“I’ve contacted the alchemist regarding the materials, and she was absolutely thrilled,” The receptionist began, her once-gloomy tone now as radiant as her transformed self. “Seventy-six pairs of antlers and twenty-two bags of slime residue! She even added a twenty-silver ‘tip’ for the impressive haul. That brings your total to one hundred eighteen silver.”
With a flourish, she placed a jingling sack of silver onto the counter. The weight of the bag alone nearly made my arms ache just looking at it. “After rounding up the guild’s six silver compensation, this one hundred twelve silver is all yours. Thank you for your business. And, truly, thank you for making me feel lively again. I am Rosalina Hall, and you will always have my gratitude if you choose to continue adventuring here.”
I couldn’t help but grin as I took the bag, its hefty weight a testament to my efforts. Rosalina, the once-cursed-now-glowing maiden, smiled at me with an expression so warm it could thaw even the grumpiest old cleric. The process to complete the transaction had taken hours—calculations, some kind of mystical paperwork relay, and client confirmation. Bureaucracy, even in fantasy realms, was a beast.
Thankfully, it provided me more than enough time to scream my wretched soul and even more gruesome contents in the nearby chamberpot. She rounded up the guild fee instead of down when she saw the present I left her.
By now, my arms felt like wet noodles, my back screamed louder than Ichni during her tantrums, and my ass was as raw as chipped sandpaper. The gauntlet was left with Rosalina during that ordeal; I wasn’t about to bring Ichni into that battlefield. I felt wretched, battered, and broken—but none of it mattered. The sweet, victorious satisfaction of annihilating those slimy monsters and snipping antlers more than made up for it. Even reciting my oaths and prayers afterward felt… serene, like I’d done something meaningful.
“Let the client know I’m grateful if she keeps the quest open,” I said, puffing up with a little too much pride. “And… yeah, I’ll take another job later. Right now? Rest. I’ve earned it!” The last part came out with more bravado than intended, and I mentally smacked myself for letting my ego show. A little humility wouldn’t hurt. Maybe I’d carve out time for meditation soon—something I hadn’t managed in… well, ever since I landed in this dismal world.
“Certainly, Mr. Lemond!” Rosalina chirped, her radiant smile making me think she might’ve genuinely enjoyed saying my name, even if it was wrong. “Adventurers like you are exactly what we need to bring some life back to this place! You’ve been quite the inspiration, I daresay. If this keeps up, we might even see some of the regulars crawling back.”
With renewed vigor, she grabbed a mop and bucket. “I, on the other hand, haven’t felt this lively in ages! Maybe by your next visit, this guild hall will look… less like an abandoned tavern.”
“Here’s hoping the curse doesn’t rear its ugly head before I’m back,” I said with a grin, mirroring her newfound cheerfulness as she pinned the job posting back on the board. I turned to leave, determined to maintain my Paladin-like composure.
But damn, it was hard. Rosalina’s radiant transformation hadn’t just brightened her mood—it had left her looking like a goddess disguised as a guild receptionist. My eyes had the audacity to consider wandering south, and I nearly tripped over my own feet in a panic. Focus, Adrian. You’re not that guy. Respect her struggle. Chastity is key. Repeat the mantra.
“Thou shalt not leer. Dispel thy horniness.” I murmured to myself in a trance. I blatantly ignored what Ichni said in response. I adjusted my sword belt as a distraction and kept my gaze firmly ahead, pretending the dirty wooden floor was the most fascinating thing I’d ever seen.
“Hold it right there!” a young girl’s voice shot through the air like an arrow, freezing me mid-step. I jolted, nearly dropping my coin pouch, as I turned to face the source of the outburst. It was the younger of the adventurers from earlier—the archer—now standing on top of a table like she’d just declared herself queen of the guild hall. Her outstretched finger pointed at me with all the gravitas of a courtroom judge about to deliver a death sentence.
“Uh…” I started, already sweating. “If this is about those weird moans from the bathroom earlier, I swear it wasn’t me—”
Her glare cut through my flimsy excuse like a hot knife through butter. Whatever this was about, I could already tell I was in trouble. Why can’t people just say “hello”?!
“You’re the one who went on a slaughter spree in the eastern meadow, aren’t you?” she accused, her tone as sharp as the arrows in her quiver. “All the hoplops and slimes—you took them out?”
“Uh, not all of them,” I replied, scratching the back of my head with a sheepish grin. “I left a few alive. Mostly because they got wise and started running for their slimy little lives.”
Her expression twisted into a mix of exasperation and disbelief, like I’d just confessed to something far worse than hunting. I braced myself for whatever lecture was about to come my way.
“You know what happens when you throw rocks in the river?” She asked. “You leave ripples and the sound scare all the fish away. So what do you think will happen if you throw a boulder in?”
I paused with bated breath as the girl lowered her green hood, short blonde hair that ran neatly to her shoulders with precise bangs and a single, distracting mole on her cheek. My brain briefly short-circuited trying not to stare at it. She looked young—definitely no older than eighteen—which explained the stern-faced elder sitting nearby, her presumed “guardian.” Despite her youth, her expression carried the authority of someone ready to ground me for missing curfew.
“If you don’t get it, then let me spell it out for you,” she said, her tone so icy I half-expected frost to form on her words. “You’ve ruined my hunt. Completely. You went overboard, and now everything’s scattered!”
“Uh… okay, but the quest’s been posted forever. Why didn’t you just take it sooner?” I shot back heatedly to counter the cold tone, my annoyance bubbling to the surface. “Surely if that was your plan, it wouldn’t have hurt to call dibs on it before I showed up?”
Her face flushed red with indignation. “That’s because…!” she started, before throwing her hands in the air. “We’re more broke than a beggar’s back!”
