Walter squinted his eyes open and forced himself to see despite the sun's glare.

"Good morning," Elin said. She sat on the chair opposite the bed and waited for him to wake up, already dressed. After a sip of tea, she asked, "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," he lied.

"Great. Today's a day off. I'm attending religious services at the temple."

"Yeah," he said and remembered their conversation the walk back.

He ached. Every day they visited the Adventurer's Guild, registered an itinerary, borrowed a supplier's pack, and marched to a tiny dungeon. The dungeons usually awarded nothing, so they weren't earning a profit.

Walter suggested dungeons with more than one chamber.

"We can't, two reasons," Elin explained, "First, it's against guild law for our ranks. Second, it's still difficult for you to walk there. When you develop more endurance, we'll consider it."

She refused any negotiation on the subject, so that was that.

Toughen up, buttercup.

Elin looked pleased with herself. Four days passed by without the scales tipping.

"Get up," she teased, "Or you'll miss breakfast."

Clack!

A shock of fear ran down Walter's spine. The spell didn't compel him, but he nearly bolted up. His side of the scales teetered.

Elin's mouth dropped, "I apologize."

Walter sighed, "Yeah."

"I'll see you at breakfast," she said.

Porridge, again. Or was it gruel this time? At any rate, most of it was boiled vegetables, cooked until it all turned into the same consistency. Maybe there was meat in it? He didn't want to ask what kind of meat it might be, considering what he learned about monstraculture.

"What are your plans?" she asked, "The library?"

"Maybe I could sell my knowledge? I wanted to look up a few things."

"What kind of knowledge?" Elin tilted her head, and it felt like a leading question, "I thought the computers you were talking about were impossible for you to make?"

"Oh, stuff like crop rotations, how to make steel, gunpowder, that kind of thing."

"Aren't those things common sense?"

Walter blinked in confusion, "Wait, this world uses four field crop rotations?"

"Yes. If we didn't, then lots of people would starve."

"And steel? Everyone knows about mixing carbon with iron?"

Elin nodded, "I mean, a certain temperature is also important."

"What about making gunpowder from sulfur, charcoal, and potassium?"

"Isn't it sulfur, charcoal, and saltpeter?"

Wait. Was it potassium, or was it something else? Walter shook his head and continued.

"And concrete?"

Elin willed herself to remember trivia, "Slaked lime, sand, and gravel."

Walter covered his face in defeat, "How?"

"The heroes imparted this knowledge on us a long time ago."

Of course. Now that I think about it, I'm unprepared. Why didn't I go to college, or at least pay attention in high school? I spent all my free time playing video games, and only now do I realize how much I wasted it.

"Why isn't it more widespread?" Walter asked.

"The problem is resources," Elin said, "We can't move around freely because of the monsters. Also, most things can't compete with magic."

"Hang on, how many heroes had level zero?"

Elin opened her mouth to answer then closed it. After a beat, "I don't know."

She knows. The answer is none. What is going on? In these situations, a person like myself has an edge. From what I can tell, the heroes in the past had high levels and knowledge. Why am I singled out? I need a babysitter to survive!

"Sorry, Walter."

Walter realized he was furrowing his eyebrows, so he made his face relax, "Don't worry, it's not your fault. I just need to figure out what's going on."

"I have to go," Elin said, "Are you going to be alright?"

"I'm in town, so things should be okay if I don't step on any toes, and I'm not carrying anything valuable or money."

"That reminds me," Elin said, reaching into a pouch on her belt, "Here," she handed over two silver coins, "That should cover the library expenses and food."

An allowance, how humiliating.

Elin froze when she noticed his face, but she had grace enough not to let her expression change. The status quo quietly settled back down. After all, him carrying any more money was risky, because he might get pickpocketed, and he had no way to protect it. She knew it, he knew it.

I hate this. Shit.

"Meet here before dark," Elin said gently, "And we'll--"

Clack!

The scales tipped but balanced out after swinging wildly.

