Amidst the densely-packed woods, a stage-coach, wrought of iron and copper, dredges along a shoddy dirt road. This stage-coach has no horses to pull it. Instead, being equipped with a grand steam-powered engine.

The sky is dismal, as the midday sun hides behind thick, grey clouds. A heavy fog blankets everything far and wide. The driver of the stage-coach, an aged looking man wearing a tailcoat and bowler hat, is only capable of seeing a short distance ahead of him. His only salvation is two oil lamps on either side of the vehicle.

Within the interior of the carriage, are four figures seated facing each other. On one side is a family of three, mother, father, and son, on the other, huddles a shivering man wrapped in a hooded robe.

“You sure surprised us, suddenly appearing before the carriage like that. How in the name of Gods did you end up so far in the middle of the forest?”

The father inquires to the robed figure, who simply remains motionless, save the constant trembling.

“I see, I’ll leave it at that. You must have gone through enough. Wouldn’t want to pry. Thank heavens we found you when we did though, or who knows what kind of creature or beast might have happened upon you.”

“B-beast, huh…”

The robed man appears weak, and not just in a physical sense. His attitude is frail, while his attention seems distracted. A nervous tension breathes out from beneath the hood.

This does nothing to put off the talkative father though, as he continues initiating the non-profitable conversation. His outward personality is most likely the reason he has even bothered to pick up such a straggler in the first place.

“John. My name is John Watts, and this is my lovely wife Palsha. This little scamp here is my seven-year-old son Benton. You caught us just as we were coming back from visiting Palsha’s parents in Faltherhen. It’s a good thing we took this barely traveled road through the woods so’s to keep out of traffic, am I right? Haha!”

The man floats a handsome smile as he laughs. A smile that would cause anyone to smile along with him. However, hidden by the cloak, the other man’s reaction is unknown. Only the desperate shivering is apparent.

“Lately there’s been a great deal of immigrants from the smaller villages, now that we opened up the coal mines. People looking for work, I say. Lots of new businesses are opening up because of it.”

“B-business is b-booming…”

“I should say so. Fort Wayfield’s progress is certainly on the rise. Soon we’ll be as bustling as Bronzegate, or so I’d like to say. However, Bronzegate has much more heavy industries than the likes of Fort Wayfield. In time though, thanks to the new coal mines, I can see us becoming a city not to be trifled with.”

Although the sarcastic quip from the robed hitchhiker is certainly made in malice, such opinions go unnoticed due to John Watts’ joyful, self-absorbed ignorance. The wife also enjoys hearing her husband speak of such times of progress, while the son simply stares out of the carriage window, into the gloomy fog.

This positively beaming fellow, dressed in black, fitted pants and white shirt, topped with wool vest and suspenders, looks very much the part of a dapper Victorian man. The wife, also dressed in a Victorian-styled, black, flowing dress and articulate bonnet, almost looks ready to visit a funeral.

John’s hair is black and swept back neatly, and on his face lies a well-shaped mustache. His wife Palsha however, has blond curled hair, done up to the side extravagantly.

The whole family exudes an air of elegance. Even the son sports a miniature version of his father’s outfit, save the vest, with similar swept-back, black hair. Steeped in the taste of luxury, it is obvious that this family could be considered moderately wealthy.

In comparison to this dashing family, the haggard-looking man seems more like some sort of homeless vagrant. While only his bushy, black beard, streaked with silver, can be made out from beneath his robes, underneath, his outfit is odd and disheveled, as if having been under attack by wild animals.

When the man was first picked up, he was given the robe. The woods were very chilly, despite it being midday and early summer. He hesitated at first, but eventually received the robe, due to John’s pressuring insistence.

The conversation also seems to be continuing solely due to John’s diligent, although misguided, consideration. It is a wonder how these sheer opposites even managed to cross paths with one another…

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

I have had enough...

If this barbarian refuses to shut up, he is going to sorely regret it. I am in no state to put up with a bumbling imbecile, who clearly knows next to nothing of the consideration of others. Though I may be an outlier in this sense...

