“I’d like a medium steak, please Miss Lyon,” I said later that evening when I returned to the inn, “Also, a tall glass of beer and whatever side dish you’re serving. Maybe some cake later.”

I had decided to try to be polite to them because I knew if I won, I would make a lot of enemies, and they were the ones cooking for me, so they would likely get more than a few bribes to slip a little something into my food the next time I ate there. When I came in, I had noticed that several of the people eating had steaks, which reminded me that I hadn’t eaten much since breakfast, and I had been doing heavy work all day, in addition to throwing up in the Arena.

“Sure, I’ll bring it right out,” said Erin, who was in the kitchen today, unlike yesterday.

I sat down at one of the tables, glad for the chance to relax from the grueling work I had been doing.

Before the food managed to get out to me, I was approached by another patron.

“Hey, did you win the free for all at the arena earlier?” the wolfkin, the first I’d seen here, asked.

“Yeah, were you there?”

“No, I had a couple of friends who were and they told me what you looked like,” he responded, “Between the similar description and the new arena clothing, I figured you were him, and I was right! Did you really fight Adrian for two whole hours?”

“Was that his name?” I said, curious, “But it was really closer to 3 hours that I fought him.”

“You don’t know who he is? He was an Elite Commander during the last big war. He was Honorably Discharged due to Mental Health reasons. I’m George by the way,” he said, sticking out his hand.

Shaking it, I ask, “John Pitcher. What were his problems?”

“I heard that he was convinced that he had died and come back to life,” he said, “Why do you ask?”

“I just like to know if there might be some sort of crazy powerful psychopath after me for beating him in public.”

It does make me wonder if there is any truth to those rumors though.

“No, Adrian isn’t really like that,” George said, “though some of his students would say that he’s a sadist.”

“I’m glad he’s not going to come after me,” I responded, “Looks like my food is here,” I said, spotting Erin walking towards us.

“Cool, I’ll leave you to it then. Hope you win tomorrow,” he said, before walking away.

“Thanks for the food, Miss Erin,” I said, seeing as Erin set down a 13-ounce steak, large helping of mashed potatoes, and a mug of beer on the table.

“No problem,” she said with a smile, “Be sure to enjoy it.”

“Alright,” I said, digging in.

It was remarkably good food for a medieval society, and I found myself going back to ask for seconds. When I did, Lyon just laughed and said it wouldn’t be any trouble at all for me to have seconds, though I would have to pay double.

After I finished off the second course and got the cake, which was also really good, though the frosting was applied strangely and in different flavors throughout the cake.

When I went to pay for the cake, I was told it was free, and instead was given a sort of survey form to fill out.

The survey asked questions like Was your cake capable of retaining structural integrity? Did the cake taste sweet? What time did you eat the cake? What did you eat before the cake? Have you taken revenge on someone recently? Is the cake a lie? Are you actually reading these questions?

“Why all these weird questions on the survey?” I asked Lyon

“Oh, Erin is using a new magical flower in the icing and is trying to figure out what kind of effect they have on people as it seems to be quite mixed.”

Later that night, after I went to my room, I open my menu and say, “Admin Code Whiskey-Tango-Foxtrot: List of people who have been respawned.”

And there it was, second on the list, and the first living person on the list: Adrian Whitefang.