《Oh Great, I Was Reincarnated as a Farmer.》 Chapter 1: Death Reincarnation and Disappointment (Warning the first scene of this novel is told from the point of view of the Protagonist in the future. Some people do not like this. Some people hate this. Some people view this as a spoiler that ruins the tension for them. If you are one of these readers, I suggest you go down to the first *** and read from there. I removed the first scene, but immediately regretted and reinstated it.) Chapter 1 Death, Reincarnation, and Disappointment My grandchildren¡¯s giggling laughter rang through the palace, echoing off vaulted ceilings and polished floors, easing away my frown and leaving a content smile in its place. Family, a good one, is the most precious gift you can receive in life. And I have been lucky enough to receive two. A thought, a brief effort of will and mana, and my study door closed, cutting off the playful sounds of a happy life. Without the laughter the study¡¯s richness faded. Luxury and excess covered every surface, but without joy it held no value. Gold, jewels, trinkets, and rare artefacts¡­you live long enough and all these become meaningless shiny baubles. My gaze landed on the blue leather-bound book waiting on my old jade desk. My smile dropped to a scowl. I sighed, scratching the back of my neck. ¡°What is the point in being one of the most powerful men in the kingdom if I am too afraid of my wife to tell her I don¡¯t want to do this?¡± The opulence in my empty study sparkled, but offered no helpful advice. I shook my head, made my way to the desk, and sat down, thumbing open the cover to the first blank page. New paper smell filled the room as I picked up my favourite fountain pen. I paused, looking at the pen. If I valued anything in my study it was this pen. It was a gift from a friend. The design appeared to be the same as any dwarven-made steel pen, ¡ªmeaning beautifully etched, yet simplistic and functional. It was utterly unremarkable in a palace. Unless you knew one small fact: the iron used in its creation was formed from the blood of an ancient dragon. That one detail made a simple pen into something extraordinary, utterly unique. Something not easily replicated. And it was a joke. And a very good one, by dwarven standards. It goes like this. A plainly-dressed human walks up to a dwarf chief and addresses him as an equal. The chief head-butts him. It¡¯s funny because dwarves have trouble telling humans apart. They see our people so rarely that most of us look the same to them. They identify our station from the clothing we wear. So when a dwarf chief meets a man dressed no differently than an ordinary merchant who talks to him like an equal, of course he is going to head-butt him for his audacity. And of course, years later, when he needs to make a gift for that same man, his friend, he is going to do so in true dwarven fashion, with an utterly unique pen that looks no more impressive than something which can be found in any dwarven shop. My smile returned. After I was finished with this nonsense, I would go and see how the old goat was doing. I began to write. The first chronicles of Arnold Parker, as told by me: As I recall my many exploits, I must admit one simple truth: the beginning of my tale is not overly unique. I was born in another world, another universe. We called my world Earth and the land the kingdom of Radian resides in America and Mexico. There was no inherent magic in my world, only that which we created ourselves, with nothing but our minds and labour. Earth was a beautiful world. It was not perfect or easy, but we were making it into something extraordinary. I¡¯ve often wondered what it might be like now, but alas, that is not why you are here. You are here because you believe this is where you will learn about my many legendary accomplishments. Nevertheless, this is my story, and I will tell it how I prefer, so if we are going to begin this tale anywhere, it will be where I choose, and I choose to start at the beginning. Back before all the fame and glory, back when I was a simple farmer, back to the events that led to the creation of that damned awful song that has plagued me since it came into my life. Yes, this is the story of a song. That song. I know you know it. There isn¡¯t a child over five in any of the eleven kingdoms that doesn¡¯t know it by heart. And I know you¡¯ve gotten drunk and belted out the words along with the children during a threshold party or festival. Everyone sings Silly Arnold. It¡¯s as well known as the Chicken Dance or Macarena in my own world. And I could honestly live with that if that was all it was. But would you like to know what really pisses me off about that song? It¡¯s not the ridiculous words or the silly nature. It¡¯s not the fact it has made my life a bit of a joke. It is the fact that it has earned me more fame than anything else I have ever done. I¡¯ve checked my logs, and none of my other accomplishments come close. It is utter bullshit. So, you are not going to read what you want to read until you learn the truth behind the song. Now, I will admit the truth makes me look like a bit of an idiot, but I was young, so possessed many of the worst qualities of youth, and I would rather look like an idiot than the alternative. So we are going back to the beginning, back to before I was incarnated, back to when I was only late for a tournament. *** Sweat trickled down my back, soaking my shirt, as I squeezed my way through the overcrowded bus to the rear door and slapped the bell. The ding caused everyone to scowl. We were all late for something, cursing the Houston public transport system. The bus slowed to a stop. The door hissed open, allowing a wave of hot summer air to rush in, destroying what little progress the air conditioning managed to achieve in the past few minutes. The space in front of the Waller Convention Centre stood empty. The crowd of two thousand who brought tickets had long since entered. A massive Warlord¡¯s banner hung above the entrance, rippling in the breeze, and reflecting the Houston sun. I leapt onto the sidewalk and started running for the players¡¯ entrance to the right of the main door, knowing the place from past tournaments. My worn trainers pounded out a beat as I sped across the hot concrete. The only thought going through my head was¡­fuck, another curveball. A more perfect analogy for my gaming career probably didn¡¯t exist. Being late for my last tournament summed it up nicely. A few years ago, I might have been angry. However, the bus breaking down was just another curveball life had thrown my way. I had been standing at the plate so long that striking out didn¡¯t faze me anymore. If anything, the curveballs made me more resilient. You have to be when your pro gaming career spends nine years on the edge of a home run without ever quite taking that final step which pushes you from semi-pro to pro. If you don¡¯t become resilient, you break down or become one of those basement trolls who live with their parents and spend their free time watching professional matches, yelling at their computer screens, deluding themselves into thinking they could do better. The only difference between those guys and those washed up high-school athletes is they never got laid as much. I¡¯d seen it happen to my friends. Charley, Max, Don¡ªone by one, our old team¡¯s lack of success drove them away. They went straight, got real jobs: mechanic, programming, a male nurse. Yeah, we all gave Don shit for that. Now it was my turn to go straight. My turn to let go of my dreams. My new team, if you could call us that, was third in the line-up. The second teams were already facing off and halfway through their match. I could hear the commentator through the live stream on my phone. The delay was about ten minutes behind, and if I didn¡¯t get inside in the next few minutes, we would forfeit. I needed this win. Not to go pro, that dream was as dead as a hooker in a Vegas hotel bathroom. No, this win was to pay the bills. My university tuition was covered. I¡¯d always been bright, so I¡¯d earned myself a decent scholarship even at twenty-six. But I had other expenses. Expenses the wealthy parents of the high school kids I was coaching promised to cover if I could make their little assholes place in the top three. If they failed, I was looking at weekends of flipping burgers. Five grand wasn¡¯t much to some people, but it would keep me in ramen and TV dinners for the next year, and by then, my accounting papers would qualify me for work that didn¡¯t require manual labour. I reached the bottom of the stairs and took them two at a time, holding out my player pass. ¡°Arnold Parker, I¡¯m in team Archomundo,¡± I shouted to the overweight security guard in front of the door. I ran most days to keep fit. So the little run for the door hadn¡¯t left me anywhere close to panting and my words came through clear. The guy, only a couple of years older than me, who had been mildly concerned by my speed, immediately lost interest, going so far as to step out of my way, waving me through. As he stepped aside, a small blonde cosplay girl, wearing some sort of white robe with gold stitched runes came into view. She¡¯d hidden behind his bulk, her eyes downcast as she muttered under her breath, blocking the player¡¯s entrance. ¡°Coming through,¡± I shouted, not wanting to slow. The girl remained in place, muttering. Something about her presence triggered my inner nerd instincts, telling me she was in character, the way hardcore cosplayers loved to be. She was just a kid, not even old enough to be in high school, so she was probably just playing a game with people, testing their nerd credentials. I smiled. My sister Sophie was the same at her age. If I could remember who she was cosplaying, maybe I could say some sort of phrase and she would get out of the way. She was definitely a side character from one of the newer fantasy anime. Any of the older ones and I wouldn¡¯t need to think about it. Her character¡¯s name sat on the edge of my tongue, which annoyed me more