It was a normal day at the Cult of the Leviathan’s Tropica branch.

Sebastian, who was the leader of this particular branch, was tending to the lobster crickets.

The building he’d acquired with the funds he brought from the capital was a far cry from what he was used to, but as long as he had space to tend to his precious lobsters, he was happy.

“Do you need a hand with the baby lobsters, sir?” Gary, his idiotic follower, asked.

Sebastian felt the joy at his task drain from his face.

“For the last time, Gary, they’re crickets. Baby lobsters are called crickets.”

“Right. Sorry, sir.”

Sebastian still couldn’t believe that Gary was the only follower he could find in this middle-of-nowhere village.

I guess any help is better than no help.

“Huh,” Gary’s stupid voice said. “What’s going on with this blinking thing?”

Sebastian sighed as he looked up from his precious little crickets.

“What blinking thing, Gary?”

“The thing in this bag over here—it's blinking red.”

A spark of hope welled within Sebastian, and he rushed to his travel bag.

When in the capital, he’d spent a large sum on an ancient artifact—an act that had resulted in his expulsion to this backwater village. The artifact was something that detected cultivation in beings, and was supposed to light up when close to them.

The leader of the Capital branch had called it an overpriced paperweight, but that the light was now blinking proved Sebastian’s genius.

He reached into his bag with barely contained glee. His eyes went wide as he pulled out the artifact; the light was indeed blinking.

He was going to usher this cult into a church; one of his precious crickets was going to grow into the great Leviathan of story. He would prove them all wrong, his genius was unparalleled, he—

The glee on his face was replaced by confusion, then anger.

“Uh, sir?” Gary asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Not good, Gary. Very not good.”

“What isn’t, sir?”

Sebastian held up the artifact for Gary to see.

There were two sides to the artifact, one with the simple drawing of a human, the other with depictions of a cat, dog, and fish. The side that was blinking was the one with a human.

“Uh, what does that mean, sir?”

Sebastian snarled.

“It means it isn’t one of our precious lobsters that is taking steps towards ascension. We have someone in Tropica that needs to be taken care of.”

***

In the capital city of Gormona, Trent, the first-in-line to the throne, who was considered by anyone other than his mother to be the human equivalent of a stubbed toe, was hiding.

Like hell I’ll be attending something as stupid as decorum training.

He was up to his fourth tutor on the subject, each of them being just as useless as the last.

My family pays them so much, and for what? I haven’t learned a thing!

Rather than be subjected to today’s lesson, he had found a tucked-away room to hide in.

That it was a royal decree to stay out of the artifact-filled room was perfect; no one would look for him in here.

He snickered to himself as he crawled further-and-further into the pile of ancient junk.

“Stay out of the artifact room,” he whispered aloud in a mocking tone. “It’s just a room of scrap metal.”

Reaching a hidden pocket in the giant collection of uselessness, he stood and stretched.

He was between four different constructs, all of which were lifeless.

“Just as they always have and always will be,” he said, making sure to keep his voice down—it wouldn’t do to have one of those cultivator freaks hear him and rat him out.

One of the artifacts had a glass screen, and the light from the gap above let him see his own reflection. It warped his head, making his generally displeasing appearance even more pronounced.

Insecurity flaring, and feeling insulted by the inanimate object, he slapped it.

“Shut up, idiot. You’re ugly.”

The screen lit up, and Trent’s already too-large-for-his-head eyes went wider.

There were words printed on the screen.

New milestone! Fischer has learned bushcraft!

New milestone! Fischer has learned construction!

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

New milestone! Fischer has learned fishing!

“What in Poseidon’s puckered butthole…”

***

Having witnessed the sunrise, Barry and I walked back toward where we’d left his son, Paul.

I smiled at the man.

“Thanks for the hospitality, mate. The knowledge too. That sunrise was glorious.”

Barry smiled back.

“No need for thanks. That’s what neighbors do.”

Before we could find Paul, he found us. The boy came sprinting down from the sugarcane fields.

“Mister Fischer! Mister Fischer! I found George!”

“Uh, thanks mate… where is he, though?”

“He’s right…” Paul spun, appearing just as confused as I was. “He was right behind—”

The sweaty, morbidly obese form of the village lord came bursting from between two rows of sugarcane.

“Wait just a second, you little shi—ah, Fischer, there you are.”

The lord had a paper tray in one hand, a document flapping in the other. He placed the document atop the tray, using his freehand to retrieve a handkerchief and pat his sweaty brow.

“I… I came… I came to bring your papers.”

He leaned the handkerchief filled hand on his knee, trying to catch his breath.

“Cheers, George. You didn’t have to bring them all the way out here, I was just coming to see you.”

“Non… nonsense. I was more than happy to bring them.”

I walked over, happily accepting the papers and glancing down at them.

Oh, good, they’re not in English and I can’t read whatever language this is—that’s fun.