"I'll," Elin hesitated a beat, and deliberated on what to say, "I'll be on my way."

When he made mistakes, it felt humorously awkward. It felt horrible when Elin slipped up.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

Well, maybe I'm due for my side to tip? Both our sides are over-laden, and we need to discover what will happen. But why does Elin keep acting like it's a crisis? Is it that bad?

Well, she should be at church now. There's no reason to waste the day.

The library was, as Walter expected, full of books on rows of shelves. What Walter did not expect was the security. Visitors were not allowed direct access to the books. Instead, librarians handled information requests and performed the searches, after being paid a fee.

It's a medieval search engine.

Walter wanted information on spell crafting.

The librarian, an aged man with a combed beard, began a rehearsed response, "Dear patron, surely you know that the Mage's Guild maintains a monopoly over magic? We are asked this from time to time. If you wish for magic instruction, then you'll need to join the university."

DMCA'd from the get-go. Fine. Let's try a different approach.

"Then, how about information about the parts of a spell?"

"Well, it's not strictly against the rules," the librarian's voice trailed off as he began collecting various books.

The two shared a table, and the librarian spread the books before Walter. Some of the books were in English, but most were not. Guild laws censored the information the librarian could share, but Walter learned enough to realize it was the same system as Sorcery Chronicle.

"That'll be enough," Walter said with a satisfied nod.

"Oh? Your type usually researches this until you despair."

My type? What's that supposed to mean? "Can I get some information on the heroes?"

"Of course. Anything in particular?"

"The First Four, I think? And Idrun, if you would."

The librarian gave Walter a look as if to say, "You want general information that everyone already knows?"

The names of the First Four were, Galvarino the Fighter, Aristo the Thief, Menvra the Healer, and Viktordromos the Wizard.

Viktordromos was the name of his character in Sorcery Chronicle Online.

No, wait, that's not exactly true. This Viktordromos is likely the character from Sorcery Chronicle II, a story-based RPG. When I registered the name in the MMO, I got lucky and snagged it before everyone else. The two are probably different individuals altogether.

"Can I borrow some paper and a pencil?"

"Certainly, the fee covers notetaking," the librarian said.

Pencils, huh? Wait, how do you even make pencils?

Walter felt dumber by the minute. None of the stories he read where the protagonist changed worlds did they go into a world smarter than them.

Why was I summoned in the first place?

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

"The liches screwed up?"

Faux laughed until her sides hurt, and then she kept laughing.

"Yes, it's quite humorous," the Duke of the Rotting Garden said with a sober tone. He waited patiently until her spasms subsided.

"So, who were they trying to summon?" she asked after wiping the tears from her eyes.

"Viktordromos."

That makes sense.

The nosferatu are obsessed with the trappings of nobility. Many claimed plots of land and placed the skeletons and zombies as pretend servants. The Duke of the Rotting Garden claimed the patch of ground in front of the desecrated Temple of Gaia.

Liches, by contrast, cared only for magical knowledge and items and hiding them. A summoned and enthralled Viktordromos would be a wet dream.

"It's impossible to summon a hero for a second time, though. His true name marked the world. No do-overs."

"That's correct, but somehow they concluded they could summon another version of him."

"What a truly terrifying thought," Faux grinned, "How did the Mage's Guild get involved? The cult?"

"No. The guild approached us with a deal, 'mutually assured survival.' We would share Viktordromos and accept a quarantine of the city. In turn, the kingdom would send us vassals, goods, and tolerate our presence. Your lover Renalt promised to fulfill that."

"We're on a break," Faux blurted with a twinge of irritation.

"How tragic to lose a love of the ages," the nosferatu said, already bored.

Faux rolled her eyes, "Vassals? You mean blood cattle?"

"No, I mean humans. They would be considered citizens."

"People would willingly serve the undead?"

"Some are desperate for protection, and they seek it from anyone. It's a moot point now, the summoning failed. So, that begs the question: why are you asking about it?"

