Peregrine had been walking down the cobblestone road for some time. How long was up for debate since he didn't have a watch.

  The purple sky faded the farther he distanced himself from the scene of his rebirth. He stole a glance back to see how far he'd come, and was surprised to see the graveyard was a distant blob on the horizon. Even if it did look like a dark, menacing blob.

  Ahead was sunlight with blue skies and the occasional puffy cloud. Shin-high green grass covered rolling hills as far as the eye could see. He reached down every so often and felt the cool blades skim against his fingers. The day wasn't humid or oppressively hot, even with wearing a three piece suit. It was the perfect temperature, which should be the norm in a peaceful afterlife. Though perfection forgot to touch the cemetery, where day and night had no meaning.

  As he strolled, he decided it was a good time to check out his menu. It actually was extremely easy to navigate. All he had to do was focus his thoughts on what he wanted. He started with his Inventory, by imagining clicking on the word. The empty bottle of Elixir of Life, and the box with a bow were both stored inside. It was mind boggling that they existed in some kind of pocket dimension, void, or whatever the hell it was, and he could make them appear and disappear in front of him at will.

  Next, he took a look at what was in the Weapons menu. In Memoriam, Quill of Beginnings, and Holy Ink were all in there as expected. Each item had the information that the System had given earlier. The quill was capable of casting four spells per dip, and the jar of ink had enough for four dips. Glancing at the feathers that used to be white, then turned yellow when dipped in the Holy Ink, and now were partially white and yellow, it clicked. It’s like a measurement of how many castings I have left. The ink color fades with every use and the base color returns. Handy. I bet running out in the middle of a fight sucks.

  The Creatives menu was interesting. The only thing listed on it was Holy, which was the one spell he could cast … sort of. Next to the word was a yellow light swirling around, representing Holy. What was curious was that a number of slots were crossed out with a big red X. Were those more spells he hadn’t yet learned? Or was it stuff he wasn’t allowed to see until The Morrigan granted him access?

  Lastly, he took a peek at Stats. This should be interesting, he thought, assuming his stats were likely complete shit. His expectations were met.

  Attack (Strength & Speed & Agility) 1

  Defend (Block & Absorb & Withstand) 1

  Creative (Magic & Durability & Adaptability) 5 [+1]

  Abysmal. He was as weak, slow, and breakable as a small child. Creative, while still low, was quite a bit higher than everything else, which was a pleasant surprise. The Morrigan was correct about him being able to use magic. There was also the +1 to Creative from In Memoriam. He wondered what Alissa and Wendell's stats were. He bet they weren't any higher than his, which was a strangely competitive thing for him to think. Normally, he didn't give a shit if someone was better than him at something. Sure, he might get jealous if other people found success that he failed at, but in the end it never ate away at him.

  It also seemed odd that he only had three sets of stats. Although, there were three things combined into each of those stats. All the RPGs he'd played had a lot more than three, so this was lackluster. Why was he worried about it though? At this point, he had every intention of blowing off The Morrigan and finding a one way ticket back to Earth. It's not like he raised his hand to be isekai'd, and forced to fight monsters and gods to the death. Screw that noise. He was going home by any means necessary.

  Then something appeared in his path to hinder his chances of going home.

  Another level 2 zombie, nearly identical to the last one—just a different set of torn clothing—appeared over the top of the next hill. When it caught sight of Peregrine, it moaned and picked up its slow pace, slightly. The increased speed caused it to trip and tumble down the hill, until it crashed at the bottom. It let out a big “ooff!” Then it got to its feet and continued coming toward Peregrine.

  Shit was going to be different this time. Peregrine was still very much afraid of the zombie, but now he knew what to do with the tools he had. Instead of a halo, he envisioned a UFO zipping through the sky. A classic saucer-shaped ball of light formed at the end of the quill. He aimed at the zombie.

