It did not take me long to find the inn Prudence had suggested. It was only about two blocks away, which either meant she had good taste in nearby lodging or she sent a lot of people this way as it was close. As I walked, I stayed extra on guard. I did not see anyone following me or lingering too long in doorways, but that did not mean much in a world where everyone had an ability or at least some magic tucked up their sleeve.

  My hand stayed wrapped around Mouthy’s hilt the entire time, the mouth dagger resting in his sheath at my belt like he was waiting for an excuse. I kept my thumb near the guard, ready to draw if something so much as twitched wrong in the shadows. Nothing did, but the tension did not really fade either. It just settled into the background like a constant hum.

  The inn itself looked better than I expected. Thick wood paneling had been inlaid over the usual stone structure that most of the city seemed to be built from, clearly shaped and set by [Mage]s who specialized in construction instead of explosions. The wood was dark and polished, carved with subtle patterns that made the whole place look established instead of recently slapped together.

  Across the front, painted in bold red and white lettering, was the name.

  The Takamura Inn

  Paper lanterns hung near the entrance, their light warm and steady against the growing dark. There were still lights in the windows, which honestly made me hesitate because it was getting late and I had half expected the doors to be barred by now. Either they stayed open later than most or this part of the city did not sleep the same way the rest did.

  I stepped up and pushed my way inside.

  The entry opened into a modest but clearly well-kept foyer. A fire crackled in a stone fireplace off to one side, throwing a soft orange glow over polished floors and sturdy furniture that looked built to last instead of survive bar fights. A front desk stood opposite the door, organized and clean, which immediately made me aware of the dust on my boots.

  Crap.

  When Prudence the [Mage] had recommended it, she had said it was “a pretty decent inn”. Standing there now, I realized her definition of pretty nice leaned closer to refined than comfortable. Probably the most extravagant place in the city, but definitely a step above what I usually aimed for. Also considering she had the thought she might be joining me, I expect she recommended a high scale place. I ran a quick mental calculation of my coin situation and decided I could afford at least one night without bankrupting myself. More importantly, it was probably safer and more protected than gambling on a place where the mattress came with its own ecosystem.

  I approached the desk, trying to look like I belonged in a place with polished floors and actual decor. A man in a tailored outfit stood behind it, posture straight, eyes sharp as they flicked up to assess me from boots to shoulders. His class and level floated over his head.

  Warrior {Level 40}

  I have to say, he looked pretty Japanese. He even had that neat, swept-back head coiff that somehow stayed perfectly in place, like it had signed a contract not to move. If I had to guess, he was early thirties. The way he shifted his weight and held himself made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing. Just that overall easy confidence. Like nothing in this building surprised him.

  “Greetings,” he said, easy and calm. “Welcome to Takamura’s. How can I help you?”

  “Hello. Yes, hello. I would like a room,” I said.

  “Excellent,” he replied without missing a beat. “We have one available.”

  “How much?”

  “Seven silver.”

  Geez. That was over twice what I had been quoted in other places. This place really was pretty fancy. Still, it might be worth staying one night just to get a feel for it and decide if the price came with fewer knives in the dark.

  “All right. Sounds good.”

  He raised an eyebrow at that just slightly, like he had expected more resistance. “Okay,” he said, then reached down and retrieved a key.

  Oh crud. Was I supposed to barter? I was so used to a world with standard fees and posted prices that it had not even crossed my mind. Oh well, damage done.

  I reached into my pocket, counted out seven silver, and placed them on the desk.

  “Here you go,” he said, slipping the key into my hand. “You are in room 204. Go upstairs. It will be directly on the right.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, taking the key before walking through the nicely kept atrium toward a set of decently ornate stairs that led to the second floor.

  Upstairs, I found my door without much trouble. The key he gave me was one of those big antique things with oversized teeth, heavy in my hand. It turned with a solid click, and I stepped inside.

  The room was pretty decent. It looked like what I would expect from an old antique bed and breakfast. Traditional, while being slightly too proud of itself.

  There was a metal switch on the wall. I touched it experimentally, curious what it would do. A metal plate mounted above flickered to life, glowing with faint runes for a second before settling into a steady light that cast a warm glow across the room.

  “Huh,” I muttered. “I wonder if this is some of Garen’s work.”

  Looking around, I took inventory. A bed. A dresser. A closet next to the door. A full-length mirror. Several windows looking out onto the steet.

  Now, close observers might notice I did not mention a restroom.