The room went so quiet you could hear the old man take a slow, deliberate sip from his cup. The silence hung thick until Ichni’s unmistakable snickering broke through from the gauntlet like a tiny, haunting laugh track.
The archer’s face turned beet red, and her glare could’ve set a village ablaze. “Are you seriously laughing at our situation?” she hissed.
“Me? No! I’d never laugh at someone’s misfortunes,” I protested, raising both hands in mock surrender.
“I heard your weird little girlish giggles all the way over here!” she shot back, her scowl so intense it made my palms sweat.
“Those weren’t my giggles! I swear!” I said, shaking the gauntlet vigorously. “Ichni, stop tormenting the poor girl!”
But Ichni, despite her nature to take credit for her mockery, stayed silent, leaving me to bear the brunt of the accusation.
“Ugh! If I wanted your bizarre insults, I wouldn’t have bothered calling you out!” The archer huffed, crossing her arms with all the defiance of a child. I felt the soft tap tap tap against the mistreated carpet, sending small puffs of dust up as though she was turning into a ticking time bomb.
She looked ready to explode, but the old man finally spoke up, his calm, resonant voice cutting through her indignation like a seasoned surgeon.
“Serah, look at the lad. He’s not mocking your situation. Just hear him out before you start throwing your arrows and accusations,” he said, his tone so even and reasonable it made me feel like I was the one overreacting.
I turned to him, and for the first time, really saw him. His beard, though mostly well-trimmed, had streaks of gray running along his jawline. Beneath the hood, his sharp features framed piercing blue eyes that seemed to look right through me. As our gazes locked, a chill ran down my spine. There was something about this man—his aura—that screamed power tempered by wisdom.
The more I stared, the more it felt like staring into a piece of my past. His demeanor reminded me of my old master—the one who molded me into the Holy Knight I became before my ill-fated Paladin days. The old man’s gaze wasn’t judgmental or angry; it was full of supernatural confidence, as if the world itself bent subtly to his will. It struck me like a nostalgic chord, and before I knew it, I was standing straighter, reflexively responding to the weight of his presence.
“Oh ho, did you sense me, friend? My apologies if I startled you,” he said, his lips curling into a knowing smirk. “Your eyes are familiar—eyes of someone who’s embraced something unwaveringly, so much so that not even the Demon King could shake their resolve.”
His words struck me like a bolt of lightning. Fear mingled with confusion, my stomach twisting in knots. “They are? Have we met before?”
“No, no, nothing like that,” he replied warmly, shifting his demeanor so it didn’t feel as suffocating. “This is our first meeting—apart from your earlier dramatic entrance. But I’ve seen that fire before, in another lifetime perhaps. Your eyes carry the burden of conviction, and I must say, it’s rare to see someone look at me with such intensity. Dangerous intent is not something I often encounter these days.”
I swallowed hard, unable to look away. There was no malice in his voice, yet his words felt heavier than an anchor. Then, as casually as discussing the weather, he added, “And thank you, by the way, for riling up my granddaughter. She’s been itching to start questing again but was stuck moping around. You’ve done us a favor.”
I forced a smile, but the beads of cold sweat rolling down my neck told a much different story. My mind raced, trying to gauge whether I should run or bow to this enigmatic man. Deciding both would betray my dignity, my eyes landed on the ranger again.
Serah, as she was called, seemed utterly unfazed by her grandfather’s aura of quiet dominance. Her arms were crossed, her stance wide and brimming with confidence. With a dramatic flourish, her dark brown cloak parted, revealing an aqua-blue feather tunic adorned with silver buttons that shimmered faintly in the dim light, like rippling water under a pale moon.
She hopped from the table, landing with the confidence of someone who had already won. Fixing her piercing gaze on me, she pointed a finger like a blade and bellowed, “I am Serah, and I challenge you to a duel!”
“What?!” The word flew out of my mouth before my brain had a chance to stop it.
Serah ignored my bafflement, pushing forward with the gusto of a seasoned duelist delivering a dramatic proclamation. “We will wager one silver piece,” she announced, her tone laced with self-assured triumph. “And when I claim my inevitable victory, it will grant me the means to register in this human town and begin my glorious adventure!”
The confidence in her voice made it sound like this was less of a challenge and more of an initiation ceremony to her own superiority. I blinked, trying to process how I had somehow become an obstacle in her life story.
Human town? She looked about as human as things go, but then again, if people were sizing me up, I’d probably clock in somewhere between “zombie mascot” and “ghoul cosplayer.” I guess appearances for the category are negotiable here.
Despite my growing confusion, Serah was all fired up, practically bouncing in place like a wind-up toy ready to launch. The table she stood on, which was begging to be put out of its misery, was wobbling in a perfect balance between furniture and firewood under her feet. I turned to her grandfather for some semblance of sanity, but he just offered me a resigned shrug that screamed, “Good luck, kid, you’re on your own.”
“Alright, fine, but I’m picking how we do battle.” I sighed, my voice heavy with the kind of reluctance reserved for admitting that Ichni was right in our hourly ritual arguments. “I’m literally and figuratively half-dead after my quests, so let’s keep it skill-based, if you don’t mind.”
“Bra-hahaha! Deal, ghoul. I’ll even spare your life if you beg for it.” She cackled, chest puffed out like she’d just conquered a kingdom. Then, to my utter confusion, she started stretching like we were gearing up for a triathlon. What kind of competition did she expect to throw her life down for?
Rosalina, halfway through scrubbing the counter like it was a stained relic of better days, looked up with wide, panicked eyes.
“P-p-please don’t fight in here! We just started getting business, and I can’t afford to replace anything yet!” she pleaded, clutching her mop like it might be a magical staff to ward off disaster.
I gave her my best reassuring grin. “Don’t worry, we’re not getting into a death match. This will be settled in the most dignified way possible.” I let the suspense hang for a beat. “Rock-paper-scissors.”
