I woke up to Ephraim kicking the square of hay where I had spent the night, my body jolting awake in a half-panicked scramble before my brain caught up and figured out where I was. When my vision cleared, Ephraim was standing over me, smiling down with that same knowing expression he always seemed to have when he found something amusing. In one hand he was holding what looked like a piece of bread wrapped around something that smelled aggressively like boiled meat.

  “Wake up, mister shy-guy,” he said. “Brought you breakfast.”

  I groaned softly, and hauled myself upright, every joint popping in protest after a night spent sleeping in a pile of hay with no cover. My back ached and my shoulders felt stiff, but it was still better than sleeping directly on the ground like I had been doing for the past several days.

  He handed the food over and nodded toward the yard. “Come on. Gather your things. We’re headin’ into town. I’ll drop you off, give you some directions, and wish you luck.”

  I slung my bag over my shoulder and followed him out, breakfast still warm in my hand. I took a tentative bite as we walked and immediately realized that spices were either rare in this world or deeply mistrusted. The bread reminded me of naan, but with less butter, maybe cooked with some kind of nut oil instead. It wasn’t bad, just… plain. The meat was another matter. Whatever it was had been cooked thoroughly and without mercy, tasting like it had never met a seasoning beyond maybe salt. Texture-wise it sat somewhere between bologna and feet.

  I did not ask what I was eating.

  It was warm and it was calories, and that was good enough. I considered politely tucking it away and quietly summoning a magic berry when no one was looking, but I didn’t want to make a habit of that. I’d already started wondering what a diet of nothing but berries would actually do to a person long term. Was it nutritionally complete, or was it basically the equivalent of living off protein shakes forever?

  We rounded the barn, and Ephraim walked straight to the cart, which was still sitting exactly where we’d left it the day before. He picked up the handles like the thing weighed nothing, and I fell into step beside him as we headed toward the gate.

  The sound of a door slamming made me glance back. Silas was speed-walking out of the house, focused entirely on the closed gate ahead of us. A moment later there was a loud, happy animal call, and Bibi came trotting toward him with an enthusiasm that looked physically exhausting. Silas reached the gate just as we did and started working a strange locking mechanism without saying a word or even looking at us, which suited his quiet nature just fine.

  Ephraim and I passed through the gate, and Silas closed it behind us with the same single-minded focus. I glanced back toward the house and didn’t see any sign of Mathilde.

  Honestly, I was fine with that.

  I did not think I could handle another glare from that woman.

  With that, we headed down the same path we’d taken toward the dungeon the day before, the ground familiar underfoot now in a way that felt unsettling rather than comforting. I heard wood creak behind us and glanced back just in time to see Silas pulling the door shut. It closed with a solid thud that echoed, and then the farm was already starting to feel farther away than it should have.

  I turned forward again and kept walking beside Ephraim, the cart rolling steadily along behind him, the morning air cool enough to be pleasant for once. My breakfast sat heavy but warm in my stomach, and the road ahead stretched out in a way that made my chest feel oddly tight.

  I couldn’t help it.

  I found myself thinking that I was about to see my first real town in this world. Not a farm. Not a dungeon. Not a place where survival was the only point of reference. An actual town, with people who had routines and shops and probably opinions about the weather.

  I glanced ahead at the path and then at Ephraim’s back, trying not to let the nerves show.

  “You should’ve joined us last night,” Ephraim said.

  We’d been walking for about an hour by then, following the same dusty road as before until we reached the fork and took the path that didn’t lead back toward the dungeon. The land rolled gently on either side, open and quiet, and the morning had settled into that comfortable space where the sun was warm without being oppressive. We hadn’t really talked much. Just polite filler about the weather and the road and nothing in particular.

  The only real interruptions came when small animals decided to make poor life choices.

  Each time one rushed us, Ephraim made that same sharp sound with his voice, the one that pulled their attention like a hook, and then he slapped them aside without breaking stride. It was efficient in a way that probably should’ve bothered me more than it did.

  I had been waiting for him to say something like that. Not dreading it exactly, but expecting it, like a conversation checkpoint we were eventually going to hit whether I liked it or not. If anything, I was surprised it had taken this long.

  I looked over at him and kept my voice even. “That’s okay,” I said. “I… thanks for thinking of me?”

  That last bit came out sounding like a question, and I knew it the second the words left my mouth. I wasn’t really sure how to deflect, even though I’d been expecting something about last night to come up eventually.

  Ephraim slowed a little and looked at me sideways. “Look. I don’t know what your deal is,” he said. “If you like women. Guys. Somewhere in between. Or if you’ve got someone back where you came from.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, but he grunted and kept talking.

  “We kind of touched on this yesterday, but I want to make sure it actually sinks in,” he said. “You seem like a decent enough guy. You helped out with Bibi. You didn’t panic in the dungeon. Hell, you showed more patience getting that cart out than I’ve seen from people who are high-level experienced [Warrior]s.”

