The blockade of Krigesti had become the new normal, but everything was still on the move in the city. New revenants appeared every day. Each with their own plans and wishes, which they wanted to see realized immediately. People had almost got used to the adventurers, but there were also a few other problems. Some revenants were just having a quiet time and quickly settled into the city. Others had chosen a craft and were either trying to open a workshop or find a master. This group quickly found out that it all cost money. This then led to either a trip to Peituwin's temple or innovative schemes to get rich quick.

One of the more common ones that had emerged in recent days was the attempt to gain a monopoly in a key commodity and then raise prices. Most of these attempts fizzled out because the raw material in question could be imported from outside. Traders quickly procured a few wagonloads of pig iron or certain types of wood. The more cunning plots required the active intervention of the baron, or rather his steward.

Weylan lowered his head onto the pile of letters of complaint. His eyes hurt, his head was pounding. He had never had to read so much in his life.

The door opened again and a messenger rushed in to put more letters on the "unread" pile next to him. The boy hesitated as he went out:

"Are you all right?"

"Yes. Everything's fine. Go ahead." Weylan looked up, "Unless you can read, then you could..."

The messenger boy raced out and let the door slam shut behind him.

Weylan sighed, pushed the last report he had read onto the "Harmless" pile and took the next one.

One of the grocers complained that he could no longer get six-leaved hare's clover anywhere at. He was very long-winded and also mentioned that this was not a problem from his point of view, as hare clover was cheap and available everywhere. But since the steward had insisted on being informed of any unusual shortages of raw materials via the guild leaders... Weylan rolled his eyes. Didn't the guy have anything better to do than go on for another page and a half about how nonsensical he thought it all was and that it was stealing his time after a barely three-line report?

His desk stood against the wall of Jago's study. Numerous notes and lists were pinned in front of it. Among them was one with the most important ingredients for the most important potions, ointments and elixirs. Healing potion, mana potion, wound powder and a few more.

Jago had sorted everything alphabetically and transferred it to a single list, for which Weylan was still grateful.

Hazel clover was not on the list. He was about to move the report to the "Harmless" pile when he stopped. He turned to his master: "Master Jago, doesn't the city have a few large flocks of sheep in the north? I think you mentioned that on our tour of the outskirts."

The steward did not take his eyes off the document he was studying: "That is correct. Why?"

"Then we have a problem."

Now he looked up: "What have you found?"

Weylan rummaged briefly through the pile in front of him and then pulled out two reports: "This is the third report about a shortage of hare's clover. I don't think it's sold by many merchants in the city. It's more likely to be something a hay merchant brings in a basket on the side and hands to the wholesaler for a piece of silver or two."

"Hare's clover?"

"Six-leaf hare’s clover, to be precise."

"Which recipes does this belong to?"

"None on the list, but you need it for a herbal mixture in which you wash wool after shearing. This increases the quality of the wool by a whole level. It's shearing time again soon."

"That means that if our shepherds can't buy hare’s clover, the entire annual production of wool in the city will be worth less? One level of quality in wool is about... twenty or thirty percent. I'll send a messenger north to one of our suppliers for hay..."

Weylan shook his head: "It doesn't grow north of the mountains. On the plains it grows everywhere, the farmers' children always search the fields for it before the hay harvest. You don't need much of it. My father always said that they hardly have any sheep in the north because they can survive best on the grassy plain."

The steward stood up and went to a shelf with numerous folders. He pulled out one after the other, leafed through the contents briefly and pushed them back again. On the third one, he found what he was looking for: "The town has a firm order for ten baskets of hare’s clover from Kohlhaas the grocer."

"This is one of the dealers who sent a report."

"Go and ask him where he normally gets his goods from. Then follow the supply chain and find out who bought all this hare’s clover."

Weylan nodded and hurried off, glad to finally get away from the endless reports. He stormed down the stairs and out of the manor house into the city. It was only two streets further on that he remembered that he had no idea where Merchant Kohlhaas lived. He stopped for a moment, then turned around and made his way to the market square.

Next to the spawn point, he found a few street urchins who offered to guide the revenants through the city. It was a lucrative business, especially for noobs who had no understanding of the prices in the city and paid exorbitant amounts of silver or sometimes even gold for simple services.

