Of the handful of shops in Monmouth, the local inn was thankfully one of the few that remained open. Steve helpfully explained that this was because the Dark Lord’s government funded a network of lodging houses open throughout the Four Circles. Publicly, this was to encourage trade merchants to travel to every corner of the strange nation. But according to Steve, everyone knew this was actually so that the tax collectors would have somewhere safe to stay in every town they visited.

All of which meant little to Patrik, other than he would have a bed to sleep in tonight. Which was about the only thing on his mind as he stumbled headfirst through the old western style double doors of the Dancing Spider—which of course was the name of the inn.

He found himself blinking in the gloom on the other side, struggling to adjust from the bright afternoon sun. Several candles dotted the room but otherwise the place was unlit. A dozen tables filled the common room, which according to the description outside doubled as the town’s tavern, but today the place was deserted. A fine layer of dust already covered the tables, as time had somehow accelerated inside the tavern to demonstrate its newfound deprivation. Even with the Dark Lord’s subsidy, it seemed like for the foreseeable future the owner of the place would be living like a college student cut off from their trust fund.

Patrik knew more about that than he cared to admit.

A creak of the wooden floor drew his attention. A silhouette moved in the shadows behind the bar, before a candle flickered into life, illuminating the man who stood there. He was human and huge—though more due to his girth than his height. Smile lines spread from the corners of his broad lips, but there were no smiles now as he stepped from behind the bar. In his left hand he held a club wrapped in this world’s version of barbed wire in a casual grip. His right hand was nowhere to be seen.

Johnny the Bartender [level 20]. Once a budding adventurer in search of monsters to slay, Johnny’s career was quite literally cut short in a brief and brutal encounter with a Dark Elf. Johnny left without his good arm and the Dark Elf left with a broken heart. Some would call that a mutual separation. Johnny is probably not one of those people. At least it allowed him to finally pursue his passion in the kitchen. See, everything happens for a reason.

“We’re not taking in refugees,” the bartender grunted, his voice hoarse and unwelcome. “Times might be tough, but it’s still paying customers only. Can’t have the Dark Lord on my case. Still got my own taxes to think about.” The barbed wire bat came up and pointed at Patrik’s chest. “Now out with ya, and there won’t be no need for violence.”

Stunned by the unexpectedly frosty welcoming, Patrik stood stunned with his mouth hanging open. It took a growl and the bartender advancing a step to snap his mind back into gear.

“Wait, I ah…” Shit, shit, shit, Steve, what do you even use for currency here?

Gold, duh. Board and meal is usually fifty coins in these smaller places.

I don’t have any gold!

What are you talking about? Of course you do! Or did you miss the little “inheritance” you got from the wizard?

“I can pay!” Patrik spluttered as the bartender advanced another step, though he still didn’t know what Steve was talking about.

Raising his hands to show they were empty, he pulled up his inventory and finally noticed what he’d missed earlier. Above the boxes and images of all his supposed items was a counter in the top right corner, along with a stack of yellow circles he now realised was meant to represent gold coins. His eyes widened as he saw the number on the counter.

23,567 gold coins.

“Holy shit,” he exclaimed. “I’m rich.”

“Huh?” Johnny the Bartender asked.

Hardly. A snort sounded inside his head. It should be enough to survive off for a few months, though, if you don’t go blowing it all on hookers and fairy dust. I wonder where the wizard kept the rest of his treasure.

He mentioned something about Bledross—

“Listen, friend,” the bartender interrupted. Despite Patrik’s announcement, he was still brandishing the club. “I’m going to need to see some gold, or some brains are going to be getting smushed in about ten seconds.”

“Okay, okay, here, what is it, fifty gold?”

Patrik held out his hand and hoped the gold system worked like the inventory one. Five heavy coins appeared in his palm, each marked with an X he assumed was the Roman numeral for ten. Grinning, he held them out for the bartender to see.

“There, is that enough gold for you?”

The man stared at the gold for a few full ten seconds, eyes narrowed as though he didn’t quite trust what they were telling him.

“It’s sixty gold now,” he grunted finally, his brow still creased into a heavy frown.

