept and cleaned stone steps led to a wide double door with glass inlays. Actual glass. Not just a hole in the door.

I had been here once before on the day I became a Vinetar, a leader of a small group of soldiers. Back then, my mind was occupied with Rhoslyn and I had paid little attention to the interior. But now, after experiencing a year in this world, I realized how out of place the luxury really was.

Glass windows, finely worked wooden furniture, expensive paintings on the walls, and carpets made of fur. Not the home of someone overseeing a few farming villages in the middle of nowhere. Instead, it wouldn’t be out of place in an empire’s palace.

“Oh, those paintings don’t belong the Freiherr,” Master Bernier chimed in. “Gladford’s founders had a lot more… extensive… plans for the city and its surroundings. I fear we don’t do them justice.”

Were my thoughts that visible on my face? Or was he just trying to display Freiherr Houdin in a better light? Either way, the founders’ plans didn’t interest me. Instead, their origin was a lot more pressing as I still needed to understand my location in this world. Only then would I be able to use my game knowledge to its fullest. No use remembering locations when you can’t find them.

“Please wait here for now,” Master Bernier instructed, pointing at an armchair. “I’ll inform the Freiherr at once.”

And I was left alone with the thoughts and questions still occupying my mind, as I paced up and down the waiting room. The armchair untouched thanks to my dirty clothes. Instead, I tried to sort my thoughts.

What did Freiherr Houdin want from me?

I died on the Earth, just to open my eyes in this alternative world. My first winter passed by as I stayed in one of the southern villages. No deeper contact with the merchant caravans, no information that would travel through the wilderness. So my stay there should still be a secret.

Afterwards I had joined the sword maiden’s recruits, earning myself the rank of Vinetar, slaying the first leprechauns while guarding a merchant caravan. A failed mission that still led to a promotion and new orders. Anything unusual with that?

I had used hares to train my troop, but I did it under the guise of ‘learning to kill’. I never explained the game’s system or the concept of experience points, so that training should only raise a few eyebrows. And the attack skill I used to slay the leprechauns looked like a straightforward, heavy strike. Nothing that would stand out in a life and death battle.

In short, I had shown nothing too unusual until my promotion. No reason for the ruler of a city to know about me. I doubt I ever entered his eyes, let alone left an impression. To him, I was just a recruit hidden in the mass of other recruits.

I sighed. So it still came down to this.

Together with my promotion, I had received new orders. Go and guard the eastern mine. An important mission as the mine’s profit was the only way to pay the mercenaries guarding the city. But to me it sounded different. Give the southern villages up and sentence them to death. An order I didn’t obey.

And now I, a deserter with no secret backer, appeared in front of the city’s lord. There weren’t that many possibilities to choose from. And most sounded rather bleak.

Would they sentence me to death? And if so, would I be able to flee? Probably not. Rhoslyn alone was at least strong enough to keep me occupied until more guards arrived. And there was still Master Bernier, a natural gifted magician, and a weapon of mass destruction on his own.

No. If they wanted my head, I would already be surrounded by guards. So this was about something different. Then what about the opposite? The brave Vinetar who saved the southern villages on his own. An exemplar for the masses. Was that it?

Was this the reason Master Bernier tried to display Houdin in a better light? There was no way he would make me a hero without controlling me. So did they expect me to serve under him from now on? Was this my ceremony? Would it be the choice between execution or servitude?

But why would Master Bernier use Rhoslyn’s name as soon as he had arrived in the village? The same maiden that had encouraged my fight for the southern villages. It didn’t add up. And given his timely arrival, did Master Bernier witness me using fortress? That would complicate the upcoming discussion even more.

Too many unknowns to plan anything.

Hence I could only calm myself down and wait for nearly an hour, pacing up and down the waiting room, until a finely dressed servant arrived.

“Our Freiherr is ready to receive you,” he announced, collected my weapons, checked me for hidden ones, and led me into Freiherr Houdin’s study.