"Admit it! You're one of them!" demanded the furious looking soldier now snarling in Jack's face.

Jack blinked. "One of who? The wolves?"

"Don't mock me, boy!" The man glared and spat. "Do you take us for fools? There's no way a scrawny sprout like you would survive where my own men have fallen. You're one of the bandits, admit it!" And before Jack could inhale a protest, the officer, who's speed was clearly well over 13, mortal or no, had a poniard to Jack's neck. "I think I understand what happened. You and your bandit friends realized the Duke's Rifleers were coming for you. Now you're all desperate to cover your tracks and flee, knowing you don't have a chance against us!"

Jack's blood ran cold with those words, wondering if here in the supposed sanctuary of a tavern, attempting to turn in a quest and bring succor, was where he would breathe his last. The man was clearly a soldier, and the leader of the men now gazing at Jack as intently as a pack of wolves in truth, more than one man's hands caressing the hilt of the swords they wore. And, what truly awed and horrified Jack, was the sight of several long rifles with oversized revolver barrels held by two men kitted like the soldiers out in the courtyard, now coldly rising and slowly circling him.

As horrifying, confusing, and overwhelming as the situation was, there was one thing utterly beyond him, that he was certain, absolutely certain, didn't belong.

"Wait... you guys actually have rifles?"

You have taken one Light Wound. You have suffered a Nasal Fracture.

His words earned Jack a pommel to his nose that earned a cry that seemed to please the hard-eyed officer, before placing his dirk under a trembling Jack's eye. "Speak, bandit. Tell me where your band of cutthroats is hiding! And for your sake, there better be survivors, or I swear I'll see you all drawn and quartered. Now talk!"

Eyes filled with the mad glint of unflappable certainty glared into Jack's own.

Jack's guts quailed, realizing there was no way this man would be shaken of his beliefs. And if the sudden prick of agony was any indication, even protesting would just earn him a maiming. Here he was being treated like a violent crimional until proven innocent, and the only proof this officer would accept is his guilt.

A perfect catch-22.

Jack could imagine twisted fate laughing down at him at that very moment. As if doing its best to kill him off before he could even get a class. Fitting, for someone foolish enough to dare the Path of Peril, when Immortality had been just a single prudent choice away.

"Lindon. Hold."

Soft husky words that earned a surprised blink from Jack, and a snarl from the officer.

"You don't give me orders, Witch."

Jack could sense the already strained mood in the tavern darken.

Strangely, it was the pair of riflemen now glaring at their captain, for all that the barrels of their rifle revolvers with silver hammers cocked were firmly pointed at Jack.

It was then that he caught sight of a less than pleased looking woman wearing the same tabard as the others, but underneath she wore only a quilted gambeson for armor, effective as it was at guarding against anything but the most powerful dead-on thrusts, and Jack was almost certain he detected the telltale glimmer of enchantments from it as well.

She had curly dark hair, almond eyes, and dusky, flawless skin.

Jack thought her absolutely stunning, not the least of which because she was the only person in the entire tavern that seemed to give the slightest shit that this psychopath before him was clearly looking for an excuse to maim or kill him.

She smirked and nodded. "That's right, Captain. I'm your witch. And I'm the only thing keeping your rifleers... my rifleers, from getting their fingers blown off and guns rendered useless by any random flares of magic. Of which we've already survived two such surges, just in the day and a half since we left Greyspeak and headed South."

"So know your place, woman!" the captain snarled, sparing a glare for her before turning back to Jack, slowly carving a line down his face Jack didn't dare flinch from as his skin was split. "You have one job, witch. Protect my men. For which the duke, in his infinite wisdom, has acknowledged you with stipend and rank. It still remains to be seen whether or not creatures like you are even suited for the military, and you may rest assured that my report of your constant insolence and insubordination will leave no room for doubt as to what the answer to that question will be!"

The woman's gaze hardened, but all she said was. "The boy's both a mage, and a Delver. If you kill him without a fair trial, you'll be breaking the Duke's covenant with both the Academy and the Guild."

The man sneered. "I see no adventurer's insignia about his person. No signs of wealth save a clearly stolen sword. This boy is a bandit! Any soldier worth his salt saw through the ruse of that locket immediately! All it took was one of those fools brazen enough to kick out their smallest, weakest member, make him the sacrificial goat while they no doubt butchered their victims and fled, leading the wolves to that very den. Isn't that right, bandit? Now confess! Confess your sins this very instant, or I swear I'll slice your throat here and now and you'll die as the worthless bandit you are, and no one save a single crazy witch will dare say otherwise!"

Jack's heart quailed with terror and fury both, knowing there was no way he could win. This madman would declare him cutthroat and kill him for no reason at all save the man's own paranoid hate, and Jack would die on the side of the road, a presumed bandit, despised by all. And why would any organization that had never even met him bother to say a word otherwise?

Jack's guts clenched in visceral anticipation of his own death, even as the witch glared. "Damn Fool!" she hissed, under her breath.