than her being in my way. There was a time I could literally name any character any cosplayers were impersonating at any con, but the last few years I¡¯d been missing more and more. I had to face facts. I was getting old. I didn¡¯t have endless hours to waste watching anime. I reached the top of the stairs, and the name failed to appear. I slowed to a quick walk, marching up to the girl, intending to squeeze past since I couldn¡¯t remember who she was pretending to be. I turned side on and began to squeeze by. ¡°Pardon me¡­argh¡ª¡± The girl¡¯s palm slammed against my chest glowing with a nebulous green light. There was a flash of pain as the muscles around her hand constricted. The pain doubled and then doubled again. I felt my heart beat, once, twice, and then I was falling. The security guard stepped through the girl, making her vanish like a mirage, concern engraved on his features. His lips moved, but no sound came out. And the world got smaller and smaller. *** I absently scratched at the tattoo between my new man boobs, trying and failing to adjust to the body that Damella had forced my soul into, as I continued to vent. The last thirty minutes were like striking out at an endless supply of curveballs while riding a roller coaster blindfolded. ¡°So, let me get this straight! In an attempt to call back a spirit from the afterlife and resurrect your universe¡¯s version of me, she somehow ripped my soul out of my body and shoved it into the dead body of your universe¡¯s version of me,¡± I shouted, glaring at Damella, the young acolyte who¡¯d been standing in the doorway in my world, and was now standing next to me in my apparently new one. The girl blushed a brighter shade of red, matching the colour of the silk altar cloth I¡¯d quickly wrapped around myself after rousing and discovering I was naked. She dropped her gaze and clutched at her acolyte robes, which I¡¯d mistaken for a cosplay outfit, nervously balling them between her fists. Varla, the archbishop of whichever god¡¯s temple I was in, nodded her head, still fiddling with the magical ring she¡¯d slipped onto my finger that allowed us to communicate. Varla was a few years older than me, early thirties, and gorgeous enough to almost distract me from my anger. She was on the tall side for a woman, almost six feet, with dusty blonde hair tied back in a bun, and soft, intelligent blue eyes. It was mostly her ornate white and red robes that gave her a presence of authority. ¡°That¡¯s basically what seems to have happened, Arnold. It is a complication of the resurrection process.¡± ¡°A complication of the resurrection process¡±¡ªthat was too delicate a way of saying that Damella had killed me. I turned to the giant golden serpent on the white marble wall to my right, trying to distract myself while I counted to ten. Maybe they worshipped it. Maybe it was just a symbol like the cross is to Christians. Right now, I didn¡¯t care. I was trying to calm down. It didn¡¯t work. The foreignness of the symbol made me angrier. This curveball was a little bigger than the ones life usually hits me with. I wanted to shout, scream, swear, and vent my frustration. The sight of the girl made me angrier than I¡¯d ever been in my life. This was too much to deal with. The ramifications of the archbishop¡¯s statement was...was not something I could face this second. I felt like I was drowning and anger was the only thing keeping me afloat. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. A small growl escaped my mouth. My hands began to shake. ¡°You know, up until about an hour ago, I would have told you there is no good reason to hit a child.¡± My fist came up. ¡°But I¡¯d never been killed by one before, so what did I know?¡± The small acolyte cowered, but she did not run. I sat there, trembling with fury, angrier than I¡¯d ever been, but she was like ten. And I wasn¡¯t about to hit a ten-year-old, no matter how angry I was, even if she had accidentally killed me. I forced myself to lower my fist and grip the edge of the altar until my knuckles turned white. I took several slow, deep breaths, counting them out, trying to force myself to relax. Varla calmly reached down and removed the thin wooden cane hanging from her belt and offered it me. ¡°First of all, Damella is thirteen, and that makes her a legal adult; otherwise, she could never have started her apprenticeship with the temple. Secondly, if you are planning to beat her for killing you, temple regulations require you use a cane. In the past, we¡¯ve had too many priests and priestesses a little too eager to lay hands on our young acolytes.¡± I stared at the archbishop, confused. Her tone was far too calm. ¡°Wait, you want me to beat her?¡± The archbishop shrugged, not at all concerned by my anger. ¡°She is going to be punished for her actions, and whether I do it or you do it makes little difference to me.¡± She turned to the girl whose eyes were glued to the cane. ¡°Your instructors have been too lenient, Damella. They gave you permission to use this altar for minor rituals. You used that permission to sneak a dead body in here and attempt a full resurrection. Now, we must deal with the results of your actions, actions which have irrevocably changed the trajectory of someone¡¯s life. You will find no more chances, no more special treatment. Today, you face judgement. Today you receive the most severe reprimand I am allowed to issue and it is honestly not enough after what you have done¡­so prepare yourself for punishment.¡± The girl didn¡¯t protest. She didn¡¯t deny her actions. She moved forward and placed her hands upon the altar bending forward slightly, not bending over like they used to do in Catholic school, more like how people used to stand when they were flogged. Her body trembled as she bravely resigned herself to her fate. The archbishop stepped forwards and brought the cane down across the girl¡¯s lower back. Whack! Damella shrieked. Three more blows followed in quick succession, one on the back of the thighs, one on the middle of the back and the last across the shoulder blades. Whack! Whack! Whack! The blows were so quick the girl didn¡¯t have time to inhale before crying out, so only breathless whimpers followed. The archbishop turned and held out the cane, offering it to me again. ¡°Would you like a turn? Or should I continue?¡± I stared at the girl, trying to feel pity for her, trying to give myself a reason not to take Varla up on her offer. None came. All I felt was anger, anger that kept my head above the water, anger that denied the reality of my situation. I didn¡¯t even get off the altar. I grabbed the cane and brought it down across Damella¡¯s shoulder blades with everything I had. Whack! You have caused 1 bludgeoning damage to Damella. I dropped the cane, losing what little semblance of self-control I¡¯d managed to retain throughout this ordeal. ¡°Ah! What the hell? There are words floating in the air.¡± ¡°Oh, dear,¡± Varla said. ¡°Judging by your reaction, you don¡¯t have damage prompts in your world.¡± The words began to fade. I turned to Varla. She was frowning. She¡¯d explained some of the bare basics about my new world, like the fact that it was magic that brought me here. That was intriguing but not enough to distract me from my anger. However, this new bit of information caught my attention in a way the rest hadn¡¯t. ¡°Wait, did you say ¡®damage prompts¡¯?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Does that mean you have health?¡± She nodded. ¡°Of course.¡± ¡°Does that mean you can level, get stronger here?¡± ¡°The short answer is yes.¡± I expression softened as I stepped away from the altar. My emotions were suddenly at war with each other. Excitement was trying to smoother the angry inferno inside me. I picked up the cane. There was barely any weight to it. My gaze landed on Damella. Her small body was leaning against the altar quivering. Tears were running down both cheeks. Excitement fought hard, but didn¡¯t win, and my anger didn¡¯t lessen. Whack! You have caused 1 bludgeoning damage to Damella. *** The archbishop had left me alone in her study. It was filled with comfortable leather chairs, several white marble bookshelves, and a large white marble desk. There were more of those golden sun serpents on the wall, but few other decorations, besides a small wine rack and glasses. I¡¯d gotten in exactly three swings with the cane before the archbishop took it back. The excited grin that suddenly appeared on my face, no matter what it looked like, hadn¡¯t been some sort of perverted enjoyment. Yes, I was excited, but not for what was going on¡ªwell, not for that part of what was going on. No, my excitement was for the damage prompts. Each strike elected a point of damage. And each point of damage created a little prompt. I¡¯d nearly fainted when Varla confirmed that I was in a universe with video game mechanics. A few more quick questions to the archbishop and my hopes were confirmed. Not only could I level, but there were also monsters and dungeons. I was so giddy with mad excitement that my anger fled. I¡¯d barely paid attention to the crying girl as the archbishop continued to strike her in what seemed like an endless stream of punishment. Each new answer Varla gave created another question and another exciting answer. I was living every gamer¡¯s dream. I was going to get to be a wizard, or maybe a spellsword, or perhaps I¡¯d become a barbarian. No, probably not a barbarian¡ªgetting hit with a cane looked like it hurt, and claws and swords would likely be a whole lot worse. A fit of crazed giggles escaped me. It shook my body and left me breathless. I didn¡¯t care. I hadn¡¯t felt this great since I was a child, back when sugar and friends were enough to leave me floating. Some part of me knew the feeling couldn¡¯t last, that reality would catch up with me. I ignored that little voice, squashing it down into a corner where I didn¡¯t have to listen to it. I smiled and opened my interface again, using the method Varla taught me. It was so easy. I only needed to think and there it was.