Aah. Why must this fool speak a language I can understand when we are not even from the same world? Broken logic. Yet in my current condition, I have no choice but to accept his kindness, this ingratiating bastard. I will not be able to keep up with this charade much longer though.

I have learned the truth of this world, and I have become attuned with the phantom that haunts me, but accomplishing such feats has brought severe repercussions. I am in quite a bad way, you know…

Dipping my toes into that vile mass, my body is paying the price. The body’s natural reaction to toxins is a woeful thing. No amount of antibiotics will save me now; I can only ride out the storm. Just like that demon clown said, all things do have their price.

Then, what have I learned? I surmise that this world is far from what I was expecting. It is a land of magic and swordsmanship, sure, though such things are obsolete. The technology appears to be at the level of the industrious age of steam; Victorian if you will. Science is the way of this world. A regular steampunk paradise, or so I have learned from this idiot.

That alone is fine, I like both fantasy and steampunk genres. Sticking them together should work, maybe. But, how did I end up here? What force is it that has caused my transfer from Earth to this whole other world?

Let us think back to when I fought the golem. It was odd that it only attacked after I had been here for longer than a week. From the moment I got here, the only thing that has changed has been the spread of my illness. Which means I have been targeted solely due to this fact. This narrows the possibilities substantially.

Cross-dimensional travel is not a technology from Earth. Such a thing is just not feasible. Therefore the means originated from a third-party, on this side. Who? How? If their world runs on steam then they are much worse off than Earth in that respect. However, this world has magic, the only explicable reason for that golem’s movement.

So a mage summoned me to this world, only to leave me to perish in the woods? Doubtful. It is more likely that I have been brought for a specific purpose. I mean, think about it… Since coming here, I have done nothing but destroy things.

The person in question must have known such a thing would happen. I can only see these results being preemptive. Ugh… I feel like I have been playing right into their hands. Someone is trying to do very cliche villain-like things to this world, and I have been subjugated as a mercenary on the frontlines.

I refuse to be the villain in your place, you lazy bastard. If I am to become a villain, it will be by my own rules. Though that changes very little in the long run…

(What am I, a natural disaster? No matter what I do, I see only a bad end…)

‘Sigh’

In the end, I am a person that doubts first, asks questions later, and if all else fails, will prepare a cavalry of escape plans to protect myself. In this case, I have only just barely come out on top. At least the hardest part is over with…

You see, when you read about the typical character of a transfer story, you usually get stuck with one of three types.

The first is someone who stumbles upon their powerful ability early on in the story and spends most of the rest of the time hiding it from others.

The second is someone who gradually builds a sturdy foothold after much work, thanks to several plot devices spread through and about the story.

The last is someone of great ability to begin with, who may or may not use his power in the story after their transfer.

There are some other quirks like gender-swap, race change or some such, but they still tend to fall into those three categories. Finding the guiding trait is the hardest part, and usually, the rest of the story falls into place from there.

I am what you would call an amalgamation of the first and third type. Although initially having my guiding trait, its true potential only showed itself after my transfer. Too bad I ended up with one of those deleterious powers you would stick on a moody antihero. Then again, I deserve nothing more.

Based on what I have deduced so far, I am fairly certain that the [Black Corona], after being translated into this world, falls under the category of a magic phenomenon. Thus, I gained a painfully useless trait as a side-effect of being its host. I shall name it… [Corruption]. A forbidden technique of cataclysmic proportions. Damned if I ever use it though.

Ever since my meditation on that first day, I have known what it has become but chose not to trust the facts. I can be stubborn, too. Since I would rather not be stuck with such a ticking time bomb, I just pushed it to the back of my mind.

If not for that golem, I could have continued in ignorant bliss. Most likely it attacked when it did for just this reason. I guess it was only luck that I managed to hold it back; Either that or my resolve has been sorely underestimated.

It is rather annoying that I still have yet to know who brought me here. Nonetheless, this will not change what I must do; Only makes my path that much steeper. I am going to find out what that clown is keeping from me. Regret making me your enemy.

