《The Traveler》


 Chapter 1

    It was a quiet night in a quiet frontier town when something miraculous happened, the miracle of life. The Dagger''s had just delivered their first and only child.


    The mother, Rose Dagger, was wearing a loose fit robe, open in the back like a hospital gown, her brunette hair drenched in sweat. Though the coarse, raw hemp fibers chafed her sensitive areas, she had other concerns at the moment.


    She had been born into a wealthy family but none of the treasures or tapestries that adorned her birthing chamber could be found in this simple fire lit seating area. That was fine. The crude bench made from splintering wood suited her better than the down filled silk birthing chair her mother had custom made for when she was born.


    Rose was not on speaking terms with her family. She hadn''t been for nearly ten years. It was not that they hated each other. They did strongly disliked one another though.


    The Strolicks had always been particularly concerned with what the other aristocrats thought of them. When Rose Dagger was little Rose Strolick, she was particularly concerned with worms. When she was supposed to be studying embroidery, she could be found practicing archery. Instead of practicing etiquette she would slip away to engage in mock combat with a tree. When her parents told her that she would never become a nobleman''s bride if she didn''t learn proper manners, she would, to her parents dismay, dig up worms in the yard.


    Little Rose Strolick may have been somewhat of a tomboy, but the real reason she was estranged from her biological relatives was the man standing next to her, her loyal and heroic husband.


    Dillon Dagger was the son of a humble potion master, and had not been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Due to the tremendous cost his father paid to study potions, little Dillon''s mouth was often filled with sewer rat stew on a cheap wooden spoon. A fact so upsetting to the Strolicks, that when asked about their daughter, they might reply, "She died a long time ago,¡± or ¡°She was an orphaned peasant, not our real daughter at all.¡±


    Though Dillon thought it a shame they were on bad terms with his wife''s family, he was not ashamed of his humble origins nor the modest but functional home he and his father built in a part of town some called "the Pit.¡± In that home, Rose, Dillon, his father old Dean, and the newborn were occupying the mainroom, which was currently serving as a birthing chamber. There were three bedrooms, a kitchen used for cooking, and what was considered a frivolous luxury, a washroom. The entire house, from shingle to shit bucket, was made by hand so that on this night, when the Dagger house would grow from three to four Daggers, they would have a large, sturdy roof over their heads.


    Four people were present, but all Mrs Gretta, the nosy neighbor, could hear was the soft crackle of the hearth.


    Dillon was in shock, his mousy but handsome face twisted in fright. He was a man who kept his cool under pressure. He''d seen a lot of things, and he''d done a lot of things to get to where he was, but on this night, that he had every reason to believe would be an auspicious occasion, he faced true horror.


    Rose, shortly after her delivery, was every bit as modified as her husband, not because of family squabbles. It was because her baby had not yet made a single noise.


    Old Dean was the only adult there to maintain any semblance of composure. Unlike Rose and Dillon who had nothing to do but worry, old Dean was busy assessing the health of the newborn. Eyes shut in concentration, he held the baby in one hand and wielded a greenish rod with the other. Sometimes poking, sometimes meticulously swiping, he inspected the child with the rod.


    Meanwhile, across the street, Mrs Gretta was sitting at her usual spot, a table directly under the front window of her small single room home. She was doing her usual activity, eavesdropping on her neighbors with what looked like a miniature trombone she held to her ear. After minutes of silence, she began to wonder if the Dagger''s had up and left without her noticing. That didn''t make sense though. Nonsense was best left to her son.


    "What''s happening momma?" Greg, who both physically and cognitively, could be described as "thick,¡± asked.


    ¡°Shush boy. I''m trying to listen," she said. The way she scrunched her nose to raise her taunt upper lip left behind characteristic lines, permanently writing disdain all over her wrinkly old face.


    Greg replied by obediently shutting his mouth.


    It was bad enough that she had to live in a single room with her idiot son, the fact that she couldn''t even find out what''s going on without being interrupted by a fat adult''s adolescent questions was displeasing. At least she didn''t have to look at him to listen to what her rough neck neighbors were up to.


    Silence. Old Dean, for several long minutes now, was still concentrating on his task. Dillon and Rose were hardly breathing. This suffocating unease went on until old Dean finally opened his eyes and said, "I can''t find anything wrong with the boy. He seems perfectly healthy.¡±


    Dillon slowly released his held breath and allowed his contorted face to relax as the tension gripping the room evaporated. Rose''s breath returned in sobs as the tears welling in her blue eyes turned into a flood. "Thank the gods,¡± she murmured.


    "Thank the gods,¡± Dillon and old Dean softly echoed.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    When the color returned to his face, Dillon gave a reassuring squeeze to his sobbing wife''s shoulder, and with two confident strides approached old Dean to get a good look at his son. Sizing up his afterbirth covered, silent, newborn baby boy, he had a funny thought. While the father was evaluating the son, it seemed as though the son was also evaluating the father.


    No one present could have guessed what was really going on in that baby''s head or why he was silent.


    ¡°There is no fucking way this is what it looks like,¡± were the baby¡¯s thoughts as he read a text message overlaid in his vision, like a virtual pager in his head.


    The message read;


    Hi, I¡¯m you and I¡¯ve arranged for you to keep your memories. Don¡¯t get caught by gods or man, or we might spend a thousand years suffering.


    Do not lie. Do not commit sin. DO NOT DIE.


    Having just come out, the baby was being held by, what he thought at first was, a humongous old man. This huge person had a big nose, wide at the base with a high bridge, and a peppery white stubble beard beard. His breath smelled strongly of peppermint.


    Looking around, a few things stood out. In the absence of electric lighting, a clay fireplace illuminated the untreated wooden room. A sword and damaged shield hung on one side of the fireplace, a bow and quiver on the other. Next to respected armaments, cloaks and armor hung from two special purpose racks. Dents, scratches, and stitches made obvious this equipment was well worn. The sword and shield probably belonged to his father. He had the build for it. The leathers next to the bow had ample room in the chest for it to be worn by a woman. It was likely his mother¡¯s.


    If it was just that he had reincarnated into the medieval era, it might have been believable, but when the old man poked him with a metal chopstick, it sent a weird feeling coursing through his body. ¡°Magic¡¯s not real,¡± he thought. It had to be some sort of delusion, but it couldn¡¯t be. This place, his body, these people, it was all to real to be a dream.


    ¡°Nope, not what it looks like,¡± he thought, noticing his tiny body drenched in red.


    While he pondered on his unusual circumstances, Dillon, as if coming to some kind of realization, placed his large calloused palm on his newborn son¡¯s tiny forehead and said, ¡°Welcome home Damian.¡±


    One thing was painfully obvious, these strange people, his new family, dearly loved their new child. This was so painfully obvious that despite the ominous message, little Damian was still so choked up about it, he might have cried had it not been for the old man promptly plunging him into a bucket of warm water.


    By the time he was washed, Rose had finished sobbing, and while she held her baby for the first time, crying erupted from next door. For a split second little Damian thought it was coming from him. The surprise he quickly hid was not noticed by the other three. They were busy exchanging tender, profound glances.


    ¡°There might be another baby being born on this same night right next door,¡± he thought. While that was comforting, more than anything it further fueled his curiosity. ¡°If this is happening to me, maybe it¡¯s also happening to whoever¡¯s crying over there. Could that person knows what is going on?¡± he wondered.


    Unlike the Dagger¡¯s who were pleased when they heard the neighbor¡¯s baby crying, Mrs Gretta¡¯s thin lips pursed into a scowl. Hundreds of thousands of hours over several decades went into forming the deep canons folded into her paper like dermis.


    It¡¯s not as though she wanted something bad to happen necessarily, but she was displeased that there was no bad news. Her favorite hobby was talking about other people, especially other people¡¯s misfortunes. Of course she would be oh, so very heartbroken if something bad really did happen, and she¡¯d tell anyone who¡¯d listen all about it. Starting with her reliable son.


    ¡°The Black Paw kid sounds fine.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good. Right momma?¡±


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s fine,¡± she snapped.


    ¡°Has the Dagger¡¯s baby made any noise yet?¡± Greg asked out of concern. He didn¡¯t care much about the baby, but his mother¡¯s snappy tone was scary and, thanks to years of conditioning, his thick brain understood that asking about other people¡¯s problems would change her mood. She was less scary when she was talking about other people. If he was lucky, she¡¯d turn into a sweet, caring lady who wasn¡¯t scary at all.


    It worked like a charm, his mother dawned her most compassionate demeanor and said, ¡°No, bless his heart. He still hasn¡¯t made a single peep.¡±


    ¡°But old Dean said he was fine though, right?¡±


    ¡°Shh, they¡¯re talking about him.¡±


    What she was listening in on was old Dean, having finished cleaning up the mess, talking to Dillon, who had just put Rose and little Damian to bed.


    ¡°This occasion calls for a toast,¡± old Dean declared, pouring two pints of ale.


    Dillon received his wooden mug with an absent minded ¡°Thanks dad,¡± and instead of drinking, stared into his frothy brew with complicated thoughts.


    ¡°Congratulations son. You¡¯re a father now,¡± old Dean said, raising his mug.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Dillon replied, letting out a heavy sigh before meeting the toast.


    ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Rose just gave birth to a healthy baby boy. This should be one of the proudest days of your life. It certainly is one of the proudest days of mine.¡±


    ¡°I am proud,¡± Dillon replied to his cup, ¡°but I¡¯m worried about little Damian.¡±


    ¡°It is normal for babies to cry during birth, but little Damian¡¯s breath is strong and his blood flow is completely normal. I can¡¯t find anything wrong with the boy. He seems perfectly healthy.¡±


    ¡°But what if it¡¯s something we can¡¯t tell? You know, like something wrong with his brain?¡± Dillon asked under his breath, conscientious of his wife in the other room.


    ¡°If there is something wrong with his brain, then that¡¯s what the god¡¯s will. It¡¯s out of our hands.¡±


    Dillon let his father¡¯s words sink in and sorted his thoughts. A few moments later, with a confident nod he said, ¡°You¡¯re right dad. Whether his brain is fine or not, I¡¯m still his father and I¡¯m still going to love him and raise him the best I can. No matter what.¡±


    Old Dean gave an understanding nod, and said, ¡°You know, there was a time when I didn¡¯t think this day would ever arrive.¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m still alive. That¡¯s mostly thanks to you dad.¡±


    ¡°This old man just does a bit of mixing.¡±


    Dillon wasn¡¯t buying it. ¡°You do a lot more than ¡®just a bit of mixing.¡¯¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s true. You¡¯re alive because you¡¯re a great adventurer.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m alive because of your guidance and the Rascals always save me when I¡¯m in a pinch.¡±


    ¡°If you listened to all of guidance, you wouldn¡¯t have been an adventurer in the first place, and the Rascals save you because they¡¯re strong. That¡¯s largely thanks to your strong leadership.¡±


    Knowing full well he couldn¡¯t win an argument against old Dean, Dillon simply shrugged it off, and with a raised mug and a grin said, ¡°Congratulations dad. You¡¯re a grandfather now.¡±

 Chapter 2

    Little Damian woke the next morning to find his new family nicely dressed for what seemed like the Medieval era.


    His grandfather could have passed for a naval officer. His attire was a white robe with a straight row of gold buttons running from the left shoulder to the waist. His stubble from the night before was cleanly shaven, and the thin, curved sword on his hip may have been ceremonial.


    Dillion had on, under a lime green vest, a white poofy sleeved shirt with flared cuffs and a laced ¡°vee¡± neck. Though it looked like he was wearing a poofy pirate shirt, he didn¡¯t look silly at all, rather he looked pretty sharp clean shaven with his fancy shirt tucked into brown leather trousers and trousers tucked into shiny black boots. The sword on the wall was now hanging from his right hip. His left hand, encrusted by a thick layer of rock hard calluses, was probably adept at using it.


    Rose wore a new, short-puffed-sleeved, lavender colored blouse. A white knee high skirt covered her freshly shaven legs. The young mother gave the impression she was attending Sunday School, then she checked to see that she could easily draw the ten-inch dagger strapped to her thigh. Her swiftly drawing a blade through the pocket of her skirt a few times shattered the illusion.


    Though little Damian was only one day old, it seemed like the Dagger family was getting ready to go out and about. It was scary but he was burning with curiosity as to who or what was outside the walls of this crude little house.


    That answer came in the form of a knock at the front door. ¡°That must be Victor and Mary. I can¡¯t wait to meet little Theressa,¡± Rose said, scooping up little Damian, who was still pretending to be asleep. He too was eager to meet this little Theresa, but they would have to wait. As the Daggers filed out the door, Rose and little Damian were at the back of the line.


    ¡°Victor. How¡¯d everything go last night?¡± he heard his father ask.


    ¡°Morning Dillon. Everything went smoothly,¡± a hearty voice replied.


    ¡°Everything went smoothly, other than Victor¡¯s panicking,¡± a sarcastic man¡¯s voice chimed in.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t that bad.¡±


    ¡°He was hyperventilating.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s my first, it¡¯s normal to be a little worked up about it,¡±


    ¡°¡®A little worked up?¡¯ At one point I thought he was going to have a heart attack. I had to restrain him.¡±


    ¡°Fine, I panicked. Are you happy now?¡± Victor said indignantly.


    ¡°Yep.¡±


    Dillon chuckled saying, ¡°scaredy-cat.¡±


    ¡°Everything important went smoothly,¡± Victor said and changed the subject, ¡°How¡¯d things go on your end?¡±


    ¡°Things went well. Little Damian¡¯s unusually quiet, which gave us somewhat of a fright last night, but everything seems to be fine,¡± Dillon replied.


    ¡°Is that the little guy? Let me get a look at him,¡± little Damian heard Victor say, and suddenly, the one day old, lost adrift through time and space, was staring down two rows of large, sharp, white fangs, just eight-inches from his face.


    ¡°This was a short trip,¡± he thought, noticing the two-inch incisors¡¯ wet enamel gleaming in the soft morning light.


    ¡°Back off Victor!¡± the sarcastic man said commandingly, ¡°You¡¯re scaring him.¡± Heading those words, the beast¡¯s fangs moved away from little Damian¡¯s wide eyes.


    Cat ears, check. Cat nose, check. Black fur, check. A mouth full of sharp white cat teeth, check.


    This Victor fella was a talking cat-man. ¡°I was just trying to get a look at him. It¡¯s not like I¡¯m going to eat him or anything,¡± he said defensively.


    ¡°Yeah, but he don¡¯t know that,¡± the other man who looked a lot like Victor rebuked.


    Victor scratched the back of his head and gave Rose apologetic looks. She made a quick assessment of her newborn and said, ¡°Oh he¡¯s fine, and he¡¯s going to have to get used to seeing beast-kin sooner or later. Really Vance, you shouldn¡¯t be so hard on your brother. It¡¯s a big day for him.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but he still shouldn¡¯t go around frightening babies,¡± Vance said, shaking his head disapprovingly.


    Rose rolled her eyes at Vance¡¯s very accurate characterization of his brother¡¯s behavior, and got the attention of the young human woman holding a baby of her own. ¡°Hi Mary. How¡¯s little Theressa?¡±


    ¡°She just fell asleep a half hour ago. Since then she¡¯s been a little angel,¡± Mary said. Blonde hair and a fair complexion made her green eyes pop, while a cute yellow sundress covered her disappointing chest. She was definitely pretty, but she looked awfully tired.


    She brought her babe closer, allowing little Damian to finally see this mysterious kid who shared the same birthday as him. What he saw was so cute that his, ¡°being reincarnated in another world,¡± concerns completely slipped his mind for a moment. Little Theressa had a human face and less fur than her father. She looked like any other adorable sleeping newborn nestled in her mother¡¯s bosom, except for a full head of calico fur, two oversized cat ears, and a calico tail wrapping around her abdomen curling up to rest gently on her face.


    Rose was enamored. ¡°Awe, her ears are adorable.¡±


    ¡°She has her father¡¯s good looks,¡± Mary said, figuratively glowing. ¡°Little Damian¡¯s cute too. He has your eyes.¡±


    While the mothers exchanged pleasantries old Dean greeted the older human lady there, ¡°Good morning miss May. I expected to meet you at the church.¡±


    ¡°Good morning old Dean. I expected to go home when little Theressa settled down, but that just happened minutes ago,¡± she said, and shrugged her shoulders as though nothing could be done about it, ¡°So here I am.¡± Though the years had been kind to miss May¡¯s gentle appearance, the dark bags under her eyes and frizzed hair highlighted her age. A shade paler and bit pastier, her skin¡¯s usual youthful luster was absent. Still, a genuine smile graced her attractive but tired face.


    Old Dean gave a sympathetic smile and said, ¡°Then it is my fortune to have your company while we walk.¡± Miss May was flattered, but she seemed like the kind of nice old lady who¡¯s easily flattered.


    After some more greetings and pleasantries, the procession set off, and little Damian¡¯s first outing officially began. Dillon and Victor were leading, followed by old Dean and miss May. Then Rose and Mary with Vance trailing behind.


    Mary peeled her eyes away from little Theressa for a moment and asked Rose, ¡°Dillon said you had a fright last night. What happened?¡±


    ¡°When little Damian was born he didn¡¯t cry. He still hasn¡¯t made any noise,¡± Rose replied, her voice shaken.


    ¡°But he¡¯s fine right?¡±


    ¡°Old Dean said he seems perfectly healthy.¡±


    ¡°What about you? Are you alright?¡±


    Rose nodded. ¡°Just, I didn¡¯t know that he was alright at first, and for a while, I thought he was,¡± her words, interrupted by a sharp inhale, were left unsaid.


    ¡°Everything¡¯s fine.¡± Mary seemed like she was reassuring little Damian when she said, ¡°He seems perfectly healthy,¡± to him with a peppy nod.


    ¡°I hope so,¡± Rose, said as if she were pleading with him.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine, so please don¡¯t look at me like that,¡± little Damian thought. He would have cried for his concerned parent but he wasn¡¯t sure if he could make a convincing baby cry on the first attempt. His silent birth was already weird enough, how would it look if her odd child didn¡¯t cry, but started yelling the next day instead?


    Mary was correct in saying, ¡°Him being quiet just means he¡¯s special. It could be a really good thing, you know.¡± They didn¡¯t know if little Damian¡¯s uniqueness was a good or bad thing, but the involved parties could still hold out hope for it to be a promising foreshadowing.


    Rose looked like she wanted to respond but was interrupted by a newcomer trotting up to the group, riding on the back of a two-legged monster.


    A short man greeted old Dean from the back of, what little Damian would later learn, is what it looks like, a huge chicken. Its three toes and a talon made two-foot long prints. Each connected to four-foot legs via six-inch diameter shins. Head swiveling above the pedestrians, its craned neck elevated its face and soda can sized pecker six and a half feet high, a good six inches above the tallest humanoid there.


    A larger rider might have exceeded the bird''s weight limit, but the man who rode it was small, skinny, and old. He mounted it, not by dangling his legs around the monster, like how one would ride a horse, but by kneeling in the saddle strapped to its low and level back, nestling between its barrel wide drum sticks. A nine-inch knife was sheathed at his waist.


    ¡°Old Dean,¡± the chicken rider said with a nod. His short white head of hair was the same length as his overgrown mustache.


    ¡°Old Craig. You''ve decided to witness the blessing,¡± old Dean greeted him like an old friend.


    ¡°The boys have things at the ranch covered,¡± old Craig said in a crass tone, ¡°and I figured there should be a Dolmer there.¡±


    ¡°I''m glad you could make it.¡± Old Dean didn''t seem to mind the tone.


    ¡°Them the new ones?¡± old Craig asked, turning to look at them. The huge chicken turn to look as well, its huge brown eye, wide as an adult fist, seemed intrigued.


    With one huge brown eye staring a him, little Damian him took a moment to sum of what he knew so far. He used to be an adult. He died. The next thing he remembered was being birthed into this strange world, which was disgusting.


    He had retained all of his memories despite being an infant. At least all the ones he could remember were there. If he really did send himself the fourteen-segment font notification, he had no memory of it.


    The old man, his new grandfather supposedly, poked him with a short rod, sending a weird feeling through his body, and declared him healthy. It wasn''t a tricorder he used. It was a green metal stick. The old man said he checked his blood flow with it. He also said Dillon, his supposed new dad, was an adventurer. Little Damian didn''t understand the significance of that word at the time, but he assumed it had to do with dungeons and monster stuff.


    His neighbor''s, frightening but friendly beast people, might have been adventurers too. The loud voice and toothy grin Victor used frequently gave him a commanding presence and made the seven and a half-foot spear he held that much more intimidating. Vance bore many fearsome resemblances to his brother, but his hooded cloak kept his beastly appearance and the fourteen-inch dagger he carried concealed. A peak underneath his hood would reveal Vance to be younger and more cat like than his assertive older brother. His eyes tended loiter around on alert, like how a feral animal might stalk the wilderness on the lookout for any possible threats or opportunities.


    It seemed almost certain that he reincarnated in a world of might and magic. With beast-kin and a huge, saddled chicken right outside his front door, it could have been who knows what that put those dents in his father''s shield. The ¡°DO NOT DIE¡± part of the strange message was probably in bold for a reason. It seemed this other world was not a safe place to be a helpless infant in.