Name: Arnold Class: Pending Level: 0, 0%
STATS
Health: 100 Stamina: 100 Mana: 100
ATTRIBUTES
Strength: 10 Endurance: 10 Dexterity: 10
Agility: 10 Constitution: 10 Intelligence: 10
Wisdom: 10 Charisma: 10 ???
TITLES
Incarnate: People find you 500% more interesting.
MARKS
I was still opening and closing the interface when the study door opened. The archbishop walked in, with a gorgeous, midnight black cat at her heels. She crossed the room to the wine rack, selected a bottle, and opened it. She poured herself a glass. Then she took a seat behind her desk, placing the bottle down without offering me any. She finished the glass in a single swallow and then poured another. ¡°Serpent above, this mess has me pulling my hair out.¡± She flicked her gaze to me. ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking about your reaction back in the temple. Am I to understand you are happy with your current situation?¡± ¡°I¡¯m excited and that¡¯s not close to the same as happy,¡± I said. ¡°Why?¡± ¡°Circumstances like yours are rare, but they do happen. It is standard practice to offer those in your situation the opportunity to be sent back to their universe. However, even if your body is alive, there is less than a 1% chance I will be successful without another cleric to receive and reintegrate your soul into your body.¡± I lost some of my excitement. ¡°You kill people in other universes regularly enough to have standard practices for sending them back?¡± She took a sip of wine. ¡°No. It is very rare for a cleric to have the power to pull a soul from a living body. Usually, people in your situation have recently died in their universe. Their soul is in transit and accidentally mistaken for their counterpart. However, like I said that is not always the case, and several centuries ago, there was a woman, Morgana, who was also taken from her universe while alive. She made it her life¡¯s work to return to her world. She succeeded in developing a safe and reliable method, which forced the crown to pass Morgana¡¯s Law, mandating the temple offer any in her situation the opportunity to return. So I have to make the offer.¡± ¡°Less than 1% chance at life. No thanks.¡± She took another sip. ¡°At least you aren¡¯t an idiot. Now, what do you want to do about your murder?¡± I leaned back and crossed my arms, losing a bit more excitement. ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°Damella killed you. She may not have done so intentionally, but the result is the same. I¡¯m not sure how your world works, but in ours, that can be considered a crime. Would you like me to inform the city guard?¡± The last of my excitement left me. I hadn¡¯t actually thought this far ahead. ¡°What would they do to her?¡± The archbishop took a long swallow, almost draining her glass of wine. ¡°She¡¯s from a powerful family, but the law is the law. She didn¡¯t murder you in our world, so there is no chance of her going feral, which means this would be treated as an accidental murder through negligence. At the very least, she¡¯d receive twenty-five years of hard labour.¡± Damn! ¡°And if you don''t go to the guard?¡± ¡°She¡¯d remain here to continue her training, but I would take a personal interest in her. She certainly won¡¯t be performing any more resurrections.¡± ¡°Let me think about it,¡± I said. I was quoting my father. He¡¯d always say that when something threw him. No matter how hard you pushed him, he wouldn¡¯t make a decision right then and there if he didn¡¯t feel ready to. It was one of the more useful tricks he taught me. Right now, I needed more information. ¡°What¡®s going to happen to me?¡± Varla stifled a yawn. ¡°That honestly depends on your decision. If you choose to go to the guards then I¡¯m going to have to go to the wife and children of the man whose body you possess and tell them that though you look like the same man you are not. There will be a fair amount of yelling and a lot of tears, but eventually, they will understand and have to move on. You might choose to keep in contact with them or you may decide to go your own way. It will be up to you.¡± ¡°And if you don¡¯t go to the guard?¡± She leaned forward and smiled. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a little more interesting. Your arrival has the potential to solve one of my problems. You are what we call an incarnate. As an incarnate, the law requires our temple to pay you 1,000 silver pieces to help you survive in our world. If you are frugal, that is enough money to live on for three to five years without needing to work.¡± ¡°Why¡¯s that interesting?¡± ¡°It is interesting because I am currently trying to hide a familiar from a demon lord, and as you have no connection to anyone in our world, and are not attached to the temple, no one would suspect you or come after you if you bond with him.¡± I frowned, pausing before replying. ¡°Why would I do that?¡± The cat that had followed her inside leapt up onto the table and looked me up and down before rolling his eyes¡ªwhich looked weird on a cat. ¡°Do you honestly believe this simpleton can grasp the complexity of the topics involved in this conversation?¡± the cat asked. His voice was deeper than its size should have allowed. He flicked his black tail, then sauntered over to the wine bottle and casually knocked it over with its paw. After what had already happened to me today, meeting a talking cat only made me blink. Your brain can only take so many reality-altering surprises before it gives up, throws on its jacket, and heads out to buy a packet of cigarettes. I¡¯m sure it would come back at some point and sort through this mess. I¡¯d probably freak out then, but for now I was simply too confused to be shocked by any new surprise. The archbishop glared at the cat as her wine spilled across her table. At least it was made of marble and not wood. Varla picked up the bottle and poured the rest into her glass, still glaring at the cat. ¡°He is the best option you have. And he actually needs your services.¡± The cat leaned over and began lapping up the wine. Then he looked up and sighed. ¡°Oh, goody. Another despot desperately in need of my genius. I so look forward to teaching him how to pick turnips. How can I refuse such an opportunity? I will¡ª¡± It was the way that he said pick turnips that made me interrupt their conversation. ¡°Um, what do you mean, ¡®pick turnips¡¯?¡± The cat groaned. ¡°See, he does not even know what a turnip is.¡± ¡°I know what a turnip is,¡± I growled, not liking his tone. ¡°I just don¡¯t know why you think I¡¯d be picking them?¡± ¡°Turnips, pumpkins, carrots, squash; I do not know what sort of level zero crop you will be planting, but it will be one of those, and I do not wish to be a part of any of it.¡± ¡°Neither do I, I hate gardening.¡± The cat started to chuckle and then laugh. Finally, he fell onto his back in utter hysterics. ¡°Oh, it is a farmer that does not like to garden. How quaint.¡± I turned to the archbishop for a better answer. ¡°What¡¯s he talking about? Why does he think I¡¯ll be gardening?¡± Varla frowned, pressing her lips together. ¡°You do realise you¡¯re a farmer?¡± ¡°No, I¡¯m not even close. I¡¯ve been on a farm exactly three days of my life and I¡¯ll happily not add any more to that.¡± Varla¡¯s face fell. ¡°Oh, dear¡­let me try to explain. You see, I¡¯m what you would call a cleric. That is my class. It is also my profession. My mother was a cleric and my father was a cleric. And my children are clerics. Your class is the farmer class.¡± I swallowed. ¡°No, I don¡¯t have a class. It¡¯s pending.¡± This hadn¡¯t come up in my questions. ¡°That¡¯s because I haven¡¯t chosen one, right?¡± Varla shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s because you haven¡¯t reached your first level. The body you currently reside in belonged to a farmer before he died and lost the experience he gained throughout his life. That means you will be a farmer.¡± ¡°Can I change my class?¡± The cat¡¯s chuckle returned to a full-body laugh. The archbishop sighed. ¡°Classes are hereditary. The only individuals who receive a class not inherited from one of their parents are adventurers. Everyone else must reach level 100 in their current class and acquire a second class.¡± I could see the pitcher winding up. I¡¯d gotten everything a gamer wanted so here was the curveball. ¡°How hard is that?¡± She shrugged. ¡°A farmer does it in our kingdom a couple of times a year. I myself am level 74. I¡¯d be higher, but I chose a quiet life of teaching rather than demon banishment.