If Gwyn was brought to this planet after her death, I will do everything in my power and beyond to save her from facing the same fate as on Earth. Anyone or anything that gets in my way is my enemy, and before I am through, will kneel before me and beg for forgiveness; Otherwise, I will crush their existence into dust.

If I must become the antagonist of this story to accomplish this task, I will hold no qualms. My resolve has become a fortress, and nothing will stop me. I am no longer suppressed, and my darkness will either become this world’s greatest ally or the most terrifying force it will ever face.

Be that as it may… It is far more advantageous for me to practice stratagem and foresight in the face of adversity. I cannot handle such flagrant grandiose anyways. My strong points are more suited for stealth, or cloak and dagger.

I no longer have the liberty to leave any possibilities unaccounted for; I have learned my lesson. What I need now is a steady quantity of information. Unfortunately, I suspect “NPC Family 1” here, is likely from middle-class society. It is doubtful whether they could provide such a vast amount of knowledge on their own. They can, however, provide me with something else of use.

Money. In civilized society, no matter how much gospel is spread otherwise, such a thing is as much a necessity as bread and water. Blending into the commoners of this world without a scrap of change on hand is not impossible, but I would prefer to have it as a crutch. A blessing in the case of an emergency.

As such, I am in need of a charitable denizen, and luckily the flag has already been triggered. It is true that I am certainly in their debt, what with them bringing me to civilization and all. Nevertheless, I must prepare myself for the foreseeable events to come. No matter how feeble-minded they may be, these fellows are currently my only option in the matter.

This is where I run into a very pertinent dilemma. Something that will play a part in all thought processes from henceforth. No matter what actions I must take from now on, there is one important guideline I must adhere to; Anonymity. Each and every annoying little detail will pile up, eventually becoming a ghost that will haunt me wherever I should go.

I have already caused a disastrous ripple in the face of this world that cannot be taken back. A stain forever dyed the color of madness by the [Black Corona]. Thinking about the kind of ramifications that event might bring forth, I can only heave an empty sigh. But I will not give up.

To make sure that such a tragedy never makes a second appearance, I must carefully plan ahead. It does me no benefits to gamble with fate. Of this I am certain. I will not let her down again. Not while blood still runs through my veins.

(Now how shall I go about this…)

There is any number of ways for me to obtain that which I seek from these fools. I could try a direct approach, though I would effectively be throwing any chance of remaining anonymous out the window. Perhaps it would be a better idea to try some kind of scam. These tragically honest fellows seem like the perfect targets for that type of thing.

There is only one problem. Though unfortunate, it can be said that my conversational eloquence may prove… Lacking. By no means does this reflect the inner workings of my mind. Rather, in that regard, I can unabashedly claim the opposite. It all boils down to practice, something I have little of as of late.

To properly carry out this scam will require a delicate touch. It would be great if I do not mess this up...

(Here goes nothing…)

“S-so, John was it? Er… I apologize, i-it seems I have y-yet to introduce myself. H-Horrence Trapp... P-please, call me Horrence.”

Bogged down with stammers and pauses, my not-so-handsome introduction goes as such. Frankly, I can barely converse. I have no problem chatting it up with the hallucinations in my head, but when it comes to a real live person, this is the result. So disappointing.

Obviously, I have used an alias. There is no reason to give them my real name, and since not doing so will aid in keeping my tracks hidden, it is the best option.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Horrence. Though the circumstances could’ve been better.”

“W-well… I r-really appreciate your a-aid in that matter. Er… Thank you.”

My tongue feels static and numb. Just forming words is a terrible ordeal. This is almost a disease in itself.

“Think nothing of it. It’s the right thing to do.”

That kind of logic will get you murdered by hitchhikers, you know. Not that I have any complaints. It is rather fortuitous that they came when they did, as I have been walking endlessly for hours. Besides that, my clothes are reduced to ribbons, and my sandals completely incinerated. I would be arrested immediately if I were to enter a town like this.

“A-also… T-thanks for the robe.”

