Things to do today:

- Ask Eric about everything

- Look into digging.

He was stressing out.

But anyone who had ever met him would tell that that was nothing new.

The cause of this latest pity party of his?

His ‘New Plan’.

He had been up all night trying to think of a way to keep himself from becoming poor. The fear of the entitled, yes, but a fear nonetheless. While he had a lot when compared to the other inhabitants of this world, the middle-class and below at least, it was also so very little. So little in fact, that it would all be gone in a few months. Well, almost everything.

“You’ll always stay with me, won’t you?” he asked Her Majesty.

She was wrapped around his neck in a cold and emotionless embrace. Her response to his question, much like her response to anything else, was to lay as still as the dead.

Actually, that was far from the truth, as anyone who had seen a zombie could attest that they exhibited far greater signs of life than Her Majesty was displaying at this moment.

He groaned, shaking himself a little in an attempt to shed last night’s fatigue.

He had stayed up all night trying to come up with something that would solve his problems. He vaguely remembered thinking he had finished his new plan before crawling back into bed but since he had awoken at whatever time it was, past noon judging by the light, he had been scribbling in his little notebook like a madman.

New ideas, new schemes, new possibilities.

He had, in fact, spent the last hour obsessing over bees alone. Whether or not he could keep them, how he would take care of them, and of course the concern over whether or not the local bee population was dying off like Earth. All because a couple of manga that he had read all agreed that the importance of honey was not to be underestimated. From medicine to candles, to the simple luxury of eating honey. Bees were so ‘fucking’ wonderful.

“Fuck, I’m tired.” He moaned. He ran his hands over his face before using them to slap himself awake.

The problem was, that with his knowledge of earth, he knew of many things that he could do…in theory. But even if he started with the things that he had an idea of how to do, he would still need time and help. Two things of which he was in short supply. The former, time, just seemed to always be running out. His planning session last night had been an attempt to save time. An attempt to solve all his worries in one go. The cost of his stupid attempt to solve his problems as quickly as possible was that he had messed up his sleep cycle, which meant he would be messed up for days as he wasting precious time trying to get back to a normal routine.

He was hoping he could gain the latter at his current destination.

Exhausted, stressed, and worn out, Goodie walked towards the quaint village of ‘The village On The Hill That Produces Corn’.

“What is it with locals and their long-winded names.” He asked.

He wasn’t going to claim that it was a stupid name, even though it was, but it really was a mouthful to say.

Anyway, he had a plan now. A new plan. Because the last one worked out so well. Bitching aside, he intended to dedicate each day to one of the categories of management games that were on his list, as well as…ugh, politics. Today being engineering. Or construction. He would need to come up with a better name for it once he found out exactly what he could do in that area. If he could do anything.

He needed to sit down and think about how to improve his [SUMMON SHADOW STUFF] skill. It would be a massive advantage if he could start making something that would not turn to sludge after a few minutes in the dark. What he needed was to be able to make weak plastic, rubber, or even thread would do, something that he could claim as his own. His problems would not just disappear once he could but it would go a long way to alleviating them.

Unfortunately, when he received…and had to swallow …the [ONE IN A MILLION TALENT (level 0)] [TITLE] it didn’t just allow him to create twice the amount of shadow demons that he would normally be able to, it affected all his abilities. But how it enhanced [SUMMON SHADOW STUFF] was not to double its strength as one would expect, but like his shadow demons, allowed him to summon the stuff in two separate places at the same time. Cute, but he would also be spending his energies twice as fast. He had not yet tested his maximum limits with summoning, but he did not imagine that they would be high.

No, he needed a better way to train it. But how?

He would have to put that thought on hold as he had arrived at his destination.

A tavern…or was it an inn? Whatever it was, it was one of only two in the area. By rights, there should have only been one in the small village but this one was built specifically to cater to foreign visitors. It was located on the outskirts of the village, of course.

Lovely little bit of segregation, there.

Larger than what he would have expected, the building in front of him, like most of the buildings in the town, was essentially a hollowed-out stone block. The lack of wood in the region heavily affecting how society operated, the styles and practises adapting to the limitations set upon it. If this were a game, one would have expected this place to be a dwarf town judging by its look alone.

The sound of music emanated from the doorway; a gentle tune that sounded familiar. Goodie wasn’t certain but he was sure it was a local song.