  The zombie lifted an arm, waving it like it was trying to get Peregrine’s attention. Oh, it had his attention alright. Holy blasted off the tip of the quill and hit the zombie a second later, completely disintegrating the top half of its body. Weak floated above as the monster took a few more steps, minus its arms and head, smoke rising from its torso. The health bar went from green to completely empty, and the undead thing fell to the ground, deceased once more.

  “Holy Hell!” Peregrine shouted. “I can’t believe that worked.” His creativeness was effective. Super effective. “Did you see that?!” he asked, knowing there was no audience. It felt good to win at something. At anything.

  A round of applause broke out from … the sky? The grass? Somewhere.

  “The fuck?” Peregrine postured defensively, bracing for another enemy.

  [Creative Level 2]

  Congratulations! You’ve leveled up for the first time. It feels good doesn’t it? For real. Your stats have all gone up by one point. I bet you feel a smidge stronger, a pound denser, and more imaginative. Keep in mind you started at a preschool level. Well, you’re still at that level. But now you can color in the lines better than before, just not good enough to move up to kindergarten.

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  Peregrine shook his arms around and hopped, like he was warming up for a fight. He did feel a bit stronger and more solid. He couldn’t describe the feeling, but it was there. And his mind felt looser, if that was a thing. Pulling up his Stats, he confirmed that Attack, Defend, and Creative had all increased by one point. The quill feather was also now half yellow and half white, meaning he had two castings left with this current dip of ink.

  “Numbers go up,” he said aloud, feeling a tiny rush of excitement.

  Curiosity then got the best of him. He approached the remains, and a visual popped in his vision.

  Rummage?

  “Gross. But, sure. Let’s rummage.”

  As soon as he thought about it, he received another message. He was thankful he didn’t actually have to dig in its pockets.

  [Elixir of Life Acquired]

  Acquiring, borrowing, or whatever you want to call it to make yourself feel morally superior, has its advantages. A full bottle of Elixir of Life has been added to your inventory.

  He double-checked his Inventory, and the full bottle was indeed there.

  It felt great to get rewarded for killing something that was trying to eat him. Such a useful item, as well. But he wasn’t going to let the dopamine hit deter him from getting out of the Irenic Realm.

  He walked for a while longer. Possibly an hour, he estimated. Then he spotted a village in the distance. That must be Fiddler’s Green. He could see smoke rising from chimneys, but it looked like the whole place had a wall built high around it.

  Once he reached the entrance of the village, he could see what was happening. The perimeter was surrounded by a palisade, consisting of ten foot high wooden stakes. It had been painted at one point in time, but no longer held the pristine shine. Instead, it was covered in what looked like splatterings of blood and dirt. Tufts of fur stuck out of cracks and splinters. There were dents, holes, and scratches running the length as far as he could see. The peaks of some of the stakes had large chunks of fur hanging. Pelts? But these were mangled. It was an eerie scene that sent a shiver down his spine.

  Walking the length, he came to a spot where he saw the seams of large double doors. There weren’t any visible handles, but there was a small wooden square near the center that was set back a few inches from the stakes. He reached out and placed his hands against the doors, giving a mighty push. They had a slight give, but there was something on the other side locking them in place.

  The small wooden square snapping open made him jump. He raised his arm, pointing the quill at the face in the opening.

  The man didn’t flinch. “What’s your business here?” he asked, voice gravelly.

  “I have no idea,” Peregrine answered, also not moving. “I died, woke up here, and something called The Morrigan told me to come to Fiddler’s Green. You probably know more about why I'm here than I do.”

  The man cocked his head to the side and stared too long. Did the guy not need to blink? “The last hero? Cutting it a bit close to the full moon. Hold on.” He backed away and the small opening closed.

  A lot of grunting and thudding followed until the doors swung open, creaking on their hinges.

  Peregrine was taken aback at the sight of the man. He wore a straw hat, the shadow from it doing a terrible job at hiding a wide scar that ran from his forehead to under his chin. A few of his fingers were missing, and he was on crutches. His salt and pepper hair was long and scraggly, and a little greasy. Honestly, he looked like shit. Probably smelled like it too.