“Yes, well… We couldn’t very well have you going around looking like that now could we? Not on good conscience, that is.”

I suppose now would be the best time to give some sort of backstory. Nothing too far-fetched, yet enough to fill in any suspicious points. With the state I am in, it will require quite a bit of smoothing over to seem plausible.

“I still r-remember that i-incorrigible beast that attacked me. That m-massive black frame, and r-razor-sharp fangs.”

The cat that crashed my dinner party. I will use its easily recognizable form as the basis of this scheme. If that sickeningly caring John fellow’s personality is as I suspect it is, this will draw out as much of his sympathy as possible.

“Hmm, an Abkir perhaps? Good Gods, man! You’re lucky to be alive, I fear… I shudder even thinking about encountering one of those monsters. They’ll tear the iron straight off of a steam-boiler, I’ve heard.”

…

“I know, r-right...?”

Thank you Eherty, for selflessly using your body as a sacrifice. And thank you strange golem for scaring that thing away. What a fool I was for thinking I could take it on with a wooden spear.

“T-that monster attacked our vehicle. We lost o-our belongings, our m-money, and my… M-my wife, she…”

“You poor thing!”

The wife now chimes in. The story appears to draw the whole family towards me. John and Palsha both adorn looks of deep, tearful sympathy. Even the previously uninterested Benton leans forward in his seat, his fists clenched and trembling.

What a colorful family…

“I’m so sorry, Horrence. You’ve gone through so much. To keep moving on despite facing such horrors is… Well, you’re amazing, I’d say.”

(Thank you… Thank you for being a gullible ham.)

“N-no… I could not protect her. If only I had not l-listened to her back then. W-we should never have moved to b-begin with.”

“Horrence…”

This is working eerily well. Even though the face beneath the cloak remains expressionless, the story is weaved with a sticky thread that binds this unsuspecting family’s hearts. They are already strung upon my trap-like web.

I embrace myself tightly, as a shiver runs down my spine. This reaction is in no way related to my scheming, however. Still reeling from the effects of drawing upon the seething force that is the [Black Corona], my body is in a state akin to being weaned off of some form of addictive substance. It has tampered with the natural order of things, the side-effects placing me under great physical strain.

On a different note, I think the time has come. While not on purpose, the act of huddling inside the cloak like a newborn babe has luckily been attributed to the effects of coming into contact with such a traumatic event.

This idiot, John, would most likely donate his blood for me by now, while Palsha seems ready to adopt me into their family register. I do not want to cause a scene, so I shall try and wrap this up before we reach town.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Ah…”

‘Cough’

I taste blood. I guess my body is not yet healed enough to be having such a demanding conversation. Not to mention, this migraine is starting to become a bit of a problem.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention… It seems I now have some sort of regenerative power. Back when I was toyed with by that giant bug, I had assumed this was the case, even with a lack of evidence. Having woken up inside the crater nary a single scratch in sight, all doubts I had flew out the window. I could not have been unconscious longer than five minutes and it was already over.

This trait does nothing to prevent toxins though, only repairs the damage. This explains my currently enfeebled state. My settings are so lackluster…

Oh well… At least I managed to return from the darkness. If I had lost myself after all the stuff I said to that clown, it would have been a complete and utter embarrassment. I must stay grounded, and push past all the minor inconveniences that should pop up.

“W-what am I saying… I m-must stay strong. If I p-pull through this... It must be possible to s-start anew. F-for her sake as well.”

“Of course, of course! That’s the spirit Horrence!”

“Someday… I h-hope to open my own little store. I-if I were to name it “Holda’s”, I c-could carry on her name…”

The married couple is clutching their chest. The amount of sympathy exuding from them is unfathomable, considering none of what I speak of is the truth. Humans are such meager creatures.

“John Watts... You have h-helped me so much; I will definitely r-repay you in the future.”

“No, no, no! Repay me? My Gods, man! I couldn’t possibly live with myself if you do such a thing. I’ll have none of that, you hear? In fact, when we get to Fort Wayfield, you’re coming to stay with us. I don’t want to hear any complaints. Isn’t that right, Dear?”