¡± That didn¡¯t sound too bad. She looked like she was only a few years older than me. Their world hadn¡¯t seen pro-gaming, the endless stats and power gaming sessions that could give someone an edge. Back home, I¡¯d been our team¡¯s tactician, which meant I was better than most at learning how to bend and break the rules. If she could reach level 74 by her age, then someone with my experience could do it in a whole lot less time. I could handle spending the next few years leveling my way to 100. And a 1,000 silver pieces would certainly accelerate the time frame. I could accomplish a lot in three years if I didn¡¯t have to work. ¡°You didn¡¯t tell me why I should agree to take the cat.¡± The cat stopped laughing and hissed. ¡°Who are you calling cat, human? I am a familiar. I am a being of power, intellect, and presence, and you¡­you dirty little cretin, should worship the ground I walk upon.¡± Varla sighed. ¡°Familiars are a living library of knowledge, this one more so than usual as he belonged to a wizard who was a couple of centuries old. He exists to help. It is in his nature. You could not find a better teacher to help you navigate your way through our world if you tried.¡± ¡°And all I have to do is agree to help hide him and not press charges against Damella?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± She stretched out her hand toward me, flashing me a very nice smile. Archbishop Varla is offering to bestow her familiar¡¯s mark upon you. Would you like to accept? Yes/No? I stared at the prompt for several seconds, undecided. There was opportunity here. Varla was giving me access to vast amounts of knowledge and learning. However, there were also risks involved. This strange talking cat was being hunted. She hadn¡¯t outright stated it, but I got the feeling this was the sort of enemy most couldn¡¯t deal with. ¡°Demon lord¡± wasn¡¯t exactly a phrase you would use to describe something that anyone could easily vanquish. However, she truly seemed to believe that we could hide from it and that it was the best option. I wavered back and forth, but eventually accepted. It was as easy as focusing on the word and thinking Yes. Congratulations, you have received a Familiar¡¯s Mark. Familiar¡¯s Mark. Level: ??? Effect: ??? I frowned, confused again. ¡°Hey, why doesn¡¯t it show an effect? I¡¯ve got an effect from having the incarnate title. Why doesn¡¯t this one do anything?¡± The cat sighed. ¡°It¡¯s because you are an intellectually challenged farmer, not a wizard. Your class was never supposed to have access to my kind.¡± The archbishop¡¯s smile became a grin and she clapped her hands together happily. ¡°Excellent, it worked. Now, Arnold, I have a good idea for a safe location where I can send you both. Would you like me to organise transport for you? It will draw less attention and the temple will cover the cost of travel.¡± You are going on a journey and Archbishop Varla has offered to organise and fund this journey for you. Would you like to fast travel? Yes/No? I chuckled at the prompt. Fast travel was one of the most clich¨¦ aspects of video games. You couldn¡¯t play a sandbox RPG without running into it. The communication ring had to be glitching, mistranslating the words. There was no way this prompt was accurate. I selected yes, just so we could move the conversation forward. Chapter 2: A Village to Nowhere Chapter 2 A Village to Nowhere The world spun. It was the kind of spinning you only experience when everything changes instantly, like when you¡¯re a passenger in a car and you fall asleep without realising, waking somewhere drastically different. Top that sensation off with a hangover from a week-long bender and you will understand the kind of disorientation I was experiencing. Congratulations, you have safely fast travelled to your destination. A second ago, I¡¯d been sitting in Varla¡¯s office accepting her offer to organise my trip, laughing at the fast travel mistranslation. Now, I was in the back of an empty wagon, stolen from the Skyrim intro, outside a log warehouse that was surrounded by a whole lot of small log houses that looked like they came from a pioneering film set. Woodsmoke and manure filled my every breath along with a fair amount of something sour, making the experience uniquely horrible. I grabbed my forehead and turned, trying to gain my bearings and limit my nausea and migraine. I spotted six more wagons in front of the one I occupied. They were all positioned at the edge of a large turning bay in front of the warehouse. The drivers were seated against the far warehouse wall sharing lunch, chatting, and making jokes. Opposite the warehouse, across the dirt road, were more of the little log houses. I heard metal being hammered beyond the dwellings and could see a line of black smoke above the rooves. There were more houses to my left and a palisade and gate to my right. I was in some sort of medieval village¡ªand a small one, judging by the size of the palisade I could see above the buildings. What the hell was going on? The prompt flashed one more time then began to fade. Congratulations, you have safely fast travelled to your destination. I finally read the prompt. Oops. It may not have been a mistranslation. I blinked and checked my surroundings a second time. I was still in some random village. Oh, shit. The cat from the office leapt up onto the back of the wagon and casually jumped onto my lap, purring. I tensed as he steadied himself, remembering its snide, condescending attitude. He gazed up at me with wide, friendly eyes, before lifting his leg to put his little paw on my chest. He raised himself up and gently rubbed his face against my cheek, sliding warm soft fur against my skin. Was this a different cat? This one didn¡¯t seem like an asshole. A whisper from a voice too deep for its size filled my ear. ¡°Do not reply and give me away. These fools believe I am a cat and we need it to stay that way. Collect your baggage and follow me out of the village. We need to talk in private before you open your foolish mouth and ruin anything further than you already have, you absolute imbecile.¡± Okay, same cat. The cat stepped away and leapt off the back of the wagon. I gave myself a shake, which didn¡¯t help my nausea, and realised I wasn¡¯t wearing the robes Varla had given me. Instead, I wore a scratchy shirt and trousers that looked like they came from a Goodwill reject pile. I added the change of clothes to the long list of things confusing me as I climbed to my feet. It took a bit more effort to stand than I was used to. The previous owner of my body really should have eaten more salads or gone for a run once in a while. I was about fifty pounds heavier than I had ever been. I picked up the leather backpack, since it was the only item in the wagon with me, and threw it over my shoulder before climbing down. The cat waited in the middle of the gate twenty yards away. I started walking towards him, dazed by the situation. I hope he had some answers. The young guard sitting in the tower to the side of the gate looked down as I approached and snorted. ¡°Not even here for five minutes and you¡¯re leaving.¡± He chuckled at his own joke. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you, Arnold. It¡¯s a smart decision.¡± I focused on the guard in the tower the way Varla taught me to less than an hour ago. Words appeared above his head. Guardsmen Brill I read his class and name. While floating words had seemed kind of cool to start with, it was quickly losing its power to inspire wonder. What I was seeing was basically just a fancy name tag. I was used to wearing one at tournaments, having strangers knowing my name, so this was no different than that. The guard didn¡¯t seem to care if I replied. I grunted a response and kept walking, trying to organise my feelings. I¡¯d been in this world for less than three hours, and before I received the ring I hadn¡¯t been able to communicate with anyone. First I was angry and confused, and then I was excited and confused, now I was just confused. Confused was good. Confused kept me distracted. It stopped me from being overwhelmed by the reality of my situation. Just beyond the gate were dozens of tiny log cabins, even less impressive than those inside the village. I could see thirty or so people working in vegetable fields, tending crops. Every one of them looked like they had seen better days. They wore clothes that were threadbare with signs of mending. Many of the youngest children didn¡¯t even have those. Instead, they ran around clothed in sacks stamped with some sort of company name in a language that didn¡¯t make sense. It was all just a bit too much. I dropped my gaze, shutting out the world around me, and followed the cat out the gate in search of answers. *** ¡°Once again, it is left up to me to pull the poor human out of their ignorance,¡± the cat said, deep voice rumbling as it finally broke its silence. It looked at me and then flicked its tail disdainfully. We¡¯d followed the outer wall around the village to the far side, where there were only a few dozen houses pressed up against the palisade and a flat grassy plain that stretched for miles before stopping at a forest. An old dirt road cut through the centre of it all, passing under the closed second gate in one direction and heading towards the distant forest in the other. The cat had scampered down it toward the forest without saying a word, taking us past burnt-out barns and houses until we were more than a mile from the village. He hadn¡¯t answered any of my whispered questions or spoken until now, which was probably why my response wasn¡¯t the politest. ¡°What the hell happened to me, cat? Wait, first of all, where am I?