    It wasn''t much, but that''s what little Damian felt he understood so far and the closest thing he had to a clue, a calico cat-baby, was adorably sleeping. All he could do now was wait and see what this blessing was and if it''s related to the telepathic text message.


    ¡°This is my grandson little Damian. The other one is little Theressa,¡± old Dean said with pride.


    ¡°They''re cute, especially the kitten,¡± old Craig gave his compliments like they were harsh words, made a goofy face that he thought no one noticed, and directed his and the huge chicken¡¯s attention forward.


    With that, they started moving again, and little Damian¡¯s first adventure was well underway.


    When the group turned down a main road, there was a man standing at the corner waiting for them.


    Robert Slag was a burly man. His broad shoulders barely fit in his clean, white long sleeve shirt. This created a stark contrast to the curly black forest rooted in his chest, protruding out of the gaping eight-inch ¡°vee¡± his size stretched wide open. His trousers snuggled the large bulge around his meaty calves. Judging by the burn marks speckling his trouser''s skin tight raw cow hide, he was a blacksmith. The marks likely coming from the hot slag he makes pounding soft, warm, raw steel ingots into submission, but the eighteen-inch hammer hanging from his waist wasn''t used for pounding raw. Robert''s hammer was a war hammer, its mushroom shaped head meant to be slammed roughly into refined steel, violating its weak spots, sometimes causing abused armor to push deep into an opponent''s soft tender flesh. Such an attack performed by a man of Robert''s power could easily cause a fight to climax, resulting in Robert and his eighteen-inch hammer standing tall and proud over his defeated challenger. Robert Slag was headed to church armed this morning.


    Actually, all the men and little Damian¡¯s mother were armed. ¡°Just how dangerous is this world?¡± he wondered.


    After some greetings and declaring little Theressa to be the cute one, Robert settled next to old Craig and the procession moved along.


    When they passed an inn, a heavy set woman named Betty came out to greet everyone. She said little Theressa was the cutest thing she''s ever seen, and she would have loved to join them but couldn''t leave her inn unattended.


    Next to the inn there was a general good store with a couple standing out front. Jim, another burly man, was armed with a short sword. Samantha, a gentle girl with cherry blond hair and freckles, carried a bow on her back. They both greeted everyone with warm smiles and said little Theressa was especially adorable. The procession proceeded with Jim walking next to Dillon and Samantha fawning over little Theressa.


    Three quarters of a mile down the road, unbeknownst to the adults but noticed by little Damian, someone was watching them. From the second story of a large, new looking building, the most beautiful woman he''s seen in this world was staring at the group through a rarely seen glass window. She seemed almost perfect, ¡°so why does she look so sad?¡± he wondered.


    Suddenly, the women who were just happily chatting fell silent. Little Damian swiveled his tiny head with great effort to find the source of the disturbance. A huge chicken, beast people, and a magical medical exam. Now he could add witch to the list of weird shit that he''s seen since he''s been here, and this one looked hostile.


    Little Damian had seen some very angry people before in his previous life, but the sheer intensity of themiddle aged, male witch¡¯s wordless hostility, currently being directed toward the women, was something he¡¯d only seen in a bad horror film. The intimidating spectator wore a furious scowl, a tall black hat, and plain black robes at least two sizes to big for him. It looked like his clothing was older than him. The witching bonnet¡¯s pointy tip and large, disk shaped bill drooped over matching his baggy robes. He held a broom and stood next to a sign with a cauldron painted on it.The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Yep, definitely a witch,¡± little Damian thought, wondering if stuff like Hansel and Gretel happened for real around there. He wasn¡¯t afraid of ghosts stories and witches, until he saw this one. The women seemed to share his sentiment. Rose and Mary both shielded their babes, while Samantha hid her face with her hand as they scuttled by. ¡°Maybe this is why everyone is armed,¡± he speculated as they passed the menacing witch without incident, much to his relief.


    The real incident occurred after passing through a set of fancy gates into a much nicer, walled section of town. Golden gates and a guard house divided the tan-brown dirt road from the paved ones lain with red-brown brick. The two guards in light leather armor smiled and waved.


    Unknown to little Damian at the time, the incident in question was actually a commonly occurring family squabble.


    A drunk man stumbled out of a nice looking restaurant with a plate of food and pitcher of ale painted on the sign. He looked like he''d seen better days. His heavily embroidered clothing was probably nicer than anyone''s in the group, but they were dirty. Brown splotches, darker than the color of the unpaved roads, were especially dark on his knees and right shoulder.


    ¡°It probably has to do with the bruise on his left eye,¡± little Damian thought.


    The dirty drunk called out to the group with a condescending tone. ¡°Well, well, well, if it isn''t Dillon Dirt and the Dirt Squad.¡±


    Judging by the expressions all of the women wore, this man smelled disgusting, but he was standing too far away for little Damian to tell for sure. ¡°Do these women have magic smell?¡± he wondered sarcastically. Still, he couldn''t discount the possibility that they did, and this man does in fact smell terrible.


    Dillon was the one to respond, ¡°Peter,¡± is all he said.


    Peter didn''t take the hint. ¡°Hey dirt lady,¡± he hollered at Rose, ¡°I see you have some new dirt there. Congratulations, but the cat dirt that beast fucker¡¯s holding is cuter.¡±


    ¡°Hey! What did you call my wife?¡± Victor yelled startlingly loud.


    Dillon held his hand over Victor''s chest to restrain him. ¡°Calm down Victor, Peter''s not worth it,¡± he said.


    ¡°Yeah, calm down cat shit. No matter what I say about that nasty, beast fucking glory hole you call your wife, it''s not something to get upset about, right Dillon?¡±


    ¡°Thunder cat,¡± little Damian thought has he found out Victor, who seemed like such a nice guy, could turn violent in an instant.


    ¡°I¡¯ll make you pay!¡± the ferocious cat-man shouted, sprinting toward Peter with his raised spear in hand.


    Little Damian thought this Peter guy was a goner. Peter thought so too.


    ¡°Ahh!¡± Victor, roaring at the top of his lungs, leapt the last twelve feet striking a near superman flight angle that was somehow reminiscent of something little Damian saw a long time ago, in another life. That guy had a sword though.


    ¡°What¡¯s the sound of two cats slamming into each other?¡± little Damian wondered after he heard the loud ¡°thud¡± it makes.


    A cloaked figure he recognized prevented Victor¡¯s, probably very sharp, spear from impaling the terrified drunkard. While Victor''s attitude was somewhat upright as he soared through the air, Vance¡¯s was level with the horizon when he intercepted his older brother. ¡°Is this considered a dog-fight?¡± little Damian wondered as the cat ball made a hard landing.


    Peter took two steps back, and fell on his ass. Judging by the color of his face, he didn''t think it was funny at all.


    Little Damian didn''t know how Vance was able to get in position, nearly thirty feet away, in time to stop Victor from shoving his spear through Peter¡¯s, ¡°holy fuck, I¡¯m going to die,¡± expression, but he was glad not to have witnessed an interracial homicide on his first morning stroll.


    With Dillon and Vance bringing Victor in tow, Peter summoned enough courage to stutter, ¡°Ddamn it, Dirt! Pput a leash on your pet. That thing¡¯s dangerous.¡±


    Mary checked to see that, incredibly, little Theressa was still sleeping and said, ¡°Fuck off Peter,¡± as the procession started to move along again.


    Oddly, old Dean, Victor, and Vance wore pleased smiles after they left Peter behind, where as the rest of them looked concerned, alarmed even.


    ¡°Damn it Victor. What are you thinking starting trouble with Peter, especially on this day?¡± Mary took a sharp tone with her husband.


    ¡°Relax,¡± Victor casually replied, sporting a full faced toothy grin, ¡°I knew Vance was right there, and we scared the shit out of him.¡±


    ¡°Well, I guess it''s fine then, but tell me next time you''re going to do something like that. You scared me too.¡±


    ¡°How was I supposed to tell you without Peter noticing? And that''s beside the point anyway. How¡¯s my little princess? Daddy didn''t frighten her did he?¡± Victor asked like he was talking to a baby instead of his wife.


    ¡°She¡¯s still sleeping, and don''t refer to yourself in the third person when you''re talking to her. Mrs Meadow said that kind of thing can make kids retarded,¡± Mary said, and immediately recalled Rose¡¯s concern over little Damian¡¯s mental health.


    Not only did she nonverbally express her apologies to Rose, she extended her sympathy to little Damian as well.


    ¡°You don''t have to apologize to me. I¡¯m plenty smart for a one day old,¡± he thought.


    ¡°Ackhem. The church is right up ahead.¡± Old Dean''s obvious effort to change the subject was timely.


    ¡°I know, I''m so excited. I hope little Theressa gets a good one.¡± Mary didn''t hesitate to grab on to his life line.


    ¡°I think she will,¡± Rose said before the group succumb to an awkward silence that lasted the rest of the way to the church.


    Little Damian wished they would talk more about the blessings and gods that they were all there for. ¡°What did she mean by ''get a good one''? Is it a raffle, a test of strength, or something else entirely? I can probably keep my secret from the humans and beast-kin, but how do you keep a secret from the gods?¡± he wondered.


    His curiosity would have to wait. When they reached the church, it was time for more greetings. The property, a deep rectangular lot with six-foot high, stone perimeter walls snuggling three sides of the grand building, had a large, freshly mowed front yard.


    There they met Father Clyde, a softly spoken priest who seemed exceptionally well liked. At least little Damian liked him, probably because he was the only person that didn''t call him little. He too declared little Theressa to be cuter.


    They met Smiths and ¡°Mawlners,¡± that he had to remember ¡°is said maul, like when monster attack people, they maul them, ner. Mawlner,¡± and he was also not to ¡°say it wrong later.¡± There were Winierends, Rapsons, and Forests. He met his second cousins, the Muses, all seven of them.


    From youngest to oldest they were, ¡°Tina Muse, three years old. Hi little baby.¡±


    ¡°Brett Muse, six years old. He does kind-da look retarted.¡±


    ¡°Shut up dumbass. Aunt Rose is right there. Brad Muse, Brett¡¯s twin, older by one hour. Good to meet you little Damian. Put¡¯er there,¡± he said with an outstretched palm. It wasn¡¯t possible for the baby to shake Brett Muse¡¯s doppelganger¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Mikey Muse, seven years old. You just think they¡¯re both retarted, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Matty Muse, eight years old. Brad¡¯s right, stop saying retarted you guys.¡±


    ¡°Maple Muse, nine years old. Retarded or not he¡¯s almost as cute as little Theressa.¡±


    "Magdoline Muse, ten years old. Not-uh Maple, the kitty¡¯s way cuter.¡±


    The Muses, even the parents Matt and Nancy, replied with a chorus of eight ¡°Yeah¡±s and head bobs.


    There were too many people for little Damian to remember all their names at the time, but most of them had two things in common. They all said little Theressa was cuter and most of them were compelled to ¡°goo¡± and ¡°gawe¡± him for as long as each one of them damn well pleased. Fortunately for little Theressa, she was still sleeping and missed the whole affair. He was starting to get a little bit jealous of the sleepy kitten.


    When the many greetings were over, the small talk started back up, and he was able to overhear some interesting things. The Rascals, led by his father, were made up of Rose, their archer, Dillon, their shield, Victor, their spear, Vance, their scout, and old Dean as their manager. They had a strong reputation among adventurers, some of whom were present to witness the blessing. One of whom, a seven-foot tall pig man named ¡°Grizzly,¡± was particularly forthcoming about his adventures, and though he was hard to understand through his thick pig oink accent, he talked a lot about himself and his party.


    It seemed like adventurers were sort of freelance strong men for hire. They would go on quests, hunt monster, or provide security. They each had a rank represented by a precious metal. From low to high there were; copper, silver, gold, mythril, and adamantium. Little Damian had heard of all of those, but two of them were not on the periodic table that he was familiar with nor were there any mythril or adamantium adventurers in this town he learned is called ¡°Brunseborough.¡±


    The Rascals were silver. Depending on who''s talking, they might be the strongest silver party in Brunseborough or a week party of ¡°prairie pickers.¡± Them never having failed a quest was apparently an established fact though, inclining him to believe the former more likely. He didn''t really think either were true.


    He also overheard Grizzly, Dillion, and Jim, who used to be a Rascal, talking about monster. Some of the common monster in this area were goblin, kobold, huge bat, ogre, troll, and raptor. A bow dealt with raptor, fire for troll, and ¡°you just gotta hit an ogre really hard.¡± Kobold and goblin seemed to be regarded as weak folder, and ¡°what you really want, is to take a wind magician with you to hunt huge bat.¡±


    Little Damian didn''t know what these monster looked like but from their familiar names he could imagine. He¡¯d killed all of those things with a click of a button before, but now he might have to physically kill them by hand or with magic. Magic seemed to be too expensive for regular use, but fire was regarded as an indispensable option for ¡°making things dead,¡± while the majority of the killing seemed to be done up close and personal with a weapon, like a sword, a spear, an axe, or Grizzly¡¯s club. It was three and a half-feet of dark red wood slung from his back with a white metal band and seven three-inch spikes on the business end. He called it ¡°splatter.¡± Little Daman though the name was probably more literal than figurative.


    Grizzly may have been forthcoming about adventure stuff, but no one talked about what he really wanted to know, what these blessings were. Everyone seemed to have a story about witnessing a birth blessing and presumably everyone gets something different. Surely it had to do with fighting monster, but no one said what they did, almost as if they were avoiding the subject.


    He would have also liked to know more about his family''s party, but they didn''t say a word about where they went or what they did.


    ¡°You ought-da ditch the prairies. The mines been paying out lately, and the worst you''ll run into is some kobold shaman,¡± the large pig-man suggested to Dillon, gesturing condescendingly to ¡°splatter¡± on his back. Little Damian shuddered, counting himself as fortunate not to have reincarnated as a kobold shaman.


    ¡°I appreciate the tip, but the prairies are treating us just fine.¡±


    ¡°Look, I know the Rascals don''t bring home much silver. Where ya¡¯ll been stomping around at lately anyhow?¡±


    ¡°Now Grizzly, you know I don''t talk about Rascal business,¡± was Dillon¡¯s standard response to questions of that nature.


    ¡°Ha! I''m just sizzling your bacon,¡± the pig-man laughed in squeals more than oinks, like miss piggy if she were a seven-foot tall, angry wild boar-man squealing when she laughed, ¡°but seriously, if you ever feel like playing in the big boy pen, the Rascals are always welcome to dive the mines with Slaughter House.¡±


    Dillon gave an appreciative nod and said, ¡°Thanks Grizzly. I''ll keep that in mind, and tell Honey Bear I said hello.¡±


    Grizzly oinked his agreements, nodding.


    The women''s gaggle, having quadrupled, was chatting away. Mostly about how cute little Theressa is, but they also told little Damian to ¡°hang in there¡± and to ¡°do your best.¡±


    Around mid morning, as the gathering poured into the church, he heard a lady in a fancy hat talking about her nephew. He¡¯d been blessed with herculean strength. Now he¡¯s some big shot in the Royal Army. He never writes home.


    Little Damian was having grand fantasies about fighting terrifying monster with super powers as he was carried into the impressive church.


    Polished white marble walls standing forty feet high made it more formidable than any church he could recall seeing, and the full-sized mural stained glass windows were... interesting. The bell house on the back of the structure, sixty five feet skyward, was its tallest point. Across the roof, standing at the peak, directly over the two huge wooden front doors, stood a statue of the Grim Reaper. It held a scythe in one hand and cast a bony finger downward with the other, pointing at pedestrians entering and exiting.


    The inside, every bit as magnificent as the outside, had wide open space instead of benches. Burgundy Fibonacci patterns set in gray polished marble covered the floor. Two huge pillars, thirty feet apart, bore the weight of the roof. Between them, six white statues encircled an altar with a silk pillow on it.


    With no benches to sit at, the crowd huddled around the altar as father Clyde spoke. ¡°We are gathered here this morning to celebrate two miraculous gifts the gods have granted us. We thank the gods and ask for their blessings upon young Theressa Black Paw and Damian Dagger.¡±


    Father Clyde gestured to Mary. She placed sleeping little Theressa on the pillowed altar, and returned to her husband¡¯s open arms.


    ¡°We thank the Maiden,¡± the priest said, walking toward the sculpture of a young lady extending an upward palm as if offering the pile of stones seeds she held, ¡°for her compassion. Compassion that forged the very bonds which brought Theressa into our lives.¡±


    Victor was a happy man. As he noticed his beautiful wife fondly gazing upon their newborn child, his baby girl, the most amazing thing he''s ever seen, he wondered, where it all went so right? How did a cat like him, an orphan, raised by a spear, a killer, become so fortunate? What turn of fate did he receive that gave an old soldier like him such a satisfying life? ¡°The gods are generous,¡± he thought.


    Mary noticed her charming husband¡¯s powerful gaze. It made her weak when he did that, but she felt safe under his watchful eye, and in his powerful arms. She knew that, for her and their adorable daughter, this handsome man would protect them. These strong, well defined arms holding her tight right now were the same ones that would rip apart anything that threatened her or their adorable daughter. How did she landed such a catch? She wasn¡¯t sure, but this fine cat was going to be a more incredible father to their beautiful little girl than she could have ever hoped for. ¡°Thank the gods,¡± she thought, melting into Victor''s compassionate embrace.


    Father Clyde noticed the couple''s distraction and gave them a moment. The hall was quiet while he waited, shrugged his shoulders to the congregation, and with lips sealed together in a failed attempt to conceal his amusement, waited some more.


    Victor was first to notice the silence. His uht-oh face caused Father Clyde¡¯s smile breach containment.


    ¡°Ackem,¡± Victor awkwardly cleared his throat, bringing his wandering wife back to reality.


    White teeth showed through Father Clyde¡¯s wide grin as he continued, ¡°We ask the Maiden, should Theressa come to a crossroad along her journey, a compassionate soul be sent to guide her down a fruitful path.¡±


    Little Damian thought a blessing gave someone special powers to fight monster and such. Compassion though? If the priest¡¯s words were literal, then the Maiden¡¯s going to make some nice person help out little Theressa in the future. He hadn''t considered destiny to be an enhancement before but it could be powerful, like how a main character can¡¯t die, no matter what, until the end. If it''s not literal, it could be anything, like a bonus to charisma maybe, not that she¡¯d need it.


    Little Damian was looking forward to hearing the other five gods prayers.


    ¡°All those willing may, at this time, come forward and place tribute.¡±


    The, one piece of solid marble, altar had a round depression in front of the pillow little Theressa was resting on. One by one the crowd came forward to place gold, silver, or small red beads in that depression. Once all the offerings were placed, father Clyde covered the bulky pile with a purple, velvet cloth, clasped his hands together and prayed. ¡°May the gods accept our humble tribute and bless this child. Amen.¡±


    ¡°Amen,¡± the crowd echoed.


    Little Theressa, who had been asleep all morning, woke up to see the bulk under the velvet cloth disappear.


    It was only for a moment, but she locked eyes with little Damian. He did not get the mutual understanding he was hoping for. Her gaze just wandered away and she started crying. ¡°Oh well, maybe she''s just a normal calico cat-baby after all,¡± he thought.


    Victor quickly stepped forward to collect little Theressa. He gave apologetic nods to the congregation as he returned to Mary''s side with the wailing kitten.


    Father Clyde, wearing his usual smile, gestured to Rose. It was little Damian''s turn.


    Positioned on the altar, at the center of attention, he was feeling pressure not to do anything unusual, least he get caught possessing his memories and spend a thousand years suffering like the mysterious message said might happen.


    Father Clyde didn''t start speaking immediately. He instead took slow steps around the altar, in front of the statues.


    ¡°Whew.¡± Little Damian was relieved. It wasn''t that he thought the Maiden was a bad goddess, but it seemed like he was only getting one, and the other statues looked stronger.


    To the right of the Maiden, the priest approached a statue of a cloaked figure holding a bow. ¡°That one looked cool,¡± little Damian thought as he kept walking.


    The next block of marble had a middle aged woman with a huge bust sculpted from it. She held a stalk of wheat in both hands like a lash, and as little Damian had hoped, Father Clyde¡¯s slow steps continued.


    The next one was a middle-aged man wearing a helm and holding a mace. As this statue was behind little Damian, it was the sound of Father Clyde¡¯s footsteps that told him his first choice was being passed up.


    Now there were only two deities left. One of these two geriatrics would represent the god little Damian would receive a blessing from. They had one blatantly obvious fact in common, they both depicted decrepitly old people.


    ¡°Hag,¡± little Damian thought of the first one, a woman with a wartted nose and a witch¡¯s hat like the one from earlier, pointing a gnarled stick at the altar.


    ¡°Wizard.¡± The other statue¡¯s intricately detailed beard falling all the way down to the feet of the crooked nosed old man, along with the five foot staff he was holding, made him the clear pick.


    Little Damian, breath held, heart racing, watched Father Clyde take slow steps to the hunk of marble depicting a witch, and stop in front of it.


