An inn, we ended up in a fucking inn, halfway to the ass of the world. The four of us, including the zombie bunny, Mariana, the adult cypress that Mariana had unrooted and picked up when she realized her STR stat allowed her to play with any stick she pleased, and the miserable Walter. We could have teleported back to the town, but I had to lord my prodigious necromancy over the rural population. Maybe buy some chickens and goats to exchange for a couple of well-endowed farmer’s daughters.

“Do you think I can go in with Chewy?”

“The tree does not fit through the door, Mariana.”

“I can make it fit.”

“Let’s not add petty property damage to your gorgeous crime list consisting of arson, genocide and infanticide, girl,” I tried to be subtle, forgetting who I was dealing with.

“I am willing to do ecoterrorism if necessary!” She met the suggestion like she did walls and lampposts: head on and without a crumb of self-preservation.

The sun was setting and the forest was shadows against a ruby atmosphere.

“Leave the tree somewhere safe and let’s go in, Mariana. I am tired, I want to sleep. Do you know how taxing it is to roll when you have not done it in years?”

“I am three and I roll daily.”

Talking to Mariana was not like talking to a wall. The wall not answering nor listening was frustrating. But Mariana did listen to you, attentively even. The problem was on how she processed what you had said. It got twisted in ways only dogs, in their ignorance and innocence, could manage. Her attempts at reason were thwarted by her own nature. And, in turn, that made holding a conversation with her unbearable. It was not like one of those deep-learning computers, either, that are just silly or nonsensical most of the time. Mariana was unveiling the thought processes of a sheltered puppy, and my patience was unable to stand such a test.

As soon as she got bored of the cypress we entered the wooden building that claimed, on a well-crafted hanging sign, to be an inn. As we went through the doors, which stood ajar, the first customer we met was the stench of alcohol, an almost physical manifestation of drunkenness that made me grimace and Mariana to raise her nose to… search for the source, I guess. We gathered the stares of the other guests, who seemed to have never met a necromancer with a living dog companion.

“Your kind is not welcome here!” screamed a drunk dude. A disaster of a man.

“Are you talking about me?”

“I mean the three Labradors.”

“It is just one millionaire, talking Golden Retriever, good sir.”

“Your kind is somewhat welcome here, then!”

“Somewhat welcome, yay!” celebrated Mariana.

I waltzed between the patrons, and Mariana followed gracefully, wagging her tail, leaving an ominous trail of dropped or knocked over items behind her —which included, but was not limited to: a broom, a garbage scoop, a young lady, some valuable dishes, a couple of alcohol bottles, and an understanding man called Sam. A pair of manly and bulky customers jumped towards Mariana, and as soon as they saw her level, retreated screaming as if they were little girls. Spineless little girls.

I walked up to the counter and sat on one of the stools. There was a rickety woman ready to receive us. She appeared to be about my age. This person had a small, pathetic complexion. She would have been the tallest person in a party of midgets. And that was if you saw her from the front, because a sheet of paper threatened to have more depth than her body.

“Are you thieves?” she asked with analytic eyes. We did not look like the run-of-the-mill fantasy robbers, no. Mariana technically qualified as a thief, but she was cute enough to be pardoned for her crimes against the food left on the tables.

The zombie bunny jumped on my lap and I made my best impression of a Bond villain.

“Petty thievery is behind us, milady. My associate here,” I pointed at Mariana with an open hand, “and I would be pleased to spend the night in a room most comfortable.”

“Your dog just transferred five lucas to my account,” she said, surprised

My eyes got wide open.

“What did you say?”

“She gave me five thousand gold.”

Well, I had nothing to lose.

“¡No, antes, boluda!”

She dramatically dropped the mug she was cleaning, and, of course, it shattered. The wooden floor leveled up and we all heard the announcement.

“Follow me,” she ordered, and grabbed me from the left sleeve. It was like being dragged by a frightened goblin. Except, you know, I would bed a properly stacked goblin of the non-male variety.

We rushed towards the back room, and there I beheld a painting of Juan Manuel De Rosas. In his magnificence we were dwarfed, ashamed by that face I had seen so many times in the bills. I felt like a dirty Unitarian whore ready to get the Mazorca from a genderbent Rosas and… please, disregard this last sentence, for we all have our moments of weakness.

“Do you like it? it is my best piece so far,” she said, pulling me away from my Unitarian femboy reveries.

I was both thankful for her interference, and scared of my newfound fetish.

“Hey, he is the one the elephants held!” observed Mariana.

“Fuck, the dog talks!” said what I will reluctantly define as a woman. As much she was half a woman. A goddamn basketball playing midget. Perhaps the cutest of the league, but still part of it.

“Yes, Mariana is the sharpest tool in the underwater shed that is dogkin.”

“You sound like an asshole.”

“Well, lady, that is just a case of a duck going quack, you know.”

I averted my gaze from her, paying attention to the rest of the room. There were some brushes, jars of colored substances that I assumed were paint or its components, an untidy bed, and a miserable night table. Many of her works hung on the walls, but, besides that, the decoration was austere, even lacking.