At Patrik’s command, another X-marked coin appeared in his palm. That at least finally seemed to satisfy the bartender, who promptly reached out and swept the coins from Patrik’s hand. Still grumbling to himself, he stomped his way back behind the counter. Patrik followed, taking one of the stools at the bar for himself,

“So what’s on the menu?” he asked hopefully.

It was still hour from sunset, but after his exploits in the forest Patrik’s stomach was about ready to start eating itself. He had a few items that looked like they could be potential edible in his inventory, but consuming condiments pulled from some mystical void wasn’t at the top of his to-do list.

To his surprise, Johnny’s face lit up at the question. “Oh, you’re hungry? Yes, yes, of course, I’m sure you’ve had a long day, Mr. Chosen One. You’re in luck. Got some meat stew simmering on the stove that’ll melt your tastebuds good. There isn’t much—was only expecting to be cooking for myself.”

“Oh…” Patrik’s heart sank, but he didn’t want anyone going hungry on his behalf. “No, I couldn’t—”

“Nonsense!” Waving a hand, the innkeeper disappeared through a door behind the bar. He reappeared a few minutes later with a steaming bowl of some kind of broth and a plate of dark coloured bread. “I’ll set another pot to boiling,” he announced as he place the bowl and plate on the wooden bar. “Ain’t no rush. Can have supper a little later tonight.”

Patrik stared at the transformation that had taken place in the innkeeper. The scowl that had greeted him when he’d first stepped foot in the tavern had been replaced by a broad grin. Excitement now twinkled in the man’s eyes and he seemed to have lost 10 years in the space of a heartbeat. He nodded again to the food he’d set in front of Patrik.

“Go on, let it not be said old Johnny ever let a guest go hungry! No siree, Mr. Chosen One. Say, that is an unusual name. From your father’s side? Have a cousin one town over, last name Assman. I tell ya, he never hears the end of it...”

Listening to the innkeeper drone on, Patrik found himself smiling for the first time since he’d been dragged off that fateful toilet. Taking up his spoon, he reached for the bowl of stew. The rich aroma of herbs and cooked meat wafted up from the stew as he pulled the bowl closer and dipped his spoon. He was just about to scoop a spoonful into his mouth when he noticed something bobbing in the thick, gravy-like liquid. It looked like a ball of tofu.

“Ah, what sort of meat did you say this was again?” he asked, prodding at the floating ball.

It spun at his touch, still floating—

“What the fuck!”

Patrik lurched back from the bowl as though it had bitten him. The ball bobbed in the liquid, the dark iris in its centre now face-up. An eyeball. There was a goddamn eyeball in his soup. And it looked frighteningly human, almost as if…

“Oh, that’s some high-quality centaur meat, Mr. Chosen One,” Johnny replied as though cooking up a half-human creature was the most normal thing in the world. Which it apparently was, in this universe. “Nothing but the best for my customers. Even picked out the eyeball for ya, see?”

For some reason, Patrik found his appetite had suddenly vanished. He looked from the stew to Johnny, at a loss for words. The innkeeper smiled back at him. The man’s eyes still shone with expectation.

Ahhh, I get it, you don’t like to eat things that look like humans. But…you eat dolphin? Hell! Talk about double standards. Okay, just stay calm. Think this through, mate. What’s more important: a few outdated scruples, or not crushing the last good thing left in this poor bastard’s life?

Is that a serious question? Patrik cried inwards. Centaur, right? As in half horse, half human? As in THIS IS A HUMAN EYE!

Oh, it is not. It’s a centaur’s eye. Completely different. The things are dumb as…cows. Oooh, those do look tasty. Wonder if we can get some here—

I’m not eating something that looks like a bloody human!

There was an audible sigh. Sorry, my bad. I thought you art degree sorts were meant to care about people’s feelings. How about this then—the dude is clearly at the end of his rope. One arm or not, he’s level 20. Just within range to really fuck you up when he snaps. And you haven’t even assigned your attributes yet.

You haven’t even told me what…

The thought trailed away as Patrik looked at the bartender. Really looked. The smile he wore was genuine enough. But the way he showed his yellowed teeth seemed just a little forced. And that excitement shining in his eyes…didn’t it seem a little too feverish?

“Is something the matter with the food, Mr. Chosen One?”

