Vivian climbed to his feet and dusted down his nondescript black clothes. Good old NPC garb. He looked around the dark town. Everything’s shut at night, including the exit gate. Stay after midnight, and you’re stuck in the Tower until 8am. It’s relatively quiet at nights in the Tower because of that… and for the same reason, there’s more bad behavior, since Players can’t immediately leave the Tower and report Player-Killing or other illegal maneuvers. Likewise, most of the manners-play enforcers aren’t stupid enough to hang around and try their luck with the night trolls. More than one self-appointed mod has met an untimely end by sticking around past midnight.

Though… once you hit higher floors, it isn’t uncommon to never leave the Tower. Fewer trolls up there, and generally, you’re making so much Gold that it’s more of a chore to leave the Tower and convert it to outside money than it is to stay inside and just spend one or two for the night.

All that to say, I’ll have to wait until morning. Walking off, he sidled close to the wall, keeping his head on a swivel.

Can’t trust anything in the Tower. Even in towns, there’s bandits and thieves, and sometimes ghosts will appear or monsters will weasel their way in. No matter where you are, there’s always the potential for danger. And that’s not even considering the douchebaggery Players get up to.

Even at this late hour, warm light glowed from the Black Hart Inn’s windows. Vivian stepped inside, letting the door shut behind him. Warmth wrapped around him, and the scent of good stew and cheap ale filled the air. Overhead, exposed rafters, crafted from raw wood and coated in tar, stretched from one end of the bar to the far side, over the back wall that separated bar and kitchen, and beyond. The bar’s rear wall stretched only to the rafters, revealing the full depth of the bar, kitchen and all. Bottles glistened in the candlelight, while a cask of ale sat on the bartop, tap facing the bartender. Wood stained only by old ales, the bar possessed a certain rough appeal that matched the dirt floor, splintery tables, and exposed rafters. The white-adjacent walls slouched and slanted, canted at wild angles that suggested guesswork more than engineering went into the bar’s construction.

No Players populated the inn this evening, only NPCs. One slouched in the farthest corner, wreathed in darkness, face hidden beneath a deep-hooded robe. Another two sat at the bar, chatting and drinking, rowdily shouting at one another. Behind the bar, a busty woman in a frilly blouse and tight corset polished a mug.

It’s only natural that the bar’s empty. Food costs Gold in here. Even if it costs one Gold, that’s a hundred dollars outside. But for tonight… I don’t have an option. I either starve, or spend gold…

I’ll spend gold! I’m not here to suffer. Besides, a soup costs one gold. It’s a waste, but it’s not that bad. I’ll consider it a nice night out. Vivian marched up to the counter and put his fingers down on the wood, tapping them twice to call out a gold.

Oh hey, my shortcuts are still set.

Wait, huh? I had shortcuts…?

Vivian scratched his head, then shrugged. Let’s just call it one of life’s little miracles. He gave a jaunty wave. “Hi there!”

The bartender ignored him.

Vivian licked his lips. He glanced at the NPCs beside him. I mean, obviously she can feed NPCs, so… does she not like me? Smiling politely, he said, “Excuse me?”

The bartender turned the mug in her hand. Her eyes widened, and she leaned in, scrubbing hard at a tiny inch of the mug.

Vivian licked his lips. “Uh, hey.”

Shifting her weight to her other hip, the bartender sighed and tucked her hair behind her ear.

“I’m really starting to feel ignored over here,” Vivian said loudly.

At that, the two men turned. One cracked his knuckles. “You tryna start something?”

“No, I’m not trying to proc a bar fight, thanks. I’m trying to order dinner,” Vivian explained patiently, gesturing to the bartender.

“Well then, hush up,” the man said, turning back to his friend. The two went back to their conversation.

Vivian sighed heavily. “What is this discrimination? The rowdy guys proc to me, but not the bartender? What am I supposed to do, starve?”

He leaned his head on the table, tired. If I can’t order food, I can’t order a room either. I could try my luck sleeping outside, or in the bar, but… His eyes cut to the dark-robed man in the corner. I’m getting bad vibes from that guy. Past me no likey.

“Though, come to think of it, what did I eat back in the Garden? Or did I wander the hedges until I died of starvation…? Did the Lost Ones fetch me dinner?” The image of a spectral child dressed in old-fashioned night robes floating along, fast food bag in hand, flashed through his head, and he snorted.

Alright, pull it together, Viv. Vivi. Vi. Let’s figure this damn puzzle out and get us some dinner. Vivian shoved himself upright. Closing his fist, he sent the Gold back to his inventory. Casually turning, he scanned the room.

