Chapter 21: Knock Knock

True to my word, I spent the next day taking it easy, catching up on some much needed sleep after a week of anxiety and more reading than I’ve done since my final week of university exams. I lounged in my room at the inn, enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of sustained peace and quiet, something that was rare back at the orphanage, and utterly non-existent as a CEO in the internet age, who was only ever one phone call away from a crisis. I ate at least a tenth of my body weight in oatmeal and stew, had my first taste of traditional ale, and repeatedly failed to stab my cat.

Before you go crazy about that last one, keep in mind that this was a bit of an accident. I’d decided not to be completely sedentary during my day off, and at least put in a bit of effort to practise with my knife. That was another advantage of it, over the sword; whereas the latter required a fair bit of open space to swing, knives were made for brawls in confined spaces, and so I was able to run through a few drills in the privacy of my room. At least, until Pumpkin became interested in what I was doing, and demanded to join in, refusing to take no for an answer.

“Careful, watch the claws,” I grimaced, reaching up to lift the smug cat off of my shoulder.

He’d gotten me again, twisted his body in midair to avoid the swipe of my knife (sheathed, of course, because I didn’t want to actually harm him, and had justified wariness for training accidents by this point) to plant himself on top of me. This had happened several times now, which only reinforced what I’d already suspected: that the cats of this world were a bit tougher than the moggies back home. My secretary’s old cat, certainly, could never have achieved such feats of dexterity.

[Pumpkin - Level 2 Cat]

Also, they were able to level, and quickly too, which meant I was now the lowest levelled member in our party of two. I’d have loved to know the exact rate by which he earned experience, and what he got for the level up, but alas, I’m not fluent in Cat. While I was lost in thought, Pumpkin managed to wriggle free from my grasp and hit the ground at a roll, coming out of it only just before he would have hit the wall. Then, he was back to sitting upright, staring at the knife in my hand between licking his paws..

“You definitely think this is a game,” I accused him, getting a meow in reply. “Two to five in your favour, but don’t think your streak will last.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I hadn’t had much luck with the standard posture thus far, so this time, I switched to an underhand grip, doing my best ice pick impression as I watched Pumpkin carefully. I’d noticed his tail liked to twitch, right before lunging, so I kept a close eye on the appendage, even as his eyes began to dilate, the instincts of the hunt coming to life. Just as his tail lifted in anticipation, someone knocked on the door behind me. It wasn’t particularly aggressive, nor even that loud, just a simple, open-knuckle rap on a wooden frame, but it was enough to distract me, my head turning just a touch to the side.

“Ouch!” Pumpkin landed with his claws on my neck this time. “Damnit, two to six in your favour.”

I was too preoccupied to grab him again, but this time, Pumpkin stayed on my neck, mirroring me while watching the door.

“Who’s there?” I called out, because I hadn’t been expecting company.

“Will, are you in there?” A vaguely familiar voice could be heard. “It’s Damien, can we talk?”

Ah, I stood corrected, I was expecting company, in a fashion Damien was the one to knock me out, indirectly causing me to regain my memories, so it was only natural that he’d want to see me at some point. Whilst injuries were a fact of life where training was concerned, sending someone to the healers was still rare: social norms would have him approach me with an apology, even without guilt factoring into considerations. That was fine then, I reflected, I might even get a round of drinks or a small gift out of it: Damien always had money from somewhere, despite being an orphan, so I might as well take advantage. The only question that remained, was what face I should present to him and by extension the world.

After a moment’s thought, I selected Merchant as my disguise for the day. Damien had always been a very active boy, and if I went with Soldier there was a high chance he’d ask for a rematch, apology be damned: one that I’d almost certainly lose. Sure, I had a Class now and he was still a child, but he also had a foot on me in height, better musculature and greater reach: I wasn’t beating him without receiving skills to make up the difference, which I hadn’t yet. As a Merchant, however, I’d be a far less attractive sparring partner: defeating a non-combatant would earn him no praise, only ridicule for bullying the weak. My decision was made, so I opened the door, and there he was.

It’s odd how a simple change in perspective makes the world look so different. Damien had always looked so intimidating to Will in the past, a talented swordsman, almost certainly a Soldier if not a Hero in the making. Now, with the benefit of a few decades of life experience, I simply saw an average teenager, scuffing his feet in the welcome mat, wearing the typically sheepish expression of someone who’d made a mistake.

[Damien - Level 17 Child]

“I’m sorry!” Damien began, bowing at the waist before I could get a word in edgewise. “I shouldn’t have hit you so hard, please accept my apology!”