When Cal awoke, he was in pain, a lot of pain. This was a recent addition to his life that he wasn’t too thrilled about, but at least this time it was his torso affected and not his legs, which would have had him bedridden. In the mood of a girl who’d awoken to heavy bleeding, he got up and went about his morning business in the room Gillis had requestioned for him in the local inn.

As Cal had mentioned he was going to stay in the village and rest up today, the grateful gambler had given him four silver coins for daily use purposes that had, in a snap, doubled Cal’s funds, adding a pep to his step.

Larger than bronzes, the silvers bore the portrait of the Felsian King and came with the ability to brighten your day were you to jingle them in your palms and listen to their crisp clinks; doing so with golds must feel like rapture itself, he supposed, and was probably what rich people spent their time doing.

The grateful gambler had mentioned he’d be busy today reclaiming his old possessions, and so had arranged to meet his benefactor later on in the evening. Until then, Cal had to find a way to waste time.

His first port of call was naturally the herbalist’s, where he bought tinctures for his present ailments as well as extra for the road; together, these supplies cost the entirety of his newfound wealth, and the pep to his step proved to be short-lived. Although these weren’t the potent miracle cures that professional adventurers used – which could cost up to several gold coins per potion – they would gradually relieve his pain and enhance the healing on the nasty bruises his body-tenant had dumped on him.

With the pain receding, Cal figured he’d stretch his legs and have a look around Fragrant Grove now that he had an opportunity to explore the village he’d heard so much about. What became immediately obvious was the place had suffered a stampede or two as the streets previously beautified by lavenders and jasmines and roses and more were now tarred by trampled floral bodies.

Bees buzzed from corpse to corpse in distress; wasps took up a sting-on-sight stance; and ladybugs clung on to the dead flowers like mourning mothers.

Yet, despite this, the people Cal came across had a lively gaiety to them he had not seen before, not even in the vision, and they no longer wore flowers pinned to their clothes as this was a fashion style so last season.

Since he no longer wore his characteristic mask, there was a delay before passersby recognised him, but once they did, they greeted him with delight, patting him across the back and shaking his hand, hailing him as their village champion who’d inspired the riot.

Was he a hero? Well, it depended on who you asked, but he certainly didn’t feel like it, swinging between cheer when someone warmly heralded him and sorrow when he came across more flowers ripped out by the roots and stamped with bootmarks.

Guards were frequent sights on the streets, stationed and patrolling. Cal feared they’d arrest him, so was surprised when they too treated him like he had a halo floating above his head. When questioned about this, they told him the mayor hadn’t made any commands to take Cal in, probably suspecting insubordination (or worse) were he to do so. In fact, the mayor hadn’t passed down any orders at all since the tournament, causing his rank and file to speculate he’d gone into hiding until the heat died down.

Hearing this lifted a suffocating weight off Cal’s chest and allowed him to continue exploring without the tendrils of paranoia nipping at his mind, now only the occasional tickle.

The further Cal went, the more he realised the initial Fragrant Grove he’d seen – with its spick and span streets and renovated buildings – had just been a facade; the route the guards had herded visitors through had deliberately only gone through areas where the renovations and cleaning had been completed, in contrast to the majority of the village that was still a work in progress as shown by the ongoing clearing efforts and building work present on almost every street.

By this time it was approaching noon, so Cal figured he’d head to the pub for lunch; on the way, he couldn’t help but stopping by the butcher’s to see if the hearsay was true. And indeed it was – as the ladies in the amphitheatre had been complaining about – for the one to greet him from behind the counter of meat chops wasn’t a handsome butcher but a girl only a touch younger than Cal who looked like she’d grow up to be a stunning beauty not long from now. When she then realised that he was the tournament champion, she amusingly offered him a free pack of sausages that he graciously accepted.

When he asked her how the ladies were treating her as the storefront replacement, she gave a flutter of a laugh and revealed that her mother had specifically placed her there to protect her uncle from those dad-bod fiends seeing as he was too polite to set appropriate boundaries. Amidst their small talk she asked him what he was doing now, and when he told her he was heading to the pub for lunch she said she might see him there in a couple hours, followed by a wink.