The smile flickered. The mask cracked, just a little.

Patrik swallowed. “No, no, not at all,” he said.

He took up the spoon again and very deliberately scooped the eye from the stew. His stomach heaved again, but keeping his eyes locked to Johnny, Patrik took a bite.

Squelch.

It was squishy. And crunchy. Worst of all, it was actually quite tasty. Like a gamey beef…

… and it took all Patrik’s willpower to keep down the remnants in his stomach.

“Yummy,” he croaked instead, and offered a weak smile. “Got anything to drink?”

To his relief, the innkeepers smile brightened. “Of course, Mr. Chosen One!” He rummaged around beneath the bar and came up with a large glass mug. “Ale or mead?”

There were two brass taps behind the bar, presumably connected to a couple of kegs out back. Having never tried mead, Patrik considered his options, but he already had one novel condiment to finish. He could only hope the drinks were the same as back home.

“Ale, thanks,” he said, and Johnny filled the glass with a golden liquid from one of the taps.

He set it on the bar in front of Patrik, who promptly took an oversized gulp. The amber liquid was blessedly cold and—most importantly—tasted like actual ale. That would have to be good enough, since Patrik was most definitely not game to ask about any further details of its crafting. For all he knew, Johnny had brewed it from his own urine and would throw a tantrum if Patrik didn’t like it.

Yep, ignorance is bliss, Steve remarked as Patrik chugged another mouthful, then turned back to the stew.

Johnny the Bartender was still watching him. He sighed and ate another spoonful. It really was rather tasty, if only he could just forget what meat it had come from. At least there were no more eyeballs. But every time he encountered a chunk of meat, his stomach heaved and he chugged another mouthful of ale. He went through three mugs like that before he emptied the bowl.

And they said college drinking wouldn’t pay off…

He chuckled to himself, then idly summoned a gold piece from his inventory. Just one this time. Sure enough, this coin was marked with a Roman I. Patrik turned it idly in his hand, then froze as he noticed the image stamped on the other side. He hadn’t noticed it earlier.

It was a face of absolute perfection. Magic must have somehow been involved in its creation, as despite being etched in gold, the eyes were a bright blue. They stared out from above a pair of perfectly symmetrical cheekbones. His blond hair had been cropped short and the narrow lips were twisted into what was probably meant to be a benevolent smile. It came off more like the smile of the guy in the corner of the club who spent all night staring at the women. But that wasn’t the worst part.

That came in the form of two prominent horns that emerged from beneath the man’s pale fringe. Horns that looked very much like those of the devil himself.

“This ah…this is your Dark Lord, I take it?” Patrik whispered to Steve, too stunned to remember to speak in his head.

Thankfully Johnny had gone out back for the moment—probably to cook up some fresh soup for himself—and didn’t hear the comment.

Yep, that’s him! The Dark Lord Malus in all his unholy glory. I’d suggest turning it facedown. Those eyes are always watching, even if he isn’t.

His mouth suddenly dry, Patrik tucked the coin back into his inventory. He reached for another swig of his ale, only to find it empty. His heart was inexplicably racing and he couldn’t find his voice to call back the bartender. There was something about that face. Something dark, something evil. Something that filled him with dread.

Words he’d barely paid attention to at the time trickled back from some hidden alcove of his memory. The words of Tenser the Wizard, who had summoned him to this world for some secret, unknown reason.

You are…the hero foretold…champion of Portland…the Chosen One. You are to…destroy…Dark Lord…

“Steve,” he rasped, “what exactly does my full description say? The one people see when they examine me?”

The words popped up without the PQA’s usual cheerful screeching to accompany it.

Patrik the Chosen One. Summoned from the legendary realm of Earth, Patrik may look like a nothing nobody from nowhere. And he probably is. Except Tenser the Great didn’t seem to think so. And you don’t earn a title like “the Great” by being a chump. Due to the legendary wizard’s interference, Patrik the Chosen One has now become the pebble in the pond of Fate. She’s going to be pissed. But in the meantime, his actions cannot be predicted. Which of course means there are about a hundred prophecies about this dude. The most important of which is that it’s said he is destined to bring about the fall of the Dark Lord Malus. Good luck with that one, mate.

“Fuck me.”