He understood then how the captain had boxed him in perfectly. No matter what he said or did, even offering to take them to the wolf cave would be seen as a confession of guilt. he would then no doubt demand Jack confess to where his friends had fled after abandoning the cave, then kill Jack when he didn't get the answer he wanted.

All in the name of the duke's Justice, no doubt.

The captain flashed a coldblooded smile. "Won't confess? Then you'll die on the stake!"

"What if I can prove I'm both an adventurer and a mage?" Jack desperately asked, catching eyes with the witch, not the captain.

"You're tricks will get you nowhere, bandit!" The captain roared.

Before hissing and lurching back, when a massive bee the color of arterial blood hopped on his cheek, stinger just a millimeter away from his eye.

"Careful, 'captain'," Jack said. "We wouldn't want you to get stung by a magical bee with enough poison to put down even a shadow wolf, now would we?"

This earned a handful of curses and shouts.

"Stop flinching, fool!" The witch shouted, before gazing back at a now much better warded Jack, both pivoting himself between mad captain and riflemen, his blood shield an additional barrier between them. He crouched low, for the first time investing a further ten mana in a Crimson Gorget, and castigated himself for a fool for not thinking to do so before. Such a small area for those ten additional mana reserved. But there was spot more vulnerable to the thin deadly needle-tip blade that the glaring captain was holding so fiercely than the throat, especially with Jack's helm and cuirass, along with his mother's quilted gambeson and leggings and a certain undertunic made of material he dare not even think too deeply about protecting the rest of him so well.

Of course his veins were filled with dread as more than one rifle barrel tried to draw a bead on him. Whether or not they hit with the power of a 0.22 long or a 12 gauge slug, what mattered was their deadly straight line accuracy, hitting their target in the blink of an eye. It couldn't be dodged like arrows could, nor would they get stuck in lighter wooden shields designed as much for catching blades, and arrows, and foiling the force of a blow as for any cinematic brick-wall like resistance.

And though low and even mid-calibre rounds might be stopped cold by his combination of magical and mundane armaments, a shot to his unarmored face would kill him as quick as anything else.

He could only hope that his Blood Shield was up to the challenge. At least he could take comfort in the fact that straight-line firing was nothing like fighting zombies or wolves, monsters that had tried more than once to clamp onto the rim of his lifesaving defense and try to pull it away before finishing Jack off.

Against those creatures, Spell & Shield and Weapon & Shield skills were absolute lifesavers, because timing his parries was everything.

But there was no chance of raising his 3-foot diameter shield up in time to parry any gunshot wound, so he very carefully kept his shield raised and the roaring captain between himself and almost certain death, grateful that Infravision and Magesight allowed him to keep an eye on his foes without actually keeping an eye on his foes.

"I think I've proven I'm a mage, not that I'd ever dream of hurting someone as reasonable, righteous, and fair as the captain here. And I assure you I've delved as well. So assuming that killing an adventurer whose only crime was finishing a quest open to all would be frowned upon by Duke, and Academy, and whatever other powers-that-be, I assume I can now part in peace?"

"Never!" roared the captain, eyes flashing with unmitigated hate. "You have dared to threaten to poison an officer of his royal army. For this crime, there can only be death, worm!"

"You will do no such thing, captain!" The witch snapped. "He has done nothing but prove he is the farthest thing from a bandit, and the fact that he hasn't stung you yet already, when all you've done is threaten to kill him, speaks well enough for his character in my book."

Her eyes positively flashed. "And rest assured, the Archmagister will be most interested in knowing that one of the select handful of captains overseeing the riflemen, armed with weapons every arcanist fears will one day be used against him, weapons for which the Duke had to procure special consent from the Arcane Academy to even allow within city limits, is a man with a homicidal hatred of magicians!"

The captain's eyes bulged. His face blotched with fury and fear both. "That you would dare threaten me, you foul harlot?" Hot eyes glared at his soldiers. "Men! This witch has broken covenant with the lord she has sworn to serve. You know what you must do!"

Gasps and soft curses could be heard all around. Only a few men glared at Jack and the witch. Everyone else was gazing at the captain with frank disbelief.

"Captain?" said the closest rifleman, looking like he was caught up in a bad dream. When two superiors were at each other's throats, it was always the enlisted who were grist for the mill. Thoughts Jack could read as easily as if he actually had delved into what was, for his clan, a forbidden art.

"Yes! Bring out the iron collar!" The captain snarled at the witch's cool demeanor. "Forged and sigil-bound, it was made for just such an occasion as this; bringing an unruly spell-slinger to justice!

Jack winced. Fortunately, one didn't need to be a mind-reader to sense the sudden tension in the room.

"But um... sir. What about the boy?" Asked another uncertain soldier.

"He's nothing but a bandit. Kill him now!"

It was then that Jack caught sight of the horrified looking innkeeper, his face filled with such dismay and regret. He, like Jack, had resonated with the completion of their quest, a sacred bond that Jack suspected few powers under the sun could break. There was no doubt about Jack's nobility or worth in his mind. Only in the captain's. And the way the innkeeper held his barmaid close, it was all too clear she was carrying his baby. And what more horrific irony could their be than losing a second family to the wiles of an insane captain, simply for defending the honor of the man bringing closure to the death of the first?