    ¡°We thank the Witch.¡±


    ¡°Fuck! It is a witch.¡±


    ¡°For the knowledge that has shaped the destinies of the family who delivered Damian into our hearts. We ask for Damian to be granted eyes, so that he may see this knowledge.¡±


    ¡°A little wordy but not bad,¡± little Damian thought, Father Clyde¡¯s prayer sounding much better than what he had anticipated.


    After the offerings were placed, Father Clyde again said, ¡°May the gods accept our humble tribute and bless this child. Amen.¡±


    What happened next left little Damian unable to maintain his baby poker face for a moment and with wide eyes, in front of everyone, he let out an audible ¡°Whoa.¡±

 Chapter 3

    Philip Howlanger was a very proper man. From his meticulously manicured mustache to his immaculate wardrobe, his mild demeanor to his impeccable character, everything about him was proper.


    As it should be. He was the second most powerful person in Hobart Kingdom after all. His title was prime minister Earl Howlanger. He was his Majesty the Wild King William¡¯s right hand man and his keeper of secrets. To Hobart Kingdom, his career was akin to that of a storyteller or a puppeteer. In the literal sense, he was a spy master, as the second most powerful person in any kingdom always was.


    Late one one afternoon, Philip was sipping tea on the observation deck he had installed above the business wing of his enormous manor when he did something very uncharacteristic of himself. With a sudden jerk of his hand, he spilled some tea on his priceless robes.


    It wasn''t much tea, but it now adorned very expensive and very rare green singing spider silk. The bold, robust flavor of the Earl''s fine, foreign afternoon blend would not benefit the robes magical properties, nor did the splotches aesthetics compliments giant lister eardrum hair embroidered into the robe by the finest and enchantress in all the kingdoms. That was not a very proper thing for Philip to do.


    More than that though, it was a personal gift from the Wild King himself, and now Philip would have to stand before the king wearing his priceless, soiled gift.


    Without averting his eyes from the splotch of tea he spilled, he addressed an elderly man dressed like a butler. The old man, holding a handkerchief for the spilled tea, was Philip¡¯s personal attendant. Though his beard fell all the way to the ground and coiled on the deck between his feet like the sixth god¡¯s statue¡¯s beard, at a youthful eighty years of age and with a full head of hair, the minister¡¯s right hand man was not nearly as old looking as the stone Wizard spread throughout the kingdoms.


    ¡°Sir?¡± the butler inquired, unsure if he had heard his Earl correctly.


    ¡°Do it and do not dally,¡± Philip snapped, frustrated with his servant¡¯s inaction.


    ¡°Yes, at once Mister Minister.¡± The white haired man, nimbley for someone with over twice the Minister¡¯s years, quickly vanished.


    Earl Howlanger noticed that he was still holding his tea cup. He finished the sip, and frowned. His displeasure wasn''t from the taste of the fine tea, nor from the tea he was wearing.


    His displeasure stemmed from a secret he heard, a single secret that one of his men procured, was turned into a code word, and carried on the wind into the ear of the Earl.


    Not far away two children were playing in a marvelous courtyard. The owner of the courtyard, the Marquis of Kingston, enjoyed his privacy, and for that purpose, had built a separate personal mansion on his appealing five acre estate. Twenty five thousand square feet of refrigerated, secured, private paradise, located in the middle of the kingdom''s capital, on the kings estate, was the Marquise¡¯s first class fortress of solitude. At least that is how outsiders like the Prime Minister interpreted this exclusive, high-security compound located in his Majesty¡¯s backyard.


    The two story mansion, had four rectangular sections forming a courtyard in the middle. Trees, flowers, trimmed grass, and a splendid fountain created a peaceful, luxurious space, and unknown to outsiders, the Marquise liked to share his space.


    Little Timothy was splashing around in an outdoor bath. His innocent four year old laugh echoed through the courtyard spreading smiles in its wake. His sister, younger by one year, little Tiara, was being subjected to an onslaught water attacks, and giggling merrily.


    Though Martha, the maid charged with the children''s hygiene, was not spared from his wild splashing, she too was infected by his laughter and giggled while she and little Tiara happily endured.


    Martha enjoyed these small moments, however brief they were. She wished things could be like this forever, but that was never the case.


    For as long as she could remember she had been Marquis Thomas Lloyd''s personal maid, his servant. She grew up in this courtyard along with many other children over the years. A long time ago, there were kids older than herself around, but the other kids all left at around five years old making her the oldest. Now as an adult, caring for small children was something she had always done and she was the type that taking care of other people came naturally. She was good at it, which might have been the reason she was still there while so many of her old friends were not.


    Twenty five years ago, Martha''s parents were in debt. They could either sell themselves or their three month old baby. She had been Thomas Lloyd''s slave ever since. The only people that she''s ever known we''re also property of the Marquise. She had arrived at this large Hobart City estate before she could walk and never having stepped foot anywhere else, this was all she knew.


    ¡°I wish he wouldn''t stare,¡± she thought. Her master, had a habit of staring. It made her anxious when he was watching, but more than anything it set ablaze her sense of guilt. She was helpless to do anything about her situation, so she would try to enjoy those small moments that seemed so far away. That was impossible under his gaze.


    The Marquise was lord of the old capital, which he often traveled to. Fortunately, this meant he was not always around to stare at is revolving property. Unfortunately, that was not one of those times. While Martha had never personally seen her master do anything out of hand, she had also not seen any of the other kids she grew up with since they were children. Thomas Lloyd used to look at them like that as well, intently, with a charming smile that didn¡¯t match his keen eyes.


    She didn¡¯t know why only she was still there, and she didn¡¯t think she would be around for much longer. There wasn''t anything that she could do about that kind of stuff though. Still, it was better when he was away.


    To her relief, one of his men said something to the Marquis in a hushed voice causing her master to leave in a hurry. She didn''t know or care what was said, but she was thankful to be rid of him. Now she could go back to bathing the children in peace. Happily giggling with little Timothy and Tiara was the only thing she could do. It was something that she had to do, for their sake.


    Before Philip could finish his tea, his carriage was already waiting. It''s exquisite craftsmanship and ample use of gold plating made even the Wild King''s personal carriage look drab by comparison.


    He paid no mind to his old butler when he entered, nor did the butler look directly at his Earl before closing the door and retrieving the step. The two white stallions needed no further cues and began their trot down the long driveway.


    The adjacent address this glamorous transport was trotting to was protected by layers of hardened security. They were already within the outer walls of his Majesty¡¯s thirteen-square mile royal estate. The next checkpoint, a stone''s throw from Philips wrought iron front gate, was a gatehouse tunneling through the royal castle¡¯s inner wall. This solid fortification had two fast baring drop gates, a bunkhouse, and a holding cell.


    The ¡°Inner East Gate¡± didn¡¯t see much traffic but was manned by nine seasoned warriors nonetheless. These men of low birth were loyal and disciplined. Most of them used to be squires for lower nobles, and through exceptional merit became sworn retainers of the crown. They were all tough and skilled, willing to die, or kill for their king at a moment''s notice.


    Their uniform was a full metal jacket of pale silver colored steel plate armor, but only one of the nine men wore his gauntlets and helm. Ronald Mossberg was the youngest of the gatekeeper''s, and the most recent victor of the Hobart Tough Man Tournament. By unanimous decision, he was the one standing outside and stopping anyone attempting to pass. Unlike his comrades, he didn¡¯t have a noble cousin or uncle. He had been born in a small town on the outskirts of the kingdom, and thanks to his blessing of strength and no small amount of ambition, he became a champion. When he crushed the breastplate of the Fist Prince, it caught the attention of the Wild King and earned him a position as a royal retainer. Though it was hot and boring standing around all day, stopping the infrequent traffic, this well paid, cushy position was far better than his old life of fighting all the time, and one day it would be him in the refrigerated common room with cards and ale, while a new rookie baked in the sun.


    He took his responsibilities seriously, and he was ordered to halt and identify every carriage and every pedestrian. That was his duty, but upon seeing the Prime Minister¡¯s golden carriage turn toward his station that late in the afternoon, he became rigid as a statue. When the dazzling vehicle crossed his area of authority, the faceless metal suit remain steadfast at attention, allowing the stallions to transit without impedance.


    Not a moment later than the gilded carriage stopped at its destination in front of the castle¡¯s east entrance, another butler placed a step and opened the door. Philip paid no more attention to this servant than he did his own. He did not spare a single glance at any of the other servants either, not the golden knights, the clerk''s, the busy magicians, nor the one very startled maid he collided with rounding a corner. He walked directly to the king''s private chambers, a feat only a couple people are capable of, with deliberate steps.The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    In this world titles were not granted randomly, nor did the recipient get to pick their own title. Kings and queens often had two titles. One was granted formally by the royal court based on what they believed to be most fitting, while the other was an informal one, normally arising from the displeased peasant population. The existence of this title did not, in itself, mean the recipient was a bad ruler. There were, of course, disgruntled peasants in every kingdom.


    It''s difficult to determine the specific reason William Hobart was named ¡°the Wild King.¡± It seemed to have as much to do with his unkempt hair as it did his unruly personality. Foreign scholars often falsely thought it was because Hobart was a rather remote kingdom, surrounded on three sides by frontier wilderness.


    Regardless of the reasoning behind the Wild King William''s title, it was a testament to his sound rulership that, even amongst the common folk, his formal title was used far more often than his informal one, the Savage King.


    There was a time, when that title was far more common, though to William Hobart, those dark days of the Savage King¡¯s reign were distant memories. These days, Hobart Kingdom had enjoyed twenty years of peace, prosperity, and good relations with its much larger neighbor, Kismond Kingdom.


    William was in a good mood when his Prime Minister rapped on the door. ¡°Enter,¡± the Wild King said, not bothering to look away from the ¡° Annual Status of Grain Distribution and Reserves of Hobart Kingdom,¡± report he was pruising. The spy master entered and crossed the study, his heavy footsteps fell silently on the enchanted hardwood floor. ¡°Alright Philip, what is it that can''t wait until tomorrow?¡±


    The Earl swallowed his hesitation and delivered the news. ¡°Your Majesty, the Kismond Kingdom¡¯s Third Army has received marching orders.¡±


    ¡°And?¡±


    ¡°Their orders are to our borders, your Grace.¡±


    The Wild King¡¯s good mood immediately soured. He haphazardly discarded his document with an irritable flick of the wrist, and looked at Philip. His sight drawn to the splotch of tea on his gifted robes.


    Fifty three years ago, a Fire Dragon had been menacing the outskirts of Hobart kingdom. The Wild King¡¯s personal slaying of that Dragon was his most renowned achievement. Its priceless remains were put on display as a symbol of Hobart¡¯s strength, until they were traded for the Legendary Class wind robes his Prime Minister had just recently soiled.


    If this were a different time he might have quibed about taking Philp¡¯s nice things if he¡¯s not going to take care of them properly, but instead he said, ¡°We must summon the council at once,¡± in a grave tone.


    ¡°An emergency council has already been convened your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± The king asked, searching through a disorderly pile of parchments.


    The master of spymasters could likely predict his king¡¯s thoughts regarding this matter, but he was first and foremost a servant. As such, he knew better than to assume the will of his master. ¡°Your Grace, how should the council be directed?¡± he asked.


    The Wild King found the parchment he was searching for. It''s titled read, ¡°Summary of the Military Might of the Noble Class of Hobart Kingdom.¡±


    William, scanned the document and resolutely said, ¡°All available men and materials will be sent to reinforce the border. Hobart''s end strength will have to grow considerably. You will informed the court that there will be no concessions. They are to act accordingly.¡±


    ¡°By your will your Majesty.¡± Philip performed a well practice bow.


    William Hobart seized up his closest confidant for a moment. Though his attentioned lingered on the splotch of tea, he still felt confident that a better man to shoulder these burdens did not exist and plainly stated, ¡°dismissed.¡±


    The main hall of the Hobart Kingdom Royal Court was arranged like a concert hall with seven rows of elevated benches forming a forty foot wide half circle. It had seating for five hundred, but with only Viscounts and above who were immediately available present, the hall looked nearly empty.


    Philip could already hear the clamour of sixty or so disgruntled noblemen before he opened the door.


    ¡°Who does he think he is, summoning us on a moment''s notice.¡±


    ¡°It''s like he''s beckoning a pack of dogs.¡±


    ¡°I for one will not stand idle while Prime Minister Howling Mad insists on abusing his authority.¡± That voice came from the Duchess of Wellington, Ann Millin. She was a woman for whom Philip was familiar, and often at odds with.


    Across from the sparsely populated benches, next to the podium the king would sit at, the Earl of Hobart, Prime Minister Philip Howlanger, entered the fray. ¡°Order,¡± he called.


    All eighty or so pairs of eyes were on Philip, and for a moment the hall was silent. That was only for a moment though. Once the sixty or so disgruntled noblemen realized that the object of their displeasure was present, the hall became chaotic again.


    ¡°What''s the meaning of the Howlanger?¡±


    ¡°Do you have any idea what the term reasonable notice means?¡±


    ¡°The king will hear about this Howlanger!¡±


    Philip was expecting this but still found it fatiguing. He pinched the bridge of his nose to hold down his frustration and bellowed, ¡°Order! The council is in session and there will be order!¡±


    The rabble subsided, again only for a moment. Dutchess Millin, the one to break the silence, did not like Philip. Though she was pleased his summon excused her from her nephew''s fundraising party, she wouldn''t let slip an opportunity to give Philip a hard time. ¡°Fine then Mister Minister. What¡¯s this whisper you¡¯ve summoned us over?¡± she asked accusingly.


    ¡°It is a matter of the utmost concern, my lords and ladies, and requires our immediate action,¡± Philip said, and shifted his attention to the Dutchess, ¡°I would not have summoned you had it been otherwise.¡± Before he could continue, a loud voice interjected.


    General Moore was a short, bald man, wide as a barrel, with a handlebar mustache and a bad temper. He''d been interrupted from his liquor and lovers to attend this council and furiously demanded, ¡°Answers, answers Howlanger! Your little stunt has caused some of us significant inconvenience. If you ever pull a stunt like this again, I¡¯ll ensure your no longer Prime Minister, Mister Minister, so stop wasting our time with frivolous words and get to the point already!"


    Philip decided to disregard the general¡¯s inappropriate outburst. He didn¡¯t need to smell his breath to tell he¡¯d been drinking heavily. ¡°The Kismond Third Army marches to our borders," he finally said.


    Again, the hall became silent for a moment. This time seemingly all eighty or so noblemen erupted at once.


    ¡°Nonsense.¡±


    ¡°Why would Kismond march on our borders?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t fight the Third Army!¡±


    ¡°Order! Order!¡±


    The rabble didn¡¯t fully subside until Dutchess Millin spoke over the commotion. ¡°And you sure of this because, why? You heard it in the wind?¡±


    A nod was the spy master¡¯s only reply.


    ¡°Even if it¡¯s true, we don¡¯t have the strength to win a head on engagement with the Third Army, and we don¡¯t have the reserves to win a prolonged war against Kismond. What would you have us do Mister Minister?¡± Marquise Loyd asked as though the whole matter was someone else¡¯s problem entirely.


    Philip thought his carefree attitude was insufferable. ¡°It is not what I would have you do Marquise. It is what the crown will have you do,¡± the Prime Minister waited until he had the audience''s attention before continuing, ¡°We will bolster the border defenses with every available resource and prepare for an indefinite blockade.¡±


    Once again, the hall fell silent. This time for longer as the ruling class of Hobart Kingdom let the gravity of those words sink in.


    ¡°So what if the Third Army marches to our border? Good King Henry won''t give the order to invade,¡± the intoxicated general said, emboldened by liquid courage. Several of the noblemen voiced their agreements.


    ¡°Then what do you recommend General Moore?¡± Philip asked, his tone displaying his annoyance with the general¡¯s line of reasoning.


    ¡°I say we do nothing. Call them on their bluff.¡± The drunk was loud and confident, like he had solved everything with a single sentence.


    Dutchess Millin, more perturbed than Philip by his remarks, said ¡°Moore you dithering drunken idiot! If that damn Wicked Ninth Prince decides to take Wellington, Moorehaven would be a mere fortnight''s march away. Would you then defeat the Wicked Ninth Prince and the Third Army solely with your mustache?¡±


    The general responded with a scornful expression on a beet read face. ¡°Will Hobart even survive another build up? A tax hike and conscription will make us vulnerable to subversion. Wellington, being on the border, will be the most vulnerable. Would you then be lynched by your own peasants, oh wise Dutchess Millin?¡±


    ¡°Are you a fool and a coward?¡± She was somewhat reserved when addressing the Prime Minister, but held no such reservations when it came to the general. ¡°You¡¯re more gnome than man, short, fat, and fearful,¡± she spat with disgust.


    ¡°Order!¡± was again called, and again the hall was orderly for a moment.


    ¡°If we have another border closure, rebellion won''t be far behind.¡± Marquis Lloyd''s off handed comment caused the rabble to erupt once again.


    "We should appeal to Good King Henry."


    ¡°Paying ransom would be the most efficient thing to do.¡±


    ¡°There will be no concessions,¡± Philip bellowed.


    ¡°Are we witnessing the return of the Savage King?¡± an especially panicked Viscount asked.


    Philip whispered a brief chant with a stern expression, and shouted ¡°Order!¡± obscenely loud, loud enough to blow out a common man¡¯s ear drums, ¡°And you will hold your tongue Viscount Applewood!¡± Tolerating the general''s drunken remarks was one thing, but he would not allow Hobart¡¯s own nobility to speak ill of his king. ¡°By the word of the king there will be no concessions. This session is for the purpose of fortifying the border and preparing for an indefinite blockade. Anyone here unwilling to submit to those two objectives may forfeit their titles and wander the frontier. Now!¡±


    Finally, with the threat of exile looming over the session and the deafening voice of the Earl lingering in their ears, the council moved on to more productive topics, which was appropriate as they had plenty to discuss. So much so that the sun would rise before they disbanded.

 Chapter 4

    Brunseborough was the southernmost town in Hobart Kingdom. It¡¯s fifteen-foot, rough stone and mortar walls encompassed nearly twenty square miles, divided into five sections.


    The poorest residents lived off of the dark brown roads to the northeast. Most of the houses in this area, sometimes called ¡°the Slums,¡± were made by hardening mud over a thatched reed frame. The brown igloos looking as cheap as their construction, and a nine-inch lower grade than the rest of the town that turned almost two square miles of ¡°the East Side¡± into a shallow pond when it rained, made it clear where it got the most accepted of its three nicknames, ¡°the Mud Puddle.¡±


    In the northwestern part of town, aristocrats spent piles of gold to build their mansions. With its paved roads, spacious lots, and good public order, one of its taxpayers considered ¡°Upton¡± to be ¡°an island of civilization floating in a sea of savagery, made possible by its many well trained occupants vigilantly keeping undesirable degenerates from loitering.¡±


    One Mud Puddle dweller referred to Upton as ¡°the spread of insufferable snobbery planting its pompous flag on the farthest reaches of civilization.¡±


    North First Street was the northernmost portion of the main road that split the town in half hemispherically. With the poverty stricken Slums to the east and Upton to the west, N First became a symbol of disparity.


    ¡°The mud is so cold. Something precious I had sold. My stomach is empty. Across the street there is plenty. I rejoice, for soon I will fill my stomach and warm my toes, but the price is steep to cross the street. No more frozen mud beneath my feet, but the price is steep to cross the street. N First is wide, for a road. To cross it, one must be bold. Something precious I no longer own, but I can still use it, as a loan. Tomorrow, I won¡¯t be so cold. To cross N First Street, myself I had sold,¡± the aforementioned Mud Puddle dweller once wrote.


    N First became First Street at ¡°the Brunse District.¡± The ten-foot walls encircled three square miles of fancy shops, stores, government facilities, and noblemen¡¯s manors. It¡¯s southern gate was just north of Main Street, the main road that split the town in half longitudinally. That left the whole southern half of Brunseborough to be divided between its two remaining districts.


    To the southeast, the majority of Bruseborough¡¯s shops could be found. The five-square mile, quarter pie wedge zoned for crafting and agriculture, was referred to by its formal name, ¡°the Crafting District,¡± or by its informal one, ¡°the Sweat Shop.¡± Tradesmen such as carpenters, blacksmiths, ranchers, tanners, etc. ran their shops there.


    The last quarter of Brunseborough, ¡°the Aventure District¡± to the southwest, is where the Adventure Guild and no small number of businesses that pander to adventures were located. Though it was named the Adventure District, four out of five square miles of it was zoned for middle income residential neighborhoods. Some people called it ¡°the Pit¡± while others called it home.


    ¡°Am I getting wrinkles?¡± Samantha Higgins wondered as she studied her face in a small, gold plated hand mirror, ¡°Maybe I have too many freckles.¡±


    Samantha had never really thought of herself as an insecure person, but lately she had been feeling impatient, or maybe she was anxious. She was feeling something out of the ordinary, but what it was, she was having a difficult time discerning. Perhaps the word she was looking for was restless, or eager. Yes, eager sounded like the right word to describe how she felt.


    At least she hoped it was eagerness, but she couldn''t help but worry that it might be resentment bubbling inside her. She sincerely did not want that to be the case. After all, she loved her life. She shared a nice house with her handsome boyfriend, for whom she was deeply in love with, which had a lot to due with why she''d been so anxious lately, or was it eager?