Serah, who had been rolling her shoulders like she was warming up to take me out in a real duel, froze mid-motion. Her jaw practically hit the tabletop. “WHAT?!” she roared, so loud I half-expected the chandelier to shake loose. Then, as if summoning every expletive known to her, she let out a tirade in a language so bizarre that even Ichni, the queen of biting remarks, stayed silent. “You can’t be serious! That’s not a competition—it’s just blind luck!”
“Oh ho…” The old man chuckled, his voice like the creak of an ancient oak. “You’ve much to learn if you think rock-paper-scissors is mere luck, little one.”
“Your grandpa’s right, Serah.” I shot her a dubious smirk, folding my arms with the confidence of a man pretending he wasn’t held together by willpower and webbed duct tape. “Sure, the rules are simple, but there’s more to it than luck. It’s a duel of wits, instinct, and a sprinkle of swagger. One round—no best of three.”
Serah’s nose wrinkled like she’d just sniffed out a bad deal. Her eyes narrowed as if she was trying to read the fine print in my expression. She was definitely sizing me up, but not for my intellect—more likely for which body part would be easiest to stab if this went sideways.
As she mulled it over, I was busy coming to terms with the glaring reality of my own predicament. My breastplate looked more like Swiss cheese than armor, and every muscle in my body screamed for mercy. A proper duel would end with me looking like a meat kebab, so this silly game? It was my best shot at staying upright.
“Tch. Fine.” She finally relented, her grumble more theatrical than genuine. She landed gracefully to the carpet, sending a comical cloud of smoke up like she had made a gladiator’s entrance into a battle arena.
She balled a petite fist into her palm, grumbling all the meantime about how she was being tricked into a child’s game. As she looked at me, I couldn’t help but note how pretty she was. While Ichni was more akin to a graceful beautiful princess during her brief stint alive with me, Serah had a more plain cuteness to her. Ignoring the fact that both were as wild as rabid raccoons, the archer had an air of charisma that clasped her nimble frame like a second cloak.
I was unable to stop myself from portraying her into the “talented younger sister” trope, and made me wish I had met her in the younger days in my previous life. Not just as an acquaintance, but as a trusted ally. I was a bit full of myself when I was in my Holy Knight days, so having someone like her to keep me in check instead of a bunch of gruff old men would have made my more chaste days at least enjoyable.
Plus, who wouldn’t want a cute little sister that could kick your ass if you got too cocky?
“I don’t like the way you’re looking at me. We’re rivals, not lovers.” Serah interrupted my less than innocent thoughts. She wasn’t disgusted with my leer, more so tolerant. She was probably used to this by now. “Are you ready to lose yet?”
“Wait,” I interjected, raising a hand to pause her. “You said you don’t have a silver coin to wager.” My tone was sharp enough to cut through the room’s growing tension. “What were you planning to pay me with if you lost?”
Her face flushed as if I’d just accused her of committing a mortal sin. She stammered, her words tripping over each other like they were in a race. “W-w-well, I wasn’t planning to lose! Obviously! Who needs silver when you’re guaranteed to win?”
It was as convincing as Captain Onshi suggesting he was going to try a vegetarian diet.
“Alright then,” I pressed, crossing my arms. “What are you wagering?”
My eyes briefly flicked over her gear, assessing its worth—not in a creepy way, mind you. I was just considering if she had any spare weapons or something to trade. But apparently, she interpreted my glance as something else entirely.
Her reaction was instantaneous. With a sharp gasp, she flung her cloak shut, glaring at me as though I’d suggested a duel for her soul.
“Kyahhhh~! You brute!” she shrieked, her voice so high-pitched it could’ve shattered crystal. “What do you think I’d offer?! I am a proud warrior, not some... some... hussy auctioning herself off!”
I clenched up like I’d just walked into a pit of snakes. My gaze darted between her enraged expression and her grandfather’s calm demeanor, the latter of whom seemed wholly unbothered by the scene unfolding. She was intimidating enough, but I’d rather try to be Onshi’s second wife than find out what gramps over here was capable of.
“W-wait! I didn’t mean it like that!” I stammered, holding up my hands in surrender.
“Alright, fine!” she declared, her voice brimming with fiery determination. “If you win—though there’s no way you will—I’ll serve you as your knight for forty years. No more, no less, and no gross stuff! Got it?!”
I nearly choked on my own breath. Forty years? Over a single silver coin? Did she think it was minted from the bones of gods? The sheer absurdity made my head spin. Was I supposed to picture myself leading a wrinkly, cane-wielding Serah into battle in my twilight years?
“That’s... quite the commitment for a coin,” I managed to mutter, still trying to wrap my mind around it.
The thought of having Serah as an ally was… exhilarating, at best. I already had Ichni, who was about as useful in a fight as a soggy paper shield and had an unparalleled talent for making my life a living nightmare. I understood what my stray thoughts had led me to earlier, but adding this little fireball into the mix? I wasn’t so sure I wanted to juggle that kind of energy. Ichni’s a ghost and she was already tugging at the reins to our little adventure; Serah might full-on carjack the plan and hogtie me to whatever escapades she had in store!
And what about her grandpa? The man radiated the kind of presence that made mountains move—did he expect me to lug his terrifying aura across the land too? There was zero chance I would be able to play “team captain” if we were in cahoots.
Honestly, I’d rather face the Demon King underdressed and unarmed than manage this peculiar duo.
Questions were piling up faster than I could dodge them, but against all logic, I agreed anyway. Maybe I could rope her into some kind of subordinate role—take her as a collaborator, so to speak. She could chip in a sliver of her silver from every quest I “graciously” helped her tackle. Then, when we need allies, I can call on the retirement home twenty years from now and have grampa roll out the big guns.