  That is because there was not one.

  Instead, there was a metal bedpan, a pale of water, and neatly folded towels resting on the dresser. I stared at it for a long moment.

  Who would have thought I would miss indoor plumbing this much? If I had to go, I was going to try very hard to hold it until morning.

  The bed had an aggressive number of decorative pillows, like someone had decided comfort meant quantity. I walked over to it and gave it an experimental poke. It answered with a faint crunchy sound beneath the nice fabric covering.

  Pretty sure this thing was stuffed with straw.

  Oh well.

  I wanted nothing more then to crash onto this bed and drift into sleep, especially since I had not had a real bed since arriving on this world.

  But thinking back over the day, I had been busy. I had spent nearly the entire time playing at the tavern, performing in front of easily a hundred people. I was a new face in town, and with the [Bard] class having a reputation for being an easy kill, I fully expected there to be company tonight.

  I sighed, already knowing what I had to do.

  I pulled free my coin purse, and emptied it onto the bed. The coins scattered across the fabric with a dull metallic clatter.

  It had to be around two in the morning, if I had to guess, when the window gave the faintest rattle against its frame. The sound was not loud or dramatic, but it was enough to pull me fully awake and keep me there. A few seconds later came the scratching, slow and careful, followed by the soft sound of someone testing the frame from the outside. I could almost picture fingers working their way along the sill with deliberate patience. There was breathing too, low and steady on the other side of the glass, close enough that I could tell this was not some random bump in the night.

  Then it stopped entirely.

  There was the sound of the slow slide of the window lifting upward at a pace so deliberate it was almost impressive to hear. It took close to a full minute for the frame to rise, the wood barely whispering against the casing as it moved. It was the kind of sound that would disappear into nothing if you were asleep, but it stood out clearly when you were waiting for trouble.

  The room stayed dark because I had turned off the rune-light earlier on purpose. Only the faint glow from the magical streetlamps outside filtered through the opening, casting thin silver lines across the floor and over the bed. The shadows shifted as a figure pulled himself over the sill and lowered into the room with controlled precision.

  He moved cautiously at first, easing one leg down and pausing to let his eyes adjust. He was lean and dressed in dark leathers that clung close to his body, the material chosen more for silence than style. His posture carried confidence, the kind that came from doing this more than once and getting away with it.

  Whatever patience he had disappeared quickly.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  In less than ten seconds, he crossed the distance to the bed and drove his dagger down hard into the shape beneath the blankets with full commitment. Instead of the resistance of flesh, he was met with a harsh metallic crash as coins collided beneath the fabric and scattered violently.

  He recoiled at once, yanking the blade free causing the pile of pillows to go flying and staring down at the bed in open confusion. Silver pieces rolled across the mattress and spilled to the floor, ringing out far louder than he had intended. In that exact moment, faint glowing text flickered into view above his head, clear and unmistakable in the darkness.

  Assassin {Level 26}

  That was my cue to stop waiting.

  I shoved the closet door open and stepped out in one smooth motion, slapping the metal plate mounted beside it as I moved. The runes flared to life instantly, flooding the room with warm steady light that erased every shadow he had tried to hide in. The sudden brightness forced him to blink, and I finally got a clear look at him.

  He looked mid-twenties, maybe early thirties, with short dark hair pulled back and sharp features that had learned not to hesitate. His eyes were calculating even through the surprise, already measuring distance and exit points. He had likely seen me earlier at the tavern, decided I was an easy mark, and followed me here believing a lone [Bard] would not put up much of a fight.

  I was new in town, visibly carrying coin, and publicly labeled with a class that carried a reputation for being fragile. He had slipped in thinking this would be quick work, unaware that the mound beneath the blankets was nothing more than decorative pillows shaped into a crude sleeping body and packed with metal to make noise.

  I had been wedged inside the closet the entire time, cramped between the spare linens, clutching one of the less ridiculous decorative pillows while drifting off sleep. The last four minutes had felt longer than the entire performance earlier that night, but the wait had paid off.

  He lifted his gaze and locked eyes with me across the room, and I could see the exact second he recalculated the situation. His mouth opened slightly, as if he was about to speak or threaten or bluff his way out of it.

  I felt the familiar internal click settle into place.

  I opened my mouth and let [Vicious Mockery] fly.

  "It’s not a midget fetish, you’re just a pedophile."

  The effect was immediate, though not at all what I expected.