    ¡°I hope I''m not being impatient,¡± she thought.


    Whatever she was feeling had been growing inside of her for nearly two months now. Ever since she witnessed the blessings of her two closest friends newborn children, she had this nagging feeling that this lovely life she had wasn''t enough. She wanted more. ¡°Am I an ungrateful woman?¡± she worried, causing her eyebrows to crease, which caused her to worry about her wrinkles.


    Frustrated, that word fit her mood well. For a couple of months now she¡¯d been feeling frustrated. She knew why she was feeling like this. Jim and her had been together for almost five years now and he had not once mentioned marriage or kids. ¡°Maybe he doesn''t want his kids to have freckles,¡± she speculated, ¡°but Jim always says my freckles are cute though, so that¡¯s not it.¡± She was sure of that, because if there''s one thing she knew about her beloved, it¡¯s that Jim was an honest man. If there was something else she knew about him, it would be that he''s strong, very handsome, charming, diligent, considerate and... ¡°Crap, I¡¯m doing it again,¡± she thought as she stared her non-existent wrinkles, ¡°Maybe he really is too good for me,¡± and there it was again, that terrifying, sinking feeling she got in the pit of her stomach from thinking that way.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the case. That is not the case,¡± she told herself. A life without Jim was something she didn''t think she could fathom. She only knew that trying to imagine it hurt far too much to be considered a reasonable thing to do. She should be happy with the life she had, the life Jim provided for her.


    When she was little, sometimes her village would be attacked by monster. It could happen at anytime, and often someone would die, but now she lived a safe town with sturdy walls. It was security that some of the girls from her childhood would never be able to afford, but could have killed for.


    Her home was a nice house in a great location, right on S First, not even a fifteen minute walk from Old Town''s fancy gates.


    Her boyfriend owned and operated ¡°Jim¡¯s General Goods¡± attached to the house, so her financially secure lover was always near. He wasn¡¯t rich by any means, and most of the revenue the store generated went towards paying debt, but he¡¯s always been, but because he deals with so many traders, he¡¯s able to acquire nice things for cheap prices sometimes. Things that should be far too expensive for someone with an upbringing like her¡¯s to ever have, and not just the glamorous golden mirror she was using either. Jim would often ask her option about goods, and buy what she liked the for the store, except he would let her use the best goods before he sold them, and he would never sell anything until he was sure she was no longer using it, so everything she had was really nice, her hairbrush, her clothing, the cookware. Even the consumables like meats, cheeses, seasonings, soaps and perfumes she used had to be from the premium stock, that she had hand selected. It was a perk some of her old friends would definitely have killed for.


    ¡°I should be careful what I say if I ever see them again,¡± she thought.


    Samantha had a wonderful life, and Jim loved her. That''s what she should keep in mind. She knew both of these things to be true. Her life, which often felt like a fairytale with Jim, was obviously wonderful, and she knew that Jim loved her because he¡¯s said so many times. ¡°But do I really know what he means by that?¡± she wondered. Was it the kind of love a brother bore for his sister or like how two close friends inevitably have love for each other? She hoped it was the same kind of burning passion she felt for him, but how could she be sure? When it came to tricking her, Jim knew how to do it. When it came to keeping secrets, Jim and his circle of friends were the most tight lipped people that she''d ever met.


    The sinking feeling in Samantha''s stomach returned. This time it came with a strong feeling of guilt. Sure, Jim could be somewhat crafty at times, but every time he''s tricked her, it put a smile on her face, like when she received this mirror for instance. Jim took her to the market to get a woman''s opinion on items he should stock in the store. He asked her to pick out the one item she thought a girl would like the most out of the available inventory. One month later he gifted that golden mirror to her for their one year anniversary. She thought it was to be a display item. Maybe she should have known better, but Jim had her completely fooled, and the whole time, he told her nothing but the truth.


    Jim could trick her, but he¡¯s never lied to her nor treated her poorly, and there she was gazing into her beautiful mirror while directing suspicion toward the man who gave it to her. The man who was the most honest, caring, very handsome, strong, and... ¡°Crap, I''m doing it again,¡± she thought, ¡°What if Jim really is too good for me?¡± and there was again, that nauseating feeling that kept coming back and kept getting worse every time it came. Maybe growing old with Jim just wasn''t in her cards. Jim does care for her. She knew that was true for sure, but maybe Jim only keeps her around out of some sense of obligation.


    When Samantha met Jim, he was an adventurer, and she was a panicked foreign girl. Their first encounter occurred at the Adventure Guild when she was soliciting adventurers to search for her missing parents. They were serfs who decided to abandon their simple farming life in the hope for a better future on the frontier. They moved to Brunseborough, became adventurers, and one day, as is often the case with novice adventurers, they failed to return from a quest.


    Fourteen year old Samantha had been in town for less than a month when it happened and didn''t have anyone she could turn to for help. She didn¡¯t even have a single copper to her name when everything she held dear went missing. She became distraught and did the only thing she could think to do, beg random adventures to help her search for her missing parents.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°Please, my parents went missing. They¡¯re copper. Will you help me search for them?¡± Samantha pleaded to an adventure with yellowish black teeth and a dirty beard. Had she not been in such a desperate state, she would never have spoken with someone who looked as rough as this man.


    ¡°Calm down. What¡¯s yur name sweetheart? How longs them runts gone missin¡¯ fur?¡± he asked, his rotten teeth showing through his lecherous grin.


    ¡°I¡¯m Samantha. They were supposed to return two days ago. I can¡¯t pay you right now but if you help me search for my parents, I swear I¡¯ll pay you back.¡±


    ¡°Name¡¯s Kevin, but you can call me Daddy, and if ya can¡¯t pay, then ya can¡¯t hire a party, now can ya?¡±


    ¡°I know, but me and my family just moved to town. We have no gold, and now they went missing. Please, please help me find my parents.¡±


    ¡°So what? Yur parents are gone, it¡¯s not the end of the world. I killed my folks when I was around yur age. Better off without¡¯em I say. Ha ha ha,¡± the grungy adventure let it an odd, hard laugh.


    Samantha was beginning to doubt his sanity, but she was desperate. ¡°I love my parents, and I¡¯ll be homeless without them. If you help me find them, I swear I¡¯ll pay you back,¡± she begged, tears of desperation welling in her hazel eyes.


    ¡°Sorry beautiful, gold up front, that goes double fur a homeless brat like you, but if yur looking for a place to stay, I got a two room hut on the East Side. I¡¯ll even feed you.¡±


    ¡°No, I need someone to help me find my parents, not a place to stay,¡± she said, and attempted to walk away.


    ¡°Not so fast there.¡± Kevin grabbed her arm. ¡°I¡¯ll search fur ya folks.¡±


    ¡°Really!¡± Samantha¡¯s eyes lit up.


    ¡°Really. I¡¯ll even fork the gold the rest of my party deserves for takin¡¯ yur quest.¡±


    ¡°Thank the gods, and I swear I¡¯ll return every copper.¡±


    ¡°Payment is still up front. Name yur price sugar.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°You, I¡¯ll buy ya. What¡¯s yur price?¡±


    ¡°Uhm, I¡¯m not for sale.¡± By now she was sure talking to this disgusting man was a mistake, and tried to leave again.


    Kevin tightened his coarse, dirty hand¡¯s grip around her wrist. His fist was tight, painfully tight. ¡°You can pay me by taking three or four goblin squirts a week. Once ya get used to it, it¡¯s very soothing, and ain¡¯t no one else gonna help a skinny brat like you find your dumb fucking parents. What do you say baby?¡± he asked, pulling her close enough to make he choke on his putrid breath.


    Samantha didn¡¯t know at the time what a goblin squirt was, but she knew that she absolutely did not want to take it from this creep. She was about to scream for help when an onlooker¡¯s fist smashed into the pervert¡¯s hideous face.


    Jim, a complete stranger at the time, overheard the whole thing, and knocked three of the lechure¡¯s teeth out on her behalf. ¡°Are you alright? Did he hurt you?¡± he asked. He was so handsome in that moment. Well, he¡¯s always handsome, but in that moment, he was her savior. That was when she fell in love with him.


    Jim and the Rascals, without any compensation, took her quest. Jim also arranged for her to stay with their manager while they searched. She shuddered her to think about what might¡¯ve happened to her if Jim hadn''t been there that day.


    The Rascals spent three weeks searching for her parents, and ultimately found their remains in a goblin hole. ¡°Jim wasn¡¯t able to save my parents, but he was able to save me,¡± Samantha thought as she touched the only remaining keep sake she had of her family, her mother¡¯s locket, that Jim had returned to her.


    Could it be that this whole time she¡¯d been taking advantage of Jim¡¯s kindness while only being a burden herself?


    She didn¡¯t think she was just a burden, because Jim had said otherwise, so why was it that Jim didn¡¯t want to marry her?


    She didn¡¯t know why her relationship, which seemed so perfect, wouldn¡¯t move forward, so she kept pondering on it. ¡°Maybe he does love me but isn¡¯t in love with me enough to want to get married,¡± she speculated, ¡°In that case, when he says it¡¯s comforting having me around, he really means it, but what does that make me?¡±


    ¡°Convenient,¡± she figured. She had fallen completely in love with him the moment they met and would do anything for him. Did that make her his easy woman? As she considered this possibility, she became more and more concerned about her wrinkles again.


    Her thoughts were disorderly. She needed advice, and with a loud ¡°fuck!¡± she heard just the right person fumbling about in the kitchen. Jim¡¯s younger brother, James Davis, the third occupant of Jim¡¯s General Store, scalded his hand on a hot pot.


    ¡°James, are you all right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I just burned my hand on breakfast is all.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s almost dinnertime you know.¡±


    ¡°When I wake up, I eat breakfast. It¡¯s as simple as that.¡±


    ¡°You could always get up at a reasonable hour and eat with Jim and I.¡±


    ¡°Not you too Samantha. What hours I keep is my business.¡±


    ¡°I make omelets in the morning. I was just offering to make you one if you¡¯re ever up at that time is all.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s what you meant,¡± James said as he sat down to a hot bowl of stew, ¡°Thank you, but unless you¡¯re omelettes cure Jim¡¯s insufferable behavior, I¡¯m going to have to pass on having breakfast with him.¡±


    ¡°Then how about I make an extra one, and keep it in the coldbox for when you want it. A cold omelette for breakfast is still better than last night¡¯s stew.¡±


    ¡°Well sure, but why are you trying so hard to feed me an omelette?¡± James asked.


    ¡°Because I want you to owe me a favor,¡± Samantha replied innocently as she sat across the table from him.


    James set his spoon down with a deadpan expression, and bluntly stated, ¡°Nope. I don¡¯t make open ended arrangements. If you want to pedal your omelettes, it¡¯s going to have to be for something more specific than a favor.¡±


    Samantha, entertained by her hopefully, future brother in law''s predictable response, said ¡°I want your thoughts on something.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ll be of any use, but either way I still get the omelette, right?¡±


    Despite the fact he came off as a degenerate nearly every chance he got, James was far more intelligent than he let on, and often gave surprisingly thoughtful advice. An omelette was a fair price.


    ¡°Either way you still get the omelette,¡± she said.


    ¡°All right deal. What¡¯s this matter you¡¯re so worked up about?¡± James asked, scooping a spoonful of stew.


    Samantha pressed her index finger to her pursed lips for a thoughtful moment. ¡°Hmm¡­ Do you think I¡¯m an easy woman?¡± she asked, causing James to spew his spoonful of stew back into his bowl.


    ¡°Ahh, hot,¡± he said, attempting to play down his surprise from hearing his cute future sister in law¡¯s uncharacteristically vulgar speech. He wasn¡¯t fooling anyone. ¡°Where did you hear a vulgar term like that anyway?¡±


    ¡°Oh, us girls talk about a lot of stuff.¡±


    ¡°Scary.¡±


    ¡°More than you know.¡±


    James, still trying to play down his embarrassment, casually ate another spoonful of stew and said, ¡°No, I don¡¯t think you¡¯re an easy woman. Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Will you agreed to keep this talk private?¡±


    ¡°I can, but it¡¯ll cost you.¡±


    ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°Three, no four, more omelettes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s extortion!¡± she exclaimed with fake indignation.


    ¡°It is, and if you want me to keep your secrets, that¡¯s my price.¡± James was resolute.


    Samantha knew he was good to his word, and considering her predicament, four more omelettes for his silence was acceptable. ¡°Deal,¡± she said with a sprite nod.


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why Jim doesn¡¯t want to marry me but keeps taking care of me. So I was thinking that, maybe I¡¯m just his easy woman.¡±


    James involuntarily snorted a chuckle at how preposterous that sounded. He kept his stew in his mouth this time, but barely.


    ¡°Hey! It¡¯s not funny. I¡¯m really troubled by this.¡±


    James took a moment to gather his composure and realize what it was that she was really asking. ¡°Why hasn¡¯t your brother asked me to marry him yet?¡± was the real question. Unfortunately, even though he knew the answer, it was not his place to speak for his older brother on matters like that. Still, he was getting paid, so he was obligated to clear up her misunderstanding the best he could.


    ¡°First of all, there¡¯s no way your his easy woman. For that to be true, you¡¯d have to disregard all the effort Jim puts into your guys¡¯ relationship, so that part is provably false.¡±


    Samantha thought about it, and conceded to his reasoning. Jim was always so thoughtful, there¡¯s no way it could be easy for him.


    ¡°And I can¡¯t speak for Jim as to why he hasn¡¯t pop the question yet, but I do know two things to be true. One,¡± he said, holding up his index finger, ¡°Jim is madly in love with you. Two, my brother¡¯s more dense than lead about some things.¡±


    As she thought about his words, a smile formed her face, not because they were the words she wanted to hear, but because James was the one saying them, so they were very likely true. At least James thought they were, and James knew his older brother for his entire life, so if anyone knew whether or not Jim was ¡°madly in love¡° with her, it was him.


    ¡°So you think he wants to marry me but doesn¡¯t know how to ask?¡±


    ¡°Again, I can¡¯t speak for Jim, but if it¡¯s advice you¡¯re looking for, then I recommend giving him a little nudge in the right direction.¡±


    ¡°And how should I go about doing that?¡±


    ¡°I can talk to him for you, if you¡¯d like.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not! Not a word of any of this to Jim.¡±


    James rolled his eyes. ¡°Fine, not a word.¡±


    ¡°So, how should I do it?¡± Samantha asked eagerly. Since he had agreed to receive payment, he would definitely give her a good deal, and that he did. By the time James had finished his stew, Samantha¡¯s head was spinning from all the tips and suggestions he¡¯d given her. She was blown away by how insightful his advice was. It¡¯s probably because his genes were the same as Jim¡¯s, and Jim was very smart, and handsome, charming, kind, and¡­ ¡°Oh, I¡¯m doing it again. I can¡¯t wait to kiss him,¡± she thought. The restlessness she had been feeling was definitely eager anticipation now.


    ¡°Those were five omelettes well spent,¡± she thought.

 Chapter 5

    Awkward. During the first sixty six days of little Damian¡¯s new life, he developed a profound comprehension of what that word could mean. There was baby talk, breast feeding, and diaper changing. Of those he couldn''t decide which he found to be the most awkward, but by far, the most disturbing thing about being little Damian Dagger, so far, was sleeping in his new parents bed.


    ¡°Did my little man make a stinky pee pee?¡± Rose might ask before changing his wet diaper. It was a rhetorical question. Fortunately, his mother did not need a reply and would promptly change him. ¡°Oh, you made a lot of pee pee this time, didn¡¯t you?¡± another rhetorical question.


    He didn¡¯t take offense to his mother''s belittling. It was an appropriate way to talk to an infant, and as far as she knew, he was her possibly retarded but otherwise ¡°perfectly healthy¡± newborn baby boy. She didn¡¯t know that her baby already knew reading, writing, and arithmetic, nor did she suspect in the slightest that he understood exactly what her and her husband did at night. He had thought of trying to interrupt the couple, except he still wasn¡¯t sure he could make a convincing baby cry, so he uncomfortably endured.


    Little Damian had to be cautious. The message he¡¯d received said not to get caught by gods or man, and he still didn¡¯t know how he¡¯s supposed to keep his secret from the gods themselves. They were, as his blessing had proven, very real but that was the extent of his understanding. For all he knew, they could be omnipotent beings watching his every move, looking for any indication he retained his memories, ready to damn him for a thousand years of suffering in an instant with no trial, or they might be some kind of real life RPG skill tree that accepts gold and red beads in exchange for special abilities and stat bonuses. It could have been one, both, or neither of those things.


    He was ignorant, bhat he did know was that no one had approached him with the intent to damn his soul for a thousand years, yet. ¡°What the fuck is up with that anyway? Suffer for a thousand years? Isn¡¯t that a little bit extreme?¡± Little Damian thought he was a decent guy in his last life and didn¡¯t think himself capable of doing something so bad it¡¯d warrant a thousand years of suffering. The message made it seem like it was he himself who somehow cheated to retain his memories and no longer remembers doing it. It sounded cool, but he wouldn¡¯t have done it if he¡¯d understood the consequences of getting caught.


    ¡°Could the message have been a practical joke?¡± he wondered, ¡°Maybe there¡¯s some kind of humorous god out there giving people their old memories and a fake message to freak them out.¡± He figured it might be something like that because there was no way he would¡¯ve done anything, in any life, so bad he should suffer for a thousand years over it. Though, he probably would, if he could, somehow ¡°arrange¡± for him to keep his memories in this world. Frankly, it seemed awesome. There were too many coincidental resemblances to the fantasy of his world for it to all be a coincidence. It was clear that they¡¯re related, but he didn''t know if this world took after the fantasy of Earth or vice a versa.


    Could it be that his life was saved on Earth and what he¡¯s experiencing now is a really high fidelity simulation he¡¯s hooked up to? If that¡¯s it, then the technology used would be more advanced than what he was aware existed. ¡°Why would someone want to make me a baby in a fantasy world?¡± he wondered, ¡°Is this some kind of psychological test? Am I alive but brain damaged?¡±


    His thoughts seemed completely normal considering his circumstances, but he couldn¡¯t discount sim-theory or brain damage as possibilities. Neither could he discount the possibility that everything was how it seemed. He somehow cheated to reincarnate with his memories, and if he gets caught he¡¯ll be sentenced to a thousand years of suffering. Little Damian had to be cautious.


    ¡°Awe, that¡¯s a lot of stinky pee pee!¡± Rose cheerfully declared. ¡°That means you¡¯ll grow up to be big and strong, just like your bladder,¡± she teased, unaware her baby understood every word. He did appreciate his mother¡¯s care. She was diligently changing his sandpaper coarse, hemp wool diaper, after all, which would have left the newborn sensitive skin scraped and rashed in mere minutes, had his mother not been so diligent about changing him.


    She was also very diligent about her other parental responsibilities, like feeding, regular naps, and spending a lot of time interacting with her baby.


    He didn¡¯t want to come off as cold to his new mother, as he felt quite sympathetic to her plight. It was only a suspicion among the Daggers, but apparently there was a rumor going around that he was retarded. He was pretty sure that was not true, but Rose didn¡¯t know that. Her misunderstanding could have been easily cleared up, but without knowing what the gods are, it seemed like keeping the status quo for now was the safer choice, so to keep from being found out as an otherworldly, grown adult imposter, masquerading as this woman¡¯s newborn baby, little Damian kept his silence, and pretended to be retarded.


    He didn¡¯t start off that in mind nor did he feel good about doing it, but he felt it was for the best. It was a fact, that his father was a strong warrior who, despite his gentle demeanor, used a fucking sword and shield to fight fucking monster for a living, which made the fish face with sound effects he was making that much more embarrassing. Since little Damian was not actually a brand new person experiencing existence for the first time, he felt it was his moral obligation not to encourage that kind of behavior in any way. He merely looked away from his father''s attempts to entertain him, and stared at the wall.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem to interact with people like a normal child does,¡± Dillon said in human speech, no longer speaking in his fake fish language.


    ¡°Maybe he¡¯s just the strong silent type,¡± Rose speculated.


    ¡°Maybe, but isn¡¯t there something we can do for him, in case he¡¯s having trouble learning? What do you think dad?¡±


    Old Dean paused his whittling and said, ¡°Well, when he gets older we can give him intelligence potions. That, along with ample tutelage, would be what we can do for little Damian, if he is mentally challenged.¡±


    ¡°Intelligence potions and ample tutelage sound great. When can we start?¡± Little Damian wondered, pretending to watch an imaginary TV in the wall.


    Dillon took a long look at his unusually quiet boy. His unease was evident from the complicated expression he wore.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t easy for me either,¡± little Damian thought.


    ¡°Well, he might also be just fine. Either way, we won¡¯t know until he gets older,¡± old Dean said.


    This type of exchange was common. Dillon and Rose would worry, and old Dean would be the voice of reason. Little Damian thought this whole, ¡°him being retarded,¡± business was overblown. It wasn¡¯t like he was pretending to be a vegetable. He did not cry, but he did do some normal baby things, like looking at sudden noises and flailing his arms and legs around occasionally. It was enough for an Earthly physician to be able to declare him fine, which he considered to be sufficient to meet his moral obligation of not making his parents worry.


