My head hurts. By the time I wake up, the sun is already high in the sky. I’m in a new bed today, and I stink of sweat and alcohol. Thankfully, my coin pouch is nestled safely on a bedside table beside me, so I know I didn’t accidentally lose it somewhere in a drunken daze. In fact, the bag seems to have gotten marginally larger than I remember it being. That aspect of drinking is something I have yet to encounter— that I leave with more money than I came with.

There is commotion off the side of the bed. Startled, I sit up and slowly crane my neck to see the immediate floor-line. The blood that abruptly flows to my face nearly kills me when I see two young women lying down there, completely naked and snoozing away soundly.

It’s Elise, for one. She’s the elf that first greeted us last night. And secondly... Secondly is a smaller woman wrapped in her own bushy tail, with two pointed ears peeking from the top of her head. It takes me a second to realize that this demi-human girl... is Vivian.

“Wh-What the hell is going on here...?!”I exclaim to my own surprise. Though it was only meant for myself, it causes Elise to sit up with a start. She looks around dazed for a moment before her gaze settles on the yet-sleeping Vivian. Elise’s eyes light up with a sudden glee, and she squeals to herself before leaping onto Vivian’s sleeping body. Startled, Vivian’s eyes snap open and she smacks her away before jumping to her feet and rushing to the corner of the room, where she worriedly covers herself up with both arms around her own body.

“We did it, Vivi! We did it!” Elise exclaims, chasing after the poor girl and wrapping her in another embrace. “I don’t remember it, but we did it—!”

“I-I have no idea what we’re talking about, but please let go of me,” Vivian murmurs.

“We d-i-i-d it! We d-i-i-i-d it!” Elise sings, laughing and jumping up and down with Vivian still in her arms. My heart tell me to look away but my brain is still struggling with the fact that this is all happening in my presence. But in my staring, Vivian notices me.

“Oh, it’s the roadblock,” she says disinterestedly. Elise pauses and turns to me. Her expression grows sour and she points at me with a limp finger.

“Ew. Don’t tell me you were a part of it too,” she mutters.

“C-Can I ask why you two are in my room...?” I say.

“Hmm... Nope, can’t remember,” says Elise, shaking her head. “That’s Papa’s brew for you. Kicks you right in the kidneys.”

Vivian pushes Elise aside. Her tail is wrapped to the side to cover her waist and her two arms are wrapped around her chest. “Y-Yes, my mind is rather foggy as well,” she says reluctantly. “I truly hope you were not the one who removed my clothes.”

“W-What—? Even drunk me isn’t brave enough for that,” I sputter. “H-Here, take these until we find your clothes.” I throw both the sheets and quilt in their direction. Vivian snatches the sheets from the air, but Elise lets the quilt drop to the floor.

“You need it just as much as I do, bud,” she says, pointing.

“Oh. So that’s what one of those things look like,” says Vivian, unimpressed.

“—Huh—?! Why the hell am I naked?!” I shout, hastily covering myself up with my hand.

“I believe I know the answer,” says Vivian in her stagnant tone. She seems to go off in some sort of imaginary rant. “I hypothesize that the hopeless lesbian and I were minding our business when the roadblock began to drunkenly make advances on us. To ease the stress he was creating, we began to drink as well. When he became sick of being ignored, he poured his remaining drink all over our defenseless bodies. Being an airhead, the hopeless lesbian retaliated by pouring her drink on him as well. We came in here to change, but the roadblock followed us and continued to push his perverted self on she and I. We managed to knock him unconscious as he undressed, and we pushed him into the bed. We slept huddled together on the floor to make sure neither of us was molested in our sl—”

“—Like hell that happened!” I shout angrily.

“Who’s the hopeless lesbian in that story?” asks Elise. “And why doesn’t it end with Vivi and Ellie banging it out all hot and sweaty on the floor?”

“Because no such thing happened,” Vivian replies. “And that very sentence answered your prior question.”

“W-Well I know for damn sure nothing happened. Except...” I look to the money pouch on the table. Beside it is another coin, which might’ve fallen out of the bag.