Yeah, that sounded way better than an impulsive tag-along who was clearly ready to pick fights with everything that so much as looked at her. It’ll have to be done in a different way than a heated competition, though. For now, this little act will have to set a stone in motion.
“Alright, that’s fine.” I said grimly before raising my own hand. “On one-two-three-go, got it brat?”
Her eyes narrowed slyly as she crouched. “Yeah, I got it. You ready to die, ghoul?”
This isn’t a life or death duel, I thought with a grimace. Was she going to go “rock” and club me to death with it, or something?
As the countdown began, I locked eyes with her, channeling what I hoped was a face of unshakable resolve. Her gaze darted to my hand like a hawk tracking a rabbit, and I held steady, laying my hand flat with the cool confidence of a master strategist. Paper was my weapon of choice, simple yet effective.
But just as our hands dropped, my palm springing flat for paper, my smirk froze mid-birth. Her fist clenched tight for a heartbeat, then, with the reflexes of a seasoned pickpocket, two fingers shot out at the last possible moment. Scissors. My eyes widened in betrayal as I realized—she cheated!
“Oh ho! Sharp as ever, Serah!” The old man chuckled, his amusement practically rippling through the room. His eyes, though kind, gleamed with an almost mischievous pride. “Swordsman, you showed courage to match wits with someone whose hands are quicker than a thief at a festival and whose eyes could catch a falling needle mid-air. Even the tiniest tremor in your muscles would’ve been enough to betray your intent.”
I swallowed a retort. Sure, I was outmatched, but did he have to sound so impressed by her blatant cheating?
I smiled at my defeat and nodded in agreement. I had intentionally chosen paper of course, because I knew it’d be the most visually noticeable choice so she could win. While I thought she would have caught on sooner, she almost screwed up nonetheless until it was almost too late. While the old man saw through my ruse instantly, his granddaughter, who was pumping her arm in victory like she’d just won a world championship, did not seem to have noticed.
“Oh yeah! Number one, loser! Now cough it up!” Serah declared, slapping her palm out expectantly like a highway toll collector ready to take her due.
I reached for my pouch, resigning myself to a lighter coin purse, but the old man’s steady hand intercepted mine.
“Hold, granddaughter,” he said firmly, the quiet authority in his voice stopping her victory dance mid-shimmy.
“What? But I won! Fair and square! Didn’t I?” she blurted, her bravado now tinged with petulance. Did she really not realize how unprofessional her last second change was?
“You did, yes,” he replied, his calm tone wrapping around the room like a weighted blanket. “But you were the one who demanded this challenge. He chose a contest of honor—one that placed you as equals. The least you can do is show some grace in victory. No one likes a sour winner.”
His words landed on her like a wet towel, and Serah let out an exaggerated sigh. “Fine!” she grumbled, her lips pursed in defiance as she turned to me.
Then, with startling swiftness, she executed a shallow bow that looked more like a half-hearted bob. “Thank you for the opportunity to let us adventure. We, uh, deeply appreciate you honoring this… duel. May our mutual determination guide us toward understanding.”
Her delivery had all the conviction of someone reciting a poem they’d just read off a napkin, but at least she was trying. The shift from her earlier swaggering bluster to this forced politeness was so jarring it nearly gave me whiplash.
As soon as I handed over the silver coin, her demeanor snapped back like a rubber band. Clutching the coin as though it were the key to eternal happiness, she bolted toward Rosalina with the giddy energy of a puppy that just snatched a prime steak off the dinner table.
“She’s quite the handful, huh?” I quipped, watching Serah and Rosalina chatter like long-lost friends who just discovered they shared the same favorite snack.
The old man’s chuckle came soft and weary, like a breeze through brittle autumn leaves. “She has more energy than a raging storm, all bottled up and looking for a way out. I’m grateful you’ve given her a chance to do so.” His tone carried a wistful warmth that made me pause. “Where we come from, currency isn’t really… a thing. This silver—it’s as alien to us as kindness from an oger.”
He paused, then leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a gravelly whisper that sent a chill up my spine. “What we do understand is fighting—monsters, demons, whatever crosses our path. That’s where we thrive. But coin? That’s a language we’re still learning. There’s not much to do if we needed to start with coin to begin with. To that end, thank you. We’ll be sure to pay you back some time.”
I nodded, trying not to flinch under his piercing gaze. “Well, if it’s any comfort, you’re learning fast. No need to pay me back. I’m happy to help.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
The old man straightened, a faint smile tugging at the edges of his mouth. “Generous words, swordsman. We’ll remember them.”
I still hesitated though, caught off guard by his frankness of what he had said. In this land, openly declaring a vendetta against demons felt as taboo as wearing socks with sandals—only much more likely to get you killed.
“But you kill demons, you say?” My voice wavered slightly, and I met his eyes. The warmth from before had evaporated, replaced with a storm of controlled fury, sharp and unforgiving. I was immensely grateful not to be caught in its crosshairs.
He noticed my hesitation and offered a reassuring nod. “Relax, son. I know you’re not one of them.” His voice softened just enough to steady my nerves. “You might look like you have one foot in the grave, but I can tell—clear as daylight—that you’re human. And, more importantly, that we share a common goal.”
His expression darkened further, his words like frost creeping up a windowpane. “This damned place is polluted with vile filth. The kind of filth that wears wicked smiles and preys on the weak.”
A bead of sweat trickled down my temple as I swallowed hard. His disdain for demons burned so fiercely, I found myself longing for Serah’s theatrics again. At least her scolding didn’t feel like it could incinerate my soul. He almost sounded like me as a Paladin cranked up to eleven, I realized, and the unease made me gulp.
Serah slapped the same two quests I had down on the counter, practically glowing as Rosalina pinned them behind her. Bounding back to us, she held her adventurer’s card up like a prize.