  Usually when I hit someone with [Vicious Mockery], they just froze in shock. The few times I had used it before, it left people stunned and glassy-eyed, like I had unplugged them from reality. This time, however, it seemed to have pissed the [Assassin] way the fuck off.

  And to be fair, it was one of the most messed-up things I had ever heard come out of my own mouth.

  My brain was still reeling, trying to process the fact that I had said that out loud, even considering this guy had just broken into my room to kill me. He screamed and charged at me with the dagger raised over his head, looking less like a trained killer and more like a crazed horror movie villain in the final act of something low budget and deeply unhinged.

  I had Mouthy in one hand and the knobstick in the other.

  Fuck.

  I dropped the knobstick immediately and reached to my side, my hand closing around the solid object there on the dresser. The bedpan came up in one smooth motion, cold metal biting into my palm, and I hurled it straight at his face. The thing spun once in the air like some improvised discus and struck him square across the cheekbone with a deep metallic crack that echoed off the walls.

  He staggered hard, one hand flying to his face as he stumbled backward and completely lost his forward momentum. The dagger wavered in his grip for just long enough to matter.

  That was all the opening I needed.

  I surged forward with Mouthy already in hand and drove the blade straight into his throat with as much force as I could put behind it, feeling the resistance give way under the impact.

  Bite.

  Mouthy went absolutely insane.

  The dagger hilt stuck straight out of his neck as he clawed at it in silent panic, mouth opening and closing without sound. The hilt vibrated violently back and forth, almost humming, and I got the feeling the weapon had found something it truly enjoyed. He dropped to his knees, still trying to pry the blade free, but his movements were already losing strength.

  Five seconds later, he collapsed fully to the floor.

  He lay there twitching once before going completely still.

  The only sound in the room was my ragged breathing and the wet, faintly chewing noise coming from his neck as Mouthy continued whatever it was doing inside.

  That was when someone knocked on the door.

  I took one second to confirm the [Assassin] was not moving before stepping carefully over the body and unlocking the door. Standing there was the [Warrior] from downstairs.

  “Hello, sir,” he said calmly. “I heard a commotion. Is everything okay?”

  I let out a long sigh and opened the door wider so he could see the room and the body on the floor behind me.

  “Oh,” he said mildly. “It seems you received an unexpected guest.”

  “Yes,” I replied. “Most unfortunate.”

  “Well,” he continued, raising an eyebrow slightly, “what do you propose we do?”

  It took me half a second to understand what he meant.

  Oh. He meant the body.

  “I am indifferent,” I said shrugging. “What is your preference?”

  “I can retrieve a tarp,” he replied evenly. “We will place him out back. The gardener can bury him in the morning.”

  With that, he turned and walked away like this was a minor housekeeping issue.

  I closed the door and rubbed my temples.

  Freaking A, this world.

  Of course midnight murder attempts were normal in a place where killing someone could hand you experience points. I was genuinely surprised people managed to sleep at all without someone trying to sucker stab them in the dark.

  I let out another heavy sigh, realizing I had probably sighed more in the past two weeks than in the rest of my life combined.

  I stepped back over the body and looked down at him. Well, I might as well loot him and see what he has.

  Wait…

  I did not get a kill notification.

  I immediately jumped backward and took a defensive stance, eyes locked on the corpse. I watched closely for any movement beyond the subtle shifting at his throat where Mouthy still appeared to be chewing from the inside out.

  He definitely looked dead. He looked extremely dead.

  I had no idea what it would take for someone to survive a dagger lodged in their neck, but I doubted a Level 26 [Assassin] had that particular trick available.

  I approached carefully and gave him an experimental kick.

  Nothing happened.

  Yeah.

  Definitely getting dead body vibes.

  I crouched beside the body and grabbed Mouthy’s hilt. The dagger was still faintly vibrating, and I could hear that awful wet chewing sound continuing inside the guy’s neck like it had found a snack it did not intend to share. There was resistance when I tested the blade, like it had latched onto something important and was not finished yet.

  “Release,” I muttered under my breath.

  Nothing happened.

  The chewing kept going, slow and deliberate, which was deeply unsettling considering the owner of the neck was no longer participating in life. I tightened my grip and pulled slightly. The blade did not move. That was when a very uncomfortable thought crossed my mind that maybe I did not actually control this thing as much as I believed I did.

  “Release,” I thought more firmly, pushing intent into the word the same way I did with my skills.

  There was a faint internal click, like something unlocking.