“Of course, John.”

“You’re far too modest, I tell you!”

...

‘Ahem’

“W-well… If you t-truly insist. But would I not b-become a burden...?”

“No, I must implore you! You could never be a burden, Horrence.”

“We welcome you into our home with open arms.”

So easy...

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

The innumerable smokestacks, layered row upon row, send endless streams of smoke into the air. The smoke creates a forest of wavy, white trees upon the backdrop of the deep blue evening sky.

Sounds of steam-engines chugging, people conversing, and the general drone of the townscape mix together. A bustling melody, that saturates the surroundings with life.

A towering, ten meter stone wall encompasses the entirety of the large town, with six magnificent gates, located where any of the main highways intersect it. Traffic is not inspected at these gates, despite the guards stationed therein. It is highly probable that these guards stand in wait, for the off chance of an attack from some outside force.

The main highways are kept in much better condition than any I have seen so far, being paved with inset, rectangular stones, woven in a gorgeous display. Many vehicles of various types flow through these gates, as they leave and enter the town.

The Watts family’s steam-coach follows suit, passing under a large stone arch on its way into the town of Fort Wayfield. Hidden inside, I sit watching out the window, viewing the intriguing scenery beyond.

(It certainly has taken me quite some time to make it to this blasted place.)

Finally seeing it up close, nothing really goes beyond my expectations. The roads and buildings are much neater than I would have thought, and there are some things placed about that I am dubious as to the purpose for, but this is all well within one standard deviation.

As we near the more crowded, commercial part of town, the roads are divided by a strange metal rail. This anomaly turns out to be the track for a very bizarre tramway. The wheels on the tram are replaced with gigantic gears, and it runs by following the large, evenly spaced teeth inside the hollowed rail.

The wheels are powered by large steam engines at both the front and back of the vehicle. I wonder how they slow down or stop the tram? Perhaps one of the internal gears retracts, to cease the flow of torque. Or maybe they have rubber brakes? The tires I see around me are made of treadless rubber after all.

A lot of devices I see around the town use heavy gears in their composition. They have been built with their gears on display, viewed through glass windows; Quite the prevailing theme around here. It certainly gives off a thick steampunk vibe when all around is smoke billowing, and gears turning.

I really find these people’s tastes in decoration appealing, with the dark and earthy color-tones and polished, brass accents everywhere. It is a pleasing change from the gaudy, bright-colored flair back on Earth. It almost makes one want to become an alchemist, or clockmaker, or something, you know?

The hubbub quiets down a bit when we enter the residential district, though children can still be seen boisterously frolicking in the streets with their various toys and games. The packs of kids only move to the side momentarily to let us pass through, then return right back where they came.

This carriage appears to be one of the larger, more advanced models since most other drivers ride in small town car types or open roofed clunkers. I guess I was right about the Watts’ current monetary standing. Which is good, since I would rather not rob the poor, so to speak.

Already an honorary member of their family, there should be no trouble if I were to crash at their residence while searching for information. I could even finagle a bit of financial backing along the way. Compared to unapologetically ransacking people’s homes like the heroes in an RPG, I must say my way is far more tact.

The long-awaited arrival at the Watts’ family home is a bit of a pleasant surprise.

“Bu…!”

(Gigantic!)

The house looks similar to an old house you might see in a horror movie, except far more elegant and very well looked after. Exquisite borderwork lines all of the creases and windows, with intricate pillars and lattices scattered all across the face of the house. I feel that the amount of craftsmanship is a bit over the top.

(Rich people are so illogical…)

The whole estate is bordered by an ornamental, bronze-colored fence, and the sprawling yard is neatly taken care of. The trim stone path that circles a classy fountain, the brightly colored gardens littered about the yard, everything is of such quality that a gardener must regularly tend to them.