“You don’t seem like one for gambling,” says Vivian, “much less one who is any good at it.”

“Of course!” Elise exclaims. “The only way a money bag could get any bigger from a night of drinking was if you went and robbed all the patrons blind! How’d you do it, huh? Tell me-e-e-e—!!!”

“L-Let’s find some clothes first,” I mutter.

Luckily, the clothing I’d worn when I got here was just shoved clumsily under the bed. I found them only a few minutes after Vivian and Elise left. On the downside, it smells terrible, like it was soaked in a barrel of alcohol. How it really got like that is a mystery, but in any regard I sure hope Vivian’s story didn’t have any truth to it. I decide to quickly air out and slap on my tee and underwear, hanging my black hoodie and jeans on the windowsill. I lie back on the bed with a sigh, still mentally kicking myself for drinking as much as I did. I sure hope I didn’t do anything last night I’ll come to regret.

My stomach grumbles. I haven’t had anything to eat since early yesterday, and ‘hungry’ hardly does it justice anymore. Then again, I’ve gone longer than this without food. I eat when I can afford it.

But... there’s something cooking just outside that’s starting to smell better and better by the minute. My window has a view of the main road, where a good few caravans pass by. I can’t quite see what it is, but I do see the steam that rises from it. I contemplate going down until I remember my clothes are still soaking with mead. Really, they’re the only things I still have from the old world, except...

I found my phone in my pocket earlier. It’s laying flat beside me on the bed right now. I pick it up and hold it up to my face. As expected, there’s no service. But if worst comes to worst, I could always pawn it off as some sort of ‘rare magical item,’ like the trope goes. Not that I really need the money. Looking to the bedside table, I see the stuffed coin bag sitting proudly like a trophy from a feat I can’t even remember. I reach my hand over and slide the loose coin from the table. Looking closer, I see that it’s the coin that Gin didn’t recognize, the one with the angel and serpent. There are little runes on either side, but don’t seem to parallel any language I’ve seen here thus far. I decide it best to keep it separate from the rest of the coins. I lean back and shove it into the pocket of my hanging jeans.

‘Hm. Maybe I should go buy some new clothes,’ I think to myself, noting how alien I must look in my earth-ware. Would people judge me if I went out in my underwear? Probably. On the other hand, I also don’t want to go out smelling like a brewery. But who am I kidding? Just about every man here smells like a brewery. It’ll have to do, at least until I can find a place to wash them.

Upon exiting the room, I find myself in a short hallway that spans only a few doors to my left. At the end is a staircase which I can only assume leads to the tavern. Unless I somehow managed to properly find and pay for a room in an inn through the thick haze of intoxication.

“Oh? Roadblock.”

I turn. To my side, through the nearest open door is Vivian. She’s back in her shawl, which seems to do well in masking both her ears and tail.

“Found your clothes, I take it?” I say.

“Evidently,” she replies.

“Well I’m going to buy new ones, for... reasons. Know a good place?”

“The sewers. I am sure you will find something befitting of your nature there.”

“Very funny,” I scoff. I begin to walk off.

“Be warned,” she says.

I pause.

“For years, my father has hidden a torrent under countenance of stone.”

“U-Um...”

“Be warned,” she repeats. “For he trusts you as little as I do.”

“Seemed to like me well enough,” I say.

“A smile means nothing. A laugh means even less. So be warned.”

“Sure, sure... consider me warned,” I mutter. I close the rest of the distance between the staircase and I, silently heading downwards.