    He was keeping his options open. It seemed like pretending to be an artistic kid could be easier than pretending to be a normal one. This wasn¡¯t a nice thing to do, and he knew it, but if he was really was facing a thousand years of suffering, what would happen to these innocent people who are unwittingly caught up in whatever this is? Possibly for their own good, keeping his secret was little Damian¡¯s highest priority at that time, even if it meant these people thought their son might be retarded.


    A wrap on the door brought a much desired change of pace.


    ¡°Come in,¡± old Dean said casually, and even though little Damian didn¡¯t think his voice was loud enough to be heard outside, the door opened.


    The Black Paws had come over for a visit. Vance, who seemed to trail his company, was the first to enter, leading little Damian to suspect the Rascals¡¯ scout had particularly sharp ears.


    He¡¯d been looking forward to this ever since he overheard old Dean¡¯s comment a half hour ago. ¡°It seems Vance has news,¡± he said, seemingly out of nowhere. He was beginning to suspect his grandfather had particularly sharp ears as well.


    The common greeting around there was to state the other person¡¯s name, often with a nod acknowledging the named person. When all the name calling and head bobbing was over with, the Daggers and the Black Paws settled at the kitchen table for a meeting. A bench wide enough for three sat on either side of the crude table. All of the furniture was made from the same untreated, splintery softwood as the rest of the house. Though he had to take care of that to get splinters, little Damian appreciated his infrequent independence from his mother¡¯s bosom as he and little Theressa sat next to each other on the table.


    Unfortunately, little Theressa did not seem to be an adult in a baby¡¯s body. She seemed to only do three things, eat, sleep, and cry. Currently, she was sleeping.


    ¡°Awe, little Theressa¡¯s getting even cuter,¡± Rose said.


    ¡°She is, when she¡¯s asleep,¡± Victor said grimly.


    ¡°It is normal for newborns to cry. She will likely grow out of it soon,¡± reasonable old Dean assured the whary cat.


    No one knew why little Theressa spent almost every waking moment of her life crying thus far, but it was clearly taking a toll on her parents. ¡°You guys are really fortunate, little Damian is so well behaved,¡± Mary said. Victor and Vance both made a single solemn nod in agreement.


    Little Theressa¡¯s crying was far in excess of what could be considered normal. Little Damian thought on it. Maybe she did have her memories, like how he sort of became retarded, her excessive crying could just be part of her cover. He hoped it wasn¡¯t something bad, like she only got pieces of her memories and what she remembers is making her cry. Maybe her thoughts got scrambled during whatever transfer process that got them there. She might not understand what¡¯s happening and¡­ ¡°It could be anything,¡± he thought.


    Maybe he should listen to his grandfather on this one. It¡¯s normal for babies to cry. She¡¯ll likely grow out of it soon. Other than coincidental arrival times, he didn¡¯t have reason to suspect she¡¯s in another worlder at all.


    Suddenly, Mary gasped, pointed a finger at little Damian, and said ¡°Look.¡±


    ¡°Fuck! What did I do?¡± little Damian shouted in his head, feigning amusement over the shape of his fingers.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°Awe, little Damian was just looking at little Theressa like he¡¯s worried about her, but he¡¯s not doing it anymore,¡± Mary said disappointedly.


    Little Damian took an inconspicuous look around to see who else noticed his little fumble. Everyone seemed interested by his possible display of intellectual functioning, but Vance, and old Dean in particular, had slightly furrowed brows, like they were trying to discern something.


    ¡°Crap,¡± little Damian though, ¡°those two have really good hearing. They might be listening to my heartbeat. A mentally challenged infant¡¯s heart shouldn¡¯t sound like a jackhammer because someone pointed and said ¡®look.¡¯¡±


    He needed to calm his racing heart. To achieve the world record for holding his breath the longest, a man slowed his heart rate using meditation and ice water.


    Ice water wasn¡¯t an option. ¡°Into my cave. Into my cave. Step deeper into my cave,¡± little Damian hastily thought.


    It worked. He lowered his heartbeat, and though old Dean was still observing him, he switched topics. ¡°So Vance, what did you learn?¡± he asked the hooded black cat, who¡¯s gaze also still lingered on little Damian.


    ¡°Why all the men and equipment is headed east,¡± he replied.


    Little Damian let the penguin in his mind¡¯s cave drift away and allowed his thoughts to race. He¡¯d have to be especially careful around these two. If he shows a pattern of heart palpitations correlated to circumstances he should have no or a limited comprehension of, old Dean would catch on immediately, and Vance doesn¡¯t seem to let anything escape his notice. He would have to learn how to control his heart rate, breathing, eye moments, and maybe even his pupil dilation. He needed to master these skills, and fast. One sympathetic glance at an adorable kitten nearly got him busted this time. He wouldn¡¯t let there be a next time. Keeping his secret in a world of might and magic might be harder than he¡¯d thought.


    ¡°If this really was my own doing, I¡¯d like to ask myself one simple question. What was I thinking? One tiny misstep and I¡¯ll get busted, then a thousand years of suffering?¡± Little Damian was inclined to believe that he was not the author of the message. Still, he¡¯d have to carefully coordinate all of his bodily functions from this point forward. His every movement was under scrutiny. Maybe or maybe not by the gods, but this old man had his eyes on him, and his ears.


    Before Vance could elaborate, Little Theressa woke up and started crying. Little Damian snapped his attention to the kitten before quickly becoming disinterested, just like he had practiced. Dillon and Rose, who¡¯d been eagerly observing, looked dejected. Vance rubbed his palm across his face, his thoughts moved onto Little Theressa.


    It was old Dean that was worrisome. He was still studying him like one would an unsolved puzzle.


    ¡°This is bad,¡± little Damien thought. He¡¯d have to live there for maybe his whole life. Old Dean was smart, if he started getting suspicious now, that could spell disaster for a little Damian in the future.


    He needed to get his grandfather to stop scrutinizing him, and he needed to do something now, so little Damian played his trump card.


    ¡°Did somebody make a pee pee?¡± Rose happily asked the culprit. It was another rhetorical question. This time little Damian was happy to hear it. He was less happy about the tickling. Though it felt more like violent poking, he was used to it by now, and remained expressionless.


    Little Theressa was doing one of her three usual activities, which thankfully, was feeding.


    With a steely finger gouging at his undefended abdomen, little Damian was finally able to hear Vance¡¯s report. ¡°The Wicked Ninth Prince is marching to our borders,¡± he said.


    Victor¡¯s face was stern, Dillon looked concerned, Rose and Mary gave the impression they were smelling something disgusting, while old Dean rubbed the stubble on his chin with a thoughtful expression.


    ¡°If Kismond attacks, we¡¯ll be sent to war,¡± Victor asserted, the aggressive glint in his feline eyes suggesting that he was fully prepared for that eventuality.


    ¡°That is not likely,¡± old Dean rebutted, ¡°King Henry won¡¯t allow the Ninth Prince to invade.¡±


    ¡°Then why is he sending his armies?¡± Mary asked.


    Dillon was the one to reply, ¡°This happened thirty years ago. Kismond sends an army to pressure the border, isolating Hobart from the rest of the kingdoms. Hobart has to spend more than it can afford on defense. In a few years, the kingdom goes bankrupt, and Kismond¡¯s relative strength soars.¡±


    ¡°The blockade lasted a decade last time,¡± Vance said.


    ¡°Riots and unreasonable food prices is why we moved to Brunseborough in the first place,¡± old Dean added.


    ¡°I thought we moved so the Rascals could be closer to the frontier.¡± Dillon seemed to have a misunderstanding.


    ¡°The Rascals¡¯ hunting did put food on the table, but we move because of the riots and food prices,¡± old Dean clarified.


    Mary, who¡¯s unfamiliar with politics, asked ¡°Why would the Good King do that?¡±


    ¡°Kismond has always bullied the smaller kingdoms,¡± Victor replied with deep indignation, bordering on hatred. He seemed like he had a serious bone to pick with Kismond.


    ¡°We should stock salt,¡± Vance stated.


    Dillon nodded and said, ¡°In a couple of years we won¡¯t be able to get anymore.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s going to be a lot of crime,¡± Mary said with concern for the little ones.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been through this once before, and we will get through it again,¡± old Dean assured, ¡°This time we¡¯ll be much better prepared.¡±


    Dillon thought for a moment about what this news meant for his family, and said, ¡°If little Damian or Theressa need extra help, it could get expensive. There will be lucrative opportunities with this.¡±


    ¡°Lucrative opportunities?¡± Little Damian was intrigued.


    ¡°The public order will go to shit.¡± Vance too was intrigued.


    ¡°And there¡¯s going to be a lot of gold being moved for military materials,¡± Rose added excitedly.


    ¡°That gold will find its way out here too,¡± Victor said.


    ¡°This probably isn¡¯t what it sounds like,¡± little Damian thought.


    ¡°Dad,¡± Dillion addressed his father with a serious tone, ¡°I think it¡¯s time we start doing riskier jobs.¡±


    Victor, Vance, and Rose each expressed their agreement.


    ¡°One or all of you could easily be killed over some of those ¡®riskier your jobs¡¯ you¡¯ve proposed.¡± Old Dean was firm.


    ¡°We¡¯re not kids anymore,¡± Dillon said assertively, ¡°We can we can manage an ambush.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re usually in and out without anybody noticing,¡± Vance added.


    ¡°I really hope this isn¡¯t what it sounds like,¡± little Damian thought.


    ¡°That may be true,¡± old Dean said, ¡°but you¡¯ll not be doing anything brash.¡±


    ¡°Dad.¡±


    ¡°Old Dean.¡±


    ¡°Dean.¡±


    ¡°Look old man,¡± All of the Rascals tried to speak at once but Victor took charge saying, ¡°I appreciate what you do, but I have a kid to feed now. Either you put us on some loot, or I¡¯ll take my spear east.¡±


    There was silence. Old Dean sized up Victor and calmly said, ¡°It might get cold tonight. I¡¯ll make us a fire,¡± nodded, and walked out of the house to get wood. Everyone watched him leave.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bluff with old Dean. You¡¯ll lose.¡± Vance chastised his brother.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a bluff,¡± Victor said.


    Dillon tried to reason with him. ¡°The pay will pick up. Dad will come around.¡±


    Vance followed up. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t even make much if you sold yourself.¡±


    Victor wasn¡¯t backing down. ¡°I¡¯ve fought Kismen before. The Barron would pay pile of gold for me. My salary would easily be twice what I make now.¡±


    ¡°The benefits wouldn¡¯t be as good,¡± Dillon reminded him.


    ¡°Victor, you¡¯re the core. The Rascals need you,¡± Rose said as if she were scolding an unreasonable child.


    Mary, who¡¯d been quietly nursing, spoke very slowly to her husband. ¡°Victor, you will not sell yourself to the Barron. It is not worth the price of a father and husband. You will never speak of this again, except to tell old Dean that you¡¯re reconsidered.¡± She was livid.


    Victor looked like he wanted to say something to Mary. Mary looked like she wanted to kill Victor. Victor backed down before old Dean returned with wood.


    Eight people watched Old Dean walk in, and casually build a fire in silence. This suited little Damian as he was able to clearly hear his grandfather speak his incantation when he lit it. The spell he cast sent a two-foot flame that looked like it came from a punctured aerosol can rushing out of the metal chopstick. Though the wood was only engulfed for a second, it was sufficient to light the leaves and twigs he had arranged.


    Little Damian assumed his grandfather was able to do this because he was a witch, which little Damian had learned was quite common for a Dagger. His father too was blessed by the Witch when he was born, but instead of studying magic and potions like old Dean had insisted, Dillon trained with sword and shield so that he may adventure the great frontier.


    Little Damian respected his father''s adventurous spirit, but adventuring seemed to entail an awful lot of violence, something little Damian had never been a fan of. He figured the magic and potions route was more his style. So what if he had to be a witch? Magic and potions seemed like they¡¯d be really useful, and he probably didn¡¯t even have to wear a weird hat.


    Old Dean didn¡¯t wear a funny hat or a wartted nose. He look normal. His large ears and nose fit his aged face nicely. Little Damian was pleased that his grandfather was still handsome, despite his senior condition. In this life, he seemed to have gotten a good start. He should be able to achieve comfortable success in this other world with his good genes and a magical education. Only if he could stay alive long enough for those things to matter though.


    He wasn¡¯t particularly concerned with his physical safety. His protective, well armed family seemed to have that under control. It was his so-called blessing that caused him concern as of late. He didn¡¯t know much about blessings in general. He thought his might be special, but it could have been completely common. For all he knew. it could have been a powerful ability for witchcraft or a remote killswitch hidden in his head by the gods.


    For a single second in the church, after the velvet cloth deflated, little Damian¡¯s world changed. He saw something everywhere, even where he could not see with his real eyes, behind him, above him, below him, everywhere. It was attached to everything around him, even the air and the people. He saw it as glowing multi-colored lights. The people were especially bright. What that stuff was and how he was ¡°seeing¡± it, were two more things he couldn¡¯t be sure of, but he had a hunch that what he saw was magic, and for a single second he saw it in all directions. Then came a splitting headache for a few seconds before he passed out.


    He assumed it was because of the ¡°eyes¡± that let him see the knowledge that made him, or something like that. What his blessing really did was give him an intense migraine. It was like the magic eyes were inside him, but they were being blocked by a giant boulder. When he strained to move the metaphysical boulder, it made his head hurt. He didn¡¯t think the gods would give him a blessing that only hurt and thought that maybe, if he could just move that border, he¡¯d be able to use his ability.


    It was just that the splitting headaches and loss of consciousness was stopping him. Maybe it was dangerous. It could be that it¡¯s a really great ability that he¡¯s supposed to spend years developing, until he¡¯s an old man even. He couldn¡¯t wait that long, he had problems now, mostly that he was ignorant. His ability might be able to help him figure out what¡¯s happening, so little Damian excepted the risk of attempting to use an unknown magical blessing, granted by shifty looking witch deity, with an infant¡¯s body, and day after day he tried to move his mental boulder. Four times a day he¡¯d concentrate, get a migraine, and pass out. Maybe he was making progress. Maybe he was giving himself brain damage. He didn¡¯t know, but when old Dean lit the fire he accepted the risk and heaved his metaphysical boulder with all the mental might his baby mind could muster.


    He saw it. It was vague, but he certainly saw it. Magic streamed out of the tip of old Dean¡¯s wand as he chanted. Each spoken syllable made a symbol that arranged itself into a circle in front of his wand. When the incantation was complete, old dean dimmed for a second, and spell was activated.


    Rose was first to notice little Damian losing consciousness and happily asked, ¡°Is somebody getting sleepy?¡±


    His mother''s rhetorical question was the last thing he heard before blacking out. ¡°I really hope I wasn¡¯t born into a loving family of highway robbers¡± was his last thought.

 Chapter 6

    Little Damian wished they would talk more about the blessings and gods that they were all there for. ¡°What did she mean by ''get a good one''? Is it a raffle, a test of strength, or something else entirely? I can probably keep my secret from the humans and beast-kin, but how do you keep a secret from the gods?¡± he wondered.


    His curiosity would have to wait. When they reached the church,it was time for more greetings. The property, a deep rectangular lot with six-foot high, stone perimeter walls snugging three sides of the grand building, had a large, freshly mowed front yard.


    There they met Father Clyde, a softly spoken priest who seemed exceptionally well liked. At least little Damian liked him, probably because he was the only person that didn''t call him little. He too declared little Theressa to be cuter.


    They met Smiths and ¡°Mawlners,¡± that he had to remember ¡°is said maul, like when monster attack people, they maul them, ner. Mawlner,¡± and he was also not to ¡°say it wrong later.¡± There were Winierends, Rapsons, and Forests. He met his second cousins, the Muses, all seven of them.


    From youngest to oldest they were, ¡°Tina Muse, three years old. Hi little baby.¡±


    ¡°Brett Muse, six years old. He does kind-da look retarted.¡±


    ¡°Shut up dumbass. Aunt Rose is right there. Brad Muse, Brett¡¯s twin, older by one hour. Good to meet you little Damian. Put¡¯er there,¡± he said with an outstretched palm. It wasn¡¯t possible for the little baby to shake Brett Muse¡¯s doppelganger¡¯s hand.


    ¡°Mikey Muse, seven years old. You just think they¡¯re both retarted, don¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°MattyMuse, eight years old. Brad¡¯s right, stop saying retarted you guys.¡±


    ¡°Maple Muse, nine years old. Retarded or not he¡¯s almost as cute as little Theressa.¡±


    "Magdoline Muse, ten years old. Not uh Maple, the kitty is way cuter.¡±


    The Muses, even the parents Matt and Nancy, replied with a chorus of eight ¡°Yeah¡±s and head bobs.


    There were too many people for little Damian to remember all their names at the time, but most of them had two things in common. They all said little Theressa was cuter and most of them were compelled to ¡°goo¡± and ¡°gawe¡± him for as long as each one of them damn well pleased. Fortunately for little Theressa, she was still sleeping and missed the whole affair. He was starting to get a little bit jealous of the sleepy kitten.


    When the many greetings were over, the small talk started back up, and he was able to overhear some interesting things. The Rascals, led by his father, were made up of Rose, their archer, Dillon, their shield, Victor, their spear, Vance, their scout, and old Dean as their manager. They had a strong reputation among adventurers, some of whom were present to witness the blessing. One of whom, a seven-foot tall pig man named ¡°Grizzly,¡± was particularly forthcoming about his adventures, and though he was hard to understand through his thick pig oink accent, he talked a lot about himself and his party.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    It seemed like adventurers were sort of freelance strong men for hire. They would go on quests, hunt monster, or provide security. They each had a rank represented by a precious metal. From low to high there were; copper, silver, gold, mythril, and adamantium. Little Damian had heard of all of those, but two of them were not on the periodic table that he was familiar with nor were there any mythril or adamantium adventurers in this town he learned is called ¡°Brunseborough.¡±


    The Rascals were silver. Depending on who''s talking, they might be the strongest silver party in Brunseborough or a week party of ¡°prairie pickers.¡± Them never having failed a quest was apparently an established fact though, inclining him to believe the former more likely. He didn''t really think either were true.


    He also overheard Grizzly, Dillion, and Jim, who used to be a Rascal, talking about monster. Some of the common monster in this area were goblin, kobold, huge bat, ogre, troll, and raptor. A bow dealt with raptor, fire for troll, and ¡°you just gotta hit an ogre really hard.¡± Kobold and goblin seemed to be regarded as weak folder, and ¡°what you really want, is to take a wind magician with you to hunt huge bat.¡±


    Little Damian didn''t know what these monster looked like but from their familiar names he could imagine. He¡¯d killed all of those things with a click of a button before, but now he might have to physically kill them by hand or with magic. Magic seemed to be too expensive for regular use, but fire was regarded as an indispensable option for ¡°making things dead,¡± while the majority of the killing seemed to be done up close and personal with a weapon, like a sword, a spear, an axe, or Grizzly¡¯s club. It was three and a half-feet of dark red wood slung from his back with a white metal band and seven three-inch spikes on the business end. He called it ¡°splatter.¡± Little Daman though the name was probably more literal than figurative.


    Grizzly may have been forthcoming about adventure stuff, but no one talked about what he really wanted to know, what these blessings were. Everyone seemed to have a story about witnessing a birth blessing and presumably everyone gets something different. Surely it had to do with fighting monster, but no one said what they did, almost as if they were avoiding the subject.


    He would have also liked to know more about his family''s party, but they didn''t say a word about where they went or what they did.


    ¡°You ought-da ditch the prairies. The mines been paying out lately, and the worst you''ll run into is some kobold shaman,¡± the large pig-man suggested to Dillon, gesturing condescendingly to ¡°splatter¡± on his back. Little Damian shuddered, counting himself as fortunate not to have reincarnated as a kobold shaman.


    ¡°I appreciate the tip, but the prairies are treating us just fine.¡±


    ¡°Look, I know the Rascals don''t bring home much silver. Where ya¡¯ll been stomping around at lately anyhow?¡±


    ¡°Now Grizzly, you know I don''t talk about Rascal business,¡± was Dillon¡¯s standard response to questions of that nature.


    ¡°Ha! I''m just sizzling your bacon,¡± the pig-man laughed in squeals more than oinks, like miss piggy if she were a seven-foot tall, angry wild boar-man squealing when she laughed, ¡°but seriously, if you ever feel like playing in the big boy pen, the Rascals are always welcome to dive the mines with Slaughter House.¡±


    Dillon gave an appreciative nod and said, ¡°Thanks Grizzly. I''ll keep that in mind, and tell Honey Bear I said hello.¡±


    Grizzly oinked his agreements, nodding.


    The women''s gaggle, having quadrupled, was chatting away. Mostly about how cute little Theressa is, but they also told little Damian to ¡°hang in there¡± and to ¡°do your best.¡±


    Around mid morning, as the gathering poured into the church, he heard a lady in a fancy hat talking about her nephew. He¡¯d been blessed with herculean strength. Now he¡¯s some big shot in the Royal Army. He never writes home.


    Little Damian was having grand fantasies about fighting terrifying monster with super powers as he was carried into the impressive church.