Heart skipping a beat, Cal left in total understanding of why those ladies wanted the butcher so badly; if only Cal was intending to be around Fragrant Grove longer, he too would have tried his luck with her.

At the pub, he was served to by the glasses administrator girl who began to apologise for their last interaction when he stopped her and told her it was fine, neglecting to mention that her doubts had been rightly placed. She thanked him, then let him know that she’d already relayed his wishes so he wouldn’t have to worry about that; Cal didn’t get what she was on about, but thought nothing more of it once she went to get his order.

Compared to the vision, the renovated pub building was bright, airy, and much expanded, and already at this hour crowing with noise. The pixie faced beauty was also working today but avoided Cal with a sour face – which he understood and made no issue of.

Due to his status as the tournament winner he got to enjoy a steak and ale pie on the house, and the other day drinkers in the building kept buying him drinks, refusing to let their champion waste away to thirst. Consequently, what had meant to be a lunch affair quickly became a lunch-and-more affair, time hastening as he grew increasingly in the cups, and before he knew it the butcher had entered the building, chaperoned by his niece who faithfully staved off his fanatic fanbase that wanted to sink their claws into him.

Carrying a large suitcase of dark wood, Blaviken made a beeline for Cal and bowed his head, apologising for the untoward way he’d treated Cal in the tournament; memory addled by drink, Cal reacted to this with confusion, before then realising the butcher meant the minor comment where he’d called Cal a weirdo or something. Cal laughed it off, saying he’d paid no mind to it, but Blaviken refused to let it go, saying it was behaviour unbecoming of a gentleman, which is why he’d prepared a gift for his apology.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Releasing the straps on the suitcase, the butcher took out a cherry wood scabbard with an unadorned hilt poking out: comprising a circular pommel, leather wrappings around the grip, and a basic guard. The butcher pulled the weapon out to its full length and displayed the longsword. Although a standard sword, its steel was unmarred and shone bright, and its edges gleamed cruelly under the sunlight from the windows. Sheathing it again, the butcher also brought out a leather sword belt from the suitcase and handed both over to Cal.

Astounded, Cal tried to decline at first, not being cheeky enough to play up the butcher’s transgression to this level, but Blaviken insisted, saying it was the last sword he’d bought but that’d seen little action as he’d retired from the mercenary business thereafter; it was no use to him gathering dust in his pantry, especially when he had many other weapons he favoured, whereas a meteoric young prospect like Cal was in dire need of a weapon he could rely on.

As drunk as Cal was, it didn’t take much to win him over, and so he accepted the longsword with immense gratitude bowing his head repeatedly and singing praises aloud about the butcher, which the ladies who’d been cordoned off shrewdly joined in, followed on by the rest of the pub who wanted in on the fun; the result was an enfilade of acclaims so excessive they sounded closer to eulogies for the butcher than genuine praise.

To make matters worse for the man under the spotlight, who was bashfully scratching his head under all the attention, his niece then betrayed him and left him to fend off the hyenas alone while she joined Cal’s table and chattered excitedly about his performance in the tournament, going on to mention how none of the guys in her school were nearly as cool as him, and how he should totally head over to the Cliquee Cove as they had an Adventurer’s Guild there where he could ply his trade and earn handsomely for it.

Soon after – or perhaps it was a long time after – Rory entered the building, his shield arm bandaged up but otherwise looking fit and hale in contrast to Cal who looked pale and drawn. Inspired by the butcher and bolstered by liquid confidence, Cal went over to him with unsteady steps and asked if they could talk by themselves for a minute.

He took Rory outside to the alley where Simone had accosted the mayor – now cleaned up to prevent any more trashy surprises – Cal bowed and apologised for his actions, reaffirming that he hadn’t known Rory was an item with the pixie-faced girl and that he hoped in case his actions had caused any difficulties in their relationship.

Rory forgave him with a smile – the first time Cal had seen him smile – and clapped him on the shoulder, replying it was all water under the bridge now. Going back in, Rory joined his table, merriment and overall volume rising as evening dawned and the pub grew more crowded.

In their midst, surrounded by known characters and strangers he was meeting for the first time, Cal acted like himself and didn’t bother to keep up Penbrooke’s knightly pretence, and perhaps this was why he found himself effortlessly getting along with them, in these smallfolk finding a home away from home.