¡± The cat glared at me. ¡°I¡¯m going to ignore the cat comment this time since you are clearly distressed, but do not test my patience. I am not your pet. I am not your cat. I am a familiar. And you are not my equal. Remember that.¡± ¡°Ah, sorry, let me rephrase that. What the hell happened to me, familiar?¡± The familiar¡¯s glare intensified. ¡°You, oh ignorant one, decided to accept the archbishop¡¯s offer to fast travel. This is the village of Blackwood, more than ten weeks¡¯ travel from where we were.¡± I frowned. Ten weeks¡¯ travel. I did ten weeks¡¯ travel in the blink of an eye. Damn, that was kind of cool. My frown turned into a stupid grin. ¡°So we like, teleported here?¡± In retrospect, I probably should have asked if the prompt was a mistranslation before accepting. But how the hell could I have known fast travel was real? It seemed too far-fetched to consider it anything more than a joke. ¡°We¡­like¡­did nothing of the sort. For the past ten weeks, I have had to sit next your vacant gaze as we travelled to the far edge of the kingdom.¡± ¡°Huh, we travelled here?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°I thought you said we fast travelled.¡± ¡°I said you fast travelled.¡± The stupid grin fell away as quickly as it appeared. I blinked, trying to draw some form of logic from his statement that fit with my life experience. I didn¡¯t find any. Our puzzle pieces didn¡¯t match. ¡°You¡¯re confusing me.¡± The familiar chuckled, dropping the hostility. ¡°You need to become used to that feeling now if you wish to save yourself from added distress.¡± ¡°Just tell me what happened.¡± ¡°Fine, I¡¯ll explain,¡± he said, rolling his eyes. ¡°From your perspective, no time passed between the moment you accepted the archbishop¡¯s offer and the moment you arrived at your destination. She decided to give you an easier route, letting you ignore the discomforts of life¡ªat the cost of it.¡± That sounded bad. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®at the cost of it¡¯?¡± The familiar started to roll its eyes, but then sighed instead. ¡°It took you ten weeks to get here. Those are ten weeks you will never get back. In other words, you have utterly wasted ten weeks of your life. Ten weeks in which I could have been educating you. Now we are at the edge of nowhere, on the other side of the kingdom, and you are just as dangerously ignorant of how you will function here as you were when we departed.¡± I looked around, taking in the sad scattered details of abandoned farmhouses and barns, which were mostly burnt-out husks in the late stages of collapse. The fat herds of cattle and sheep roaming the plains were less sad, but even they were few and far between. I turned my gaze further afield, looking to the dense wild forest that was so overgrown you couldn¡¯t see more than fifty feet into it. Beyond it to the north and south, past any sign of civilisation, lay a line of jagged hills slowly curving east. The hills went as far as I could see before disappearing over the horizon. The view was not to my taste. I definitely didn¡¯t know how to function in this type of environment. This could be a problem. ¡°Couldn¡¯t we have gone somewhere less depressing and rustic?¡± The familiar nodded. ¡°Certainly, and that was my plan, but like an utter fool you went and fell for the archbishop¡¯s manipulation.¡± I blame the high level of disorientation for my slowness because the scope of what he said finally hit me. ¡°Wait, stop. Are you saying Varla intentionally made me lose ten weeks of my life?¡± ¡°Yes. Obviously you can¡¯t do this to someone accidentally. Varla knew you wouldn¡¯t know what fast travel was, so she made the offer. Having you fast travel allowed her to secretly whisk you away, establishing a clean escape through hidden passages without compromising the integrity of their security. It was done for our benefit as much as hers. And while I can understand the necessity, it means we must make up the time we lost.¡± I stared horrified. First I died, now this. ¡°Are you really going to wave away the fact that Varla cost me ten weeks of my life?¡± I asked through gritted teeth, trying not to yell. He nodded. ¡°Yes. There is no point arguing over the incident or throwing blame. You were ignorant of what fast travel entailed and she needed security. Her manipulation¡ªwhile cruel¡ªwas necessary. And your idiocy for succumbing to that manipulation, thereby leaving me babysitting you for ten weeks is forgivable, because you were ignorant of what fast travel means.¡± His tone near the end contradicted his words. His tone suggested the forgiveness he claimed to feel towards me might not actually be forgiveness, but a mantra he repeatedly told himself. A mantra that basically said that no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn¡¯t hold my ignorance against me. But he really wanted to. So much so that he couldn¡¯t hide his feelings. Note to self: for a healthy relationship with the cat, never admit that I might have known what fast travel was before I accepted. Even if, it was only an inkling. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you have done something?¡± My new question held less anger than the last. He shook his head. ¡°Once you agreed to fast travel, I had no control over your destination. As I said, you are dangerously ignorant of our world. That is why I intend to lock you away in the inn and fix this. To do even that, I must give you enough knowledge to answer questions even an ignorant incarnate would know.¡± ¡°Like the name of this village.¡± ¡°Exactly. Now, before you enact some other foolish action which leaves you comatose for the rest of your days, let us have a frank discussion on what you do and do not know.¡± The cat¡¯s condescending tone was seriously annoying me. ¡°I¡¯m not an idiot.¡± He sighed and somehow managed to facepalm with a paw. ¡°Perhaps not, but you are ignorant to a dangerous degree. Our first priority while we are here is to remain inconspicuous. You must not draw attention to us. My enemies could kill you with a wave of their hand if they find you before they are dealt with.¡± ¡°Fine, what do I need to know to stay safe?¡± ¡°For now, it is easier if you let me ask the questions. What was your level of education where you came from? Please tell me you could at least read and write.¡± I rolled my eyes. ¡°Yes, I can read and write.¡± ¡°You mean, you could read and write. The only reason we can converse is because of the ring you wear. Our languages are not the same, and that ring does not apply to written text outside of the prompts you receive.¡± Shit. I hadn¡¯t thought about that¡­but then again, it¡¯s not like I¡¯d had a lot of time to consider any of these issues. I was being constantly bombarded by new revelations. ¡°Okay, fair enough, I could read and write. I could do mathematics¡­which I¡¯m guessing might be a bit different here too.¡± ¡°Let me simplify the question. How many years have you studied for?¡± I could answer that. ¡°Between the ages of five and eighteen.¡± ¡°So thirteen years, during your developmental period. You would barely be a novice if you were a wizard child, but as a farmer, you are quite educated. That is good because you are going to have to study our world if you want to succeed.