“You have an interesting lifestyle, you know? How the hell can you still get good grades?” An indignant voice woke Glenn up from a profound coma. He blinked, his eyelids seemingly glued together and his tongue pasty.

“...You’re one to talk,” He replied with a raspy voice, grimacing as he held his ringing head. Last night was incredible, the craziest party he has participated in since he started attending university. But well, it was true that it was a chance to have fun; after all, they'd just passed their midterms. If it wasn’t the time to party, when was it?

Glenn propped himself up, trying to recall last night’s events. Drinks, dances, girls, probably a bit of drugs, he really couldn’t remember anymore. He could still feel the music beating in his ears and the smell of vodka and tobacco. His bed was in a mess, with sheets thrown everywhere and pillows lying on the floor. He turned his head and saw a girl stealing from his closet, dressed in a sweater too large for her.

“Why do you have to steal my clothes?” He grunted as he rubbed his forehead, wincing as the pain struck him. He definitely should have drunk some water.

“Can’t find mine. I’m pretty sure that bitch the other day stole them,” she replied.

“Bitch? Who the f…ah, yeah. No, she’s rich, she wouldn’t steal your cheap-ass clothes.”

“Fuck you.”

“No, fuck you for stealing my clothes!”

The girl grunted and left the room with Glenn’s clothes, leaving him with a painful headache and a cold water bottle. Glenn quenched his thirst, calming the pain slightly, before turning toward the door.

“Yo, Lina, you should look in the top-left drawer!” He shouted.

“...Thanks!” His sister replied as she found the “stolen” clothes. Glenn grinned a grin which quickly faded away when he tried to come out of his bed. Oh yeah, he could probably use another hour of sleep. Maybe two.

***

The mud in Glenn’s mouth almost tasted good, all things considered. He couldn’t remember what happened last night, thanks to one too many drinks he earned after defeating the mercenaries at Eari’s Hol’em, the local name for Poker. His brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton after receiving some solid hits, and the rest of his body wasn’t better, sore all over. Thinking was a challenge of its own, which wasn’t helped by the constant laughter of the parasite living in his left hand.

‘Hahahaha, that was fun! Well, that’s a good lesson for you at least! Always drink in moderation!’ Diamanes laughed mockingly, his laughter ringing in Glenn’s head like a painful reminder.

“Shu’ up, you—” Glenn’s eyes rolled back as he emptied his stomach, his consciousness threatening to slip away like one nasty salmon. After making sure he wouldn’t puke again, Glenn propped himself up, carefully standing on wobbly legs. With sluggish movements, he wiped away the vomit and mud on his face, his sleeve already well-tainted with blood and other fluids.

Glenn’s dizziness began to clear away as his eyes remained stuck on the bloodstains.

“W…What the hell happened last night?” He grimaced and leaned on his knees as another painful headache made his mind ring, “Fuuuuck…”

He waited patiently for the pain to go away, his eyes closed. Once he was sure moving wouldn’t nail him back to the floor, he looked at his surroundings, squinting. It was dark, and he could see people lying in the mud like he had been seconds ago, some he could recognize from the party such as James and Roland, and others he couldn’t. Most had bloodied faces or burned hair and clothes, but none seemed too injured.

“Heh…” Glenn smirked, enjoying the small victory at being the first one awake. He reached for his waist, sighing in relief when he found the dimensional pouch to still be hanging there. His sword was gone though. A pity, but the corroded piece of scrap wasn’t that big of a loss. He still had that ornate one in the dimensional pouch after all.

Glenn looked up, finding the sky to be particularly cloudy. It still wasn’t the morning.

‘I’d say in a few hours it’ll be,’ Diamanes commented, his voice still retaining a hint of mirth. Glenn’s eyes eventually adjusted to the darkness, letting him realize that he was behind the inn, likely thrown out after whatever mess happened during the party.

He grimaced and walked with unsteady steps toward James, before kneeling next to him. He shook him gently, attempting to wake him up, before slapping the mercenary’s face. His efforts were in vain, the man refusing to wake up, still in deep sleep with his face battered and his body bruised.

“He got hit more than once…” Glenn muttered, before wincing. He lifted his shirt, revealing similar bruises on his waist, “...and so did I, apparently.”

At least he wasn’t dead. No one seemed like they were, just all beaten up. Glenn stood back up with his hand pressing against his bruises.

“What the hell happened here…?” He muttered, puzzled.