One of the first to turn up was Boris the Beggar (now cleansed and properly clothed) as it turned out the prisoners in the re-education building had been freed during the riot; Cal bought his former foe a meal and donated many of the drinks he’d been given.

Nagging Noel grumbled to him how you shouldn’t give a man anything they hadn’t earned, and proceeded to gripe that Cal himself should stop living in his fantasies with that silly mask of his and start behaving more like a proper knight.

In contrast, Hugo was surprisingly positive as he told Cal it was a good thing he’d gone on to win the tournament as it meant there was no shame in losing to him; with that said, however, Cal suspected the hound was incapable of feeling shame anyway as even now he was clothed only in a loincloth with his tail proudly sticking out.

Gambler Gillis came next, remarking he hadn’t realised the party had started already and mentioned privately to Cal that he’d left a gift in Cal’s room; it wouldn’t make up for how much Cal had helped him, but hopefully it would prove useful to Cal in his journey ahead.

Lucas was one of the few people there as drunk as Cal was, boasting how he’d known from the second he’d laid his eyes on Cal that this was the guy to win the tournament. Lucas mentioned then he’d overhead Cal’s interest in the Adventurer’s Guild, going on to share how the guard himself had recently gone to Cliquee Cove to post a mission for the extermination of a mutated baboon that had recently attacked (and emotionally traumatised) multiple people taking a road which led into Fragrant Grove. The site of attacks was somewhat distant and out of the way, but regardless the problem had to be dealt with now that it was clear the monkey viewed travellers as easy prey.

If no adventurers took on the job, the head guard expected Lucas to pull up his bootstraps and handle it himself, but what could Lucas do besides wagging a baton in front of it. Laughing cynically from the absurd image and rubbing tears from his eyes, Lucas added that if only there was an extraordinarily skilled fighter here who could deal with this pesky baboon on their way to the Cove.

Feeling genial due to the alcohol, Cal remarked that it sounded a perfect fit for him, to which Lucas clapped with joy and pulled out a poster that carried the details of the job, mentioning its reward had already been deposited at the guild which made it convenient for Cal to collect once he’d completed the job. Blurry visioned, Cal struggled to make sense of the details on the page, so he folded it up and stored it in his pocket; just when he was about to suggest he and Lucas could do the work together in case it was dangerous, he looked up to see the guard was nowhere to be seen, gone with the wind itself.

Although momentarily confounded, Cal was joined afterwards by Rory who came bearing a gift of drink, giggling and slapping his back, telling him not to bother trying to find the missing guard who was well known to be an infamous slacker; if Lucas didn’t want you to find him, you simply wouldn’t, such was the guard’s (largely useless) prowess that made people believe he could give the Riversdale Guard Force a run for their money.

When Cal then let it slip he himself was from Riversdale, those nearby ribbed him how Riversdale was the real shithole, claiming that you could tell how much of your lineage came from those parts based on how much of a lazy alkie you were, sharing stories about how arrogant Riversdalians were, and how tying shoe laces had proven too difficult for the Riversdalian guards due to their bulging beer bellies, hence the reason why they’d switched to slip-on plimsolls. These anecdotes and allegations were naturally followed on by songs mocking Riversdale, crowd favourites, and then on to a variety of other singalongs.

(Everyone seemed to have forgotten that Cal had previously claimed to be a nomad from the Darklands, or perhaps they’d never truly believed his cover story and hence saw no reason in bringing it up.)

Afterwards, when Cal renditioned a classic Riversdale tale about how pigs had learnt to fly in a desperate attempt to escape the filthy, degenerate pit that was Fragrant Grove, they playfully booed and jeered him, retorting loudly that pigs loved it here and would never want to leave.

Given the tense and draining experiences of late, it felt liberating to let loose and live carefree for a moment in time, and in his happiness Cal wished the bliss would last. Alas, it ended all too soon as the pub closed up at midnight, drunkards waddling out the doors, arms swinging as they supported each other home; under the lamplight, Cal snogged the butcher’s niece, a deeper sense of connection existing between them for that tender moment before she too was gone.

Cursed by a spectral oddball and away from friends and family, Cal felt lonely.