  [Leon]

  [Farmer Level 6]

  Leon rested on his crutches and waved Peregrine inside. “Come, now. You haven’t much time to prepare. Head down to the Mirth Tavern and you’ll find the others waiting for you.”

  Peregrine obliged and took his first steps inside Fiddler’s Green. The first thing he noticed was a semi-circular bandstand in the town center with decorative railings and columns that had elaborate designs carved into the wood. But it looked like it hadn’t been used in some time. The wood was weathered, shingles missing from the roof. There were flutes, fiddles, cellos, and hurdy-gurdies strewn about the floor and surrounding grounds. Left and right of the bandstand was a long boardwalk with business lining each side. A lot of the signs were faded, or missing altogether. Some of the stores with visible signs were Steve’s Commissary, Medium Al’s Blacksmithing, Lumber & Twine, and Mirth Tavern. It appeared at least some of these were still functioning as there were people going in and out of them. Off in the distance, he could make out a residential area consisting of small huts.

  A mass amount of hay bales, covered with sharpened stones, were stacked alongside the palisade. For a place called Fiddler’s Green, it sure wasn’t very green. Most of it was red-tinged soil with tons of shoe prints stamped in the dried mud, and animal prints intermingling with them. The shapes reminded him of dog prints, but these would have to be gigantic dogs.

  “Get to the tavern, Peregrine. Before the sun sets.”

  Peregrine turned his attention back to Leon, the farmer. “How do you know my name?”

  “It’s floating above your head, hero,” Leon chuckled. “Much like mine is in your sight.”

  Peregrine felt heat rising in his cheeks. Of course it was. And the guy had called him a hero twice now. Would a hero ask such a dumb question when the answer was right in front of him? “Look, I’m not a hero. Just looking for a quick exit out of this realm.”

  “That’s what most of ‘em say, kid.” Leon motioned toward the tavern again.

  “Can you help me, or not?” Peregrine’s embarrassment was quickly changing to annoyance.

  Leon hawked a loogie, barely missing his boots. “Only two ways out of the Irenic Realm. Dying, or reaching level 100. You’re far away from 100. Dying is your quickest option. As you can see, I’m close to that myself. But you don’t want to go expiring here. Ever since The Morrigan came, souls have stopped ascending. Sounds like they’re descending, being sent off to a hellish landscape of her making. I’ve even been theorizing there’s a sort of dark recycling thing happen—”

  “No offense, but I’m going to ask someone else. I’m sure it’s a good theory, but I just want to go home and I don’t think you can help me.”

  Leon didn’t say another word.

  Peregrine didn’t get far before he heard clanging, and a familiar grunting. He stopped and turned to see Leon balancing on his crutches while he struggled to lift the metal drawbar to lock the doors. Was that guilt he was feeling? It wasn’t his fault there was a crippled, low level farmer in charge of guarding a door with a gigantic lock. He sighed and jogged back.

  Using his knees, but more so his back, he squatted and grabbed the other end of the bar. It was the heaviest thing he’d ever attempted to lift. He locked eyes with Leon.

  With a wide smile, Leon said, “Well I’ll be. You’re the first of the bunch that’s ever helped me. I used to be able to lift this myself. Of course, I used to have all my fingers and could walk.”

  “Save it,” Peregrine sputtered. “Help me lift this thing.” He felt weaker here than he ever had on Earth. It must’ve been his two points for Attack. Strength was lumped in with it.

  Together, after a lengthy effort, they hoisted the beam and dropped it into the slots. Peregrine slumped against the wall and aired out his suit, now drenched in sweat.

  Meanwhile, Leon stood in awe of him. “I hope you’re different from the others. I believe you might be. Get to the tavern and meet your party. Talk to Sandra. She’s the owner. She’ll steer you right. Go on, get now. We need you here.”

  Peregrine nodded and took off, eager to get away from the farmer fawning over him. He was just in earshot to hear Leon say, “Please, save us.”