‘I could tell you, but it would ruin the fun, hehe,’ Diamanes taunted, enjoying the situation fully. Glenn ignored the entity and turned to the inn. He wasn’t too worried about the other unconscious customers; they were big boys and girls, and they knew how to handle themselves. He stopped in front of the inn’s entry, staring at doors; one was hanging off its hinges, while the other slowly swung in the breeze, creaking slightly.

Glenn dusted off his shoulders and stepped in, dodging at the last second a plank wood collapsing. The entire inn had been transformed into a battlefield overnight, a scene of a brutal, chaotic, and messy fight.

Of the dozen tables Glenn had noticed when he first entered the inn a few hours ago, only four remained, covered in broken glass and blood. The others were wrecked in various, quite creative ways, a chair even dangling oddly from the ceiling, its feet nailed in the wood.

Glenn grimaced and slowly walked around most of the mess, heading for the bartender. The man was sweeping the debris with a disheartened expression. When he raised his eyes to meet Glenn’s, his expression turned dark and he rushed behind the counter without a word. Glenn approached him while looking at the mess, grimacing when he found a full set of teeth planted on the counter.

“What exactly went down last night?” Glenn asked curiously as the bartender crouched and looked for something under the counter. “I can’t remember a thing, not even the very obvious fight that happened. And…” He looked back and shook his head, “...from what I can see, it should be hard to forget.”

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“Ah!” An exclamation came from under the counter, and the bartender stood up a second later while holding a staff-like object with a large red crystal embedded on its end. His eyes darted between Glenn and the staff, and suddenly, aimed the thing at Glenn. Maybe it was luck, maybe it was his paranoia, Glenn couldn’t tell what made him dodge the fiery bolt of fire that shot out of the staff.

He fell off his chair and rolled away, narrowly avoiding the bolt of fire that ended up hitting a nearby table with a sharp bang, burning a smoldering hole in it.

Glenn hurriedly jumped behind a table, hiding from the crazy bartender. The latter pointed at him from above the counter, aiming at Glenn once again, his eyes bloodshot and his expression twisted with hatred.

“YOU CURSED BASTARD! HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACE HERE?!?”

The cursed bastard in question dashed for the door, only for a bolt of fire to fly right by his nose, burning off the tip of his hair. He hurriedly went back to his hiding place, his heart racing and his hand trembling as he tried to reach for the sword in his dimensional pouch. The fire bolt hit another table, making it explode this time. Wood splinters shot out like shrapnel and pierced through Glenn’s arms. He winced in pain and crouched close to the floor, hoping he’d be able to dodge any incoming rounds.

“YOU PIECE OF SHIT! FIRST, YOU DRAINED MY ENTIRE CELLAR! YOU MONSTER, HOW CAN YOU DRINK SO MUCH?!?” The bartender screamed hatefully, shooting a few more fiery bolts at Glenn, who dashed from one table to another. Sadly, there was only one remaining after the onslaught. Who would have thought this previously very friendly bartender would go insane from receiving the best customer in his life?

‘I’d love some help unless you’re as useless as I thought, Diamanes,’ Glenn pleaded, grimacing when a fiery bolt hit the table he was taking cover behind. The wood crackled, threatening to break at any second now. The next shot would be the last.

‘I can try to help, but I’d need you to go and try to catch that fire bolt with your left hand,’ Diamanes instructed with a mocking voice.

Glenn’s eyes widened, “Catch it? Are you insane?” He blurted out in shock. That was it: that was the proof he needed. Diamanes was batshit crazy. The final shot finally came and shattered the table, covering Glenn in wood splinters and ashes, and exposing him to the shooter.

The young man hurriedly stood up and surrendered with his hand raised, hoping to defuse this situation. There was no other way out after all.

“AND TO TOP IT ALL OFF, YOU SET THEIR MOONGRASS STASH ON FIRE!” The bartender shouted hysterically, the red crystal on the staff’s tip burning with a threatening light. Glenn suddenly bowed at a perfect ninety-degree angle, a bead of sweat pearling down his nose and falling on the floor.

“I apologize wholeheartedly for this mess, Sir. I’ll cover the damages, so let’s stop it here, alright?”

The bartender froze, his staff trembling slightly until he relaxed his arm and dropped the staff. His anger faded away, leaving the place for sadness and resignation. A single tear fell down his cheek and splattered against the counter.

“You…” He clenched the counter and collapsed on a chair, his voice shattered, “...Do you even realize whose stash you destroyed?”