¡± I blinked, looking around at the medieval setting I¡¯d found myself in. ¡°You know about developmental periods?¡± Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Yes, as Varla said, you are not unique as an incarnate. We have several appear each year in our kingdom alone. If you have any area of expertise from your world that you can pass onto ours, you could find yourself becoming a very wealthy man. But before we talk about that, we need to establish your cover.¡± ¡°Okay. What do I call you if someone asks?¡± The familiar froze like a cat who had been spooked. After a few seconds, it gave itself a shake and took a slow breath. ¡°I had an alias with Varla, but she chose not to tell you so you would not accidentally give me away. You must choose a new one.¡± ¡°Why can¡¯t you just tell me your name?¡± ¡°I am a familiar,¡± he said slowly. ¡°We cannot share our name, even a false name. It is part of our nature. You will have to choose for me¡­but if you dare call me Soot or Mittens, I will kill you in your sleep.¡± I didn¡¯t even have to think about it. He was a sassy, angry, talking black cat that belonged to a wizard. ¡°I¡¯ll call you Salem.¡± Salem tilted his head to the side in thought before nodding. ¡°That sounds acceptable, but why that name?¡± ¡°It¡¯s what you remind me of. Salem is the name of a warlock from a show I watched with my sister as a kid. He was turned into a black cat for five hundred years as punishment.¡± Salem chuckled. ¡°Yes, your presence certainly is a punishment. I like the comparison. Now that that is sorted, there are a few simple things you must know before we return and secure a room at the local inn. As I said, this village is called Blackwood. It is the north-easternmost village in the kingdom. That forest in front of us is The Wild Woods. Three years ago, an army of goblins stormed out of it and invaded the village, killing most of the villagers. Those that survived and still remain are too poor to leave. Blackwood has few villagers and little trade. There is almost no chance of us being discovered here if we are careful. Now, I developed a backstory for you that is quite simple to follow. If anyone asks you where you were incarnated, tell them it was in Welk, in the Brotherless Monastery.¡± ¡°Why there?¡± ¡°The monastery is a sanctuary. They do not say who is or has ever been inside their walls. However, they keep the law as well as any other temple.¡± ¡°Welk, Brotherless Monastery. Got it. What else?¡± ¡°You have been there for three years learning about our world which is the longest you can take sanctuary there. You haven¡¯t acclimated well to being incarnate. So when it came time for you to leave, you decided to go somewhere that was remote and sparsely populated to ease yourself into life outside.¡± ¡°Okay, that¡¯s pretty simple as far as a backstory goes.¡± ¡°It was what I thought you could handle in a short space of time. The 1,000 silver pieces is at the bottom of your backpack. There is a smaller, less conspicuous purse near the top. Use that to pay the bill in the inn. Do not pull out the larger purse where others can see, or freely offer up the information that you are incarnate. We do not need that sort of attention. However, those with higher intelligence and class abilities will be able to see what you are regardless of whether or not you advertise. When they bring it up, do not deny it.¡± I pulled my backpack off and started riffling through it. ¡°Do I have anything else besides this pack?¡± ¡°No.¡± I found the small purse under some dirty changes of clothes, and opened it, looking inside. There were several dozen hexagonal silver coins and hundreds of copper. ¡°What¡¯s the conversion rate for currency?¡± ¡°I was about to cover that. Fifty coppers pieces make a silver noble and there are hundred silver nobles to a gold crown. A bar of gold is equal to a hundred crowns.¡± I picked up a copper piece and experienced an indescribable sensation. ¡°This feels weird.¡± ¡°What do you mean?¡± ¡°It doesn¡¯t feel like I¡¯m holding copper. But it also does feel like copper. No, that¡¯s not right. It feels like it has the potential to be copper.¡± I dropped the coin back in the purse and wiped my hand on my trousers. ¡°Something about that coin is wrong.¡± Salem sighed again. ¡°Nothing about the coin is wrong. You are simply feeling its magical potential, like anyone can. If you pick up a silver noble you will notice that the feeling is stronger.¡± I picked up a silver noble. The feeling that the coin wasn¡¯t a coin returned, and it was stronger this time, just like he said. I dropped it back into the purse. ¡°Why do you have weird feeling coins?¡± ¡°Do you need me to explain how our economy works right this minute or can you wait until we have a room in the inn?¡± ¡°Just tell me why they are weird.¡± Salem sighed. He seemed to do that a lot. ¡°Do you study physics in your world?¡± His tone had turned patronizing and peevish. ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Do you understand the concept of potential energy¡ªsuch as when you lift a stone off the ground it holds the potential energy to return it to the ground?¡± ¡°Yes.¡± ¡°Think of the coins you are holding as potential magical energy. It is waiting in that state to be converted into something else.¡± ¡°Like what?¡± ¡°The village behind us is a simple example. Establishing it cost the potential magical energy trapped within 25,000 gold crowns. Once that energy was expended the coins vanished. Each level of expansion cost additional gold.¡± I frowned. ¡°How do you still have money if your coins keep disappearing?¡± ¡°There are classes that create currency and classes that use it, so the sum total of all the coins in the kingdom fluctuates. On good years, people produce more coins than they use. When this has happened for several consecutive years the kingdom can try to expand. That¡¯s how villages like Blackwood are built. Sometimes the kingdom recuperates its investment, and other times, like here, for instance, they lose it. Now, that is all an overly simplified version of how the system actually functions, but it is all the time we have to discuss this. We need to get a room at the inn.¡± ¡°Why are you so grouchy?¡± Salem glared at me. ¡°I am grouchy because your ignorance has taken me to a backwater level three village in the middle of nowhere. There is no library, no restaurants, no theatre, and there isn¡¯t a teleportation circle anywhere within half a week¡¯s travel. I have access to none of the comforts of civilisation. And now you can¡¯t even do a simple task like securing us a room at the inn so I can educate you the way I should have been doing for the past ten weeks. That is why I am grouchy.¡± That was fair, I guess. ¡°Okay, let¡¯s get a room.¡± We turned around and started walking back to the village. Now that I knew the village''s history, I could understand why so much of everything looked abandoned, why every structure was almost pressed up against the palisade. The people here were scared. I¡¯d been through a ghost town with my parents when I was a kid. The factory in the town had closed forty years earlier and most people had left. There were abandoned houses and empty shops. This reminded me a lot of that. The guard in the tower smiled when we walked back through the gate. ¡°How was the tour of the village?¡± ¡°Short,¡± I said. He chuckled. ¡°Well, that is because we have plenty opportunity for expansion.¡± ¡°More than most places. I¡¯m looking for an inn.¡± ¡°You will only find the one. The other closed last year. Just go to the main square and you will see it. Gretel might be a village appointed innkeeper, but she runs a good place, cheap one too.¡± ¡°Thanks, Brill.¡± ¡°You are welcome, Arnold.