Instantly Jack understood why the man dared not say a word, forgiving him with a single gentle smile.

And with that single act, the quest was complete.

Congratulations! You have successfully completed a quest at great peril to yourself, asking for nothing in return! You have brought closure to Innkeeper Brightgrain's grief, helping him come to terms with his terrible loss, absolving him even of the guilt of destiny twisting askew.

The nobility of your actions will forever resonate among those who understand the significance of your deed. Your Charisma has been permanently boosted by 1 point to 14! From bringing closure to a family in morning to rescuing those in desperate peril and helping to forge a city, You have proven yourself an integral part of multiple life stories. It is no wonder that more people now wish to be a part of your own!

For long moments Jack was spellbound by the golden glow permeating him. A touch of wonder, of endless possibility and magic in a world that at times seemed every bit as ruthless and cold as the realm he had left behind.

It was in precious moments like these that Jack could sense, for just a heartbeat, the wonder and grace that was the glorious birthright of this realm, even if it would avail him nothing against the man he knew wanted him dead still.

But when he came back to himself with a shudder, surprised not to find his chest already littered with bullets, it was to see the entire roomful of tavern guests gazing at him with awe, even as the innkeeper sobbed his gratitude, finally finding the courage to say what burned in his heart.

"This boy is no robber!" he sobbed, glaring at the poleaxed looking captain. "He's a hero! I...I gave up more than most of you will ever understand with that quest, and the priests swore to me that it could never be completed by anyone guilty of the crimes that caused it!"

The captain shook his head in a daze, in that moment looking just as stunned as everyone else in the tavern, save for the witch, who was gazing at Jack with an oddly relieved smile.

"But how do you know, good innkeeper. How do you know this... boy wasn't a part of it from the very beginning?"

The innkeeper glowered, inhaling to speak before frowning, as if not sure how to put it into words.

"Because no one directly involved with the hardship of another can profit from any quest for mercy or succor," the witch calmly said into the silence. "Were it otherwise, the darkest souls who dare the Path of Peril would enslave countless cities, demanding they sacrifice their fortunes: youth, wealth, and the unlimited potential of their souls... generating quests that would then feed those power-mad monsters with so much potency that they could never be defeated even as the world became a literally hell on earth."

More than one person paled at those words. Said so matter-of-factly.

"And that's why I will never trust your vile kind!" the captain hissed.

The witch snorted. "And that's exactly why quests and cries for divine intervention can only be embraced by the hero of a tale. Not its villain." Her gaze hardened. "And just how do you think the duke would respond if you dared to cut down an adventurer who glowed with the golden light of ascension that we were all witness to?"

"As if his lordship would get to our lovely captain before the Delver's Guild fed him his own tripes. Probably make a point of it, in fact, with the duke and the Guild being on the outs," said one rough-voiced man, several others chuckling softly, most frowning and saying nothing at all.

The captain's face flushed with humiliated fury. But he was savvy enough to pretend not to have heard a thing. Foolish as he had been, at least he knew better than to turn around and make his humiliation absolute. And if he had an inkling of wisdom, he would let go of the vindictive hate Jack so clearly saw flashing in his gaze, and do his best to earn, and keep, his men's trust in the days ahead.

The captain glared at Jack for long moments, before finally sneering and spitting on the ground. "Get out of here. I never want to see your face again."

Jack said nothing to the man, merely turning around and heading back to the front door, his summoned bee following docilely behind him. He made a point of catching no man's gaze, but his senses were on high alert, ready to raise fiery havoc and flee for his life, should any of those five foot long bayoneted rifles that could serve as short spears as well as guns be pointed his way again.

And Jack could feel it then, the slightest pressure.

A wisp in the air.

Another quest almost offered as an innkeeper inhaled to call him back...

But, Charisma bonus or no, Jack was done playing the fool.

At level zero, he was as vulnerable to the whims of madness and fortune as anyone stupid enough to dare his path could possibly be.

And much to his shock, this world now had guns.

A development that hadn't rang any bells of familiarity at all in his mind.

Even if they were wheel lock rifles loaded with rounds that could spontaneously explode at any moment, unless a witch was guarding her men. Even if Jack's shield might survive with no more than jolts to his shoulder...

He had never felt so close to death as he now did in what should have been any delver's sanctuary.

A tavern where one could kick back, relax, and wile away many an hour telling tall tales and terrible truths to whatever admirers chose to listen and perhaps be inspired to dream wondrous dreams of their own. And who knew what the AI system might or might not do with those dreams? For all Jack knew, it was flights of fancy, works of wonder and imagination, that were most vital to the health and progression of this forged reality. Because one thing his original parents had made clear in defense of their own jobs so very long ago, was that creativity was one trait no AI had successfully incorporated in the time before the Big Rip had doomed them all.