“In my defense,” Chef said with authority, confidence, and a myriad of other positive emotions that weren’t warranted given the topic of conversation. “I haven’t killed any humans in weeks. And I only ever intentionally killed a few of them. So, by your logic, I’m probably one of the better people you’ve ever met!”

Once more, Nerick found himself sighing. This was more or less what sticking to the goblin entailed. Eat good food, have incredibly infrequent and mind-numbing conversation, and sleep. Not that Chef slept, which was exactly as unsettling as it sounded. The first time Nerick woke up to see the small green creature just silently staring at him, he nearly ran from their camp right then and there.

If he’d been wearing more clothes, he actually might have.

But the core conclusion that Nerick had reached after as few as three days alone with Chef was quite simple.

If I’m stuck here with this goblin, alone, for any longer, one of us is going to die. And I don’t like my odds.

“I think I will try your plan after all.”

Chef nodded sagely as Nerick felt a vein bulge in his forehead.

“That makes sense. It was a much better idea than yours were.”

It took every drop of self-restraint he had to remain quiet, but he was able to endure. Chef opened up the magical closet he had, rummaged through it for a while, and then pulled out his old, oversized disguise. It obviously wouldn’t fool the guards at the western gate most familiar with him, but if he circled around to the east gate, dirtied himself up a little bit, and carried a weapon, most people would take him for an adventurer.

“That should do it. Don’t die or get caught.”

He nodded along with the goblin, the closest he could get to outright agreeing to something he flat out disagreed with.

In what world is throwing a cloak over your face good enough? That never works. I’d know because I’m the guard here!

A sigh escaped from him in a moment of weakness, but Nerick didn’t waste any more time and began preparing to leave immediately. But wait, Chef accidentally brought up an excellent point.

“Now that you mention it, you were caught and put in prison. I know I suggested it, but how did you escape? It would probably be good to know, just in case.”

That normally would have been one of the first questions that Nerick asked his new companion, but such thoughts didn’t account for the unhinged and deranged nature of the goblin. Once he discovered that their conversations always ended up being one sided or miserable to participate in, he gave up any desire to start one unless it was immediately practical. Especially for the topics that seemed particularly prone to idiocy.

“They just let me out.”

“Right then, off I go.”

Useless fucking goblin.

----------------------------------------

It took him two days to make the journey to the east gate, not because of the distance but because of the circuitous route he was forced to take. Their camp, if it could even be called that, was just in the middle of the woods right near where the Elluwaryn woods become more dangerous. That allowed for them to have an even more infinite supply of food than usual while also discouraging potential scouts.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Not that they were terribly hard to find, just that most people would avoid that area. Fortunately for them, the people most likely to discover them were the adventurers that Chef had been feeding just a couple weeks ago. In fact, that happened just two days into their escape, setting them both on edge. That nice young lad with a voracious appetite, a motivated coin purse, and a mission to slay something or another gave Nerick his only human contact for the past few days.

And it had been the very next day that Chef insisted that he was a better and more morally upstanding person than his wife on account of how infrequently he murdered people.

So, here he was, willing to stand in line and risk capture or execution just so he could get into Berics and talk to normal humans for a day. He even brought a little bit of their money with him since staying at his house was stupid. If he was careful, he’d even be able to have a drink while he was at it. Sometimes, life wasn’t so bad.

“Next!”

The people in front of him shuffled through the gate, allowing him the opportunity to be inspected and taxed. He was wearing the cloak over his head with a small backpack and a sword on his hip. It had taken a tremendous amount of willpower for him to stick around the goblin long enough to acquire those last two pieces of his ensemble, but without them no one would believe the disguise.

“Name?”

“Jon Rivers.”

The guard squinted at his obviously fake name before paying him more attention. Nerick didn’t recognize the man, but the guard next to him was normally stationed at the west gate. A little bit of perspiration formed on his forehead, causing the guard to look him over even more closely while asking standard questions.

Nerick stuck to his story of being an out-of-town adventurer looking for a change of pace and, finally, was allowed to pay his entrance fee and continue into the city.

The other guard looked at him as he passed, some thought transparent on his face. But fortunately for Nerick, today was his lucky—

“Hold it.”

He froze. Jon Steel, while a very generically named man, was an exceptional guard. That he’d recognized his old coworker upon closer inspection wasn’t all that surprising, but Nerick had hoped that his sticking to the other guard’s line would have allowed him to avoid this outcome. But no, he was seen and was about to be arrested, dragged to the prison, and—

“If you’re new in town, try the Sloppy Seal. It’s a good tavern not far from the guilds, and the prices are shockingly low for the location. You might even get some better paying jobs there if you socialize in the evenings.”

Nerick stiffly turned around to address the man without making eye contact, keeping his face pointing down in hopes that his cloak continued to hide it.

“Thanks. I will.”

He then walked through the gate as quickly as he could without drawing more attention to himself. Nerick made his way forward through the crowded streets, stiffly putting one foot in front of the other until he could no longer see the gate behind him. He then immediately ducked into the first alleyway he could find, leaned against a wall, and tried to get his shaky breath back under control.

I can’t believe that actually worked!

It took all of his willpower and restraint to make it this far without heaving from the stress. Nerick really wasn’t cut out for a life of crime, apparently. It had seemed so simple and easy at first, just helping the goblin meet the right people and start his business up proper.

It all would have been fine too if the Baron hadn’t doubled down on the execution for some reason. But now he was absolutely screwed. He couldn’t go home, couldn’t go to any of his usual haunts since his guard buddies frequented those too, and couldn’t try out half the things he wanted to based on how little coin he actually had.

His breath slowed as he looked towards the busy street, observing the familiar sight of an entire city of people with their own problems, unwilling to give a shit about the hyperventilating man in the alleyway. It calmed him down to be reminded that tens of thousands of people lived here and almost none of them knew who he was, what he looked like, or even that he was a fugitive. In fact, he might not even be a fugitive.

He needed more information, which was the excuse he used for coming here in the first place. He needed to figure out what was going on in the city after their escape. But more important than any of those things, there was something far more fundamental and critical that required addressing.

“I need a drink.”

He might as well try out the place the guard recommended. What was the worst that could happen?