Dark boy in the corner is… let’s leave him alone. He doesn’t have food, anyways. The rowdy bros have some snacks and beer, but I’d definitely have to fight them to get it. Could try, but the odds are bad, and I don’t feel like taking on a 2v1 fisticuffs duel at level five. Back behind the counter, there’s the kitchen, but… He crossed his arms, looking at the bartender. Usually, she stops you from going back there, and every cell in my body is telling me not to fuck with her.

“Well, but she isn’t acknowledging me. Maybe this is one of my NPC privileges,” Vivian mused. He stood and wandered behind the bar.

The bartender’s head snapped up. “Hey.”

Vivian put his hands up and backed out. “Sorry, sorry. Hey, while we’re talking, how about some soup…?”

Before he’d even finished his sentence, the bartender had turned back to her mug.

Vivian pursed his lips. Annoying. Only paying attention to me when it suits you, huh? It’s her scripting, sure, to ignore NPCs she doesn’t recognize, but that doesn’t mean it’s not frustrating.

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He glanced around, taking in the bar as a whole. His eyes rested on the bare rafters overhead, and he smiled, tracing them behind the barback wall all the way to the back of the building. I think it’s time for stealth mode!

Vivian pushed up from the bar and wandered to the opposite rear corner of the dark-dressed man. Craning his neck, he adjusted the table left and right until it sat directly under the rafter. With a quick glance to the rest of the bar’s patrons, he clambered up onto the table. Rickety wood creaked under him, but held. Standing there, he waved at the bartender.

Still ignoring him, she continued to polish that mug.

She’s gonna polish that thing to splinters, Vivian thought, shaking his head. He reached up and grabbed the rafter overhead, pulling himself up to dangle from it. Hard wood dug into his fingertips, his hands prickling as a thousand splinters searched for a new home in his palms. Gritting his teeth, he began to swing, ignoring the splinters digging into his flesh. Come on. A little more… a little… there!

Swinging his legs up with all his might, he caught the rafter with his knees and latched his legs around it, koala-like. He caught his breath, and used the moment to survey the room again. The bar’s inhabitants remained the same as ever. The rowdy men at the front chatted, dark boy loomed in the corner, and the bartender polished away.

Good. They aren’t acknowledging me. So let me just…

With some swinging and wild kicking, Vivian hoisted himself up and onto the rafter. He took a moment to rest there, too, his breath kicking around the dust and dead spiders sharing the rafter-top with him. Stifling a cough, he wiped away the worst of the immediate filth, and chose not to look at the rest of the rafters, where the same grimy mix of live spiderwebs, bug corpses, and dust reigned supreme. In a few places, suspicious dark lumps clustered in dung-like piles, faint rat-tracks fading into the dust away from them.

Oh, this is disgusting. Yuck. No wonder no one comes up here.

But… my beloved… soup! I can’t give up now. Vivian clenched his fist in determination and crawled on, carefully placing his hands to avoid the worst of the mess. Little bits of dust rained down as he went, but most of them fell onto empty tables. As he approached the chatting friends at the bar, Vivian slowed and dusted off his knees and hands, letting the dust fall onto the floor behind them. Carefully, he stretched out his hand and placed it over them. No dust fell. A second hand. He held his breath and lifted his foot, transferring his weight forward.

His foot nudged a dry, dead moth. It slipped off the rafter and descended for the back of the first man’s neck.

The man frowned. He touched the back of his neck, found the moth corpse, and blinked at it. Slowly, he turned his head to peer at the rafters.

Vivian caught his breath and went still. I’m wearing dark clothes. I’m in the shadows. Become one with the darkness!

“Someone up there?” the man asked, rising to his feet. He squinted and raised his hand to his eyes.

“What is it?” The other man rose as well, putting his beer down.

“Someone’s dropping moths on me…” the first man growled. He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, there’s something up there…”

Some—something! Quick! Think, Vivian! What else would be on the rafters? Vivian cleared his throat. In his highest pitch, he let out a quiet, “Meow.”

“Oh, a cat.” The first man grabbed an empty rugged, wooden mug and chucked it at the rafter. “Shoo!”

The rafter shook with the force of the impact. Vivian startled. Holy fuck! Good thing I didn’t aggro the bar bros! Their strength must be off the charts.

Letting out his best impression of a startled yowl, Vivian scurried off over the rafters and into the back of the bar. The bartender glanced up at that, but didn’t lift her hands off the mug she was polishing, not even when dust rained down on her.