  I nodded despite myself. There had been more than a few moments in that tunnel where I was giving direction I’d seriously considered screaming and cussing.

  “But here’s the thing,” he continued. “Being a [Bard] means people are going to expect you to fuck.”

  I looked at him.

  Normally that would have stunned me into silence, but at this point the world had burned through most of my remaining shock reserves. I pinched the bridge of my nose and exhaled.

  “Look,” I said. “I get it.”

  “No,” he said immediately. “I don’t think you do.”

  He gestured ahead with his chin. “You’re about to hit town. You’re about to deal with real people. Up until now you were stuck in the woods and ran into us. And we’re… pretty chill, all things considered.”

  That did not reassure me.

  “People are going to see that class and that level floating over your head,” he went on. “They’re going to make assumptions. They’ll size you up fast. Most of them will decide you’re good for one of two things.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  He held up two fingers. “Fucking. Or killing for experience.”

  I grimaced.

  “Most folks are wary of [Bard]s,” he added. “High Charisma classes make people nervous.”

  “Why,” I asked. “Wouldn’t Wisdom or Intelligence counter that?”

  He shrugged, and the cart clattered softly behind him as the metal shifted. “They help. But there’s no clean counter, though supposedly the Soul stat is supposed to be the best if you have it unlocked. Being affected by Charisma doesn’t feel like mind control when it’s happening. That’s the problem. You usually only notice after it’s done.”

  That made my stomach sink.

  “People have talked others into handing over money. Gear. Clothes. All without meaning to,” he said. “By the time they realize something’s off, it’s already too late. Some folks unlock Soul and that helps resist it, but most people never do.”

  “So they just assume I’m manipulating them,” I said.

  “Or trying to,” he replied. “Either way.”

  Great, I thought.

  I was going to be welcomed with all the warmth people reserve for door-to-door salesmen and traveling cult leaders.

  “Just saying,” he added. “You’ve got skills that are built for entertaining or banging. If you want to survive in this world, you’d better use what you’ve got.”

  He shrugged. “That’s my three copper.”

  We walked in silence for a bit after that, the road stretching ahead of us in a lazy curve.

  “Anyway,” Ephraim said at last, like he hadn’t just dropped a life-altering warning on me, “we’re coming up on town soon. You’ll get your portion of whatever we sell. We’ll go to a shopkeeper friend of mine. He treats me right.”

  “That sounds good,” I said, because it did.

  “What you need to do,” he continued, “is spend some of that coin on new clothes. Something that doesn’t scream just dropped into the world yesterday. Get a few other basics while you’re at it.”

  I nodded, filing that away.

  “After that,” he said, “you’ve got options. You can try to find work in town. You can head back into the forest and kill things for experience. Or you can go north toward one of the bigger cities.”

  He glanced at me again. “My advice? Decide what you want. Find someone who knows what they’re doing. Then stick to them like glue while you convince them that keeping you alive is more profitable than killing you for experience.”

  I swallowed.

  “That’s how people last,” he finished.

  We walked in silence for a while after that, the kind that settles in once everything important has already been said and neither person feels the need to stir it up again. The road was the same hard packed dirt as before, but the world around it slowly began to change in small telling ways.

  The first sign was fencing.

  Not the rough slapped-together kind I had seen near the farm, but longer runs of posts and rails that followed the land with some intention behind them. Then fields appeared, wide and uneven, carved out of the wild and forced into something resembling order. Crops grew in rough rows that did not quite line up, like whoever planted them had given up on perfection halfway through.

  People were working the fields as we passed. Most of them had classes floating faintly over their heads, [Warrior] showing up more often than not with levels around 20-30. They worked with the casual ease of people who could drop a hoe and turn it into a weapon if something went wrong. A few nodded as we passed, others barely looked up, and no one seemed particularly surprised to see us.

  Off to one side of a field a woman stood with her hands out, palms down, blue light running in steady lines from her fingers into the soil. Water seeped up from the ground in controlled pulses, soaking the crops without flooding them. The class over her head read [Mage], and she looked bored out of her mind while doing it, like this was the least interesting use of magic she could imagine.

  “That seems efficient,” I muttered.

  Ephraim grunted, which I was starting to recognize as agreement.

  As we kept walking, the road widened and flattened, the ruts smoothing out under repeated traffic. More structures appeared, sheds first, then proper buildings, and before I quite realized it we were cresting a low rise and looking down at town.

  It reminded me of a western boom town at first glance, all straight lines and practical shapes, but the resemblance broke down the longer I looked. There were no false fronts or wooden facades pretending to be something grander. Most of the buildings were stone, stacked and fitted with a kind of rough confidence, like they expected to still be standing long after anyone cared to remember who built them.

  The streets were wide and dusty, laid out more by convenience than planning, and the whole place felt like it had grown outward in response to need rather than design. A pop up town, but one that had discovered magic early and leaned into it hard.

  On the edge of town a half-finished house was rising directly out of the ground.