 Chapter 7

    Polished white marble walls standing forty feet high made the church more formidable than any he could recall seeing, and the full-sized mural stained glass windows were... interesting. The bell house on the back of the structure, sixty five feet skyward, was its tallest point. Across the roof, standing at the peak, directly over the two huge wooden front doors, stood a statue of the Grim Reaper. It held a scythe in one hand and cast a bony finger downward with the other, pointing at pedestrians entering and exiting.


    The inside, every bit as magnificent as the outside, had wide open space instead of benches. Burgundy Fibonacci patterns set in gray polished marble covered the floor. Two huge pillars, thirty feet apart, bore the weight of the roof. Between them, six white statues encircled an altar with a silk pillow on it.


    With no benches to sit at, the crowd huddled around the altar as father Clyde spoke. ¡°We are gathered here this morning to celebrate two miraculous gifts the gods have granted us. We thank the gods and ask for their blessings upon young Theressa Black Paw and Damian Dagger.¡±


    Father Clyde gestured to Mary. She placed sleeping little Theressa on the pillowed altar, and returned to her husband¡¯s open arms.


    ¡°We thank the Maiden,¡± the priest said, walking toward the sculpture of a young lady extending an upward palm as if offering the pile of stones seeds she held, ¡°for her compassion. Compassion that forged the very bonds which brought Theressa into our lives.¡±


    Victor was a happy man. As he noticed his beautiful wife fondly gazing upon their newborn child, his baby girl, the most amazing thing he''s ever seen, he wondered where it all went so right? How did a cat like him, an orphan, raised by a spear, a killer, become so fortunate? What turn of fate did he receive that gave an old soldier like him such a satisfying life? ¡°The gods are generous,¡± he thought.


    Mary noticed her charming husband¡¯s powerful gaze. It made her weak when he did that, but she felt safe under his watchful eye, and in his powerful arms. She knew that, for her and their adorable daughter, this handsome man would protect them. These strong, well defined arms holding her tight right now were the same ones that would rip apart anything that threatened her or their adorable daughter. How did she landed such a catch? She wasn¡¯t sure, but this fine cat was going to be a more incredible father to their beautiful little girl than she could have ever hoped for. ¡°Thank the gods,¡± she thought, melting into Victor''s compassionate embrace.


    Father Clyde noticed the couple''s distraction and gave them a moment. The hall was quiet while he waited, shrugged his shoulders to the congregation, and with lips sealed together in a failed attempt to conceal his amusement, waited some more.


    Victor was first to notice the silence. His uht-oh face caused Father Clyde¡¯s smile breach containment.


    ¡°Ackem,¡± Victor awkwardly cleared his throat, bringing his wandering wife back to reality.


    White teeth showed through Father Clyde¡¯s wide grin as he continued, ¡°We ask the Maiden, should Theressa come to a crossroad along her journey, a compassionate soul be sent to guide her down a fruitful path.¡±


    Little Damian thought a blessing gave someone special powers to fight monster and such. Compassion though? If the priest¡¯s words were literal, then the Maiden¡¯s going to make some nice person help out little Theressa in the future. He hadn''t considered destiny to be an enhancement before but it could be powerful, like how a main character can¡¯t die, no matter what, until the end. If it''s not literal, it could be anything, like a bonus to charisma maybe, not that she¡¯d need it.Stolen story; please report.


    Little Damian was looking forward to hearing the other five gods prayers.


    ¡°All those willing may, at this time, come forward and place tribute.¡±


    The, one piece of solid marble, altar had a round depression in front of the pillow little Theressa was resting on. One by one the crowd came forward to place gold, silver, or small red beads in that depression. Once all the offerings were placed, father Clyde covered the bulky pile with a purple, velvet cloth, clasped his hands together and prayed. ¡°May the gods accept our humble tribute and bless this child. Amen.¡±


    ¡°Amen,¡± the crowd echoed.


    Little Theressa, who had been asleep all morning, woke up to see the bulk under the velvet cloth disappear.


    It was only for a moment, but she locked eyes with little Damian. He did not get the mutual understanding he was hoping for. Her gaze just wandered away and she started crying. ¡°Oh well, maybe she''s just a normal calico cat-baby after all,¡± he thought.


    Victor quickly stepped forward to collect little Theressa. He gave apologetic nods to the congregation as he returned to Mary''s side with the wailing kitten.


    Father Clyde, wearing his usual smile, gestured to Rose. It was little Damian''s turn.


    Positioned on the altar, at the center of attention, he was feeling pressure not to do anything unusual, least he get caught possessing his memories and spend a thousand years suffering like the mysterious message said might happen.


    Father Clyde didn''t start speaking immediately. He instead took slow steps around the altar, in front of the statues.


    ¡°Whew.¡± Little Damian was relieved. It wasn''t that he thought the Maiden was a bad goddess, but it seemed like he was only getting one, and the other statues looked stronger.


    To the right of the Maiden, the priest approached a statue of a cloaked figure holding a bow. ¡°That one looked cool,¡± little Damian thought as he kept walking.


    The next block of marble had a middle aged woman with a huge bust sculpted from it. She held a stalk of wheat in both hands like a lash, and as little Damian had hoped, Father Clyde¡¯s slow steps continued.


    The next one was a middle-aged man wearing a helm and holding a mace. As this statue was behind little Damian, it was the sound of Father Clyde¡¯s footsteps that told him his first choice was being passed up.


    Now there were only two deities left. One of these two geriatrics would represent the god little Damian would receive a blessing from. They had one blatantly obvious fact in common, they both depicted decrepitly old people.


    ¡°Hag,¡± little Damian thought of the first one, a woman with a wartted nose and a witch¡¯s hat like the one from earlier, pointing a gnarled stick at the altar.


    ¡°Wizard.¡± The other statue¡¯s intricately detailed beard falling all the way down to the feet of the crooked nosed old man, along with the five foot staff he was holding, made him the clear pick.


    Little Damian, breath held, heart racing, watched Father Clyde take slow steps to the hunk of marble depicting a witch, and stop in front of it.


    ¡°We thank the Witch.¡±


    ¡°Fuck! It is a witch.¡±


    ¡°For the knowledge that has shaped the destinies of the family who delivered Damian into our hearts. We ask for Damian to be granted eyes, so that he may see this knowledge.¡±


    ¡°A little wordy but not bad,¡± little Damian thought, Father Clyde¡¯s prayer sounding much better than what he had anticipated.


    After the offerings were placed, Father Clyde again said, ¡°May the gods accept our humble tribute and bless this child. Amen.¡±


    What happened next left little Damian unable to maintain his baby poker face for a moment and with wide eyes, in front of everyone, he let out an audible ¡°Whoa.¡±

 Chapter 8

    Philip Howlanger was a very proper man. From his meticulously manicured mustache to his immaculate wardrobe, his mild demeanor to his impeccable character, everything about him was proper.


    As it should be. He was the second most powerful person in Hobart Kingdom after all. His title was prime minister Earl Howlanger. He was his Majesty the Wild King William¡¯s right hand man and his keeper of secrets. To Hobart Kingdom, his career was akin to that of a storyteller or a puppeteer. In the literal sense, he was a spy master, as the second most powerful person in any kingdom always was.


    Late one one afternoon, Philip was sipping tea on the observation deck he had installed above the business wing of his enormous manor when he did something very uncharacteristic of himself. With a sudden jerk of his hand, he spilled some of his tea on his priceless robes. It wasn''t much tea, but it now adorned very expensive and very rare green singing spider silk.


    More than that though, it was a personal gift from the Wild King himself, and now Philip would have to stand before the king wearing his priceless, soiled gift.


    Without averting his eyes from the splotch of tea he spilled, he addressed an elderly man dressed like a butler. The old man, holding a handkerchief for the spilled tea, was Philip¡¯s personal attendant. Though his beard fell all the way to the ground and coiled on the deck between his feet like the sixth god¡¯s statue¡¯s beard, at a youthful eighty years of age and with a full head of white hair, the minister¡¯s right hand man was not nearly as old looking as the stone Wizard spread throughout the kingdoms.


    ¡°Sir?¡± the butler inquired, unsure if he had heard his Earl correctly.


    ¡°Do it and do not dally,¡± Philip snapped, frustrated with his servant¡¯s inaction.


    ¡°Yes, at once Mister Minister.¡± The white haired man, nimbley for someone with over twice the Minister¡¯s years, quickly vanished.


    Earl Howlanger noticed that he was still holding his tea cup. He finished the sip, and frowned. His displeasure wasn''t from the taste of the fine tea, nor from the tea he was wearing.


    His displeasure stemmed from a secret he heard, a single secret one of his men procured, turned into a code word, and carried on the wind into the ear of the Earl.


    Not far away two children were playing in a marvelous courtyard. The owner of the courtyard, the Marquis of Kingston, enjoyed his privacy, and for that purpose, had built this separate personal mansion on his appealing five acre estate. Twenty five thousand square feet of refrigerated, secured, private paradise, located in the middle of the kingdom''s capital, on the kings estate, was the Marquise¡¯s first class fortress of solitude. At least that is how outsiders like the honorable Prime Minister interpret this exclusive, high-security compound located in his Majesty¡¯s backyard.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    The two story Mansion, had four rectangular sections forming a courtyard in the middle. Trees, flowers, trimmed grass, and a splendid fountain created a peaceful, luxurious space, and unknown to outsiders, the Marquise liked to share his space.


    Little Timothy was splashing around in an outdoor bath. His innocent four year old laugh echoed through the courtyard spreading smiles in its wake. His sister, younger by one year, little Tiara, was being subjected to an onslaught water attacks, and giggling merrily.


    Though Martha, the maid charged with the children''s hygiene, was not spared from his wild splashing, she too was infected by his laughter and giggled while she and little Tiara happily endured.


    Martha enjoyed these small moments, however brief they were. She wished things could be like this forever. That was never the case though.


    For as long as she could remember she had been Marquis Thomas Lloyd''s personal maid, his servant. She grew up in this courtyard with many other children over the years. A long time ago, there were kids older than herself around, but the other kids all left at around five years old making her the oldest. Caring for small children was something she had always done and she was the type that taking care of other people came naturally. She was good at it, which might have been the reason she was still there while so many of her friends were not.


    Twenty five years ago, Martha''s parents were in debt. They could either sell themselves or their three month old baby. She had been Thomas Lloyd''s slave ever since. The only people that she''s ever known we''re also property of the Marquise. She had arrived at this large Hobart City estate before she could walk and never having stepped foot anywhere else, this was all she knew.


    ¡°I wish he wouldn''t stare,¡± she thought. Her master, had a habit of staring. It made her anxious when he was watching, but more than anything it set ablaze her sense of guilt. She was helpless to do anything about her situation, so she would try to enjoy those small moments that seemed so far away. That was impossible under his gaze.


    The Marquise was lord of the old capital, which he often traveled to. Fortunately, this meant he was not always around to stare at is revolving property. Unfortunately, this was not one of those times. While Martha had never personally seen her master do anything out of hand, she had also not seen any of the other kids she grew up with since they were children. Thomas Lloyd used to look at them like that as well, intently, with a charming smile that didn¡¯t match his keen eyes.


    She didn¡¯t know why only she was sill there, and she didn¡¯t think she would be around for much longer, but there wasn''t anything she could do about that kind of stuff though. Still, it was better when he was away.


    To her relief, one of his men said something to the Marquis in a hushed voice causing her master to leave in a hurry. She didn''t know or care what was said, but she was thankful to be rid of him. Now she could go back to bathing the children in peace. Happily giggling with little Timothy and Tiara was the only thing she could do. It was something that she had to do, for their sake.

 Chapter 9

    Before Philip could finish his tea, his carriage was already waiting. It''s exquisite craftsmanship and ample use of gold plating made even the Wild King''s personal carriage look drab by comparison.


    He paid no mind to his old butler when he entered, nor did the butler look directly at his Earl before closing the door and retrieving the step. The two white stallions needed no further cues and began their trot down the long driveway.


    The adjacent address this glamorous transport was trotting to was protected by layers of hardened security. They were already within the outer walls of his Majesty¡¯s thirteen-square mile royal estate. The next checkpoint, a stone''s throw from Philips wrought iron front gate, was a gatehouse tunneling through the royal castle¡¯s inner wall. This solid fortification had two fast baring drop gates, a bunk house, and a holding cell.


    The ¡°Inner East Gate¡± didn¡¯t see much traffic but was manned by nine seasoned warriors nonetheless. These men of low birth were loyal and disciplined. Most of them used to be squires for lower nobles, and through exceptional merit became sworn retainers of the crown. They were all tough and skilled, willing to die, or kill for their king at a moment''s notice.


    Their uniform was a full metal jacket of pale silver colored steel plate armor, but only one of the nine men wore his gauntlets and helm. He was the youngest of the gatekeeper''s, and the most recent victor of the Hobart Tough Man tournament. By unanimous decision, he was the one standing outside and stopping anyone attempting to pass. Though it was hot and boring standing around all day, stopping the infrequent traffic, this well paid, cushy position was far better than his old life of fighting all the time, and one day would be him in the refrigerated common room with cards and ale, while a new rookie baked in the sun.


    He took his responsibilities seriously, and he was ordered to halt and identify every carriage and every pedestrian. That was his duty, but upon seeing the Prime Minister¡¯s golden carriage turn toward his station this late in the afternoon, he became rigid as a statue. When the dazzling vehicle crossed his area of authority, the faceless metal suit remain steadfast at attention, allowing the stallions to transit without impedance.


    Not a moment later than the gilded carriage stopped at its destination, another butler placed a step and opened the door. Philip paid no attention to this servant on his way into the castle. He did not spare a single glance at any of the other servants either, not the golden knights, the clerk''s, the busy magicians, nor the one very startled maid he collided with rounding a corner. He walked directly to the king''s private chambers, a feat only a couple people are capable of, with deliberate steps.


    In this world titles were not granted randomly, nor did the recipient get to pick their own title. Kings and queens often had two titles. One was granted by the royal court based on what they believe to be most fitting. The other was an informal name normally arising from the displeased peasant population. The existence of this title did not, in itself, mean the recipient was a bad ruler. There were, of course, disgruntled peasants in every kingdom.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    It''s difficult to determine the specific reason William Hobart was named ¡°the Wild King.¡± It seemed to have as much to do with his unkempt hair as it did his unruly personality. The nobles of foreign kingdoms often thought it was to do with the fact Hobart was a rather remote kingdom, surrounded on three sides by frontier wilderness.


    Regardless of the reasoning behind the Wild King William''s title, it was a testament to his sound rulership that, even amongst the common folk, his formal title was used far more often than his informal one, the Savage King.


    There was a time, when that title was far more common, though to William Hobart, those dark days of the Savage King¡¯s reign were distant memories. These days Hobart Kingdom enjoyed twenty years of peace, prosperity, and good relations with its much larger neighbor, Kismond Kingdom.


    William was in a good mood when his Prime Minister rapped on the door. ¡°Enter,¡± the Wild King said, not bothering to look away from the ¡° Annual Status of Grain Distribution and Reserves of Hobart Kingdom,¡± report he was pruising. The spy master entered and crossed the study, his heavy footsteps fell silently on the enchanted hardwood floor. ¡°Alright Philip, what is it that can''t wait until tomorrow?¡±


    The Earl swallowed his hesitation and delivered the news. ¡°Your Majesty, the Kismond Kingdom Third Army has received marching orders.¡±


    ¡°And?¡± William asked, his attention directed at the document.


    ¡°Their orders are to our borders, your Grace.¡±


    The Wild King¡¯s good mood immediately soured. He haphazardly discarded his document with an irritable flick of the wrist, and looked at Philip. He instantly noticed the tea splotch. If this were a different time he might have quibed about taking Philp¡¯s nice things if he¡¯s not going to take care of them properly, but Instead he said, ¡°We must summon the council at once.¡±


    ¡°An emergency council has already been convened your Majesty.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± The king asked, searching through a disorderly pile of parchments.


    The master of spymasters could likely predict his King¡¯s thoughts regarding this matter, but he was first and foremost a servant and as such, he knew better than to assume the will of his master. ¡°Your Grace, how should the council be directed?¡± he asked.


    The Wild King found the parchment he was searching for. It''s titled read, ¡°Summary of the Military Might of the Noble Class of Hobart Kingdom.¡±


    William Hobart was resolute. ¡°All available men and materials will be sent to reinforce the border. Hobart''s end strength will have to grow considerably. You will informed the court that there will be no concessions. They are to act accordingly,¡± he said, scanning the document.


    ¡°By your will your Majesty.¡± Philip performed a well practice bow.


    William Hobart seized up his closest confidant for a moment. Though his attentioned lingered on the splotch of tea, he still felt confident that a better man to shoulder these burdens did not exist, and plainly stated, ¡°dismissed.¡±

 Chapter 10

    The main hall of the Hobart Kingdom Royal Court, arranged like a concert hall with seven rows of elevated benches forming a forty foot wide half circle, had seating for five hundred, but with only Viscounts and above who were immediately available present, it looked nearly empty.


    Philip could already hear the clamour of sixty or so disgruntled noblemen before he opened the door.


    ¡°Who does he think he is, summoning us on a moment''s notice.¡±


    ¡°It''s like he''s beckoning a pack of dogs.¡±


    ¡°I for one will not stand idle while Prime Minister Howling Mad insiss on abusing his authority.¡± That voice came from The Duchess of Wellington, Ann Millin. A woman for whom Philip was familiar, and often at odds with.


    Across from the sparsely populated benches, next to the podium the king would sit at, the Earl of Hobart, Prime Minister Philip Howlanger, entered the fray. ¡°Order,¡± he called.


    All eighty or so pairs of eyes were on Philip, and for a moment the hall was silent. That was only for a moment though. Once the disgruntled noblemen, sixty or so out of eighty, realized that the object of their displeasure was present, the hall became chaotic again.


    ¡°What''s the meaning of the Howlanger?¡±


    ¡°Do you have any idea what the term reasonable notice means?¡±


    ¡°The king will hear of this Howlanger!¡±


    Philip was expecting this but still found it fatiguing. He pinched the bridge of his nose in concentration and bellowed, ¡°Order! The council is in session and there will be order!¡±


    The rabble subsided, again only for a moment. Dutchess Millin, the one to break the silence, did not like Philip, and though she was pleased his summon excused her from her nephew''s fundraising party, she wouldn''t let slip an opportunity to give Philip a hard time. ¡°Fine then Mister Minister, what is this whisper you¡¯ve summoned us over?¡± she said accusingly.


    ¡°It is a matter of the utmost concern, my lords and ladies, and requires our immediate action,¡± Philip said, and shifted his attention to the Dutchess, ¡°I would not have summoned you had it been otherwise.¡±


    Before he could continue, a loud voice interjected. General Moore was a short bald man, wide as a barrel, with a handlebar mustache and a bad temper. He''d been interrupted from his liquor and lovers to attend this council and furiously demanded, ¡°Answers, answers Howlanger! Your little stunt has caused some of us significant inconvenience. If you ever pulla stunt like this again, I¡¯ll ensure your no longer Prime Minister, Mister Minister, so stop wasting our time with frivolous words and get to the point already!"The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Philip decided to disregard the General¡¯s inappropriate outburst. He didn¡¯t need to smell his breath to tell he¡¯d been drinking heavily. ¡°The Kismond Third Army marches to our borders," he finally said.


    Again, the hall became silent for a moment. This time seemingly all eighty or so noblemen erupted at once.


    ¡°Nonsense.¡±


    ¡°Why would the Good King march on our borders?¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t fight the third army!¡±


    ¡°Order! Order!¡±


    The rabble didn¡¯t fully subside until Dutchess Millin spoke over the commotion. ¡°And you sure of this because, why? You heard it in the wind?¡±


    A nod was the spy master¡¯s only reply.


    ¡°Even if it¡¯s true, we don¡¯t have the strength to win a head on engagement with the Third Army, and we don¡¯t have the reserves to win a prolonged war against Kismond. What would you have us do Mister Minister,¡± Marquise Loyd said as though the whole matter was someone else¡¯s problem entirely.


    His carefree attitude came off as insufferable to Philip. ¡°It is not what I would have you do Marquise. It is what the crown will have you do.¡± The Prime Minister waited until he had the audience''s attention. ¡°We will bolster the border defenses with ever available resources, and prepare for an indefinite blockade.¡±


    Once again, the hall fell silent. This time for longer as the ruling class of Hobart Kingdom let the gravity of those words settle in.


    ¡°So what if the Third Army marches to our border? Good King Henry won''t give the order to invade,¡± the intoxicated general said, emboldened by liquid courage. Several of the noblemen voiced their agreement.


    ¡°What do you recommend General Moore?¡± Philip asked, displaying his annoyance with the general and his line of reasoning.


    ¡°I say we do nothing. Call them on their bluff.¡± The drunk was loud and confident, like he had solved everything with a single sentence.