“So…, how did you end up here?”

“Got shot while I was visiting a friend in Villa Diamante,” she answered with no emotion, as if it was merely a fun fact.

“Classic Villa Diamante isekaier. Hits like a truck.”

“And you?”

“I killed both of us by being clumsy!” answered Mariana before I were even able to phrase the reality in a less stupid way.

“Classic Golden Retriever,” she said, winking. Oh, how I hate that small, mischievous shit-pixie.

“You know, I haven’t told anyone, but I find it very unsettling that people in another dimension speak English”

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

“Ah, yes, the united states accidentally sent a lot of soldiers during world war two and they spread interdimensional freedom and democracy all over the locals. It’s in the history books.”

I cackled. “That explains why I have not seen a fucking clothesline yet. What an abhorrent hybrid between Latin America and New York this resulted to be.”

“I know, right? At least healing magic makes being stabbed more bearable. And it leaves no scars at all. It is marvelous.”

“I am well aware, the other day in a market a knife got very intimate with my back. Like dogs and legs.”

“I know I must feel insulted but I sincerely don’t care. Belly rubbies please,” said Mariana, exposing her soft stomach as she scratched her spine against the floor.

The small bitch fulfilled the petition of the literal bitch without my permission. How dared she, to give belly rubs to my Mariana. I had raised her; I was the one who swept her vomit from the floors of our home during almost three years. And now this goblinesque strumpet was belly rubbing my dear pet. Outrageous.

“Mariana, that is no etiquette with people we just met. We don’t ever know her name.”

“It is in the name of the inn… But you probably lived in Buenos Aires. I should not be impressed if you don’t read for shit.”

“Vocabulary. You may call me Walter.” I extended my hand, hoping she was not tall enough to reciprocate.

To my horror, she was. Don’t take away from this that she was ugly, that was not the case. Her womanlet genes would lead to a ton of suffering to mankind if she reproduced, and I hated her on that basis. Or maybe it was that she looked like one of my high school bullies. You are free to decide which theory to believe.

“Lucía. Pleased to meet you… and Mariana.”

I put on the best of my counterfeit smiles and reciprocated. I swear my face was about to twitch as I pronounced the word “pleased”, and I felt the shadow of death looming over me with prognostics of heart failure as I said “too”.

“I can notice you don’t like her. Worry not, this is a private telepathy channel”

Were I not confident on my acting talents, I would have collapsed under the pressure. Mariana being able to see past my charade was unforeseen, yet not alarming. Golden Retrievers are dumb as bricks, sure, but dogs all the same. They can hear and smell that which humans can only conjecture about.

“Hey, Lucía, why are you bleeding?” Mariana commented.

“I am not bleeding,” she replied, and instantly inspected her small, despicable thief hands.

“You either are, or you will be if you dare disrespect my booper.”

“Booper?”

“The nose,” I said, succeeding in the herculean task that was containing my laugher.

“Well, yes, Mariana, I may be bleeding, don’t kill me.”

“Good girl. Walter, give her a treat for being good and me a treat for making her be good!”

“I have none, we will need to drop or buy them later.”

Mariana started making a sound akin to that of a door with creaky hinges.

“IIIIIIIIIIIIIHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” she communicated right into my brain.

“Jesus fuck, don’t cry with telepathy.”

“TREAAATS.”

The daughter of a gnome started guffawing like a minuscule hyena. She even fell on her back, over the bed, and started kicking as a baby when their mom decides to give them a practical demonstration of infanticide via drowning in the tub. It was an ominous sight, a fallen cherub (that landed face-on) choking with its own saliva.

“Well, Miss Laughcía, why have you brought us to this room, exactly? What will you ask from me? Money? Hitman services? Help to start an elven slaves trade route and become rich as partners in crime just to then betray me and leave me to bleed out in the middle of the forest the day after Mariana expires of old age?” I asked with a straight face.

She was at a loss for words. It was expected, to be dumbfounded by my unparalleled genius when her cranium was proportional to the rest of her body. That is, pathetically small.

“I am assuming back in Earth you were paid to be a moron,” she managed to utter.

“My talent was never recognized. Spit your reasons to not send me to pick flowers somewhere deadly in exchange for a couple coins I don’t need and a faint, ambiguous promise of a possible romance I am not interested in. Either that or a false rape claim that the dumb masses believe, which in turn results in the birth of a new pariah, disgracefully impersonated by me.”

She raised her right eyebrow.

“I was just excited to meet another person from Argentina. I mean, we could be only three, counting you.”

Meanwhile, Mariana was defragmenting her brain, communicating with a ghost wolf, or whatever dogs do when they stare into nothing as they pant happily.

“Who is the third?” I asked, concern obvious in my countenance.

“Emperor Lord King Monarch President Pharaoh Caesar Ruler Mateo Lagos, the one who defeated the demon lord that originally had the land under his despotic grasp. People call him Matu.”

“La base de datos de hechizos ha sido actualizada,” we heard the voice of a Spaniard female, voice that filled the room as if it were a pungent smell.

