Before he knew it, George was facing off against a lizardman. Both of them carried a long staff, similar in size to what their spears were.

Around them were most, if not all of the lizardmen in the camp, somewhere around thirty in total, forming a natural circle around George and his trainer.

“Do I really have to do this?” He asked Gaz’Ruk, who was staying on the side.

“You don’t know how to fight, Grrrg. So we must teach you. Every Grolali knows how to handle a spear.”

They explained this to him yesterday, but George was still not convinced.

By yesterday, he meant before George found some sleep, as he didn’t like to count passing out as such. It was weird, staying in a camp surrounded by people he didn’t know.

But he had no time to think about that. Now, he was armed with a staff, and he would be trained how to fight properly.

“But can’t I just stay back and help? You see what I can do already.” Even while squaring off against his opponent-slash-trainer, George was adamant about complaining to the last moment.

“And you’ll be useless when someone catches you alone, Grrrg.”

That was horrifyingly true. Considering the only things he actually fought against were Dog Spiders, which was probably not their actual name but he kept forgetting to ask, he had no experience in anything remotely real in regards to fighting. He couldn’t smack people down with a book, he was pretty sure of that.

“Now, try not to get hurt much,” Gaz’Ruk told him, and George could spot the lizardman on the other side of the circle leap into action.

The fight was over in seconds. What George was doing couldn’t be really considered fighting. He was just trying his best to hit the enemy with the end of the stick. He failed magnificently as the lizard, whose name he, amusingly, understood as Go’troll, just shoved one end of the staff into George’s guts.

He would end up doing that repeatedly, over the course of what seemed to be hours.

Outclassed wouldn’t even begin to describe how George felt as he was bruised repeatedly.

On the fifth try, he actually managed to knock the staff away with his own, just to be hit on the shoulder instead.

On the tenth, he got a concussion because he managed to slip and get hit by his own staff.

On the twentieth, he was already done.

He had already used Heal a few time, even if there was only some bruising involved and not an actual wound. Each time he would do that, the crowd would watch meticulously in awe as George performed the spell. He was already getting used to concentrating quickly on it and could feel that, unlike combat, he was getting better at casting the spell.

The crowd quickly dispersed at meal time, and George was privy to another meal of questionable meat and water.

“Where does the meat come from?” He asked, eyeing the piece of a drumstick, talking to no one in particular as people chewed on their pieces.

“The birds, of course,” the lizard next to him answered like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

George didn’t bother to ask further about his meals. He didn’t really want to know anyway.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

The Grolali seemed somewhat similar to lizards of his old world. They had huge meals after which they were mostly dormant. Which did explain why a small number of them didn’t eat with the rest, in case there was something urgent that needed to be taken care of.

George’s estimates of time were thrown out of the window since he came into this place for the first time. There was no distinction between day and night, torches and campfires instead filling the role of producing light and heat in the large cavern they were in. The smoke billowed upwards, then disappeared when it reached the high ceiling, George being unable to discern where it came from. He chuckled at the thought of smoke coming out of the ground like a small volcano.

After that meal, a group of lizardmen came from the corridor, carrying bags and pushing a small carriage with what seemed to be supplies. A single lizardman approached him and dropped a book into George’s lap. Finally, George had something to work with.

While most of the lizardmen lazed about, George sat in a corner, holding his incredible wealth of two books and a coin of indeterminate value. He completely forgot to ask about the coin, but that would have to come later.

He traced the cover of the book, it being vastly more intricate than the ragged leather of his own. If there were letters on it, George definitely couldn’t understand them.

He opened the book, and it revealed large splotches of ink line after line. Whatever this language was, it was completely unreadable to him.

He flipped through the pages and pages of writing. The owner, or the author, of the book certainly had small handwriting and wasn’t keen on leaving pictures or illustrations in his work.

George sighed audibly, at which point Kr’thra sat next to him.

“Can you translate this?” He asked her and got a gurgle in response.

After the spell that allowed him to understand her was cast again on him, eliciting the same spark on his forehead, Kr’thra answered.

“No, none of us know what the writings in the books are, and none have managed to make sense of it.”

George seemed lost. If they couldn’t translate the books that were coming from the outside, and they seemed to have none of their own that would be useful to him, there was no other way for him to get the information he needed.

He wondered what kind of a maniac would put him into this place, with a bunch of people that he could only understand if a spell was cast on him.

And he couldn’t learn that spell. He actually asked before he went to bed, and as soon as he started repeating the words Kr’thra said were the spell’s incantation, he started getting a headache. So, that was out of the realm of possibilities as well.

The dormancy didn’t seem to last long, after which the camp got rowdier, and George spent some time thinking about his predicament. He had an entire night to think about the book and what it meant to him.

Even though he didn’t want to admit it, the fact that the lizardmen seemed to be almost always combat-ready seemed to indicate he would probably need to catch up quick, either in combat or magic. And his magic seemed limited.

He assumed picking a God would unlock, in a weird sense, more spells, or at least grant him more information from the book.

Even if that meant serving the Goddess of lizardmen for what could possibly be the rest of his life.

At least that would probably make the Glorali trust him more. So, that seemed like a decent choice to make.

He opened his book on the first page again. Nothing had changed in the book, which was disappointing considering he actually was in a fight.

George just wondered what consequences his actions would have, as he laid his hand on the page and spoke clearly. He imagined a lizard woman as if that would help in any way. He constantly lamented how little instruction he was given.

“Korotha.”

The book started glowing, the writing on the page distorting quickly as ink moved about.

He hadn’t actually seen that before and it was fascinating to watch as the glowing page rearranged.

Then he got up and threw the book away.

He was done with the stupid thing for today. It was time to punch some things, and he had already killed a few Dog Spiders. They will have to do.

He glanced towards the book, which managed to open itself on the first page while facing him, and sighed.

Deity incompatible.

Please choose a Domain.

Please choose a Deity.

He stomped to the spear rack, took a random spear out of it, then rushed out of the cavern, a lizardman or two following him out, perhaps out of curiosity, but George didn't really care, or mind that.

“Where are you going, Grrrg?” asked one of the lizardmen, carrying a spear of his own.

“As Gaz’Ruk said, I need to train to fight,” George answered bluntly.

“And right now, I really want to punch something.”