  The vibration slowed, the chewing tapered into a final unpleasant squelch, and the resistance suddenly vanished. The blade slid free with a slick sound, blood spilling down the front of the [Assassin]’s leathers and pooling across the floorboards beneath him.

  I stood there holding the dagger out and watching it drip.

  “Well,” I muttered, “that was horrifying.”

  I rolled the body slightly with my boot and wiped the blade against his dark clothing, dragging the metal across the leather to clear most of the blood. Halfway through the motion, something felt off. I turned the dagger over in my hand.

  There was a mouth on the other side.

  Not the usual one. Not the familiar line of teeth I had already come to distrust. This was a second slit along the opposite face of the blade, smaller but unmistakable, the edges faintly puckered like it had just finished chewing.

  “That’s new,” I said quietly.

  Holy crap, that was new.

  I stared at it, trying to process what I was seeing. The second mouth flexed once before settling, and that was when the other realization hit me.

  I never got a level kill notification.

  I looked down at the body and nudged him again just to be certain. He did not move. He did not breathe. There was a dagger-sized hole in his throat, and I felt comfortable calling that conclusive.

  “Yeah,” I muttered slowly, looking back at the blade. “I think the dagger stole the experience points.”

  Freakin’ A.

  Did I have a mimic dagger?

  Was this thing leveling instead of me?

  As I watched, the second mouth slowly flattened and faded back into smooth metal until only the original remained. I let out a long breath and slid the blade back toward my belt.

  “Well,” I muttered, “that seems like a future problem.”

  Right now, I need sleep.

  By the time I stepped back out onto the street, the sky had shifted into that washed-out gray that meant the sun was coming whether anyone was ready or not. I told myself that at least everything had been cleaned up properly. The [Assassin] had about two gold worth of coins on him, which was better then nothing. The rest of his gear was painfully average and disappointingly normal. There were no enchanted trinkets or hidden scrolls tucked away anywhere. There were only standard leathers, a serviceable dagger, and boots made for what looked for running away quickly. I had closed the window and slept the rest of the night in the closet just in case.

  The [Warrior] had come up without any fuss and wrapped the body in a tarp like he was dealing with spoiled produce behind a kitchen. He carried it out through the back entrance with the same calm efficiency he used at the front desk. Then he had the audacity to calmly ask me to tip him one gold for the trouble.

  One gold.

  For corpse removal.

  Fucking hell.

  I paid it anyway because I was not in the mood to argue with a Level 40 anything at three in the morning. I made a quiet promise to myself that place would never see me again under any circumstances. Overcharging me was one thing; overcharging me on murder cleanup fees was something else entirely.

  The streets were just beginning to wake as I walked away from the inn. Shutters creaked open along the storefronts lining the road. Carts rolled slowly into place with tired determination. Somewhere nearby, someone had already started hammering metal far too early in the day.

  I wanted to hear my thoughts bounce off another brain and come back slightly more organized. I need to talk with someone. It was insane how quickly you realized you needed actual people in your life when you nearly died alone in a rented room.

  If I were going to talk to someone, I preferred it be someone who would not attempt to stab me later. That narrowed the list down to exactly two possible options. Only one of those options had not grabbed my genitals so far.

  As I walked, the smell hit me first. Fresh-baked bread. Warm, slightly sweet, with that crusty edge that promised actual effort. I slowed without meaning to and turned my head toward a small bakery that had just opened its doors. Steam rolled faintly from within, and I could see a woman stacking trays behind the counter.

  An idea formed immediately.

  Bribery, but wholesome.

  Twenty minutes later, I was pushing open the door to Old Garen’s shop with a paper-wrapped bundle tucked securely under my arm, still warm against my ribs.

  Old Garen stood behind his counter looking like he had personally declared war on a chunk of metal. He was hunched over something shiny and aggressively greasy, scrubbing at it with a rag like it had insulted his ancestry.

  “Hello there, Garen. Good morning.”

  He looked up slowly and squinted at me with obvious suspicion. His eyes narrowed as if I had arrived to request something expensive and inconvenient.

  I raised my free hand and lifted the bag slightly. “I brought bagels.”

  I watched the transformation happen in real time. His shoulders eased down by a noticeable fraction. The rag paused mid-scrub as his attention shifted fully to the package. The suspicion dialed down just enough to qualify as progress. He gave me a short nod toward the counter.

  That was a universal truth across worlds and circumstances.

  Everyone loved baked goods.