  A man stood near it with both hands pressed to the stone wall, eyes closed, sweat running down his face as the earth slowly lifted and shaped itself under his touch. Blocks slid into place through the air, settling into place with a grinding sound that set my teeth on edge, the structure assembling itself piece by piece like the land was reluctantly cooperating.

  The class over his head flickered as [Mage].

  “That is one way to do that,” I murmured.

  Ephraim snorted.

  We crossed an invisible line somewhere near the first buildings, and the feeling of the place shifted. The road became a street. The quiet countryside hum turned into something denser, heavier, like a sound waiting just out of earshot.

  The town was already busy despite the early hour, and as we moved deeper in I started to realize just how many people lived here compared to the farm. The street was packed dirt worn smooth by constant traffic, with footprints layered so thick it was impossible to tell which way most people had gone. Voices overlapped, carts creaked, metal rang against metal, and somewhere nearby something was being argued over at impressive volume.

  Classes floated everywhere above people's heads.

  Most of the people I passed were [Warrior]s or [Mage]s, which matched what Ephraim had said about survival around here. [Warrior]s leaned against buildings or walked in loose groups, armor mismatched but functional, weapons worn the way you wear something you expect to use later today. [Mage]s were easier to spot once I started looking for the small tells, the faint glow under the skin, the way the air bent just a little too cleanly around them, the casual confidence that came from knowing you could solve a lot of problems by pointing at them.

  I spotted a [Fighter] sparring with another man near a stable, their movements tighter and more deliberate than the warriors I had seen, less flash and more efficiency. Nearby a [Rogue] leaned against a post pretending very hard to be invisible while absolutely watching everyone who passed. I caught sight of a [Ranger] at the edge of the street with a bow over their shoulder, eyes constantly scanning rooftops and alleys like the town itself might try something funny.

  No one looked relaxed, but everyone looked capable.

  We passed a wide stone building set back from the street, its entrance open and flanked by carved symbols that I did not recognize. Above the door was a simple plaque stating that the temple served all gods. Out front stood several people in robes of all colors with [Priest] floating over their heads, smiling with practiced warmth.

  “Blessings,” one called out. “Healing available. Only a small offering required.”

  Another waved as we passed. “Injuries. Curses. Fatigue. The gods provide.”

  Ephraim snorted loudly enough that one of the [Priest]s glanced over with a frown.

  “You’re lucky,” he muttered to me as we walked past. “You haven’t had to deal with [Priest]s yet.”

  I kept my voice low. “Why. That bad?”

  “They’ll try to rope you into all kinds of nonsense for their gods,” he said. “Quests. Oaths. Tithes. Promises. Half the time you’re better off just leveling and letting your body fix itself.”

  “That works.”

  “For most things,” he said. “You get hurt bad enough or cursed enough and then you don’t have much choice.”

  I glanced back at the temple and the smiling priests and decided I was very happy to keep that as a future problem.

  We continued on until Ephraim slowed near a squat stone building with iron-barred windows and a thick reinforced door. A sign hung above it, plain and direct.

  “Enchanters Goods” it read.

  “That’s the place,” Ephraim said.

  He guided the cart off to the side and set it down with a heavy clatter of metal and wood. The sound turned a few heads, but no one seemed alarmed. Just curious.

  “Welcome to town,” he added, clapping his hands together once and rubbing them. “Let’s see what we can get you set up with.”

  Ephraim stepped up to the reinforced door. “You’re gonna love Old Garrin,” he said over his shoulder with a smile.

  That did not sound like a promise.

  He pushed the door open and bell mounted just inside rang out in a flat irritated clang, like it resented being touched at all.

  The shop smelled like hot iron and oil, with an undercurrent of something sharp and chemical that made my nose wrinkle. The interior was cramped but deliberate. Stone walls. Heavy shelves sagging under the weight of tools, coils of wire, jars of powdered things, crystals wrapped in cloth, piles of clothing, weapons and armor, and half-assembled items that looked dangerous even when sitting still.

  Nothing was labeled.

  Behind a wide counter a man straightened slowly from where he’d been working. He was old in the way that suggested stubbornness rather than frailty. Broad shoulders still intact. Beard gray and uneven. One ear looked like it had lost a fight years ago and the scars on his hands suggested the same story told many times.

  He looked at the cart first through the window.

  Then at Ephraim.

  His eyes narrowed.

  “If that cart’s full of bent goblin scrap again,” he said, voice dry as gravel, “you can turn right around and drag it back out of town before you again try and fuck me for store credit.”

  Ephraim leaned his forearms on the counter like this was a social call instead of a business transaction.

  “Still thinking about that, are you?” he said with a grin. “I told you, Garrin, one good night and you’d stop pretending you don’t like me.”

  Garrin snorted. “The day I like you is the day I enchant my own coffin.”

  “Missed you too,” Ephraim said brightly.

  Garrin’s scowl twitched, just barely, before he turned his attention back to the cart.