“These… these are for you,” George said, still struggling to recover from his brief exercise.

He offered the tray out, which I gladly accepted—to give the man a chance to breathe, if nothing else.

“They’re… they’re from… Michelle’s… the best… patisserie… in the village.”

I noticed Barry’s eyes go wide at the store’s name.

High end stuff, huh?

“You uh, you alright, mate?” I asked the heaving lord.

“Just need to… catch my… breath.”

He half sat, half collapsed to the ground, resting his head on his arms as he took deep breaths.

Shrugging, I held the tray out to Barry and Paul.

“Hungry, boys?”

Both their eyes went wide, and Paul looked like he was about to start drooling.

“Are you sure?” Barry asked, eyes still locked on the fifteen treats on the tray.

“Very,” I said with a laugh. “Help yourselves.”

They both grabbed one of the sugar-coated pastries, which looked like stuffed donuts.

Paul bit into his first, and something like jam but a bit runnier dripped down the side of the pastry. The boy licked the escaping filling with fervor before it could drip to the ground.

Lobster cults, beach-front property, and now jam-filled donuts? This is my kind of village!

I waited to see Barry’s reaction to eating his donut before I grabbed one myself, and the look on the hardened farmer’s face was everything I could have hoped for.

If there weren’t others present, I was sure he would have cried tears of joy.

I bit into one, and the filling exploded into my mouth. I wasn’t sure if the pastry was actually that good, or if it was because I’d been subsisting on purified water and berries for the last few days, but it was worthy of the reactions Paul and Barry had given.

“What’s the red filling, George?” I asked after swallowing. “I’ve never tasted anything like it.”

It was like a mix between strawberry and passionfruit; sweet with just the right amount of tang.

“It’s jam made from passiona husks.”

“Passiona?” Barry almost yelled. “Paul! Thank Fischer and George!”

“Th-thank you!”

“I give thanks to both of you.” Barry dipped his head.

“None of that, mate.” I gave him a genuine smile. “That’s what neighbors do, right? Happy to share.”

George was just getting to his feet, brushing his considerable behind free of the sandy dirt he sat in.

“You want one, George?”

“Oh, I-I’ve had a tray already. Thank you, though.”

“No, thank you for bringing them!” I turned to Paul and Barry. “You boys want another?”

“We couldn’t possibly—”

“Yes!” Paul yelled.

They both glared at each other, giving me another genuine laugh for the day.

“Please, I insist.” I shook the tray at them. “There’s too many for just me—I might have to throw them out if you don’t help me…”

They both came forward to get another, Barry sheepishly, Paul with enthusiasm that bordered on violence.

“I think I’ll be getting on my way,” George said. “It was a pleasure seeing you all.”

He dipped his head to me, Barry, and Paul, then turned and headed for the town.

***

George’s face contorted as he withdrew from the fields. He found a spot in the shade to rest and collect his thoughts.

There is no way someone of Fischer’s station would be willingly consorting with peasant farmers—he was sending me a message: he’s willing to win over the villagers, and I am replaceable.

Just as egregious was the handing out of passiona-filled pastries to people of such a lowly station—right in front of him, no less.

His mouth still watered at the treats he’d handed over.

As if I would ever turn down a fifth breakfast. He was testing me; gauging my greed in the face of offered pastries.

It was a ghastly test to perform on someone—what kind of devious individual would play games with sweets? It showed just how far Fischer was willing to go.

George wiped the sweat from his brow with his already sodden cloth.

What in Triton’s throbbing conch am I going to do? Fischer is on the offensive, and he’s already ten steps ahead of me…

***

“So what’s the big deal with passiona husk?” I asked. “It’s tasty, sure, but not good enough to make you treat me like a lord.”

Barry winced at his past actions.

“It’s the price, Fischer. A single one of those pastries is worth two weeks of what we earn farming—the husk alone is worth a week-and-a-half.”

I looked at the tray of treats, frowned, and looked back up at Barry.

“How are they worth so much? They’re just donuts.”

“The bushes are controlled and exceedingly expensive—they’re engineered so they don’t grow seeds, and you can only buy plants directly from the distributor.”

Oh, good—there’s a fantasy-world Monsanto.

I couldn’t help but shake my head in dismay.

“Could I ask you a favor, Barry?”

“Anything, Fischer.”

“Would you check over this for me?” I held out the documents George gave me. “I don’t know the local laws and customs, so I was hoping you could give it a once over and check everything’s up to scratch.”

Barry cocked his head to the side as my sentence stretched on.

Guess I might need to tone down the vernacular…

“You… you want me to make sure it’s legally binding?” he asked

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

“Of course.” Barry took the document. “Is it alright if I check it tonight? There's still a lot of work to do in the fields yet.”

“Yeah, mate. No worries. Could I ask one more thing?”

He looked back to his fields, clearly feeling the need to get the day’s work started.

“What do you need?”

I gave him a disarming grin.

“Just some directions.”