Somehow, knowing this magnificent house is owned by that idiot family leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Then again, it could just be the taste of blood from earlier. I could not stand living in such a flamboyant house anyway; Though haunting it might be nice…

Following the butler, whose name is... Grayson something-or-other, we enter the house and disperse into its depths. I personally follow John into the common room, as I have a job for him. Slumping onto a sofa, he languidly loosens the buttons on his shirt, like some sort of lounging politician.

(It is all well and good to be tired after your long trip, but you still have business to attend to here. Shape up, John…)

“Er… John. I h-hate to spring this on you, b-but could I a-ask you a few questions? S-sorry for the trouble...”

How to speak correctly, how to get information out of you without blowing this whole operation, who in the world was it that brought me to this freaking place…? I have so many questions, yet they all seem above his payroll.

“No worries. If there’s something I can answer, ask away.”

The amount of information I have about this world is not appealing to me. In particular, pertaining to its laws and ethics. If I base all of my information off of what I know about Earth, and Victorian society, I will undoubtedly end up causing some sort of mishap. That being said, I am unable to simply ask about such things straightforwardly, as I have already established a backstory. I will have to tread carefully.

“Um… Those g-guards… There w-was no inspection or a-anything.”

“Ah. Well, the policy around these parts doesn’t call for such a thing. They’re mainly there in case a large group of Beastkin should attack. In such cases, they would immediately close off the gates to traffic, until the threat is dealt with.”

“Hmm…”

What is with the lack of border security? Are they not worried about smugglers, or terrorists? Sure, with the rate at which traffic seemed to be flowing into the town, it would be ludicrous to expect a detailed inspection of each vehicle. Even so, those guards gave us not so much as a glance. It is absolutely nonsensical to have such a large number of guards standing around doing nothing.

“How e-economically unsound…”

“Hahaha. That’s so true! Are you perhaps not from around here Horrence?”

“W-well… You c-could say that…”

“Is that right? I’m not sure how it is where you’re from, but in these parts, the Guild of Judgment takes care of those kinds of things. It might just be that Fort Wayfield is in such a secluded location that the guards have gotten a little lax.”

John follows his supposition with a chuckle, displaying a foolish grin upon his face. His outward personality is quite frankly stifling. Regardless, something he said is bugging me.

“Guild of Judgment, huh…”

I can pretty much imagine what kind of negative connotations such an ominous-sounding organization might entail. Without a doubt, they are unlikely to be a friendly existence to one such as myself. Perhaps I should steer the conversation elsewhere.

“John… Do you h-happen to have a m-map that I could borrow...?”

“Why yes! Most certainly I do, my friend. I’ll have Grayson bring it over right away. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

How servile; Not that I can complain though. Right now I can take all the help that I can get. As long as I do not overstay my welcome, I will be sure to milk these fools like the money-dispensing cows that they are.

“N-no… Well… C-could you perhaps show me some of the… Er... L-local currency?

“Ah, I see. You have come a long way, after all. I’ll have Grayson bring us a bit along with the map. I shall return shortly. Feel free to make yourself comfortable while you wait. This is your home now too, Horrence.”

With this, the restless man leaves momentarily to find the butler…

‘Sigh’

As I gingerly sit upon the couch, I crack my wrist and neck joints, causing a pleasing feeling to spread throughout my body. They might not have any ill will towards me, thanks to falling brilliantly into my trap, but I still find conversing with real people painfully unnatural.

(Am I really going to be all right in this world? Well… One step at a time, I suppose...)

Now that I take a look at this room, it sure fits with the whole theme of the place. Mostly hewn from hardwood, and lined with forest-green furniture, it feels like a fancy hotel or something. I am very uncomfortable here…

After a few idle minutes, the blundering fool returns with a rolled up parchment, and a brown, leather purse-like thing. Upon arriving, he passes me both items with a satisfied look on his face. I will not question his taste; However, that bulky thing looks kind of inconvenient…

“I a-assume this is the map and c-currency?”

“That it is!”

Accepting the map and bag from him, I quickly analyze the contents of the bag. I am dismayed by what I find. First of all, it is heavy! How in the world would anyone carry this around without developing some kind of back displacement problem?