¡± The village inside the wall was barely two hundred yards from start to finish. A massive warehouse was to the left of the gate, with what looked like workshops to the right. I could hear hammering coming from behind some houses and saw a sign that had a hammer hitting an anvil. I took a wild guess and figured it was probably a smithy. Salem led me down the main street. The outer industrial area gave way to housing and a few small shops. Most of the shops were closed, however, the entrances boarded up. The line of abandoned buildings gave way to a large open square that was cobbled. There was a fountain in the middle with clean, clear water. A building that looked like it might be a guard¡¯s barracks sat on the far side. A boarded-up wooden temple with a faded yellow serpent image above the entrance was on the left side of the square, and a large stone house¡ªwhich was very nearly a manor with its own wall and iron gate¡ªwas on the right. The inn was the building closest to the gate. It had three floors with whitewash weatherboarding and a thatched roof. I only knew that it was the inn because Salem headed straight for the door, pressing his shoulder against the wood to indicate we needed to go inside. I entered what could easily have been mistaken for an Irish pub. There were a lot of polished dark wooden panels and furniture. Opposite the door was a bar with a wall of bottles behind it and a countertop that had seen better days. Between that and the door were tables and chairs. A large fireplace sat along one wall, and a small stage sat against the other, beside a staircase that led to higher levels. Apart from the lanterns fixed on the wall, the interior looked almost modern. A cougar of a woman stood behind the bar reading a book. She had curly red hair with a touch of grey and a few freckles on her cheeks. She looked up and smiled at me as I closed the door. She had a dress that was a tad too tight and a neckline that was invitingly low. She was eyeing me up more than I was her. ¡°Welcome to Gretel¡¯s Inn. I¡¯m the illustrious Gretel. How may I be of service, Arnold?¡± I crossed the room. ¡°I need a room for a few nights for me and Salem.¡± I nodded to the familiar to show who I was talking about. Gretel¡¯s smile faltered as I got closer and she dropped the flirtatious tone. ¡°The cat is welcome, but if you are staying in my inn, you will need to have a bath before you use my sheets.¡± The cleanliness of the place and her comments made me notice that the sour smell, which had been following me around, didn¡¯t belong to the village, but was in fact me. My smile went a little shaky. ¡°A bath would be great. Do you have a bucket and some soap that I could use to wash my clothes? And maybe somewhere to hang them up?¡± ¡°I can have your clothes laundered for you¡­but if you are a bit tight on funds to pay the five coppers, I can sell you a bar of soap for three and lend you a wash bucket and show you where to get some water.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take the bar of soap. How much do I owe you?¡± ¡°A room costs eleven coppers a night, which includes breakfast. A hot bath will cost you three coppers. A cold bath will cost you two. Our water comes from a deep well, so I suggest the hot. Dinner is five coppers, but that includes a couple of ales. House ale is one copper a jug which is a passable local brew. If you want something branded, that will set you back a copper a tankard.¡± ¡°So, twenty-eight coppers for two nights, a hot bath, and a bar of soap,¡± I said before she could list off any more prices. Gretel smiled. ¡°I took you for a farmer.¡± I tried to hide my disappointment. ¡°I am a farmer.¡± ¡°That¡¯s a surprise¡ªmost of the ones around here can¡¯t add in their heads. That puts you a step above the locals.¡± I nodded as I put my backpack down and opened the leather buckles to get inside. I¡¯d tucked my smaller purse back under the dirty clothes which I noticed smelled even worse than the ones I was wearing. I counted out twenty-eight coppers and handed them over. Gretel counted them again and then put them in her apron pocket. ¡°I can show you to your room¡­or I can show you where you can do your laundry while I fix that bath? I strongly suggest the second.¡± I glanced down at Salem. He was glaring at me. Glancing at him, however, brought my nose closer to my armpit¡ªwhich chose for me. ¡°Laundry first.¡± A sharp pain burned my ankle and I looked down to see Salem pulling back his mouth from a nasty bite. Gretel eyed Salem uncertainly. ¡°Is he always like that?¡± I could hear the hesitation in her tone. ¡°No, he just hates water and recognises most of the words associated with it,¡± I said, fumbling through a lie. ¡°He¡¯ll behave once I¡¯ve finished my laundry and have bathed.¡± ¡°He¡¯d better. This way.¡± Gretel led me to a hallway and the back of the inn. Halfway down, I froze. There was a map of North America on the wall that went from floor to ceiling. Varla had repeatedly told me I was in another universe, a different version of Earth than where I came from, but that hadn¡¯t made its way into reality the way seeing this map did. I was looking at North America, but everything about it was wrong. A forest took up almost the entire centre and east coast of the continent. The only signs of civilisation in the north were along the west coast near the ocean. Texas and Mexico contained hundreds of cities making up the bulk of the kingdom, but everything else had a ¡°here be dragons¡± vibe to it, with names like The Widows Mountains and The Valley of Tears. Gretel saw why I had stopped and walked back. She pointed to a red dot of paint that might have been in the northeastern part of Oregon or maybe Washington¡ªthough the topography certainly didn¡¯t match. Judging by the ring of hills, it looked like the dot was on the inner edge of a giant meteor crater, which explained the two lines of jagged hills I¡¯d seen beyond the forest. ¡°That¡¯s us.¡± She moved her finger a couple of hundred miles north through a forest into what would have been Washington or Canada. ¡°That¡¯s the elven border.¡± She then followed a series of mountains I couldn¡¯t name. ¡°The western dwarven mountain kingdoms.¡± She waved me over to the next map. This one was more detailed and mostly showed Oregon and the crater area. It also had a series of hexagons overlaying everything that kind of reminded me of Settlers of Catan, D&D, and a few older video games I¡¯d played. She pointed to a small village surrounded by forest in the northeastern section again. A small path seemed to cut through the forest and ring of hills to the village. ¡°That¡¯s us. I know it looks like we are close to those hedonistic elves on the other map, but we¡¯re actually quite far away. Now, if you look over here, you will see a map of the village.¡± She led me to the next map. This one showed the village dead centre in the middle of a hexagon. There were houses, barns, every last little detail. ¡°This is what we used to look like before the attack. For decades this map hung in the main room, being updated as Blackwood changed, but it depresses me to look at now.¡± Looking at the map, I could see what the village had been like. Salem and I had apparently walked east when we¡¯d gone outside the village. There had been over a hundred farms there. Now there was only a few dozen against the wall. The same was true for the north and south of the village. The only place that looked similar to how it was now was the western side, and a quarter of that was a small woods. ¡°I can tell you about the village¡¯s history over dinner if you are interested,¡± Gretel offered. Salem pulled at my trouser leg with his mouth. I glanced down and then back at the innkeeper. ¡°Maybe in a few days, once I¡¯m washed and settled.¡± She smiled and tapped her forehead theatrically. ¡°Right, the washing. Follow me.¡± She turned and headed for the door at the end of the hallway. It connected to the back of the inn, where there was a large open area next to the stable. She found me a new bar of harsh-smelling soap and a wash bucket, and showed me the washing line and where to get water, and then she left me to it. Over my lacklustre gaming career, I¡¯d stayed at my fair share of discount motels, places where the washing machines and fridges didn¡¯t work, so cleaning my clothes with a bar of soap in a bathroom sink wasn¡¯t exactly a new experience for me. I quickly began working the smell and stains out of the first of the two changes of clothes stored in my pack. As I finished the first set, a prompt appeared, and a halo of light surrounded me, making me glow like a Christmas tree. Well done, you have successfully cleaned a set of clothing to a fine standard with a wash bucket and gained a new tool proficiency. You can now boast that you can use a wash bucket as well as any Novice. Salem scowled at me, looked around, saw nobody, and then scowled at me some more. For a second, I almost told him that I didn¡¯t know that the whole tool proficiency thing was going to happen simply by cleaning clothes, but then I realised that my ignorance was precisely why he wanted to talk to me alone in the first place, and I¡¯d be supporting his argument. So I wisely said, ¡°Sorry,¡± and then shut up. *** ¡°So, basically, don¡¯t accept any prompt that will make things too easy for me. If it seems too good to be true, then it probably is,¡± I said quietly as I soaked away weeks¡¯ worth of grime. The tub was surprisingly big and the small bar of soap Gretel had sold me held a pleasant aroma, compared to the one I¡¯d used on my clothes. Salem sighed. ¡°If you need to dumb it down, then yes: if it seems too good to be true then it probably is. There are exceptions, of course, but it will take time for me to teach you the nuances of how everything works.