“Look, Grandpa! I did it! It’s the same as his, right? Right?!”
“It sure is, dear,” he said with a nod, his tone calm but warm. “Let’s see what that old bow of yours can do.”
“Oh, I’m gonna do better than this old zombie!” Serah shot back, smirking at me.
I managed a tight smile, the jab hitting harder than I’d like to admit. My attention, however, was pulled to the card in her hand, and as I read the details, my heart sank.
Official Adventurer’s Guild Card
Name: Serah
Race: Elemental
Gender: Female
Age: Unknown
Class: Elemental Ranger, Saint-Class
Skills: Archery, cooking, irrigation
Adventurer’s Rank: S
—
She tucked the card away before I could finish reading it, but even the glimpse I managed left me reeling. Elemental? What in the blessed name of the Four-Lights was that supposed to mean? And Saint-Class? Back in my world, that would’ve been on par with a Holy Knight fresh into Paladin training. Most archers I’d encountered would rank as Novice-Class at best—maybe Adept or Elite if they really had something to prove. But her… whatever an Elemental is, she was leagues beyond anything I’d seen before.
Most importantly, she’d been slapped with an S Rank straight out of registration. Seriously, what did she do? Charm the magic stone? Bribe it with a tear-stained letter of recommendation? Whatever it was, it worked, because she managed to skip every rung of the ladder and land squarely on the top. The envy hit me like a war hammer. Sure, in my past life I might’ve been S Rank material—if the temples ever handed out ranks—but here? Here I was the gnat buzzing around adventurers like her, praying not to get swatted. No wonder she was strutting around like she owned the place.
“I’ll see you later, ghoul!” she chirped, her voice dripping with smugness as she twirled her way out of the hall like she was rehearsing for a musical. My fists clenched so hard I thought my brittle fingers might snap. If her mountain of a grandfather hadn’t been looming nearby like a silent bodyguard, I might’ve seriously considered adding “child wrangler” to my adventurer’s resume.
“I believe I heard your name earlier—Adrian, was it?” the old man asked, his voice low and smooth as he glided past me with an almost unsettling calm.
“That’s right,” I replied, turning myself and forcibly meeting his gaze despite the weight behind it. “And yours?”
“My name has long been swept away by the rivers of time,” he said with a faint, melancholic smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “But if it pleases you, you may call me Gramps. That’s what my little whirlwind insists on, and it seems to fit well enough.”
The way his eyes twinkled made it clear he knew far more than he was letting on, and yet there was an air of humility that left me at a loss for words. All I could manage was a stiff nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. His wrinkles deepened slightly, as if he were smirking at my awkwardness without fully committing to it.
“May the waters give you safe passage,” he said, the words rolling off his tongue with the weight of a prayer. With a graceful sweep of his cloak, he turned and followed his exuberant granddaughter out of the hall. The moment they were gone, it felt like a storm cloud had lifted from the room. The heavy, invisible pressure he carried with him dissipated in an instant, leaving me standing there like a soldier just dismissed from inspection. I sucked in a shaky breath and let it out slowly, trying to steady my nerves.
* * *
“Merdu, that guy was terrifying, wasn’t he?” Ichni’s voice drifted through the air as I trudged toward the Bronze Rooster. “I thought my father’s death glare was bad, but that old geezer could probably make a volcano apologize.”
“Yeah, he’s seen some things, no doubt about that,” I muttered, my eyes scanning the modest bustle of the town. The streets were a lively mix of activity—kids smacking sticks together like they were reenacting epic sword duels, young adults rushing between shops with packages, and the occasional odd figure. A horned demon-looking passerby carrying a heavy box on her back caught my eye, a similar race to that of the one that avoided me like the plague. Nearby, a humanoid serpent coiled lazily against a wall, reminding me uncomfortably of the guards who’d chased us not too long ago.
I was earning plenty of stares—just shy of the shrieking-in-terror variety—but enough to keep me on edge. Apparently, being a shambling undead-looking guy wasn’t quite alarming enough to warrant panic, but I clearly wasn’t blending in. Here, I was the walking reminder of what separated "normal" folks from whatever I was now. Normal… that word felt like a cruel joke in a place where half the population looked like the kind of creatures you’d find in a particularly nasty nightmare.
“Ichni, what is the elemental race?” I asked as I began closing the distance to the Bronze Rooster. It was been on my mind since I saw the word on Serah’s card, and while the concept itself was simple enough, the meaning behind it was beyond perplexing.
“Beats me!” she said from inside the glove, as cheerfully clueless as ever. I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at my gauntlet in disbelief.
“‘Beats me’? Seriously? You’re the princess of an actual demon king, and you’ve never heard of this?” My voice climbed in irritation. “What is it? A race of people? A type of monster? A bunch of fireballs in trench coats?!”.
“Well, it’s gotta be something, right? I mean, I’ve heard of elementals before—y’know, the big, chunky, walking piles of whatever element they’re made of. Fire elementals? Big blobs of flame with legs. Earth elementals? Like a mountain got bored and decided to go for a stroll.” She sounded so confident, but then she ruined it by adding, “But Serah? Nope, doesn’t fit. Maybe she’s some kind of mix? Like her mom hooked up with a bonfire or something?”
“Hmm… good point,” I muttered, tapping my chin. “You think the adventurer’s card just lists the dominant race? Like, if someone’s half-elf, half-demon, does it flip a coin? Or is it based on whoever had the strongest genes—like a genetic arm-wrestling match?”
“Ohhhh, look at you, Mr. Thinky-Brain!” Ichni teased, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “No wonder your intelligence is your top stat. Too bad your adventurer’s rank is still stuck at E-tier.”
