CHAPTER 2
THE INN
The doors to The Badger’s Willow Inn slammed open, letting in a gust of cold air that smelled of musty rancid rain-soaked streets. A figure stepped inside, shaking the wet from his coat with a loud grunt. The bustling of the inn pauses for a tiny fraction of a second, before resuming its loud and rambunctious atmosphere.
The man, rough-faced and thick with muscles, with a large scar on his cheek, walked further in, shaking off the rain as the old wooden floor creaked underfoot. He wiped his sleeve across his forehead, glancing around the tavern with eyes that had seen too many long nights and even longer roads. His boots squelched as he moved past tables of rowdy, drunken men, their voices rising and falling like the tide.
Behind the bar, the innkeeper, Mara, did not look up. Her hands moved quickly, wiping down used mugs and dirty counters with practiced ease. She expressed no concerned over the chaos that is happening around her. The nonsensical fights, the drunken bets, the strange folks who wandered in and out at all times of the day. To Mara, she was as used to these things as breathing.
This tiny inn, located on the outskirt of the glorious Lepus City, had always been a hotbed of mayhem. If someone was looking for peace, they will not find it here. But if someone only needed a warm bed, a drink, and a way to forget their own existence for a while—well, The Badger’s Willow was always open.
The man at the door sat down at a stool in the corner of the bar, and banged his fist on the counter for attention. Mara glanced up at him, then back down at her work, completely unbothered.
“A drink,” said the man.
The busy innkeeper did not ask which kind; she simply grabbed a mug from a nearby shelf and poured in a generous amount of strong liquor. She slid the mug across the bar without a word, then moved to serve a couple of men in military uniforms at another table.
Scar Cheek took a long swig, the drink burning down his throat. He took a deep breath before leaning back against the wall and surveyed the room.
It was as wild and lively as ever.
A few mercenaries were clustered by the opposite wall, laughing about some job gone wrong. At one of the tables, a young man was playing dice with a pair of older traders, throwing them so hard they bounced off the table and onto the floor. By the fireplace, a old man sat, strumming lightly on a battered lute, his playing drowned out by the cacophony of noises.
The door opened again, and a few more figures entered, soaked through from the rain. One of them, a hulking man in patched leather armor, made straight for the bar, shoving through the crowd like he owned the place.
“Give us a round, Mara!” he barked, his voice booming over the noise of the room.
“If you can pay for it,” the innkeeper shot back, her voice dry and sharp.
The man tossed a handful of coins onto the bar, the sound of coins clinking against the wooden counter was like a signal, causing all other noises to cease. Soon, a few drinks were slid across to him. Leather Armor motioned to his crew, who were already shoving their way forward, to come fetch their drinks. They took the filled mugs and sat directly in front of the bar, where they started loudly and vulgarly talks and laugh.
The rest of the room fell silent.
Chugging the rest of his mug, Scar Cheek stood up and walked towards the innkeeper. He pulled out a coin and thrown it down the onto the counter. “Here’s for the drink. I’ll be heading off now.” As he turned around, his hand was grabbed.
It was Leather Armor.
“Hold it. Can’t you see we’re sitting here? You think you can just walk by and not even greet us properly? As an apology, how about buying us drinks for the rest of the night?” Leather Armor’s tone was light and casual, as if what came out of his mouth wasn’t the most unreasonable thing every said. The rest of his crew snickered and jeered from the side.
“Yeah, Boss. This guy is so ignorant. We have to teach him a lesson.”
“We want an apology! Or two. Or five.”
“Keke. Look at that ugly face, you just know he’s terrified of us already.”
Despite the jeers, Scar Cheek did not turn back, nor did he show any panic or surprise reaction. He simply raised an eyebrow, “And what if I refuse?”
---
Outside, the rain didn’t stop.
Heavy rain drops fell onto the wooden window sill, making loud rhythmic knocks. Violent winds, carrying the force of the storm, whips and howls, churning the world in ferocious waves.
In stark contrast, the inside of the last bedroom on the second floor of the Badger’s Willow was filled with tranquility.
Warm and cozy, dry and comfortable, the atmosphere in the room was most conducive for dozing off into a deep slumber. At least it was, until…
BANG!
A loud crash sounded below the floor boards.