As I walk around the city by myself, I slowly begin to piece together its basic workings in my mind. The city, as I’ve come to know, is named Hilgroff, better known as The City of Trade. Apparently it’s a gathering point for all races, a neutral zone in the human-dominant country. It’s divided up into four quadrants, with the first being the poorest and the fourth being richest. It’s ruled by the Seynith Dynasty, a family of high power tucked away in the Capital City. I’ve tried to discreetly gather more information on the family as I’ve gone, but I can’t quite seem to bring any conversation to a point where I look like I actually know what I’m talking about. Other than that, I’m starting to get a grip on the money system here. Jeul is the main currency, with a half-piece actually being about a quarter of a Jeul’s worth. A half-piece is this coppery coin that’s about the size of my thumbnail with some basic designs on it. A single Jeul is a slightly larger coin with still a copper tone and more ornate symbols on them. It goes up from there, with a five being this darker metal, ten being silver and a hundred being made of solid gold. There doesn’t seem to be anything regulating their value here so any shop-owner has the right to name any price they feel, though there are basic guidelines for the simpler things. Normally a single Jeul is enough to buy one of a basic necessity like one loaf of bread or one bottle of milk. Meat here, which is sold by the cut, is around two and a half; two Jeul and two half-pieces. I only know that because I overheard some old humanoid wolf-man trying to haggle the price down as I passed by. The man running the stand pointed strictly at a sign I couldn’t read and he said, ‘It don’t get lower than that,’ or something... Which brings me to the source of most of my frustration: The language. Their written word uses some sort of runic alphabet, near exactly what you’d expect of a fantasy game. That said, the order of the words they say and the order of the words on paper aren’t the same. With my basic knowledge of it and the two brain cells I have left, I deduce that it would be impossible for me to learn discreetly without anyone finding out. Not one of the worst problems, as they’d just consider me an illiterate idiot, but it would certainly help me get a better meaning of the world around me.

The sun is nearly at its highest in the sky. The clock on my phone seems functional enough when I pull it out. The screen flickers on to tell me I’ve been walking for two and a half hours. As I bring my phone back to my pocket, something catches my eye down a ways. Along the third-district streets, between two housing and market buildings is a large glass window, maybe as tall as me and twice my height in width. Just beyond it, showcased on the polished wooden mannequin of a tall man, is an outfit seemingly designed in the name of ‘epic fantasy hero.’ A rich red leather makes up most of the design, layered for added protection. There are two belts across the waist and one over the shoulder, as well as various other weavings to hold steady the curved shoulder guards of patterned steel. For whatever reason, it brings me a strange sense of nostalgia even though I’ve never seen it before. But it’s that suddenly feeling which has me slowly gravitate towards the store. Without reading the sign, I push open the large heavy wooden door.

Inside, from front door to back wall, is an incredible collection of various garbs, attires, and borderline heavy armor all on mannequins or neatly set in pristine glass cabinets. I almost feel bad treading on the very premise dressed the way I am.

“Welcome t—“ The man at the counter pauses. “My, what strange clothes you wear. Err, I mean... welcome. Would you like a specialized fitting for only five Jeul today, sir?”

“Sure,” I reply. “I take it you’re Samson?”

“Actually, I’m the ‘and sons’ part of the name there,” he replies. He’s an older gentleman, maybe in his sixties, with slick white hair and a well-trimmed beard in a proper high-business vest and long brown pants. “Albert is my name. My father opened this shop in his early days, and I took it over after he passed. Been running it ever since.”

“Must be hard,” I say, just making the nervous introvert version of idle chat at this point.

“Work is work,” he replies, chuckling. “Now, come this way and I’ll get your measurements. What were you thinking of today? Maybe a new coat? Or perhaps—“

“Actually, I had an eye on that outfit you have in the window,” I say.

He glances to the display before returning his gaze to me. “Oh? Then I take it you’re an adventurer? You sure don’t seem like the type. Then again, you do reek of alcohol, so it isn’t completely off the table.”

“‘Adventurer,’ you said?” I ask.

“Mercenaries, more or less. But with an organized structure fit enough for His Majesty to—“ He clears his throat. “My, but of course you must know that much. Apologies.”

“U-Um, I’m actually... not from around here,” I mutter. “Mind explaining?”

“Don’t have adventurers where you’re from?” He has me raise my arms for him to begin to take measurements with a measuring tape he pulls from his pocket.

“Not the sort you have here, most likely.”

“Well, I’m no adventurous spirit so I have no real experience with them, but I suppose I can tell you what I do know,” he nods. He begins to measure my waist while my arms are still up. “They operate under a chain of command mimicking that of this country’s army, with new recruits starting as iron-class adventurers. There are... Eleven ranks, I believe, that are attainable without recommendation.”