I let her snark roll off me like water off a duck’s back as I pushed open the tavern door. The satisfying weight of my newly earned silver jingled at my hip, a sound sweeter than any bard’s tune. Speaking of tunes, the air was filled with the howling guitar chords of what I assumed was supposed to pass for music. As I walked in, my mind wandered to a less melodic question: which unlucky elemental Serah’s parent had managed to seduce to create that smug little prodigy?
Climmard’s unmistakable, slightly off-key warbling filled the room. He was mid-song, crooning some folksy ballad that was equal parts earnest and awkward:
The cow foreman of the mines, he’s a swell kinda chap,
Always firm with a handshake and generous with the tap,
None more loyal and courteous could ever be found,
It’s a shame his poor hand’s no longer around!
The bard’s heartfelt delivery couldn’t save the fact that the lyrics sounded like they’d been penned by a sleep-deprived street performer.
I could see that the lady was furiously writing her newspaper column as the bard sang away, and I snorted at the fact she was ever hopeful that the lackluster clown was going to bellow anything as useful as information.
“Seriously? He’s singing about Bernie?” Ichni groaned, coming out and draping herself over my shoulder like a melodramatic cat. “Of all the people in this world, he picks Bernie?”
“Who’s Bernie, again?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
“The goh—sorry, the minotaur—who runs the Makka Makka Mines,” Ichni replied, rolling her eyes so hard I thought they might pop out. “He’s one of the four lieutenants and even more unbearable than Climmard. But if he heard that song, he’d be so smug he’d probably flex his horns until they fell off.”
I plopped down in my usual spot, ready to let my aching body dissolve into the wooden stool. Before Randy could make his way over, my ears caught snippets of a conversation from two adventurers in the corner. They looked like your typical leather-clad wannabe heroes—two human guys who couldn’t have been older than their swords. Judging by their animated chatter, they thought they were hot stuff.
“I still can’t believe I scored so hard at Echoes Hollow,” one of them said, his voice nasally enough to make me wince. He had that boy-next-door look—handsome in a way that might work on posters, but not much else. His ears stuck out like twin sails on a windy day. Just as I was ready to tune out what was obviously about to be some embarrassing bragging, his buddy chimed in.
“Two people. Big deal,” his friend grunted, the bulkier of the two. With his dark hair and beard, he looked like someone who spent more time bench-pressing barrels than adventuring.
“Yeah, but it was almost at the same time!” the nasally one protested, his indignation making it sound like this was the highlight of his career—or his life.
Even Ichni was side-eying them now, her expression somewhere between horrified and fascinated, like she’d stumbled on a group of peacocks trying to out-preen each other. Whatever “Echoes Hollow” was, these guys were selling it like it was the next big tourist hotspot.
“They’ll do that for anyone with a face,” Stocky said, closing his eyes and stroking his chin like a sage envisioning cosmic truths. “Bet they’re already doing someone else. You’re yesterday’s news, mate.”
“Don’t say that! When I came on their face, it was like the biggest feeling in the world.” Nasal-Ears shouted, loud enough to make Climmard hit a sour note on his guitar. The whole room turned to glare at him, Randy included, as though he’d just let out a particularly offensive burp during a prayer.
“Maybe save this for your room, lads?” Randy interjected dryly, raising an eyebrow so high it nearly joined his hairline.
“Oh, sorry, chief! We’re talking about them over at Echoes Hollow.” Stocky said sheepishly, as if that somehow made it better.
“Ohhh, my mistake. Carry on,” Randy said, waving them off like they were just discussing the weather. Climmard resumed strumming, and I sat there floored, my brain scrambling to process what in the holy hell Echoes Hollow actually was.
“Maybe we should go back and try to get more people into it, next time?” Stocky mused aloud, his tone as serious as someone planning a military campaign. “I wouldn’t mind scoring a couple points myself.”
“With that nose?” Nasal-Ears quipped, smirking. “You’d be lucky to get a pity point. No offense.”
“My nose is perfectly fine, thank you,” Stocky shot back, scowling as he downed his drink. “Too bad they don’t have to put up with your sparkling personality.”
Part of me wanted to march over and demand answers, but some instinct told me it was better left a mystery. I glanced at Ichni for clarification, but all she offered was a dismissive shrug. “Echoes Hollow is weird. Let’s just… not.”
Randy approached just as I slid a few coins onto the counter, alongside the mug he entrusted me with for my first decent meal. “Randy, it’s high time I paid up! Quen sends her regards—and one of these silvers—for the great meal.”
“Well, if it isn’t Adrian, my boy!” Randy bellowed, his voice brimming with exaggerated enthusiasm as he swept the coins into his hand. With a practiced motion, he poured a drink and pointed at Climmard, who was mid-lamentation. “See this, Climmard? A paying customer! That means he gets the top-barrel beer.”
“They’re all the same beer, Randy,” Climmard muttered, looking like a dog kicked one too many times. “And I swear I’ll have rent next week.”
“Same beer? Pwah! Top-barrel always hits differently,” Randy scoffed, plopping the mug in front of me like it was liquid gold.
“If you’ve got water or milk, I’ll also take it. And if there’s Chili Con Carne in the kitchen, I might just weep with gratitude,” I said, my throat parched and stomach an empty pit after the explosive aftermath at the Adventurer’s Guild. “Oh, and a room. I’m staying for a while.”
“Best news since Madam Bagel rolled out her new sandwich!” Randy exclaimed, snatching the extra silver I dropped and heading to the kitchen with a spring in his step. I exhaled deeply, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on me. As tempting as it was to faceplant onto the counter and call it a night, I knew food and drink would make it all the sweeter.
“You know it’s still midday, right?” Ichni piped up, glancing at the rays of sunlight spilling in.
“I’m also painfully aware that it’s been midday for almost three days straight,” I grumbled. “I’d be crazy if I’m going to wait for nighttime to eventually come to pass out.”