BAM! CRASH!
More violent noises follows, drowning out the pitter-patter of rain, and making the entire inn shakes.
“…Nngh.” Masco, all tucked in bed, let out a small groan and opened his eyes. His eyelid, like rusty cast-iron, weighs down heavily for what feels like a hundred tons.
He struggle to sit up, the toasty cover sliding unwillingly off his body.
“…What…?” For a moment, Masco did not remember where he was, his mind rolling in a haze of weariness and sleep deprivation. It wasn’t until a particularly nasty gust slammed into the wooden window frame outside that the loud rattling finally snapped him awake.
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Oh! That’s right—I was in the middle of a task. This is what—the fifty-seventh task in the past two years now?
As Masco recalled his memories, a frown appears on his face.
Two years… has it really been that long? Two years stuck in this godforsaken world, forced to run all those random side quests for that lousy old bag.
Indeed, it has been two years since he came to this world.
---
Two years ago, a college student was driving home one day after class, when his car was struck by a drunk driver. The poor sedan, rammed squarely in the middle of the driver’s side by a speeding pickup truck, flipped three times and rolled into a nearby ditch, where it promptly caught on fire and exploded.
Its driver, a young man by the name Masco Krane, only saw a blinding glimpse of headlights before his world spun out of control and everything went black.
By the time Masco opened his eyes again, reflected in them was a bright blue sky.
Around him was no longer the grey damp air of the sleepy college town, but a vibrant and colorful new world. Birds of strange species flew overhead, tall unidentifiable trees stood all around, lush green grass covered the hills and meadows, glistening in fresh morning dew.
Dazed, confused, and bewildered, the young man wanders aimlessly for hours before stumbling onto an old house. Situated in a dark, murky swamp, the house looked worn down and decrepit. All around, it was covered in layers of damp moss, creeping vines, and huge twisted roots that seemed to have crawled out of the mud and drilled through the rotting boards like blackened veins.
Despite a scene straight out of a horror movie, Masco, delirious and disoriented, somehow managed to walked up to the house and knocked.
Even more surprising, the door actually opened, and out came a most beautiful woman. Well, as beautiful as a stick-in-the-mud college student of a small town can fathom.
Like a goddess crafted from sunlight, she stood in the door way with a gentle smile, her long blonde locks cascades down her shoulders in soft shimmering waves. Her attire, an extremely expensive-looking purple satin gown, clung onto her every curve in perfect proportion, with a long train that trails across the dusty floor like a coiling tail.
The woman introduces herself as Melodia, a simple medicine woman that helps lost travelers. This land, aptly named The Swamp, was her property, and the only home she has.
With a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes, she pulled the young man into her home, placed him on a soft velvet sofa, and offered him a table stacked high with plates of delicious food.
No, wait.. something felt… not right.
Just as his hand reaches out to the food, Masco suddenly felt a sinister presence. He could feel an intense unknown malice, pulpable and raw, gathering all around him, observing him, tasting him.
As he tried to focus on what this strange feeling was, he felt a sharp pain in his head. His senses began to distorts, and the more he looks around the more horrified he became.
The velvet couch felt cold and damp beneath his touch. The sunlit room lost its warmth, becoming colder, narrower, and more claustrophobic. Even the food that was so tantalizing moments ago, now squirms with maggots and rots, decaying rapidly like a corpse left out in the sun.
The poor traumatized college student jumped onto his feet, his head darting around in a panic as he swallowed a few retches. Seeing the front door, Masco quickly ran towards it, tripping and stumbling on all manner of objects that didn’t seem to be there when he entered. Before he can grab onto the doorknob, however, it—or more accurately to say—the actual door itself, disappeared.
“What…the…” Masco stared at the empty wall in disbelief.
“My, this is new.” A sharp clear voice sounded out behind him. Turning back, Masco saw the woman from before, Melodia, the owner of this terrifying house, standing quietly, her eyes narrowed as if in scrutiny.
Melodia slowly stepped forward, her hair swaying gently behind her. Unlike the soft glowing sunlight from before, at this moment, the beautiful long blonde locks seemed to radiates an unnatural green hue, ominous and most unsettling.