“And what do these... ‘adventurers’ do?” I then ask.

“Are you familiar with quests?”

Yup, I’m in a game, alright.

“C-Can’t say I am,” I reply anyways.

“Call them ‘informal contracts,’ if you wish. It varies with whatever is in need of being completed. People request it, and the adventurers complete it for pay.”

“You seem like you know more than you’re letting on, old man,” I mutter.

“Well...” he chuckles. “My youngest brother happens to have a rank with them. Top of them all, if I’m not mistaken. In spite of that, I have certain... biased opinions regarding them and their cause.”

“Positive or negative?”

“A little of both.” He laughs. “Yes, having a brother forsake his work here to find selfish wealth elsewhere tends to bring mixed emotions towards one another. But I suppose he was the best among us, in the sense he was able to adapt to changing times.”

“Change is difficult. I know that much,” I nod.

He gives a slight chuckle and begins to measure the lower half of my legs.

“By the way,” I motion, “did... did something happen here? That caused the change, I mean?”

“You must not even be from this continent if you haven’t heard. It was war, son. War in its purest, most hateful form.”

“Oh. I... I see.” I grow silent.

“...But I did get the chance to learn the art of armor-craft from one of the best. The set you were interested in is a result of that,” he says, suddenly changing his tone. “Unfortunately, that set itself will not fit you. But if you are really interested... I suppose I could make adjustments to another set for you. Though it may cost extra.”

“Tell me more about the adventurers,” I say.

“Well... What more is there to say?”

I stop to think.

What do you want from life?

How will you get it?

Who will this choice of yours affect?

Are you ready for what comes next?

....Yes.

“I guess deep down... I want to change. I want to be anything but what I am now.” I pause. “By joining the adventurers, I want to change for the better. Is that even possible?”

Albert smiles. “You said it best yourself, I think. You know the challenges that come along with change, or so you say. But if this change is what you seek, then I have no doubt that you will make the right choice. Even if you fail at first.”

I nod. “T-Thank y—“

“Then again, what am I but an old clothier?” he says, abruptly bursting out laughing. “The best and worse advice you can receive both come from within yourself. It shouldn’t take a stranger to convince you that.”

I can’t help but smile. The man before me reminds me of my grandfather. It brings vivid memories of fishing together out in the wilds, my listening intently as he preached his bottomless wisdom.

“Now then. Why don’t we—“

A loud crashing sound breaks the silence as an eruption of splintering wood rains down on the streets. Screams of panic surface in the cloud of civilians as people begin to scatter, revealing a man who stands taller among them all, standing above two lifeless corpses.

“Where is he?!?!” the giant booms, screaming out into the haze with his blade in one hand and two severed heads in the other.

“Oh, gods,” I breathe, eyes wide in disbelief. “Oh, gods. He’s alive.”

Standing far down the line is none other than the one I fought the day before last— the one up until now... I thought I’d killed.

I swallow my fear. Now isn’t the time for it. People are dead because of me, and now I need to stop this once and for all. I need to finish what I’d started. I begin towards the door, but Albert stops me.

“That man—! You don’t think you can—“

“Probably not,” I reply. “But I’m going anyways. I’m the one he’s after.”

Albert lets go of my sleeve. I continue forward before he stops me again.

“Wait!” he says. He rushes forward and quickly reaches under his counter, pulling up a pristine sword in a golden-leather sheath. He holds it out to me. “I couldn’t in good conscience hold this from you. If you are doing what I think you are, then I bid you take this. No, I beg of you.”

I look to the sword and nod powerfully. I accept the sword and sling it over my shoulder as I take the final plunge out the large wooden door to an uncertain future.

The thuggish man’s bloodshot eyes snap to focus as I come into his view. He suddenly smiles a wicked, twisted smile, and tosses the two severed heads to the floor. He places a large boot atop one of them, and steps down with a powerful motion. The head instantly collapses, spattering chunks of skull, brain matter, and blood.

“It’s been a while,” I breathe. “You grave-walking bastard. How the hell are you still alive?”

“It’s strange,” he cackles. “I thought myself dead as well. And then I awoke.”