    Dutchess Millin, more perturbed than Philip by his remarks, said ¡°Moore you dithering drunken idiot! If that damn Wicked Ninth Prince decides to take Wellington, Moorehaven would be a mere fortnight''s march away. Would you then defeat the Ninth Prince and the Third Army solely with your mustache?¡±


    The general responded with a scornful expression on a beet read face. ¡°Will Hobart even survive another build up? A tax hike and conscription will make us vulnerable to subversion. Wellington, being on the border, will be the most vulnerable. Would you then be lynched by your own peasants, oh wise Dutchess Millin?¡±


    ¡°Are you a fool and a coward?¡± Dutchess Millin was somewhat reserved when she addressed the Prime Minister, but held no such reservations when it came to the general. ¡°You¡¯re more gnome than man, short fat, and fearful,¡± she spat with disgust.


    ¡°Order!¡± was again called, and again the hall was orderly for a moment.


    ¡°If we have another border closure, rebellion won''t be far behind.¡± Marquis Lloyd''s off handed comment caused the rabble to erupt once again.


    "We should appeal to the Good King."


    ¡°Paying ransom would be the most efficient thing to do.¡±


    ¡°Are we witnessing the return of the Savage King?¡± an especially panicked Viscount asked.


    ¡°Order! And you will hold your tongue Viscount Applewood,¡± Philip shouted obscenely loud. Loud enough to blow out a common man¡¯s ear drums. Tolerating the General''s remarks was one thing, but he would not allow Hobart¡¯s own nobility to speak ill of his king. ¡°By the word of the king there will be no concessions. This session is for the purpose of fortifying the border and preparing for an indefinite blockade. Anyone here unwilling to submit to those two objectives may forfeit their titles and wander the frontier, now.¡±


    Finally, with the threat of exile looming over the session and the deafening voice of the Earl lingering in their ears, the discussion moved to more productive topics. Which was appropriate as they had plenty to talk about. So much so that the sun would rise before they disbanded.

 Chapter 11

    Brunseborough was the southernmost town in Hobart Kingdom. It¡¯s fifteen-foot, rough stone and mortar walls encompassed nearly twenty square miles, divided into five sections.


    The poorest residents lived off of the dark brown roads to the northeast. Most of the houses in this area, sometimes called ¡°the Slums,¡± were made by hardening mud over a thatched reed frame. The brown igloos, looking as cheap as their construction, and a nine-inch lower grade than the rest of Brunseborough, turning almost two square miles of ¡°the East Side¡± into a shallow pond when it rained, made it clear where it got the most accepted of its three nicknames, ¡°the Mud Puddle.¡±


    In the northwestern part of town, aristocrats spent piles of gold to build their mansions. With paved roads, spacious lots, and good public order, one of its taxpayers considered ¡°Upton¡± to be ¡°an island of civilization floating in a sea of savagery, made possible by its many well trained occupants vigilantly keeping undesirable degenerates from loitering.¡±


    One Mud Puddle dweller referred to Upton as ¡°the spread of insufferable snobbery planting its pompous flag on the farthest corner of civilization.¡±


    North First Street was the northernmost portion of the main road that split the town in half hemispherically. With the poverty stricken Slums to the east and Upton to the west, N First became a symbol of disparity.


    ¡°The mud is so cold. Something precious I had sold. My stomach is empty. Across the street, there is plenty. I rejoice, for soon I will fill my stomach and warm my toes. The price is steep to cross the street. No more frozen mud beneath my feet, but the price is steep to cross the street. N First is wide, for a road. To cross it, one must be bold. Something precious I no longer own, but I can still use it, as a loan. Tomorrow won¡¯t be so cold. To cross N First Street, myself I had sold,¡± the one Mud Muddle dweller once wrote.


    ¡°The Brunse District¡±¡¯s ten-foot walls surrounded three square miles of fancy shops, stores, government facilities, and noblemen¡¯s manors. The south gate was on the north side of the main road that split the town in half longitudinally, Main Street, leaving the whole southern half of Brunseborough zoned to its two remaining districts.


    To the southeast, the majority of Bruseborough¡¯s shops could be found. This five-square mile pie wedge, zoned for crafting and agriculture, was referred to by its formal name, ¡°the Crafting District,¡± or by its informal one, ¡°the Sweat Shop.¡± Carpenters, blacksmiths, ranchers, tanners, etc. set up shop there.


    The Adventure Guild and no small number of businesses that pander to adventures, were located in ¡°the Aventure District¡± to the southwest. Though it was named the Adventure District, four out of five-square miles of it was zoned for middle income residential neighborhoods. Some people called it ¡°the Pit¡± while others called it home.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°Am I getting wrinkles?¡± Samantha Higgins wondered as she studied her face in a small, gold plated hand mirror. ¡°Maybe I have too many freckles.¡±


    Samantha had never really thought of herself as an insecure person before, but lately she had been feeling impatient, or maybe she was anxious. She was feeling something out of the ordinary, but what it was, she was having a difficult time discerning. Perhaps the word she was looking for was restless, or eager. Yes, eager sounded like the right word to describe how she felt.


    At least she hoped it was eagerness, but she couldn''t help but worry that it might be resentment bubbling inside her. She sincerely did not want that to be the case. After all, she loved her life and had much to be thankful for. She shared a nice house with her boyfriend, Jim Davis, for whom she was deeply in love with and have been for a really long time, which is the reason she''d been so anxious lately, or was it eager?


    ¡°I hope I''m not being impatient,¡± she thought.


    Whatever she was feeling had been growing inside of her for nearly two months now. Ever since she witnessed the blessings of her two closest friends newborn children, she had this nagging feeling that this lovely life she had wasn''t enough. She wanted more. ¡°Am I an ungrateful woman?¡± she worried, causing her eyebrows to crease, which caused her to worry about her wrinkles.


    Frustrated, that word fit her mood well. For a couple of months now she¡¯d been frustrated. She knew why she was feeling like this. Jim and her have been together for almost five years now and he had not once mentioned marriage or kids. ¡°Maybe he doesn''t want his kids to have freckles,¡± she thought, ¡°but Jim always says my freckles are cute though,¡± so that probably wasn''t it, because if there''s one thing she knew about her beloved, it¡¯s that Jim was an honest man. If there was something else she knew about him, it would be that he''s strong, very handsome, charming, diligent, considerate and... ¡°Crap, I¡¯m doing it again,¡± she thought as she stared her non-existent wrinkles, ¡°Maybe he really is too good for me,¡± and there it was again, that terrifying, sinking feeling she got in the pit of her stomach from thinking that way.


    ¡°That¡¯s not the case. That is not the case,¡± she told herself, because if that were the case, it''d be something she didn''t think she could fathom. She only knew that trying to imagine a life without Jim hurt far too much to be considered a reasonable thing to do. She should be happy with the life she had, the life Jim provided for her. Her home was a nice house located right on South First Street, not even a mile from the Brunse District, something some of the girls from her home might have killed for.


    Her boyfriend owns and operates ¡°Jim¡¯s General Goods¡± attached to the house, so her lover was always near. He¡¯s not rich by any means, and most of the revenue the store generates went towards paying debt, but he¡¯s always been able to acquire nice things, because he deals with so many traders. Things that, by all means, should be far too expensive for someone of her upbringing to have, and not just this glamorous golden mirror she was currently using, everything she had was really nice. Jim would often ask her option about goods, and buy what she liked the for the store, except he would let her use the nicest goods before he sold them, and he would never sell anything until he was sure she was no longer using it, so everything she had was really nice, her hairbrush, her clothing, the cookware. Even the consumables like meats, cheeses, seasonings, soaps and perfumes she used had to be from the premium stock, that she had hand selected. It was a perk some of her old friends would definitely have killed for.


    ¡°I should be careful what I say if I ever see them again,¡± she thought.

 Chapter 12

    Yes, Samantha had a wonderful life, and Jim loved her. That''s what she should keep in mind. She knew both of these things to be true. Her life, whichoften felt like a fairytale with Jim, was obviously wonderful, and she knew Jim loved her because he¡¯s said so many times. ¡°But do I really know what he means by that?¡± she wondered. Was it the kind of love a brother bore for his sister or like how two close friends inevitably have love for each other? She hoped it was the same kind of burning passion she felt for him, but how could she be sure? When it came to tricking her, Jim knew how to do it. When it came to keeping secrets, Jim and his circle of friends were the most tight lipped people that she''d ever met.


    The sinking feeling in Samantha''s stomach returned. This time it came with a strong feeling of guilt. Sure, Jim could be somewhat crafty at times, but every time he''s tricked her, it put a smile on her face, like when she received this mirror for instance. Jim took her to the market to get a woman''s opinion on items he should stock in the store. He asked her to pick out the one item she thought a girl would like the most out of the available inventory. One month later he gifted that golden mirror to her for their one year anniversary. She thought it was to be a display item. Maybe she should have known better, but Jim had her completely fooled, and the whole time, he told her nothing but the truth.


    Jim could trick her, but he¡¯s never lied to her nor treated her poorly, and there she was gazing into her beautiful mirror while directing suspicion toward the man who gave it to her. The man who was the most honest, caring, very handsome, strong, and... ¡°Crap, I''m doing it again,¡± she thought, ¡°What if Jim really is too good for me?¡± and there was again, that nauseating feeling that kept coming back and kept getting worse every time it came. Maybe growing old with Jim just wasn''t in her cards. Jim does care for her. She knew that was true for sure, but maybe Jim only keeps her around out of some sense of obligation.


    When Samantha met Jim, he was an adventurer, and she was a panicked foreign girl. They first met at the Adventure Guild when she was soliciting adventurers to search for her missing parents.They were serfs who decided to abandon their simple farming life in the hope for a better future on the frontier. They moved to Brunseborough and became adventures, and one day, as is often the case with novice adventures, they failed to return from a quest.


    Fourteen year old Samantha had been in Brunseborough for less than a month when it happened and knew literally no one. She didn¡¯t even have a copper to her name. When everything she held dear went missing, she became distraught and did the only thing she could think to do, beg random adventures to search for her missing parents.


    ¡°Please, my parents are copper. They went missing. Will you help me search for them?¡± Samantha pleaded to an adventure with yellowish black teeth and a dirty beard. Had she not been in such a desperate state, she would never have spoken with someone who looked as rough as this man did.


    ¡°Calm down. What¡¯s your name sweetheart? How longs them runts gone missin¡¯ fur?¡± he asked, his rotten teeth showing through his lecherous grin.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    ¡°I¡¯m Samantha. They were supposed to return two days ago.I can¡¯t pay you right now but if you help me search for my parents, I swear I¡¯ll pay you back.¡±


    ¡°Name¡¯s Kevin, but you can call me Daddy, and if you can¡¯t pay, then you can¡¯t hire a party, now can you?¡±


    ¡°I know, but me an my family just moved to town. We have no gold, and now they went missing. Please, please help me find my parents.¡±


    ¡°So what? Your parents are gone, it¡¯s not the end of the world. I killed my parents when I was around your age. Better off without them I say. Ha ha ha,¡± the grungy adventure let it an odd, hard laugh.


    Samantha was beginning to doubt his sanity, but she was desperate. ¡°I love my parents and I¡¯ll be homeless without them. If you help me find them, I swear I¡¯ll pay you back,¡± she begged, tears of desperation welling in her hazel eyes.


    ¡°Sorry beautiful, gold up front, that goes double for a homeless brat like you, but if you¡¯re looking for a place to stay, I have a two room hut on the East Side. I¡¯ll even feed you.¡±


    ¡°No, I need someone to help me find my parents, not a place to stay,¡± she said, and attempted to walk away.


    ¡°Not so fast there.¡± Kevin grabbed her arm. ¡°I¡¯ll search fur ya folks.¡±


    ¡°Really!¡± Samantha¡¯s eyes lit up.


    ¡°Really. I¡¯ll even fork the gold the rest of my party deserves for takin¡¯ yur quest.¡±


    ¡°Thank the gods, and I swear I¡¯ll return every copper.¡±


    ¡°I still want payment up front. Name your price sugar.¡±


    ¡°Excuse me?¡±


    ¡°You, I¡¯ll buy you. What¡¯s your price?¡±


    ¡°Uhm, I¡¯m not for sale.¡± By now she was sure talking to this disgusting man was a mistake, and tried to leave again.


    Kevin tightened his coarse, dirty hand¡¯s grip around her wrist. His fist was tight, painfully tight. ¡°You can pay me by taking three or four goblin squirts a week. Once you get used to it, it¡¯s very soothing, and ain¡¯t no one else gonna help a skinny brat like you find your dumb fucking parents. What do you say baby?¡± he asked, pulling her closer. His breath smelled liked putrid corpse compost.


    Samantha didn¡¯t know at the time what a goblin squirt was, but she was sure that she didn¡¯t want to take it from this creep. She was about to scream for help when an onlooker¡¯s fist smashed into the pervert¡¯s hideous face.


    Jim, a complete stranger at the time, overheard the whole thing, and knocked three of the lechure¡¯s teeth out on her behalf. ¡°Are you alright? Did he hurt you?¡± He was so handsome in that moment. Well, he¡¯s always handsome, but in that moment, he was her savior. That was when she fell in love with him.


    Jim and the Rascals, without any compensation, took her quest. Jim also arranged for her to stay with their manager while they searched. She shuddered her to think about what might¡¯ve happened to her if Jim had¡¯t been there that day.


    The Rascals spent three weeks searching for her parents, and ultimately found their remains in a goblin hole. ¡°Jim wasn¡¯t able to save my parents, but he was able to save me,¡± Samantha thought as she touched the only remaining keep sake she had of her family, her mother¡¯s locket, that Jim had returned to her.


    Could it be that this whole time she¡¯d been taking advantage of Jim¡¯s kindness while only being a burden herself?

 Chapter 13

    She didn¡¯t think she was just a burden, because Jim had said otherwise, sowhy was it that Jim didn¡¯t want to marry her?


    She didn¡¯t know for sure why her relationship, which seemed so perfect, wouldn¡¯t move forward, so she kept pondering on it. ¡°Maybe he does love me but isn¡¯t in love with me enough to want to get married,¡± she speculated, ¡°In that case, when he says it¡¯s comforting having me around, he really means it, but what does that make me?¡±


    ¡°Convenient,¡± she figured. She had fallen completely in love with him the moment they met and would do anything for him. Did that make her his easy woman? As she considered this possibility, she became more and more concerned about her wrinkles again.


    Her thoughts were disorderly. She needed advice, and with a loud ¡°fuck!¡± she heard just the right person fumbling about in the kitchen.Jim¡¯s younger brother, James Davis, the third occupant of Jim¡¯s General Store, scalded his hand on a hot pot.


    ¡°James, are you all right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I just burned my hand on breakfast is all.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s almost dinnertime you know.¡±


    ¡°When I wake up, I eat breakfast. It¡¯s as simple as that.¡±


    ¡°You could always get up at a reasonable hour and eat with Jim and I.¡±


    ¡°Not you too Samantha. What hours I keep is my business.¡±


    ¡°I make omelets in the morning. I was just offering to make you one if you¡¯re ever up at that time is all.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s what you meant,¡± James said as he sat down to a hot bowl of stew, ¡°Thank you, but unless you¡¯re omelettes cure Jim¡¯s insufferable behavior, I¡¯m going to have to pass on having breakfast with him.¡±


    ¡°Then how about I make an extra one, and keep it in the coldbox for when you want it. A cold omelette for breakfast is still better than last night¡¯s stew.¡±


    ¡°Well sure, but why are you trying so hard to feed me an omelette?¡± James asked.


    ¡°Because I want you to owe me a favor,¡± Samantha replied innocently as she sat across the table from him.


    James set his spoon down with a deadpan expression, and bluntly stated, ¡°Nope. I don¡¯t make open ended arrangements. If you want to pedal your omelettes, it¡¯s going to have to be for something more specific than a favor.¡±


    Samantha, entertained by her hopefully, future brother in law''s predictable response, said ¡°I want your thoughts on something.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if they¡¯ll be of any use, but either way I still get the omelette, right?¡±


    Despite the fact he came off as a degenerate nearly every chance he got, James was far more intelligent than he let on, and often gave surprisingly thoughtful advice. An omelette was a fair price. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°Either way you get the omelette.¡±


    ¡°All right deal. What¡¯s this matter you¡¯re worked up about?¡± James asked, scooping a spoonful of stew.


    Samantha pressed her index finger to her pursed lips for a thoughtful moment. ¡°Hmm¡­ Do you think I¡¯m an easy woman?¡± she asked, causing James to spew his spoonful of stew back into his bowl.


    ¡°Ahh, hot,¡± he said, attempting to play down his surprise from hearing his cute future sister in law¡¯s uncharacteristically vulgar speech. He wasn¡¯t fooling anyone. ¡°Where did you hear a vulgar term like that anyway?¡±


    ¡°Oh, us girls talk about a lot of stuff.¡±


    ¡°Scary.¡±


    ¡°More than you know.¡±


    James, still trying to play down his embarrassment, casually ate another spoonful of stew and said, ¡°No, I don¡¯t think you¡¯re an easy woman. Why do you ask?¡±


    ¡°Will you agreed to keep this talk private?¡±


    ¡°I can, but it¡¯ll cost you.¡±


    ¡°How much?¡±


    ¡°Three, no four, more omelettes.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s extortion!¡± she exclaimed with fake indignation.


    ¡°It is, and if you want me to keep your secrets, that¡¯s my price.¡± James was resolute.


    Samantha knew he was good to his word, and considering her predicament, four more omelettes for his silence was acceptable. ¡°Deal,¡± she said with a sprite nod.


    ¡°So?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why Jim doesn¡¯t want to marry me but keeps taking care of me. So I was thinking that, maybe I¡¯m just his easy woman.¡±


    James involuntarily snorted a chuckle at how preposterous that sounded. He kept his stew in his mouth this time, but barely.


    ¡°Hey! It¡¯s not funny. I¡¯m really troubled by this.¡±


    James took a moment to gather his composure and realize what it was Samantha was really asking. ¡°Why hasn¡¯t your brother asked me to marry him yet?¡± was the real question. Unfortunately, even though he knew the answer, it was not his place to speak for his older brother on matters like that. Still, he was getting paid, so he was obligated to clear up her misunderstanding the best he could.


    ¡°First of all, there¡¯s no way your his easy woman. For that to be true, you¡¯d have to disregard all the effort Jim puts into your guys¡¯ relationship, so that part is provably false.¡±


    Samantha thought about it, and conceded to his reasoning. Jim was always so thoughtful, there¡¯s no way it could be easy for him.


    ¡°I can¡¯t speak for Jim as to why he hasn¡¯t pop the question yet, but I do know two things to be true. One,¡± he said, holding up one finger, ¡°Jim is madly in love with you. Two, my brother¡¯s more dense than lead about some things.¡±


    As she thought about his words, a smile formed her face, not because they were the words she wanted to hear, but because James was the one saying them, so they were very likely true. At least James thought they were, and James knew his older brother for his entire life, so if anyone knew whether or not Jim was ¡°madly in love¡° with her, it was him.


    ¡°So you think he wants to marry me but doesn¡¯t know how to ask?¡±


    ¡°Again, I can¡¯t speak for Jim, but if it¡¯s advice you¡¯re looking for, then I recommend giving him a little nudge in the right direction.¡±


    ¡°And how should I go about doing that?¡±


    ¡°I can talk to him for you, if you¡¯d like.¡±


    ¡°Absolutely not! Not a word of any of this to Jim.¡±


    James rolled his eyes. ¡°Fine, not a word.¡±


    ¡°So how should I do it?¡± Samantha asked eagerly. Since he had agreed to receive payment, he would definitely give her a good deal. He did.By the time James had finished his stew, Samantha¡¯s head was spinning from all the tips and suggestions he¡¯d given her. She was blown away by how insightful his advice was. It¡¯s probably because his genes were the same as Jim¡¯s, and Jim was very smart, and handsome, charming, kind, and¡­ ¡°Oh, I¡¯m doing it again. I can¡¯t wait to kiss him,¡± she thought. The restlessness she had been feeling was definitely eager anticipation now.


    Those were fiveomelettes well spent.

 Chapter 14

    Awkward. In the first sixty six days of little Damian¡¯s new life, he developed a profound comprehension of what that word could mean. There was baby talk, breast feeding, and diaper changing. Of these he couldn''t decide which he found to be the most awkward, but by far, the most disturbing thing about being little Damian Dagger, so far, was sleeping in his new parents bed.


    ¡°Did my little man make a stinky pee pee?¡± Rose might ask before changing his wet diaper. It was a rhetorical question. Fortunately, his mother did not need a reply and would promptly change him. ¡°Oh, you made a lot of pee pee this time, didn¡¯t you?¡± another rhetorical question.


    Little Damian didn¡¯t take offense to his mother''s belittling. It was an appropriate way to talk to an infant,and as far as she knew, he was her possibly retarded but otherwise ¡°perfectly healthy¡± newborn baby boy. She didn¡¯t know that her baby already knew reading writing and arithmetic, nor did she suspect in the slightest that he understood exactly what her and her husband did at night. He had thought of trying to interrupt the couple, except he still wasn¡¯t sure he could make a convincing baby cry.


    Little Damian had to be cautious. The message he received said not to get caught by gods or man, and he still didn¡¯t know how he¡¯s supposed to keep his secret from the gods themselves. They were, as his blessing had proven, very real but that was the extent of his understanding. For all he knew, they could be omnipotent beings watching his every move, looking for any indication he retained his memories, ready to damn him for a thousand years of suffering in an instant with no trial, or they might be some kind of real life RPG skill tree that accepts gold and red beads in exchange for special abilities and stat bonuses. It could have been one, both, or neither of these things. Little Damian was ignorant.