The contents are, simply enough, just an array of variously-sized coins. Only the quantity is outrageous; Hundreds of them, I would care to guess. I am troubled to no end by this ridiculous world. I should just destroy this forsaken place and take Gwyn back to Earth.

(I suppose that is rather narcissistic…)

Oh well, at least I have finally gotten my hands on some assets. Learning how to use them is a whole other matter though. Let us get down to business.

“Oi, you... NPC f-fellow. Can you t-tell me about these coins.”

“NPC…!? Um, Horrence, what does that mean?”

“N-nevermind the small stuff…”

“... Er… Somehow, I feel like you’ve glazed over something rather important. Well... No matter.”

(It was you who said to make myself comfortable, you know…)

“Let’s see… To start off with, there are Trinx. These are the lowest value of currency. They look like this.”

While saying this, John picks out a small, dull grey coin and sets it on the table in front of the couch. It really is a bland looking coin with no definable features, save a slight indent around the circumference.

“Then there’s this one, the Hex. A Hex represents ten Trinx.”

This time, a slightly larger coin is taken from the bag, then placed next to the previous one. Its hexagonal shape and rustic copper hue make it far more distinct than its predecessor.

“Moving along there is the Pix, worth fifty Trinx, or five Hex.”

The next coin, drawn from the bag, increases in size yet again. Though also hexagonal in shape, this silvery coin shines with a metallic sheen, making it very appealing to behold.

“Finally we have the Rox, worth either one-hundred Trinx, ten Hex, or two Pix.”

With that, a large golden coin is placed upon the table, its form similarly hexagonal. The intricate design emblazoned on its surface is rather striking, unlike the somewhat minimalistic design of the other three coins. It is by all means what one would consider when they think of a gold coin.

Each coin appears to fit neatly inside one another with perfect mathematical precision, easily comparable to clockwork…

“Anything above these is beyond what the average person can afford.”

“T-there is more…?”

“Well, yes… There’s Bronze Cogs, Steel Cogs, and Kirth Cogs, worth fifty, one-hundred, and one-thousand Rox respectively. I’d say what makes them so valuable is the amount of Orbinium contained within them. Bronze Cogs have three percent, Steel Cogs six percent, and Kirth is an alloy of Orbinium which is made of about sixty percent Orbinium. Sadly, I’ve never even seen a Kirth Cog.”

That is a lot to process at once. While the chances of me handling such vast quantities of money are slim, it is better to have the gist of it just in case. As it stands, I do not see anything resembling a cog in this pouch. Also, what the hell is Orbinium? Thinking about it somehow reminds me of that black golem…

“A common meal might cost anywhere between four to eight Trinx. That’s as little as twelve Trinx a day. You can see why most people would have trouble finding a chance to use a Bronze Cog, which is equivalent to a whole five-thousand Trinx.”

“Hmm…”

In other words, I am willing to wager that this pouch must contain over twenty Rox worth at least; A whole two-thousand Trinx. If any idiot were to walk around carrying this thing on his person, it is inevitable that he would be mugged at the first available opportunity. Not to mention the fact that it weighs about as much as a three-year-old child. This will take some getting used to…

“Er… A-about this map…”

Clearing away the coins, I unroll the parchment and display it on the table. A sizable map is carefully inked onto its surface. Large green land masses float upon a blue background, each with various symbols and lines marking borders, towns, and other such details. Everything drawn on the map is completely alien to me, driving home the fact that I now occupy foreign soil.

(Well, not that I can do much about it…)

With uncertainty lurking at the back of my mind, I listen to an uncomfortably cheery John yap about the map’s contents. All of this while formulating a definitive strategy for the future. I will wring out all of the information I can get from this fool, then compile what I have learned.

If I take my time, and figure this out, I should be able to avoid any more upsets. No more mid-bosses, cutscenes, quests, puzzles, or the like, just straight to the goal; The optimum battle strategy. Rescue the princess and get the hell out.

Although… I had better make plenty of contingency plans. It is unlikely this world will play nice…