The introductions were brief and to the point. The woman bowed lightly and announced she was Dalamaru of the First Prefecture. Fran and expected Alsu to interrupt her with a chuckle and say “Come ooooon, your name is Deborah and you're from Tallahassee, Florida,” but no one batted an eye. The man was in his mid-thirties, at least a decade older than the others. He shook Fran's forearm with a painful grip that made him yelp in fear to the barbarian's delight.
“A weakling,” he said. “Raal Gooh is my name.”
“Mr. Weakling here already has an orc under his belt,” said Alsu. His companions looked at the rogue in disbelief.
“I was handling a little party of goblins, playing a little bit with them, and Fran just charged into the fight head-on, no weapons, no context. Buddy, either you thought you were in a dream or you're the most reckless Terran I've met this side of the dream. Do you get into fights back home?”
“I was in a fight once, in high school.”
“Did you slaughter him?” asked Raal. “With your own hands?”
Fran didn't answer.
“Did you?” asked the woman with a startled tone.
“I was in high school, people! We exchanged a couple of bad punches and our friends separated us! Come on! I did join a martial arts class, though. My father insisted.”
“So, the other guy started it and you probably didn't even want to defend yourself,” said Raal. His voice was more piercing than Fran expected. Not quite the barbarian growl that his appearance demanded. A casting director would have demanded an overdub. “Hardly the profile of a cold-blooded warrior. Which means you weren’t in control when you attacked Alsu's orc. Well, Fran. Mela's a sink or swim environment. Recklessness will serve you just until it kills you.”
“Only if you play bad bets,” said Alsu.
Raal grinned, pointing his finger at the rogue’s face.
“You know a thing or two about bad bets.”
“It's time you stop talking that nonsense,” replied Alsu. “You envy my skill, that's all. It clouds your judgment. And listen, not everything has to be a struggle, Raal. You have a reputation but you also have a problem.”
Raal laughed, lifted his enormous club over his shoulder like it was made of feathers, and started to walk down the path. Despite Asul’s warning to not think like in a video game, Fran's gut told him playing to stereotype would be a good idea in Raal's case. Fran sped up, observing the barbarian’s admirably wide shoulders as he caught up to him.
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“Does your club have a name?” he asked. Raal showed a tiny bit of warmth in his hard-edged eyes and Fran knew he'd hit the jackpot.
“I wish, Fran,” said the large man. “This weapon is just temporary. A pony I ride for practice until I'm worthy of the stallion of my dreams. It feels strange to admit it, but these hands of mine work moving hundreds of heavy boxes six days a week. In this land, they're the hands of a hero, and a hero must always want more. More strength, more skill, and also better weapons. Do you understand? No, I see that you don't. Too new, and you don't strike me as a warrior, but it doesn't matter. Some day, Fran, I will do the unthinkable. The name of Raal Gooh will be in the mouth of every child dreaming of honor and feats. Because I will become the first human ever to kill a dragon. And when that happens, my club will be the only one in Mela made of dragon bone. That is my dream.”
Fran nodded. This, he could understand. Not sympathize with, to be honest. What kind of crazy ambition was that? Nobody on Earth ran around claiming to want to be president, or leader of an army, or Pope. Fran had read a good chunk of manga in his time. He was no otaku, but some of his friends in high school were and had given him plenty of great shonen: Young men with fire in their hearts giving it all to achieve their dreams. Effort, friendship, victory! But his otaku friends had also made it clear that not all that shines is gold. In reality, Japanese young men didn't run around with dreams of glory. They read manga and watched anime instead, just like you watching a Mission: Impossible movie for the thrills didn't mean you expected to become an international superspy.
“Death is possible here, isn't it?”
“As easy as on Earth, if not more,” replied Alsu. “Many adventurers perish in a dirty underground tunnel, slaughtered by nightmarish creatures and forgotten by all. No burial, nobody to grieve them. Your life at Mela should be more than a string of adventures. Merkes will explain when you meet him.”
“There's much for you to discover, Fran,” said a female voice. He turned to see Dalamaru walk with calm grace, her staff lightly touching the road with every step. “We'll teach you the basics soon, and you'd better remember them if you want to live. Because you're right: Death is likely in this wild and barbaric world. And it doesn't have to be at the hands of an orc, a Barbarian loothorde or a Chaos flux. Even in the Empire or the Northeast kingdoms, death is the norm. Death at the hands of orcs and goblins. Death when a dwarf is convinced you said something offensive. Death when the elves want your lands and deem you a savage forest creature.”
She stopped for a moment and looked at Fran right. Her eyes were both hypnotic and scary. Red, so red.
“When you die, your parents will find your inert body lying on your bed on a Saturday morning. They won't believe it. They'll shout at you, shake you, and call a doctor, but you'll be gone by then. And for what? Greed for subterranean gold? A duel to increase your skills and make you look powerful before your new friends? Second chances are unknown in Mela, young man. That should be the first thing on your mind.”
Raal growled his disapproval, but he continued to walk at his pace as he replied.
“That's easy to say, Dalamaru of the First Prefecture, but aren't you the perfect example of the blessings of Mela? How old were you when you arrived? What life did your frail body allow you back on Terra? I'm sorry for your losses in this land, but I’ve known you from the start and I still remember the joy that you felt when you first dreamed. I've never seen it again, not in a hundred newcomers.”
“There's Merkes,” said Alsu. “Let's hurry up.”
“We can avoid this conversation as much as you guys like,” said Dalamaru, 'but the truth remains obstinate. Death is death. And a fool's death is a waste of a life.”