Although… that’s pretty curious. Some NPCs have the scripting to react to situations the Tower wasn’t expecting, but I wouldn’t think the rowdy bar bros would be the type to have such extensive scripting. Vivian frowned. He glanced down into the inn’s kitchen. Does that mean this is an actual quest of some sort? The Tower was expecting me to sneak back here?

He shrugged to himself and hopped down into the kitchen. Whether it’s a quest or not, I’m hungry, so let’s take care of that first.

Taking a moment to dust himself off, Vivian took in the kitchen. A simple space, it sported a cauldron hanging over a fire, bubbling away with savory soup. Big chunks of meat boiled in the broth, mingling with vegetables and potatoes. Half a loaf of bread sat on the counter, crumbs and a bread knife strewn around the cut end. Tapped barrels of wine and ale sat nearest to the bar’s door. Congealed stains puddled under the spouts. On the counter beside the barrels, wooden mugs stacked high. A second door led out the rear.

Instantly, Vivian snatched up the bread and chomped on it. Sweet, sweet food at last! He picked up the bread knife experimentally, flipping it in his hand.

[Incompatible Tool] [Bread Knife]

Weight increased 5x. Skill bonuses cannot be applied.

A dull knife. Only good at cutting bread.

Vivian twisted his lips. Even under the best circumstances, a bread knife isn’t a great weapon. They’re too dull to cut flesh. He set it carefully back on the shelf, mindful not to clunk it against the wood.

“Soup at last!” Vivian whispered to himself. He looked around for a bowl.

The countertop laid empty, utterly devoid of bowls. Not a single shallow dish, not even a plate, nor a spoon, just mugs, the bread, and the cutting board and knife beside it.

No bowls? I’ll just use a mug. He reached for one of the mugs, but stopped halfway. His eyes landed on the rear door. Even if I use a mug, soup is better eaten with a spoon. Maybe they keep their spoons in the pantry.

Vivian opened the door.

The stench of blood burned in his nostrils, overwhelmingly powerful. Rot and decay rolled on the air, almost thick enough to see. Vivian stumbled back, raising a hand instinctively. He squinted his eyes against the sharp stench.

From the door, the floor descended a step into the narrow back room. The floor was slick with blood, blackened and rotting, blood layered atop blood. A narrow drain at the bottom of the room sat half-clogged with long, fine hair and congealed fluids. From the ceiling, human arms, legs, and torsos dangled from steel hooks.

Vivian licked his lips. He slowly turned to look at the soup bubbling over the fire, the big chunks of meat roiling inside, and he swallowed. “You know what? I think today is a bread-only kind of day.”

Behind him, the bar’s doorknob turned. The hinges creaked. The bartender laughed lightly. “I’ll go get some more ale for you boys.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck… Vivian glanced around, then stared at the back room. Stifling his revulsion, he stepped inside and quickly shut the door. It creaked, but so did the bar’s door, the two hinges covering one another’s sound.

Pitch blackness swallowed him up. Instantly, the rot and blood scent closed in around him. Vivian choked. He yanked his shirt up over his nose and breathed through it. Even then, the scent of blood still filled the air. Something cold brushed the back of his neck, and his hairs all stood on end. It’s just meat. Just meat, just meat, just meat…

Guess that explains the scripting from the bar bros. The bartender’s a cannibal, huh? And she’s feeding everyone human soup. Yum!

No wonder I didn’t want to fuck with the bartender. She’s a hidden boss. I don’t have an assessment skill, but I don’t think I can beat a hidden boss at level five. Best to stay quiet and hidden.

Besides, I’m trying to escape the Tower, not climb it or gain levels. All I need to do is wait for the exit gate to open in the morning, and I’m out of here.

A single sliver of light caught Vivian’s eye, a narrow crack in the wooden door to the bar. He scooted over to the hole and peered through it, holding his breath.

The kitchen floor creaked. A skirt came into view. Vivian leaned down, getting an angle on her face. The bartender put a hand on her chin. “Hmm? I thought I heard something.”

Nope. You heard nothing, Vivian thought, as loudly as he could.

The bartender walked over to the back room’s door. She hesitated, her hand over the knob. “Could it be?”

Shit shit shit. Vivian turned, searching the room. Gotta hide, gotta hide…

The door creaked open. A narrow slice of light grew and grew, pouring across the narrow room. The bartender peered inside.

Grabbing onto a steel hook in the back of the room, Vivian hung as lifelessly as he could manage. I’m just another slab of meat… haha! I’m dead, for sure!

The bartender’s eyes lit up. She drew a butcher’s knife from the back of her belt.

Oh, fuck! Guess I can’t play dead today!