"Do any of you know the merchant Kohlhaas?"

One of the boys raised his hand: "He lives in the southern district. Shall I take you there?"

Weylan nodded and the boy set off, beckoning him to follow.

After walking halfway across the town, the boy pointed to a large house at the end of the street: "That's Kohlhaas' store back there. He lives in the apartment directly above."

Weylan gave the street urchin a friendly nod and slipped him a coin.

The conversation with the trader was brief. He normally only received wagonloads of dried hay in the fall, but because of the impending siege, the steppe dwellers had delivered the almost freshly cut grass. He had had it all transported to the north, where sheds outside the city could be used for drying. Normally, his supplier would only have sent an apprentice with a single wagon full of herbs, including a few baskets of hare’s clover, at this time of year. Even outside the town, however, the merchant had been bought out of everything but the normal grass. The vendor described the buyer as a rabbit folk woman with piercing eyes. He hadn't really wanted to sell to anyone else, but not only had she offered almost twice as much, she had also stared at him so menacingly that he hadn't dared to refuse.

Weylan said goodbye and stepped out onto the street. There he stretched his face towards the sky and spread his arms in the "why always me" gesture. What was he supposed to do with the information now? He had no name and no meaningful description. The only witness was long gone again and either untraceable among the refugees in the city, especially since the merchant hadn't bothered to ask for a name, or he was back on the grassy steppe and thus behind the siege line.

Weylan had been given a list of food and herb merchants, but it was as long as his arm. No one paid attention to who sold hare’s clover. If he had been looking for a supplier of dragon root, unicorn shavings or lightning snake blood, any of the merchants could have given him an exact list of their competitors.

He walked off, lost in thought. He stopped after two crossroads. Did he have to turn down this street or the next? He was still getting confused in the winding side streets. His master had therefore already started to send him through the city to different places for an hour every day. Always at different times so that he learned the rhythm of the city. Whatever that was supposed to be.

The assassin apprentice chose an alleyway. Turning the next corner, he found himself in a completely enclosed courtyard. Weeds grew knee-high between the cobblestones. He turned to try another route when a bright light came on in the empty courtyard. He whirled around, threw himself flat on the ground close to the wall and pulled the shadows over him like a blanket. He couldn't help but grin. It had worked perfectly for the first time. He was slowly getting the hang of it.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

A figure bathed in golden light stood in the courtyard. Weylan lost his grin. A moderator? There were no revenants around. What was a moderator doing here?

Three more light figures appeared at short intervals. One pointed to the center of the courtyard. A wave of golden light spread out from there. Where there had just been cobblestones, a platform two steps across now rose from the ground. A spawn point. Weylan had heard that other spawn points had appeared in the city to cope with the onslaught of new revenants, but they were all the same size as the spawn point in the marketplace. They all appeared in easily accessible places, on main roads and market squares. Not in a secluded backyard.

The moderators seemed to be talking to each other, but Weylan couldn't hear a word they were saying. At another gesture, two of the moderators stood next to each other on the square form. The spawn point lit up and a figure appeared between them. They grabbed it from both sides. When the light went out, they held a young man between them.

A third presenter stepped forward and tapped the air in front of him. Then he nodded: "Okay. Neural connections are simulated. Motor control is being transferred. Try to take a step."

The young man fidgeted aimlessly with his legs for a moment and would have fallen down if the two moderators hadn't held him firmly by the arms.

"Can you feel your legs?"

The young man shook his head: "No. I can't feel anything. You promised it would work this time!"

"It should have." The presenter pushed invisible things around in front of him with his hands and studied the air in front of him intensely. Weylan realized he was using a menu, but from the sweeping gestures, one with far more text than he was used to. The moderator hesitantly began to speak again: "That's... Your brain doesn't seem to be able to process the input from the interface. The signals are coming through, but..."

"I've never had legs. My brain doesn't know what a leg is. I've already said before it wouldn’t work."

"I very much regret this result. We could try voice control..."

"No! I want to walk! A wheelchair is a wheelchair, even if it looks like legs. I want to steer this body like everyone else! What's next? A joystick?"

"A physical gamepad would indeed be another option..."