Upon entering the establishment, he encountered a wall of sweet-smelling smoke which gave him a migraine within a minute of inhaling it. He hoped it would not make him high, he needed all his senses at the moment. But…getting high was also supposed to relieve stress; something which he ‘really’ needed at the moment.

He looked around the room, all stone of course. It was full, mostly with people from the waggon train, but not all. Two tables in opposite corners from each other had other guests; the one on the right, a group of adventurers by the look of the armour; the one on the left seemed to be a group of what he guessed were merchants and a lone bodyguard. They were probably not important, but he was trying to train himself to be more observant, feeling that he couldn’t walk through life oblivious anymore.

He spotted Eric seated at a table to his far-right, in front of one of the large windows, the man relaxing in the early-morning sunlight. A good thing about the elementalist specialities was that it meant that good quality glass was both cheap and plentiful, allowing even the poor to enjoy well-lit interiors without having to suffer the wind and rain. A boon to those who could not afford the gas and candles to keep their stone houses warm and lit.

A small, petty part of Goodie relished the fact that he was about to disturb the man. That he was about to pass on a little a bit of his misery onto someone else, making it their problem to deal with. He hated how he could be that pathetic. Still, he was who he was, something that he desperately wanted to change.

He had stopped; standing still as he thought about what he would do next. If he moved forward, he would be feeding that pathetic part of himself, the last thing he wanted to do but he needed to talk to the man as he was the only person that Goodie could rely on for help.

A thought occurred to him; did he need to talk to him? He knew that the thought originated from his cowardice but he hesitated nonetheless.

It was in that moment of indecision that his worst parts started to emerge. His insecurity, his cowardice, his pessimism…a legion of negativity convening to have a little talk with him.

He was about to disturb a man who had his own life, his own problems; for what? With the stress of having to lead and organise a waggon train, this may have been the man’s sole moment of peace that he could experience for the day, maybe for the entire week? And he was going to interrupt him to discuss a ‘plan’ that he had been rushed into making in a single night? Because he, the entitled rich boy, was too good for the food that everyone else ate? Because he wanted to get everything that he wanted, for free?

WHAT. A. PRICK. He thought.

His mind buzzed as each part vied for dominance.

With all these parts clashing inside of him, it was practically a party. And as usual, while everyone else was chatting, he was in the corner by himself.

Well, at least he was invited, he thought optimistically.

It was then that a hush descended on his mind, and in that moment, another part of him pointed out that they did not have a choice in the matter as it was his body.

Why could he not stop thinking!

He wanted to turn around, to flee back to his home and crawl back into bed. The fatigue from his lack of sleep making it harder to resist the temptation.

No, he needed to do this.

He clenched his fists as tight as he could and forced himself to look forward.

And for the first time, Goodie saw Eric. He had seen him before but he had been so caught up in his own life that he could not have been bothered to pay attention to the world around him.

Of course, he had noticed that raven coloured hair. You would have to have been blind to miss those obsidian locks of his. But beneath those locks was the face of a man that had suffered. His skin was worn, almost leathery.

Closed eyes, each flanked by crow’s feet, covered a pair of pale blue irises. All supported by a body that was neither fit nor fat. A dad bod, if you will.

He looked old. Over fifty at least, far older than he should be as Goodie knew the man was just shy of being forty.

From his talks with the Old Man he knew that attributes had an effect on a person’s ageing process but so far, he had only witnessed the retardation of that process, not its acceleration. Had something aged him artificially, magic perhaps? Or had Eric merely lived a hard life?

That last possibility tugging at his heartstrings, his guilt over his earlier pettiness peaking as he stepped forward.

Eric cracked an eye as he approached, the man reminding Goodie of a cat. The type that would beg you to scratch them but would then turn round and scratch you for doing so.

Goodie mustered his courage as he realised that the steel axe holstered in the man’s belt meant that this ‘cat’ could scratch his head right off.

“Good morning, sir, I was wondering if I might have a moment of your time?”

“You selling religion?” he asked

“What? No.” Goodie responded, confused, as he didn’t understand why he was being asked that. Despite his recent habit of praying, he was the last person that would ever try to sell religion.

“Then talk normally”

Goodie stood there for a moment trying figure out what he meant.

Eric rolling his eyes; he then pointed at the chair opposite him. “Sit. Talk normally. Get to the point.”

Goodie sat.

He took a moment to breathe in, then decided to be straightforward with his question.

“Does the waggon train build anything and is there anything I could do to help?”

Eric looked at him, raising an eyebrow as he did so.

“Why?” he asked.