“Heh, fair point,” Ichni admitted. “I don’t exactly need sleep, so it doesn’t bug me much. Still, weird it hasn’t shifted yet, huh?” It was like she was trying to figure out the next time it’d rain, not the absolute certainty of the flow of time.
“Wait, you don’t know?” I shot her a bewildered look. “What kind of twisted clock does this kingdom operate on?”
“Well, technically it’s a twenty-four-hour system,” Ichni started, tapping her lip thoughtfully. “But the whole day-night thing? Let’s just say it’s… quirky.”
“So, no consistency whatsoever?” I pressed, my concern growing with each word.
“It’s like a janky spring,” she explained, gesturing wildly. “One day it’s stuck at noon, then it inches forward, and next thing you know—bam! Three nights of a full moon back-to-back. Makes for great ambiance when you’re strolling and it suddenly flips to midnight.”
“That’s… not practical at all!” I exclaimed. What did that even mean? In my old-old world, everything spun on a consistent cycle. Sure, daylight savings was obnoxious, but at least the sun didn’t decide to take a three-day coffee break. Wouldn’t a sudden pause throw mountains off balance and send oceans careening across continents?
“Well, it’s always been like that since I’ve been born.” Ichni shrugged, as this was as normal as the sky was blue. “It can be irritating when you’re trying to do certain things like walk the gardens, but it’s not like we didn’t build for that, y’know? We got entire lighting systems around most cities ready in case it gets into abnormal stretches. Plus, it only happens some of the time!”
I stared at her, equal parts pity and disbelief. The blissful ignorance of living with erratic chronal shifts was almost enviable compared to the existential dread it should’ve inspired. She glared at me, probably sensing my judgment, but before she could launch into a tirade, Randy reappeared, triumphantly holding a room key and a glorious platter of food.
After stuffing myself like I’d been on a three-week fast, I caught Ichni throwing me her own judgmental side-eyes the entire time. Ignoring her, I wobbled to my feet, dizzy from sheer satisfaction, and made my way to my room. I knew that eventually my body would pay the price for the spicy food once more, but for now I was in my own slice of paradise.
I pushed the door open to find a quaint, surprisingly tidy little room. A single bed, a sturdy dresser, and a modest desk gave it the charm of a budget inn trying just hard enough. But the real gem? The side room that held something I hadn’t dared to dream of.
“Hold up—Ichni, do you guys actually have running water here?” I asked, my voice laced with disbelief.
It was a rudimentary bathroom, sure—an awkward tangle of exposed pipes, a sink that looked one tantrum away from collapse, and a shower that might double as a sprinkler. But by every saint and spirit, it was a bathroom. A real, honest-to-goodness bathroom!
“Yeah, most places do these days,” Ichni said matter-of-factly. “Aratan Villa’s been sprucing up. You remember that harpy tower? The super-duper tall one here in town? That’s actually the water tower now. Doubles as a mail outpost when the birds aren’t busy, and when business is slow, they pump the water up. Oh, and we’ve got a sewer system that feeds straight into the river west of here!”
Well, forgive my sinful phrase, but holy shit. My old world never even dreamed of such innovation. The best we had was dumping a bucket over ourselves for a quick rinse. Actual plumbing? This cursed realm might’ve just handed me the closest thing to divinity I’d seen here.
“Sorry, Ichni, but you’re taking a vacation in the dresser drawer. I need some privacy,” I declared, already starting to peel off my gear.
“Oh, khippa do! About time. I might’ve gone blind otherwise,” she retorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “Just don’t clog the pipes! They’re tiny, and you’d probably block them with your—”
“Aaaaand that’s enough out of you!” I snapped, shoving the gauntlet into the drawer with all the care of someone cramming a stubborn sock into a too-full laundry basket. With a decisive slam, I silenced her.
Twenty glorious minutes later, I emerged from the bathroom feeling reborn. Wrapped in a slightly-too-small towel, I sighed wistfully, already plotting my next visit to that miraculous haven of lukewarm water and questionable plumbing. It might not have been perfect, but it was heaven adjacent.
Collapsing into the chair by the desk with a groan that could’ve come from my very soul, I caught my reflection in the mirror—and immediately regretted it. “Ghoul” and “zombie” suddenly felt like generous descriptions. I wasn’t just bad; I was the poster child for the Undead Appreciation Society.
My hair, a dismal shade of gray, stuck to my head like a soggy mop, with a single cowlick valiantly defying gravity. My face looked like someone had taken a carving knife to it—scars, dips, and divots everywhere, as if a bear had used me as a chew toy. My skin, pale as a ghost’s bedsheets, was cracked and dry, clinging desperately to bones that felt more decorative than functional. My arms? Twigs that somehow hadn’t snapped despite wielding a sword. My nails were yellowed stubs of shame, and even my lips were a splotchy, purple crime scene. But the worst part? The hollow, yellow-eyed stranger staring back at me in the mirror.
I reached up to touch my face, my hand trembling as though I’d turn to dust at the slightest pressure. I looked like I belonged on the cover of Undead Monthly—“Hot New Lich in Your Area!” If I shaved my head and threw on a robe, I could’ve been auditioning for the villain role in someone else’s hero journey. My hollow gaze refused to look away, forcing me to confront the truth I’d been avoiding: I wasn’t the Paladin anymore. I was a walking nightmare of my former self, the ghost of a man who’d once stood tall and proud.
I’ve… seen this before. Once, in the reflection of my sword.
Disgust churned in my stomach, sour and relentless. The man staring back at me wasn’t just a stranger; he was someone I’d have gladly smited in a past life. A sharp pang ran through me, and before I could spiral any further, I yanked the towel from my waist and tossed it over the mirror, muting the awful truth.