    What he did know was that no one had approached him with the intent to damn his soul for a thousand years, yet. ¡°What the fuck is up with that anyway? Suffer for a thousand years? Isn¡¯t that a little bit extreme?¡± Little Damian thought he was a decent guy in his last life and didn¡¯t think himself capable of doing something so bad it¡¯d warrant a thousand years of suffering. The message made it seem like it was he himself who somehow cheated to retain his memories and no longer remembers doing it. It sounded cool, but he wouldn¡¯t have done it if he¡¯d understood the consequences of getting caught.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    ¡°Could the message have been a practical joke?¡± he wondered, ¡°Maybe there¡¯s some kind of humorous god out there giving people their old memories and a fake message to freak them out.¡±


    Little Damian figured it might be something like that because there was no way he would¡¯ve done anything, in any life, so bad he should suffer for a thousand years over it. Though, he probably would, if he could, somehow ¡°arrange¡± for him to keep his memories in this world. Frankly, it seemed awesome. There were too many coincidental resemblances to the fantasy of his world for it to all be a coincidence. It was clear that they¡¯re related, but he didn''t know if this world took after the fantasy of Earth or vice a versa.


    Could it be that his life was saved on Earth and what he¡¯s experiencing now is a really high fidelity simulation he¡¯s hooked up to? If that¡¯s it, then the technology used would be more advanced than what he was aware existed. ¡°Why would someone want to make me a baby in a fantasy world?¡± little Damian wondered, ¡°Is this some kind of psychological test? Am I alive but brain damaged?¡±


    His thoughts seemed completely normal considering his circumstances, but he couldn¡¯t discount sim-theory or brain damage as possibilities. Neither could he discount the possibility that everything was as it seemed, he somehow cheated to reincarnate with his memories, and if he gets caught he¡¯ll be sentenced to a thousand years of suffering. Little Damian had to be cautious.


    ¡°Awe, that¡¯s a lot of stinky pee pee!¡± Rose cheerfully declared. ¡°That means you¡¯ll grow up to be big and strong, just like your bladder,¡± she teased, unaware her baby understood every word. He did appreciate his mother¡¯s care. She was diligently changing his sandpaper coarse, hemp wool diaper, after all, which would have left the newborn sensitive skin scraped and rashed in mere minutes, had his mother not been so diligent about changing him.


    She was also very diligent about her other parental responsibilities, like feeding, regular naps, and spending a lot of time interacting with her baby.


    Little Damian didn¡¯t want to come off as cold to his new mother, as he felt quite sympathetic to her plight. It was only a suspicion among the Daggers but apparently there was a rumor going around that he was retarded. He was pretty sure that was not true, but Rose didn¡¯t know that. Her missunderstanding could have been easily cleared up, but without knowing what the gods are, it seemed like keeping the status quo for now was the safer choice.


    To keep from being found out as an otherworldly, grown adult imposter, masquerading as this woman¡¯s newborn baby, little Damian kept his silence, and pretended to be retarded.

 Chapter 15

    Little Damian didn¡¯t start off pretending to be retarded, nor did he feel good about doing so. It was a fact though, that his father was a strong warrior who, despite his gentle demeanor, used a fucking sword and shield to fight fucking monster for a living, which made the fish face with sound effects he was making that much more embarrassing. Since little Damian was not actually a brand new person experiencing existence for the first time, he felt it was his moral obligation not to encourage that kind of behavior in any way. Little Damian merely looked away from his father''s attempts to entertain him, and stared at the wall.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t seem to interact with people like a normal child does,¡± Dillon said in human speech, no longer speaking in his fake fish language.


    ¡°Maybe he¡¯s just the strong silent type,¡± Rose speculated.


    ¡°Maybe, but isn¡¯t there something we can do for him? In case he¡¯s having trouble learning. What do you think dad?¡±


    Old Dean paused his whittling and said, ¡°Well, when he gets older we can give him intelligence potions. That, along with ample tutelage, would be what we can do for little Damian, if he is developmentally challenged.¡±


    ¡°Intelligence potions and ample tutelage sound great. When can we start?¡± Little Damian wondered, pretending to watch an imaginary TV in the wall.


    Dillon took a long look at his unusually quiet boy. His unease was evident from the complicated expression he wore.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t easy for me neither,¡± little Damian thought, feigning amusement over the shape of his fingers.


    ¡°Well, he might also be just fine. Either way, we won¡¯t know until he gets older,¡± old Dean said.


    This type of exchange was common. Dillon and Rose would worry, and old Dean would be the voice of reason. Little Damian thought this whole ¡°him being retarded¡± business was overblown. It wasn¡¯t like he was pretending to be a vegetable. He did not cry, but he did do some normal baby things, like looking at sudden noises and flailing his arms and legs around occasionally. It was enough for an Earthly physician to be able to declare him fine, which he considered to be sufficient to meet his moral obligation of not making his parents worry.


    He was keeping his options open. It seemed like pretending to be an artistic kid could be easier than pretending to be a normal one. This wasn¡¯t a nice thing to do, and he knew it, but if he was really was facing a thousand years of suffering, what would happen to these innocent people who are unwittingly caught up in whatever this is? Possibly for their own good, keeping his secret was little Damian¡¯s highest priority at the moment. Even if it meant these people thought their son might be retarded.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!


    A wrap on the door brought a much desired change of pace.


    ¡°Come in,¡± old Dean said casually, and even though little Damian didn¡¯t think his voice was loud enough to be heard outside, the door opened.


    The Black Paws had come over for a visit. Vance, who seemed to trail his company, was the first to enter, leading little Damian to suspect the Rascals¡¯ scout had particularly sharp ears.


    He¡¯d been looking forward to this ever since he overheard old Dean¡¯s comment a half hour ago. ¡°It seems Vance has news,¡± he said, seemingly out of nowhere. Little Damian was beginning to suspect his grandfather had particularly sharp ears aswell.


    The common greeting around there was to state the other person¡¯s name, often with a nod acknowledging the named person. When all the name calling and head bobbing was over with, the Daggers and the Black Paws settled at the kitchen table for a meeting. A bench wide enough for three sat on either side of the crude table. All of the furniture was made from the same untreated, splintery hardwood as the rest of the house. Though he had to take care of that to get splinters, little Damian appreciated his infrequent independence from his mother¡¯s bosom as he and little Theressa sat next to each other on the table.


    Unfortunately, little Theressa did not seem to be an adult in a baby¡¯s body. She seemed to only do three things eat, sleep, and cry. Currently, she was sleeping.


    ¡°Awe, little Theressa¡¯s getting even cuter,¡± Rose said.


    ¡°She is, when she¡¯s asleep,¡± Victor said grimly.


    ¡°It is normal for newborns to cry. She will likely grow out of it soon,¡± reasonable old Dean assured the weary cat. No one really knew why little Theressa spent almost every waking moment of her waking life crying thus far, but it was clearly taking a toll on her parents.


    ¡°You guys are really fortunate little Damian is so well behaved,¡± Mary said. Victor and Vance both made a single solemn nod in agreement.


    Little Theressa¡¯s crying was far in excess of what could be considered normal. Little Damian thought on it. Maybe she did have her memories, like how he sort of became retarded, her excess of crying could just be part of her cover. He hoped it wasn¡¯t something bad, like she only got pieces of her memories and what she remembers is making her cry. Maybe her thoughts got scrambled during whatever this transfer process that got them there. She might not understand what¡¯s happening and¡­ ¡°It could be anything,¡± he thought.


    Maybe he should listen to his grandfather on this one. It¡¯s normal for babies to cry. She¡¯ll likely grow out of it soon. Other than coincidental arrival times, he didn¡¯t have reason to suspect she¡¯s in another worlder at all.


    Suddenly, Mary gasped, pointed a finger at little Damian, and said ¡°Look.¡±


    ¡°Fuck! What did I do?¡± Will Damian shouted in his head as he stared into the distance.

 Chapter 16

    ¡°Awe, little Damian was just looking at little Theressa like he¡¯s worried about her, but he¡¯s not doing it anymore,¡± Mary said disappointedly.


    Little Damian took an inconspicuous look around to see who else noticed his little fumble. Everyone seemed interested by his possible display of cognitive abilities, but Vance and old Dean in particular had slightly furrowed brows, like they were trying to discern something.


    ¡°Crap,¡± little Damian though, ¡°those two have really good hearing. They might be listening to my heartbeat.¡± A mentally challenged infant¡¯s heart shouldn¡¯t sound like a jackhammer because someone pointed and said ¡®look.¡¯¡±


    He needed to calm his racing heart. To achieve the world record for holding his breath the longest, a man slowed his heart rate using meditation and ice water.


    Ice water wasn¡¯t an option. ¡°Into my cave. Into my cave. Step deeper into my cave,¡± little Damian hastily thought.


    It worked. Little Damian lowered his heartbeat, and though old Dean was still observing him, he switched topics. ¡°So Vance, what did you learn?¡± he asked the hooded black cat, who¡¯s gaze was also still lingering on little Damian.


    ¡°Why all the men and equipment is headed east,¡± he replied.


    Little Damian let the penguin in his mind¡¯s cave drift away and allowed his thoughts to race. He¡¯d have to be especially careful around these two. If he shows a pattern of heart palpitations correlated to circumstances he should have no or limited comprehension of, old Dean would catch on immediately, and Vance doesn¡¯t seem to let anything escape his notice. Little Damian would have to learn how to control his heart rate, breathing, eye moments, and maybe even his pupil dilation. He needed to master these skills, and fast. One sympathetic glance at an adorable kitten nearly got him busted this time. He wouldn¡¯t let there be a next time. Keeping his secret in a world of might and magic was going to be harder than he had realized.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    ¡°If this really was my own doing, I¡¯d like to ask myself one simple question. What was I thinking? One tiny misstep and I¡¯ll get busted, then a thousand years of suffering?¡± little Damian was inclined to believe that he was not the author of the message. Still, he¡¯d have to carefully coordinate all of his bodily functions from this point forward. His every movement was under scrutiny. Maybe or maybe not by the gods, but this old man had his eyes on him, and his ears.


    Before Vance could elaborate, Little Theressa woke up and started crying. Little Damian snapped his attention to the kitten before quickly becoming disinterested, just like he had practiced. Dillon and Rose, who¡¯d been eagerly observing him, looked dejected. Vance rubbed his palm across his face, his thoughts moved onto Little Theressa.


    It was old Dean that was worrisome. He was still studying him like one would an unsolved puzzle.


    ¡°This is bad,¡± little Damien thought. He¡¯d have to live there for maybe his whole life. Old Dean was too smart, if he started getting suspicious now, that could spell disaster for a little Damian in the future.


    He needed to get his grandfather to stop scrutinizing him, and he needed to do something now. Little Damian played his trump card.


    ¡°Did somebody make a pee pee?¡± Rose happily asked the culprit. It was another rhetorical question. This time little Damian was happy to hear it. He was less happy about the tickling. Though it felt more like violent poking, he was used to it by now, and remained expressionless.


    Little Theressa was doing one of her three usual activities, which thankfully, was feeding, so with a steely finger gouging at his undefended abdomen, little Damian was finally able to hear Vance¡¯s report.

 Chapter 17

    ¡°The Wicked Ninth Prince is marching to our borders,¡± Vance said.


    Victor¡¯s face was stern. Dillon looked concerned. Rose and Mary gave the impression they smelled something disgusting, while old Dean rubbed the stubble on his chin with a thoughtful expression.


    ¡°If Kismond attacks, we¡¯ll be sent to war,¡± Victor asserted, the aggressive glint in his feline eyes suggesting that he was fully prepared for that eventuality.


    ¡°That is not likely,¡± old Dean rebutted, ¡°King Henry won¡¯t allow the Ninth Prince to invade.¡±


    ¡°Then why is he sending his armies?¡± Mary asked.


    Dillon was the one to reply, ¡°This happened thirty years ago. Kismond sends its armies to pressure the border, isolating Hobart from the rest of the kingdoms. Hobart has to spend more than it can afford on defense. In a few years, the kingdom goes bankrupt, and Kismond¡¯s relative strength soars.¡±


    ¡°The blockade lasted a decade last time,¡± Vance said.


    ¡°Riots and unreasonable food prices is why we moved to Brunseborough in the first place,¡± old Dean said.


    ¡°I thought we moved so the Rascals could be closer to the frontier.¡± Dillon seemed to have a misunderstanding.


    ¡°The Rascals¡¯ hunting did put food on the table, but we move because of the riots and food prices,¡± old Dean clarified.


    Mary, who¡¯s unfamiliar with politics, asked ¡°Why would Good King Henry do that?¡±


    ¡°Kismond has always bullied the smaller kingdoms,¡± Victor replied with deep indignation, bordering on hatred. He seemed like he had a serious bone to pick with Kismond.


    ¡°We should stock salt,¡± Vance stated.


    Dillon nodded and said, ¡°In a couple of years we won¡¯t be able to get anymore.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s going to be a lot of crime,¡± Mary said with concern for the little ones.


    ¡°We¡¯ve been through this once before, and we will get through it again,¡± old Dean assured, ¡°This time we¡¯ll be much better prepared.¡±


    Dillon thought for a moment about what this news meant for his family and said, ¡°If little Damian or Theressa need extra help, it could get expensive. There will be lucrative opportunities with this.¡±


    ¡°Lucrative opportunities?¡± Little Damian was intrigued.


    ¡°The public order will go to shit.¡± Vance too was intrigued.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°And there¡¯s going to be a lot of gold being moved for military materials,¡± Rose added excitedly.


    ¡°That gold will find its way out here too,¡± Victor said.


    ¡°This probably isn¡¯t what it sounds like,¡± little Damian thought.


    ¡°Dad,¡± Dillion addressed his father with a serious tone, ¡°I think it¡¯s time we start taking riskier jobs.¡±


    Victor, Vance, and Rose each expressed their agreement.


    ¡°One or all of you could easily be killed over some of those ¡®riskier your jobs¡¯ you¡¯ve proposed.¡± Old Dean was firm.


    ¡°We¡¯re not kids anymore,¡± Dillon said assertively, ¡°We can we can manage an ambush.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re usually in and out without anybody noticing,¡± Vance added.


    ¡°I really hope this isn¡¯t what it sounds like,¡± little Damian thought.


    ¡°That may be true,¡± old Dean said, ¡°but you¡¯ll not be doing anything brash.¡±


    ¡°Dad.¡±


    ¡°Old Dean.¡±


    ¡°Dean.¡±


    ¡°Look old man,¡± All of the Rascals tried to speak at once but Victor took charge saying, ¡°I appreciate what you do, but I have a kid to feed now. Either you put us on some loot or I¡¯ll take my spear east.¡±


    There was silence. Old Dean sized up Victor before calmly saying, ¡°It might get cold tonight. I¡¯ll make us a fire,¡± and walking out of the house to get wood. Everyone watched him leave.


    ¡°Don¡¯t bluff with old Dean. You¡¯ll lose.¡± Vance chastised his brother.


    ¡°It¡¯s not a bluff,¡± Victor said.


    Dillon tried to reason with him. ¡°The pay will pick up. Dad will come around.¡±


    Vance followed up. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t even make much if you sold yourself.¡±


    Victor wasn¡¯t backing down. ¡°I¡¯ve fought Kismen before. The Barron would pay pile of gold for me. My salary would easily be twice what I make now.¡±


    ¡°The benefits wouldn¡¯t be as good,¡± Dillon reminded him.


    ¡°Victor, you¡¯re the core. The Rascals need you,¡± Rose said as if she were scolding an unreasonable child.


    Mary, who¡¯d been quietly breastfeeding, spoke very slowly to her husband. ¡°Victor, you will not sell yourself to the Barron. It is not worth the price of a father and husband. You will never speak of this again, except to tell old Dean that you¡¯re reconsidered.¡± She was livid.


    Victor looked like he wanted to say something to Mary. Mary looked like she wanted to kill Victor. Victor backed down before old Dean returned with wood.


    Eight people watched Old Dean return, and casually build a fire in silence. This suited little Damian as he was able to clearly hear his grandfather speak his incantation when he lit it. The spell he cast sent a two-foot flame that looked like it came from a punctured aerosol can rushing out of the metal chopstick. Though the wood was only engulfed for a second, it was sufficient to light the twigs he had arranged.


    Little Damian assumed his grandfather was able to do this because he was a witch, which little Damian had learned was quite common for a Dagger. His father too was blessed by the Witch when he was born, but instead of studying magic and potions like old Dean insisted, Dillon trained with sword and shield so that he may adventure the great frontier.


    Little Damian respected his father''s adventurous spirit, but adventuring seemed to entail an awful lot of violence, something little Damian had never been a fan of. He figured the magic and potions route was more his style. So what if he had to be a witch? Magic and potions seemed like they¡¯d be really useful, and he probably didn¡¯t even have to wear a weird hat.


    Old Dean didn¡¯t wear a funny hat or a wartted nose. He look normal. His large ears and nose fit his aged face nicely. Little Damian was pleased that his grandfather was still handsome, despite his senior condition. In this life, he seemed to have gotten a good start. He should be able to achieve comfortable success in this other world with his good genes and a magical education.


    Only if he could stay alive long enough for those things to matter though.

 Chapter 18

    Little Damian wasn¡¯t particularly concerned with his physical safety. His protective, well armed family seemed to have that under control. It was his so-called blessing that caused little Damian concern as of late. He didn¡¯t know if his was rare or common. For all he knew, it could have been a powerful ability for witchcraft or a remote killswitch hidden in his head by the gods.


    For a single second after the velvet cloth deflated, little Damian¡¯s world changed. He saw something everywhere, even where he could not see with his eyes, behind him, above him, below him, everywhere. It was attached to everything around him, even the air and the people. The people were especially bright. What this stuff was and how he was ¡°seeing¡± it, were two more things little Damian couldn¡¯t be sure of, but he had a hunch that what he saw was magic, and for a single second he saw it in all directions. Then came a splitting headache for a few seconds before he passed out.


    He assumed it was because of the ¡°eyes¡± that let him see the knowledge that made him, or something like that. What his blessing really did was give him a splitting headache. It was like the magic eyes were inside him, but they were being blocked by a giant boulder. When Little Damian strained to move the metaphysical boulder, it made his head hurt. He didn¡¯t know why the gods would give him a blessing that only hurt, and thought that maybe, if he could only move that border, he¡¯d be able to use his ability.


    It was just that the splitting headaches and loss of consciousness was stopping him. Maybe it was dangerous. It could be that it¡¯s a really great ability that he¡¯s supposed to spend years developing, until he¡¯s an old man even. He couldn¡¯t wait that long, he had problems now. Mostly that he was ignorant, and his ability could help him figure it out, so little Damian excepted the risk of attempting to use an unknown magical blessing, granted by shifty looking witch deity, with an infant¡¯s body, and day after day he tried to move his mental boulder. Four times a day he¡¯d concentrate, get a migraine, and pass out. Maybe he was making progress. Maybe he was giving himself brain damage. He didn¡¯t know, but when old Dean lit the fire he accepted the risk and heaved his metaphysical boulder with all the mental might his baby mind could muster. Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    He saw it. It was vague, but he certainly saw it. Magic streamed out of the tip of old Dean¡¯s wand as he chanted. Each of the spoken syllables made symbols that arrange themselves into a circle in front of his wand. When the incantation was complete, old dean dimmed for a second while the spell was active.


    Rose was first to notice little Damian losing consciousness and happily asked, ¡°Is somebody getting sleepy?¡±


    His mother''s rhetorical question was the last thing he heard before blacking out. ¡°I really hope I wasn¡¯t born into a loving family of highway robbers¡± was his last thought.


    The next morning little Damian woke up in an unfamiliar place. ¡°Am I in a cage? No, it¡¯s a crib.... Fantastic!¡± he thought. His nights playing third wheel to his parents intimacy seemed like a thing of the past.


    Little Damian¡®s grin became a frown as he recalled the events of the night before. Randomly passing out was not a good look. The rewards were worth it this time, but he didn¡¯t want to be narcoleptic as well as retarded. Typically he would strain his brain at naptime, a practice he should stick to, but right now he was too excited to wait. He was determined to use his ability. He just needed to eat something first. This was the first time he woke up without Rose diligently noticing, and providing nutrition.


    Little Damian was in a predicament. He had not yet made any noise voluntarily. It was his intention not to, until he was old enough to plausibly speak properly.


    ¡°That might not be a reasonable plan,¡± he thought while his tummy rumbled. If he was going to be sleeping in a separate room, he would need to make some kind of noise to inform his mother that her baby was awake and hungry. He was wrestling with this idea when the door opened. It was not his mother.


    ¡°You must be hungry,¡± old Dean said, holding an unfamiliar bottle.


    ¡°Did he hear my stomach grumble? It definitely has to be enchanted hearing,¡± little Damian thought, eyeing the new glass bottle. It had a nipple that looked unsettlingly like a real one and was filled with whitish fluid. He assumed it was breakfast, but that prompted one big question.


    Where was his mother?