“So ugly that even hell spat you back out.”

“No— I just had unfinished business. With your skull.”

“Still on about using my head as a mantelpiece?”

“No— I think I’ll crush your bones to a paste and make jelly out of your innards,” he replies, taking a heavy step forward.

“Not gonna happen. I killed you once before. I can do it again.”

I raise my arm to the sword on my back. But before I can even lift it, the man disappears. I spin around. The man is behind me with blade drawn, running towards me too fast to counter. I dive out of the way, but his shitty blade follows me down and shears a rugged line down my back. I end up rolling and coming to a stop.

“A wound to the back. The biggest disgrace a warrior can ever receive,” he cackles.

I stumble to my feet. “Yeah, well what’s that say about the one who dealt it, then?” I spit.

“I’m going to enjoy cutting you limb from limb, earthworm. Lamb for the slaughter.”

“Look, we’ve done this song-and-dance once before, so can we just skip to the part where I turn it around on you already?” I huff, craning my neck.

“Luck saved you last time. And now it’s run out.”

“You never took statistics, did you,” I say with something of a sideways smile. “Cuz that’s not how shit works.”

There’s a split second between me and him before his blade is suddenly pressed to my neck. I stumble backwards, but he pulls me back forward. Switching his knife for his hand, he grabs me by the neck and lifts me off the ground with ease. A constricting feeling sweeps through my body, and my brain starts to go into panic mode. I can’t breathe. The blood in my face seems to be collecting under my eyes. I scratch at his meaty grip with waning power. He throws me to the ground, where a strained gasp forcefully leaves my mouth. The beast of a man plants one foot on either of my wrists. With a horrid grin, he takes out two barbed metal stakes and slams one into the center of my hand. I feel it quickly surge through my flesh and embed itself into the stone under me before a wave of agony glances up and down my entire arm. The pain is so immense that not even a scream can escape my lungs.

“Does it hurt? Does it make you reel in agony?” He roars, “Have another!” as he slams the second through my other hand, and an identical surge leaves me all but immobile. The man removes his boots from my wrists, and the shift only brings a new wave of the hurt I’m already in.

He crouches down and takes the rugged blade into both his hands. With a look of sadistic pleasure, he plunges the dagger into the flesh of my arm. More pain. He stabs my shoulder. More pain. He stabs my legs, one after the other. More pain. I feel like blacking out. I want myself to black out. Make the pain stop. Please.

“Dying slowly... Slowly...”

A wave of energy suddenly surges through my body, seeming to emanate from my very heart. The energy soars right to my legs, just as the beast readies for the killing blow. They rise, pushing outward with an abrupt force which rockets straight into the man’s chest. The blow, catching him by surprise, gives me enough to conjure the last of my strength. Blood spurting, teeth gritted, my body huffs onward with murderous intent. It pushes forward, hands still fastened to the ground, and with a final scream of primal rage I rip the nails clean out of the ground and drive my right hand backhandedly towards his head. The spike still embedded in my hand, as if turned on by natural homing, pierces the man’s right eye socket. The man wails, and I yank it out. Part of his eye comes with it.

“M-My eye—! My eye!!! F-F-Fuck you—!” he screams, lashing out wildly with the knife.

“Didn’t I tell you?” I mutter. “I never lose.”

“Y-You never said that, you—!”

“Yeah, but it would’ve been cool, yeah?” I smirk weakly.

In a flash, the borrowed blade takes its place in my hand from the sheath on my back. The man still lashes out without any particular grace, easy enough for me to dodge. I swing upwards after ducking past a full strike and sever clean his wielding hand at the elbow. Before he can even react, the muscles in my body tell me exactly what to do. With a final pirouette the blade slashes horizontally. Again, the man drops to his knees. But this time, before he can hit the ground, his head lolls to the side and separates from his neck with a vile peeling sound, splashing down on the blood-soaked street.

“Stay dead, bastard,” I spit.

It’s then that a realization passes through my mind. It’s a horrid realization, one that suddenly makes my heart sink, and my fists tense. If he was alive...

“Oh god... Oh god. Oh god. Oh god. Esmeralda.”