Dressing myself in my patched-up pants and threadbare shirt, I hesitated before opening the drawer like I was unleashing a grumpy cat who’d been stuck inside their crate for too long. Sure enough, Ichni slithered out with all the grace of a diva making a grand entrance. Tossing the glove onto the desk, I sank into the chair, the weight of my mood pressing me down like lead.
“What’s up, mitre?” Ichni chirped as she stretched out dramatically, clearly gearing up to throw some verbal jabs. One look at me, though, and she hesitated, her usual sass fading into something almost resembling concern.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost—which is impressive considering I’m the closest thing to one in the room,” Ichni quipped, her voice tinged with unease. I didn’t respond, my hands buried in my hair as my elbows anchored me to the desk. With my eyes shut, I tried to block out the nauseating memory of my reflection, but it lingered, relentless.
“I’ve changed, Ichni. This isn’t my body. Not anymore.” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. Saying it out loud made the weight of it hit even harder.
“Well, look on the bright side—you’ve got a body. That’s more than I can say,” She tried to assure me. Her attempt at reassurance made me cringe at the thought that this was supposed to be my silver lining.
“I get it, okay? It’s not fair for me to complain,” I admitted, trying to untangle the knot in my chest. “I’ve been through this before—adjusting to a new body, new features. Last time, it was freckles and darker hair, things I could learn to appreciate. But this?” I gestured vaguely at myself, the memory of that reflection stabbing at me. “This is something else entirely.”
“Adrian…” She began, but no words seemed to form to comfort me.
“I hate myself as I am, Ichni. I cannot describe the loathing I feel when I know that this is who I am now. I hate me.” The words tumbled out, sharp and raw. “I grieve for my friends, my comrades, even for the precious memories I had; nothing, for all the training and diligence I’ve taken in my entire life, has prepared me for the grief I had for being in this fucking state I’m in. I can’t even convince myself I’m human, for holy sakes. That should’ve been the one thing I could hold onto.”
For once, Ichni didn’t have a snappy comeback or a sarcastic quip. Instead, she floated closer, her tiny hand resting on my shoulder—a gesture so simple, yet it cut through my turmoil like a lifeline. She kept it there as I was left to ponder my painful thoughts.
“I need to believe freeing the Four-Lights will fix this—fix me.” My voice cracked, the weight of the admission crushing my chest. “If it doesn’t… what’s the point? Fuck me, is this even living? My heart beats, my body aches, but is that all there is to it? Because this… this doesn’t feel like life.”
I wanted to flip the desk, to scream and shatter the stillness with my rage. But the cruel irony wasn’t lost on me—if I tried, this frail excuse of a body might just crumble under the effort. The thought left a bitter taste in my mouth, twisting my frustration into something darker, something suffocating.
The silence stretched, seconds feeling like minutes, minutes feeling like hours. I wasn’t sure there were words that could fill the void I’d just laid bare. But, as always, Ichni proved me wrong.
“Adrian, I can’t possibly tell you how you should feel. I only know that it’s a gift that you can still feel those things.” She said, with surprising softness. “We’ve both gone through a lot. I’ve got my own barrel of emotions I still need to sort through, being a ghost and all,” she admitted, and as I finally looked at her she was floating in a timid pose, her small arms crossed. “What I do know is that we’ve been given a chance to be angry, to be sad. It’s a chance that very few would have gladly given everything for, and yet we’re the ones spoiled with the luck of it.”
“I don’t feel so lucky, Ichni. Heavens, I got an F ranking for luck, apparently.” I said with a sad chuckle at my adventurer’s card. It was a dry laugh, the kind that hurt more than it healed.
“Luck’s like the weather,” Ichni shot back, shrugging nonchalantly. “It changes. I mean, look at us meeting Quen. That was luck. And hey, my dad hasn’t noticed us yet. That’s luck too, isn’t it?”
“Sure, but for how long? Luck runs out eventually, and one day it’ll all—” I started, but Ichni’s exasperated glare cut me off like a smack upside the head.
“Oh don’t be so pessimistic, murakka! The fact that we can still call Onshi a flea bitten pussy and hope to get our chance to turn him into a stuffed rug is all the luck we can hope for!” she huffed, her tone fiery enough to light a torch. “And if I can somehow resurrect back into a hot spider babe, that’s a consolation prize for me at this point!”
“If I can turn warm-blooded and topple a dystopian time-cycle, I suppose I could settle with a coup d'etat as a welcomed side effect.” I said, smirking despite myself. “You know Ichni, I had a lot of bad blood with demons, but you really make it hard to hate them all, y’know?”
“Hey, there's always time left to piss you off, y’know.” She said with her own devious smile. “I might not be the ‘evil spider princess’ you were expecting, but I’m gunning for the ‘insufferable spider girl who’s always right“ category!”
“Oh, you’ve already nailed that one. The title’s yours, full honors and everything,” I replied, shaking my head with a defeated grin.
“See? Always right!” she crowed, puffing out her chest triumphantly. “I told you I should’ve been team leader!”
“You can petition for team leader status once you’ve got legs to stand on—literally,” I shot back, settling into the bed. Sleep was already tugging at me like a relentless siren, whispering sweet nothings of rest.
“Sure you don’t want me to grab that coffin for you? Bet it’s more your style.” Ichni teased, her tone dripping with playful mockery. I crossed my arms, glancing down at myself. Flat on my back with my arms crossed, I probably did look like a corpse ready for its funeral. The thought was so absurd, I couldn’t help but laugh. And laugh. And laugh, until my sides hurt and my vision blurred from exhaustion.
“Maybe I’ll order it for tomorrow morning,” I managed between chuckles. “You know, for the wake.” The last of my energy slipped away, and for the first time in ages, I sank into a rest that felt earned—completely and utterly earned.