Glenn raised his head slightly, grimacing when he saw the bartender’s face covered in tears. The latter wiped the tears and took out a bottle that was hidden somewhere behind the counter. He opened it and tried to pour himself a drink, but not even a single drop fell off. The bartender looked at the bottle like it was the biggest treason in his life, and threw it away in the back. The sound of the shattering glass startled Glenn, who tensed up slightly and sunk his hand in his dimensional pouch, finally ready to pull the ornate sword at any moment.

“Haha, even this one is empty,” The bartender laughed dejectedly, his face pale and his hands trembling. Glenn winced and fished for half of his gold coins. If he was right about this, that sum should be enough to pay back for the damages and some more.

“We’re all screwed…all screwed…” The bartender was lamenting his misfortune when his eyes caught the glitter of gold coming off Glenn’s hands. He suddenly looked up, his despair, sadness, and hopelessness completely gone, replaced by a wide welcoming smile. Magically, even the traces of his tears had disappeared. He wiped the snot and saliva off his face and straightened his position, before rubbing his hands together. He couldn’t blink, his eyes glued to the golden coins like a thirsty man finding water in the desert. The man suddenly seemed to realize how he was behaving and cleared his throat, before bowing slightly and extending both hands to receive the money.

“Cough, hrm, I…I suppose I can overlook it this one time, Young Master, as long as the damages are paid for.”

Young master. Glenn wanted to smirk but didn’t. It seemed like money spoke the same language everywhere. He threw the coins in the bartender’s hands, before glancing at the fire staff. The bartender appeared utterly flabbergasted, his gaze locked onto the glittering coins lying in his palms.

“How much for your staff? I lost my sword.”

The bartender startled awake and swiftly hid the coins away, before picking the staff up and offering it with both of his hands extended out, one knee touching the ground and his eyes looking at the floor.

“For you, Young Master, my Fire Staff comes free of charge! You must be a Mage! Please, remember my name, Winston, when you’ll be climbing up King’s Rise’s Circles!”

Glenn chuckled nervously, taking the fire staff and swinging it around. It was surprisingly heavy, the red crystal at the tip making up for most of its weight. With this, and the fact that Winston mentioned a “Mage”, Glenn was now certain that he could learn magic one way or another in this world. He could ignore the “Circles” for now; being a Mage sounded much cooler and much more helpful for his current situation. Too bad he had no idea of how to use this stuff…And it’s not like he could ask the bartender, could he? Well, whatever, it probably wasn’t that difficult to use. And it looked much more powerful than a sword anyway.

Glenn smiled as he pushed the staff inside his dimensional pouch.

“Thanks, Winston. I won’t forget you.”

With how he almost got incinerated alive, forgetting about him would prove to be difficult. Winston nodded frantically, smiling with all of his teeth—well, the ones that were left, which wasn't much.

With a new weapon and promises of magic, Glenn stepped out of the inn, his guilt from provoking a fight and ruining a business fading away. This could have gone much worse than that.

***

Winston marveled at the gold coins in his grasp, unable to believe his eyes. He bit on the coin once more, just to make sure that yes, it was real. Genuine, pristine gold coins, glimmering in the light like fallen stars. He had never even seen gold in his life before, but he knew that this was the real stuff.

He let out a happy sigh, sending a thankful prayer to Plutus, the God of his cherished Golden Church. Though he was no priest, he faithfully donated to his faith, and now his devotion had yielded rewards far beyond his imagination.

Winston came from a land far away, in the Southern Continent, with his family. He had nothing aside from his expertise in running a tavern and picked an old, crumbling one in front of King’s Rise hoping to earn enough to secure a place within the city for his family. Never would he have thought that he would amass a sum that could elevate him to the ranks of most small merchants. He would have set ablaze the Cold Beer twice over, even for a single gold coin.

With renewed zeal, he resolved to be as faithful as possible and continue to donate ten percent of his earnings to the Church. He gratefully stowed the coins away in a secret compartment, before pondering about them. Everyone around knew of them—after all, they didn’t make themselves discreet with their recruiting tactics. They owned the stash of Moongrass, and already probably heard of the recent brawl and the reason for the destruction of their goods. Winston already knew he couldn’t escape their notice. Thankfully, the highlight wouldn’t be on him, and rather on that young master from earlier.

“Best of luck, Young Master,” Winston prayed, his eyes closed with a resigned expression, “...I’ll be there for your funerals.”