The young man wildly wriggled away from the two moderators holding him. Weylan had the impression that they would have been strong enough to hold him, but deliberately chose not to. He first fell to his knees and then crashed unsteadily to the side. One of the moderators grabbed his arm again briefly to slow him down, then quickly let go and stepped back. The young man still glared at the presenter and heaved his upper body up into a kind of sitting position with both arms: "Go! I'll be fine."

"Mr. Karlsberg, are you sure..."

"Fuck off!"

The moderators looked at each other indecisively for a moment, then disappeared one by one. The young man looked around briefly, then relaxed his arms and let himself crash backwards onto the platform. He used his now free arms to punch the spawn point in frustration: "Damn! Shit!"

Weylan loosened his magical grip on the shadows and sat up carefully. When the young man continued to ignore him, he stood up and strolled over to him. He stopped thrashing the spawn point and looked up, "I told you to... Who are you?"

"I was just passing by. Shall I get you a hammer?"

"What?!?"

"That would be more effective. It might even be more satisfying to beat the spawn point with a hammer instead of your fists. If you give me some time, I can get hold of a heavy blacksmith's hammer."

"Why would you do that? What do you want?"

Weylan shrugged his shoulders: "Maybe a revenant will manage to destroy those annoying spawn points. We locals can't do that. Believe me, we've tried pretty much everything to prevent another plague."

"Plague? You mean the world quest? No idea what your world will be hit with this time. Hopefully an invasion of dragons. At least dragons are cool. I'd love to ride one."

"I'd be right there too." Weylan got down on his knees and offered his hand to the revenant: "I am Weylan."

"Franziskus Karlsberg." He looked around: "I should probably make up an in-game’s name."

"Sounds like a dwarf name already."

"I'm not a dwarf." The young man looked at him irritably from below.

"The size fits, but it's hard to estimate when you're lying around like that."

He straightened his upper body and tried to strike Weylan with one hand. He calmly took a step back and stayed out of reach.

"Come here so I can punch you in the face!"

Weylan held his chin thoughtfully with his hand and then replied, "No. I don't feel like it."

"Come down!"

"Nope."

Franziskus dropped back again, hit the floor with both fists and let out an inarticulate cry. Weylan looked on calmly: "Are you feeling better now?"

"No!"

"What exactly are you up to now? Are you guarding this, surely strategically extremely important, backyard?"

"Don't you have anything better to do than mock me?"

Weylan thought for a moment and shrugged his shoulders. "Not really. So, what are you up to?"

"Experience adventure. Dungeons, quests and new fantastic landscapes. Plus what most players actually come here for."

The Assassin got down on his knees and tilted his head in interest: "What's that?"

"Wild orgies without consequences. No infectious diseases, no unwanted pregnancies or troublesome relationships."

Weylan didn't understand everything the revenant meant, but it was enough to make his cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Franziskus had never seen anyone actually blush. He had always thought it was a figure of speech in cheesy old novels.

"What did you expect? Do you think they're all just coming to play knights and wizards? Please."

Weylan's mouth opened and closed again.

The young man heaved himself up: "So, now show me in which direction the next quest lies. Maybe I'll defeat a dragon or conquer a kingdom."

"What exactly is your class?"

"Class? I have no idea. I haven't chosen one yet. We first wanted to find out whether I can even control my avatar in this world. Is carpet a character class? I'm sure I could do that quite well." He lay down flat and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

"Maybe a librarian or a scholar?"

"Do I look like I enjoy sitting in a dusty room and reading books? I can do that at home too."

"We could harness you to the back of a troll and have you carried around. You can then fight from there with a crossbow."

"I can't express in words how bad I think the idea is."

"Magician?"

"Will I be able to conjure up functioning legs? Probably not. Otherwise, the moderators would surely have managed that. So, no."

"Knight?"

"Want me to crawl over and bite your legs! Wait, hold still."

Weylan raised his hands defensively: "Listen to me! Knights are... well... mounted. I'm sure you're just as good on a horse as any other revenant. Join the centaurs and you won't stand out at all."

"Do you have any idea how to steer a horse? With your thighs! And you can only hold yourself up properly with functioning legs. If you put me in the saddle, I might as well be in a wheelchair. Getting on and off the horse is a real pain. Believe me. I had two years of riding therapy. My parents thought it would have a calming effect on my mind."