The woman stopped in front of Masco, her voice smooth with a tinge of delight, “Trying to run? What a cute thing you are.” Melodia raised a finger and softly traces the young man’s throat. “Where did you hail from little cutie? For a mortal to be able to see past my veil, that is quite… something.”
“…Hail from… veil…?” Masco tried to push away the intrusive hand, but he could not summon any strength. He could only stand immobile, his eyes moistened and blurry, “I-I don’t… I don’t understand…”
After a few second of silence, the woman retracted her hand, her demeanor seemed to softened significantly.
“Tell you what, cutie.” A venomous smile spread out from a pair of enticing rosy lips, as Melodia’s voice sent shivers down the Masco’s spine. “I can spare your life for today, on the account of your… adorable uniqueness. In exchange, however, you shall be in my service hence forth.”
Hanging on to his last shred of consciousness, Masco gritted his teeth as the world begins spinning around him, “…Wh-what kind of service…?”
Thud!
As soon as the words left his mouth, Masco fell to the floor. The physical and mental toll of being in an fatal accident and then arriving to some strange new land has finally caught up with him.
Before Masco’s consciousness fades, he seemed to have heard a light voice, “What kind of service? Hm. Well, I supposed I could use an errand boy…”
---
Errand boy my ass!
Masco stood up from the bed, his body bent backward in a stretch. If I had known earlier that the old hag wanted to worked me half to death, I never would have agreed to such a rotten deal! Hmph!
Letting out a breath of turbid air, Masco opened the door and quietly walked out of his room.
Downstairs, a brawl was fully on-going.
Chairs and tables went flying. Shattered glass and utensils littered the floor. Mugs of cheap diluted ale and expensive liquors alike soared through the air, mixed mid-flight, and splashed down on every conceivable surfaces.
Amidst the piles of splinters and drifting dusts, brawlers stood in some sort of drunken standoff. On one side was a rough-looking man with a gaudy and worn-out leather armor, surrounded by a few stumbling henchmen. On the other side was an equally gruff warrior, a long scar running down his left cheek.
The tension was palpable, hanging thick in the air, pulled tight by a long suffocating silence. No one moves—not the brawlers nor the spectators. Dozens of eyes swept around the room, as if measuring everyone else, and tracking every muscle for the slightest twitch.
Outside, the rain had died down.
Suddenly, the taut silence was punctured by the slow, mournful creaking of the old staircase. All heads snapped towards the bottom of the stairs, where a young man stood, his face partially covered by a white silk veil.
“It’s past midnight, people.” A clear bell-like voice rang out from the beneath the silk, sharp with annoyance. “Can’t you at least be little quieter? Some of us are trying to sleep here.”
As the voice fell, the masses seemed to awaken from their daze.
It was Leather Armor that spoke up first.
“Boy, if you want to sleep, then hurry back to your room. But if you talk to us like that one more time…” Leather Armor stepped towards the young man, his face bearing an unkind smirk. “You might just end up sleeping forever.”
Over on the other side, Scar Cheek remains silent. His eyes kept darting between the young man and Leather Armor.
Behind the bar, the innkeeper, Mara, jumped up.
She remembered this young man who had checked in late in the afternoon. Though he didn’t say much, his speech and mannerism were refined and polite, a sharp contrast to the vulgarity she is used to hearing. The young guest even offered to pay the room fee in advance, which left a strong impression on her.
It would not do well on her conscience if this young man was hurt in her inn.
Walking swiftly towards the stairs, Mara spoke up in a low voice, “Listen to him, kid. Believe it or not, these violent baboons are all our regulars. They are all familiar with each other, and they fight all the time, so there’s no need for you to get involve in—”
The innkeeper’s words has not yet finished when the young man moved. He stepped forward, and, before anyone could react, arrived in front of the man who had just threatened him.
Leather Armor raised in an eyebrow in surprised, but before he could speak, the same clear voice sounded again, this time much closer and… potent.
“If you have so much trouble trying to sleep, then let me help you.”
A gentle breeze blew through the room, unnoticed by all those present.
Slowly, Leather Armor’s body began to tilt, his eyes struggles to remain opens. Sure enough, within a few seconds, his swaying body hit the floor with a muffled thud.
Stepping gracefully over the crumbled body of the unconscious man, Masco walked out the front door, and disappeared into the dark streets.