“Spell points well spent. I have multi5 announcers now!”

I looked at Lucia right in the eyes as she stood up.

“We are gonna ignore that,” we said in unison.

Mariana started to try her new announcers. Specially the German one. It was like Hitler had come back from the grave just to list her spells.

“Feuerkugel,” said our dear undead führer.

“Well, Lucia, I would like to get acquainted with lord Matu. He may help me to achieve my goals.”

“And which goals are those, o gallant hero?” said the germ.

“I want a simple life. You know, a mansion, two hundred hot wives —”

“I swear I will make you spit out your own balls if you even imply to include me in—”

“Keyword: hot,” I interrupted her interruption.

I could almost hear something breaking inside her.

“You just have bad taste.”

“As I was saying, a simple life. Big house, large harem, yerba mate plantations, funds to develop the electronics that would lead to the gaming industry.”

“This world already works like a game; why would you need more?” she dismissed my dreams.

“Bitch I need my visual novels!” I surprised myself with the sheer aggression I expressed in those moments.

“Are you addressing her or me?” asked Mariana, tilting her head to the side in confusion.

I recovered my composure and took a seat over Mariana’s back. She had the necessary str stat to function as a bench.

“I have absolutely no problem with this,” commented the bench. I petted it on the head as a reward.

“Listen, Lucía, I need to meet this Mateo, for he has to be really good to beat a demon and usurp his throne. Learn a thing or two from him instead of… well, from a dog that can barely read instructions.”

“And lore entries!” yipped Mariana.

“I guess. The thing is, I need to ensure our survival,” I said moving my open hand to address the head/armrest of Mariana. “And, meanwhile I do love her, she is the overpowered equivalent of a genetically engineered, perfect, relentless moron. It would not hurt to learn to fend for both of us, if need arises.”

Lucía remained silent, scratching the corner of her lips with an index finger.

“Sounds reasonable, even for a clown like you. I have to keep tending to the patrons’ whims, so I will just tell you this: keep acting, doing your thing, and Matu will find you. Probably just for a warning or job offering,” then she heaved a sigh, and you could see her eyes were not staring at me, but at memories of him. “He is not the kind of man that simply murders his possible rivals. He analyzes, considers, negotiates, and, between us, will probably have a soft spot for another earthling. “

“I guess raiding an elven village would make us meritorious of his attention. Allow us to rest here tonight, and by tomorrow morning we will be on our way to commit war crimes.”

“Yep, war crimes,” concurred Mariana, throwing her tail around like her life depended on it.

“You two are aware of the fact that people here are real, sentient beings and not a bunch of code, right?” she asked with both her hands joined in front of her small venomous mouth.

“Yes, but I had to kill bunnies to level up, and I am a necromancer. I am clearly past the moral event horizon. This is a sociopath’s dream and, to be fair, it is exactly the version of the American dream that suits me better. Hunting non-human sentient beings is not murder and therefore I can live with it,” and before you all ask, no, I did not cut myself on that edge.

“You are a horrible person, Walter. You are forbidden from sleeping in my inn, or anywhere near.”

“Mariana, get ready to attack.”

Lucía raised her hands in the air.

“Okay, calm down, you can sleep here tonight.”

“We will be gone when the first light arrives.”

“That means three PM,” said Mariana, in all her innocence. Thanks, Mariana.

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

After waking up the next day, in the main hall of wooden planks and flickering candles, I crossed my path with one of the other guests. It was a man that, in XYZ terms, was lacking in Y, but compensated on the other two coordinates. A bulky ginger, comparable to a pile of rubble, and probably just as soulless.

“I don’t like your kind, Necromancer.”

I slapped him with my zombie bunny. He did not even flinch.

“I am just dabbling into it, see if it is my thing,” I continued the conversation as if nothing had happened.

“You are pretty old for that sort of thing, donchathink?”

“I was a sheltered teen, to be fair. The world is all new to me.”

“Aye, parents be like that sometime. Ere my golden years, I used to be a clueless whelp. But necromancy? That is for evil people, everyone knows that.”

“I do not,” said Mariana, parading her newest hunt prize: a bunch of linked sausages she had stolen from some place only to be known by the gods.

“Man’s best friend, chef’s worst enemy. Beautiful creatures,” said the man, extending his hand to caress her.

“You look like a reasonable fellow. Could you tell me where I can seek the aid of elves to hone my abilities? Perhaps some wise tutor could prevent me from being led astray in my journey as a mage.” I said, trying to contain the shit eating grin instilled by my own brilliance and capacity for deception.

“The Elves of the Questian forest are all eyes and great tits, boy, only the most powerful of mages could avoid their baleful tricks and learn from them.” He produced a pipe from one of the numerous pockets of his brown jacket and proceeded to fill it with tobacco from another. “And, besides, they are not friendly to outsiders. Heed, youngster, stay away from those devils dressed in feathers.”

Guided by the most powerful force I knew, I grabbed Mariana from the neck’s skin and dragged her outside as fast as I could. Goodbyes could wait, but my elves with great tits not so much.