"Wait, what by Cofefe is a wheelchair?"

"A chair. With big wheels on it. On which I can push myself around. Or let someone else do it. The only problem is that it doesn't work very well on cobblestone pavements like here."

"Wait until you're in the side alleys. Sometimes you sink into the mud up to your ankles. With wheels? Good luck."

The revenant raised his hands in annoyance and gritted his teeth. Weylan ignored him and continued thinking: "We could have a wheelchair built at the mage academy. There are a few enchantments for merchants' carts. They should also work on a smaller wagon. Or a rolling chair. You won't sink in; you'll be faster and more agile." He put down his backpack and took out a charcoal pen and a packet of parchment, from which he carefully removed a sheet and then stowed the packet away again. He placed it on the smooth floor of the spawn point next to the revenant: "So, how big are these wheels? Like this? So close to the front wheels? That's pretty wobbly. We'd better move the front end further forward. Lower it a bit... Can you still grip the big wheels like that? Good. Then there are compartments for weapons and equipment on both sides. A large luggage compartment at the back. Maybe a quiver or two. Ideally a Bag of Holding enchantment somewhere, if you can afford it."

The revenant watched with moderate interest until Weylan drew small curves on the sides of the wheels.

"What's that supposed to be? Propeller?"

"Sickle blades. Like the old Cathurian chariots."

The revenant leaned closer over the drawing. "Isn't it very dangerous when I drive through the city?"

"I'm sure you can make it retractable somehow. Or you accept that no one should stand in your way."

Franziskus grinned.

"The legs go forward, like this. With a reinforcement all around. Then your comrades can use the wheelchair as a battering ram if necessary."

"I'm not sure I like the idea..."

"You’ll have an equipment storage. Plus a small barrel of rum or beer here and a few barbecue skewers on the other side. Mobile picnic. The adventurer groups will be keen to take you with them."

The revenant took the pen out of his hand and made a few changes. He studied the rather wild drawing and then nodded thoughtfully: "I would need a class after all. What would be most effective?" He looked up at Weylan indecisively.

"Whatever you want. You can harness a couple of draft dogs in front and have them pull you around. That would be a beast tamer. Or you can use magic to get up to speed. Once you're agile enough, you can do anything. Swing an axe, shoot bows, cast spells, crack doors..."

The hand with the charcoal pencil slowly sank down: "Yes... and the women like a shopping cart driver with an axe."

"If nothing else helps, just put all your points into Charisma and become a bard. That's what my friend Dorm used to say."

"Bard... The guys who play magical support songs? Something like that to motivate their group to fight better or faster?"

"You mean Arcane Bard. But yes, there are supposed to be such things. In the stories, they were always the core of a powerful group of heroes. Trulda once said that there aren't many revenants who take such classes. Too much in the background. More support than being out in front among the enemies. Spellsongs are mainly there to support others. You need charisma above all, and with a focus on that, on the other hand, the physical skills for combat are lacking. Even outside of combat, it feels much better to be strong and skillful."

"Are you a gamer too?"

"A revenant? No. But I know a very nice revenant who explained the most important points to me. So I can see that you haven't chosen your appearance yet."

The revenant looked down at himself, frowning: "What do you mean?"

"Well, medium height, medium build, light dark hair. And the face..."

"What about my face?"

"Pale, no chin, no outstanding features. I mean, if you wanted to be a thief it would be perfect. No one could describe you except: he had a face."

"This is my normal body. They scanned me exactly."

"You always look like that?"

"Yes!"

"I'm sorry." Weylan paused dramatically and then added: "For you."

"Hey!"

"Well, what do you think of the idea?"

The revenant stared into space for a while. His eyes twitched back and forth. Then they flashed golden. His skin suddenly looked healthier and more radiant. His features subtly more attractive. His hair formed itself into a fashionable hairstyle. "That's it. Class selection done. Arcane Bard, level 1. Now let's head to that academy then."

"Hang on a minute, I'll get a wheelbarrow."

"Oh, no! You won't!"

Weylan shrugged his shoulders calmly: "I can drag you behind me by the legs, but that will take much longer."

The revenant clenched his hands to the sky in frustration, then dropped back onto the stone floor in resignation: "Okay. Get a wheelbarrow."