¡± ¡°How much time?¡± ¡°Three days should be enough that you don¡¯t accidentally kill yourself or others, but it will take weeks for a proper understanding of the basics.¡± I nodded my head. ¡°So, in three days, I can go out and start training to reach level 100. Do you have any pointers?¡± ¡°Don¡¯t bother. Varla didn¡¯t directly lie to you, but she didn¡¯t give you the whole truth. The only farmers that ever reach 100 have old family money or are somehow useful to a nobleman or merchant. No one makes it on their own. To gather that much experience by yourself would take two lifetimes, and the cost of purchasing the experience is more than a farmer can earn in ten.¡± ¡°Wait, you can buy experience?¡± ¡°Of course that¡¯s the only part you heard. And to answer your question, yes you can buy experience. I¡¯ll explain why when we get to my lecture on leveling. And before you ask, you don¡¯t have nearly enough money to purchase the experience required to get you to 100. At the bare minimum, it will cost you 2,500 gold crowns, and no one sells experience for the bare minimum.¡± ¡°What about that fact that I¡¯m an incarnate? You said we sometimes bring information from our world that is quite valuable in yours. Maybe I can make money that way?¡± ¡°That is a possibility. What did you do for employment in your world?¡± ¡°Well, for the last six months, I¡¯ve been studying economics and accounting, but before that, I was a semi-pro gamer for nine years.¡± ¡°What is a semi-pro gamer?¡± ¡°It means I was paid to play games.¡± ¡°And you think that will help you make money in our world?¡± ¡°Well, your laws kind of sound like what we would call ¡®mechanics¡¯ in some of the games I used to play. It was sort of my job to understand those mechanics and learn how to take advantage of them, finding weaknesses that could be used to my team¡¯s advantage.¡± ¡°Ah, in our world, the scholar class fills this function. They study each class, finding each method for gaining experience more easily, and sell that information to the class they specialise in.¡± ¡°We have a thing called walkthroughs that people read to do the same thing. But what I¡¯m talking about is more specialised. It was my job to find ways no one had ever thought of doing something, adding weird quirks together to create unexpected results.¡± ¡°Oh, you were an exploitationist. That can be quite profitable if you are successful.¡± ¡°How profitable?¡± ¡°Very in some cases; exploitationists receive a 25% experience bonus when anyone uses their method to gain experience. Of course, that will only apply to your class, as you cannot receive experience from another class.¡± ¡°That¡¯s what I will do then.¡± ¡°You will fail. Scholars and exploitationists have devoted centuries to discovering new ways of gaining experience. New methods for exploitation are now all small discoveries, and rare.¡± ¡°Alright, maybe I won¡¯t do that. So we¡¯ll hang out in our room for a few days while you teach me the basics and then we can go buy a few weapons and start leveling.¡± Salem sighed again. ¡°Why do you need weapons?¡± ¡°To kill monsters.¡± ¡°And why are you planning to kill monsters?¡± ¡°So I can level.¡± ¡°Of course, it is so obvious. Except you are neither a hunter, a warrior, or an adventurer, so killing monsters will gain you nothing but the loot they drop.¡± I stared at Salem over the edge of the tub. ¡°What¡­are you saying I can¡¯t level by killing monsters?¡± ¡°What part of the class farmer indicates to you that you should be slaying monsters?¡± The uneasy feeling was returning. I could sense the curveball. ¡°No, no, no¡­you get experience from killing monsters. It¡¯s the rules.¡± ¡°Perhaps in your world, but here, in our world, farmers gain experience by farming. This includes the planting of crops and the raising of livestock, but not the slaying of monsters.¡± I scowled at Salem. ¡°Bullshit. You¡¯ve got three days to teach me the basics and then we are going monster hunting.¡± London Bridge is Falling Down so the Chapters have been Removed. Okay, this is my last update until Friday the 14th. My typesetter and I have done some amazing things for game interface mechanics in the kindle version. (Mostly my typesetter) So don''t be surprised if you see something new. I would love to hear everyones'' feedback on what they think of the game prompts. I''ll be leaving this and the other fake chapter up so people can comment back to me. These can change if people think they are weird or throw them out of the story. Just because someone else has the same comment as you doesn''t mean I don''t want to hear it again. I''ll need a whole lot of you to hate something before I change, not just one or two. Stolen novel; please report. Also, comment if you spot a mistake. I''m holding off publishing a paperback for a couple of weeks, so we can get the prompt elements perfect first. Its Alive!!! Okay as I told you all in the previous post, I will be keeping this page up so you can all get back to me. Tell me if you liked it. Tell me if you hated it. Tell me if I forgot to add an s to a particular word. I''d love to hear from everyone. The good and the bad are welcome. There is a minor manuscript issue right now. It''s literally so minor 99% of you won''t notice. But if you''ve pre-ordered your copy. I would suggest deleting it in three days and downloading it again. I''m updating the file available right now. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. The Paperback and hardback will come out in 2 weeks. I have no idea how any of that works, so I can''t quote you all a price sorry. Once again, thank you for all your help. Whens the next book coming out! The answer is not as soon as you would like.
A few people asked if I would publish some other stuff or RR so here it is. As the title said, I was asked by a few people to publish other stuff on Royal Road, so I''m doing that. But not my old stuff. This is new. Anyway, long story short, last month I got sidetracked and wrote the first novel in a new sci-fi litrpg series. It was a lot of fun to write and I''m hoping people like it. The novel is in a late beta-reader draft state and I''ve thrown it on here for you all to enjoy. I''d really appreciate feedback, so if you could comment if you liked something or didn''t like something that would be greatly appreciated. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. I plan to continue writing this series, but without a lot of reader interest I won''t be adding it to my writing schedule, so this will come out when I need a break and have free time. Unless I publish, then there will be a schedule. Book two of Unorthodox Farming is coming along slowly, I''m still hoping to get it out in February, but at this point, I''m not sure I will. I''m back to working on it tomorrow. I''m hoping I''ve had enough time to clear my head to make real progress. Anyway, I hope you all enjoy the new book. Book 2 is out on Amazon! Accidentally murdered by a cleric in another universe during a botched resurrection, Arnold, a semi-pro gamer turned clerical error, has now become a thorn in the vindictive Northern Regent¡¯s side. To make matters worse, he has a giant stuck in his well. And the adventurers¡¯ guilds are pounding on his door for the chance to kill it. Which is more than a little annoying, as all Arnold wants to do is focus on taking his trap method wide while he builds a farm to give down-on-their-luck farmers like him a chance. Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. However, there is one¡± little problem with his plan¡­ Changing the world isn¡¯t easy. Arnold needs an entire industry that doesn¡¯t currently exist. resource management is hard. trying to find good employees is difficult. Blackwood doesn¡¯t have the infrastructure to support all these people, even if he does. the regent is out for blood and trying to ruin him. no matter what he tries, the giant won¡¯t die. for some reason, Ranic wants him to find a goal that gives his life meaning. So let¡¯s see how well his really goes¡­