Her hand combed her hair, "Quid pro quo defines our relationship, remember? No gift is valuable enough to pay for that information."

The Duke of the Rotting Garden fell into a frustrated silence.

"You didn't tell me everything," Faux waved her finger.

The vampire's long fingernails dug into the arms of the chair, dragging along pre-dug scratches.

"Well, I suppose our transaction's concluded," Faux shrugged, turned, and skipped towards the door. Her smile drooped when she saw the [Hold Door] spell. "Really? A cliche betrayal?"

"You don't know what it's like," The Duke of the Rotting Garden said, "I nearly had servants, and lost it. Something more than these useless undead puppets could have waited on me."

"Well, I don't want to serve you. You have some Lunacite now, so go kidnap a village girl," Faux wiggled the door handle, "Let me out, please."

He floated over to her, snatched her, and shoved her against the wall.

"I'll scream."

He whispered in her ear, "Plenty of those in the Necropolis."

His hand groped her breast, and his nails dug in. Her nose curled from disgust. The nosferatu's other hand gripped her jaw and forced her head to crane back. She underestimated his strength, and he lifted her an inch off the ground.

"Now, tell me everything you know, or this will get much worse."

Faux gave an exasperated sigh before she said, "[Greater Heal]."

Both of the nosferatu's arms boiled and then popped, like a balloon filled with black ink. Convulsing and yelling with pain, the Duke of the Rotting Garden seized on the ground.

"Yuck," she said. She wiped clean a few drops that splashed her cheek.

The Duke raged like a tortured animal. Faux hugged her knees and watched, with her pupils dilating.

"Man, you're such a good actor," she whispered.

"What? It hurts! It hurts!" he grunted as he struggled through the agony.

"Undeads lack a survival instinct, so they don't care about injuries. You're a nosferatu, anyway, they'll grow back. It's a nice try."

The Duke's seizing subsided, and he locked eyes with her.

"You had me going!" she said, "I even got turned on a little. When you changed from an uptight nobleman to an aggressor, that was so good! That empty threat ruined it. I came here by myself, so a mid-level monster is a joke to me. Where did you even get the [Hold Door] spell?"

"I traded for it."

"You planned this?" Faux screeched with joy. When her pleasure passed, she stood up, "Still, this is the only ending. Most monsters are sexless, so I'm guessing you're a eunuch, right?"

The Duke of the Rotting Garden confirmed her question with silence.

"A damn waste," she complained, "What was the plan, anyway?"

"Trading satisfaction for satisfaction," he said, "Your itch scratched to scratch mine."

"You thought that would be enough?" Faux laughed again, "It goes to show, monsters only know destruction. Wait there for someone to kill you."

The nosferatu curled his lip.

"Hit a nerve, did I? You're just actors. Props! No, you're less than that, you're unrefined resources. Cocky little creature. You managed a foothold in this world but--"

"You smell desperate."

She quieted.

"Ever since I touched you, you reeked of fear. It's pleasant."

"Shut up. Quid pro quo won't work--"

The Duke's statements marched right over her words, and she fell silent again, "You're right. Heroes harvest monsters. You're wrong, however, mistaking our anger as disliking it. Why else do we march in droves to our doom?"

"Shut up. Who else was involved in the summoning?!"

"Our deaths carry a greater meaning. But a hero's death? What meaning is there in that? Every chance we have to kill a hero is a celebration of chaos! We overturn the order!"

"I said, shut up!"

"So you, deviant hero, when you react so strongly to a weak monster such as I, I can't help but wonder how many times you have died? Who is this newcomer to you? You pretend so hard to be one of us. No, instead I should ask, what will he do to you--"

"Shut your fucking mouth!"

Faux's boot crushed the Duke's skull. He gargled through a mangled mouth, and it carried the rhythm of laughter.

She screamed to drown him out, "[Greater Heal]! [Greater Heal]! [Greater Heal]!"