I really cannot stress this enough, but modern songs absolutely slammed in this world.

  It had been three days since I came back and started playing regularly at the tavern, and things had gone far better than I expected. I had basically been working my way through the collection of songs that lived rent free in my head from Earth, and the reactions had been incredible. People leaned in when I played. Some even sang along to the parts that were easy to pick up.

  The songs that seemed to hit the hardest were my acoustic versions of emo tracks.

  Hey, don’t judge.

  Back on my old streaming app I had a ton of My Chemical Romance, Fall Out Boy, and Panic! At The Disco. I never expected that the soundtrack of my teenage angst would become my professional repertoire in another world, but here we were. I was not sure if people responded because I had a real emotional connection to the songs or if the structure of the music simply translated well across worlds, but either way the crowd loved it.

  Last night I had been halfway through Thanks for the Memories when somebody tossed a whole gold coin into the tip jar.

  A full gold.

  That had almost thrown me off the chord progression.

  The tavern had been getting more crowded every night as word spread that the strange [Bard] with the guitar was back. Travelers stopped in. Locals brought friends. A few regulars had started showing up early just to grab seats close to the stage.

  I suspected some of them might even qualify as what you would call hopeful groupies.

  I knew this because one [Preist] dropped a coin in the tip jar, looked me dead in the eye, and opened her shirt to flash me her breasts.

  I paused.

  She tweaked a nipple.

  “Thank you,” I said politely, then went right back to the chord progression like absolutely nothing had happened.

  The crowd actually laughed at that part.

  She wandered away eventually, though she kept looking back at the stage like she expected something more interesting to happen.

  The crowd had been in a good mood that night, though, so I leaned into it. At one point I shifted into a slower strumming pattern and sang out a line I knew nobody here had ever heard before.

  “Haven't you people ever heard of closing the goddamn door?

  The line hung in the air for a moment before the room erupted in confused laughter. A few people looked around like they were trying to decide whether that was supposed to be romantic, threatening, or just strange [Bard] nonsense.

  Which, to be fair, described most of my set list.

  Speaking of the world’s most awkward fake flirting attempt, Prudence had been keeping her distance.

  She was still perfectly polite. Every night she paid me out fairly, sometimes even tossing in dinner and a drink on the house. We chatted occasionally after closing, but those conversations stayed short and careful, like she was deliberately avoiding anything that could drift into flirting.

  Not cold.

  Just… measured.

  I suspected Prudence had weighed the situation and come to a practical conclusion. Even if I had weirded her out by suddenly shouting about the gods in the middle of her making a pass, I was still bringing in enough business to be worth keeping around. Taverns liked coin more than they liked comfort, and right now I was apparently good for both.

  Seriously, the last three days had been absurd.

  Between tips and the meals Prudence had been covering for lunch and dinner, I had pulled in roughly four hundred silver.

  Four gold.

  I did the math in my head and immediately wished I had not. If I converted it roughly back to Earth money, that was somewhere around twenty thousand dollars for three nights of playing songs I mostly remembered from a streaming playlist.

  That was ridiculous.

  Completely ridiculous.

  Sure, people here were practically starving for music that was more complicated than whatever someone could bang out on a lute after three ales, but still. Twenty thousand dollars worth of tips ridiculous.

  I stared at the small leather pouch sitting next to me on the stage between songs and felt my stomach tighten slightly.

  I needed a plan for this gold.

  Right now I basically felt like a walking quest reward.

  Someone was eventually going to look at me, do the mental math, and decide that robbing the strange [Bard] with the guitar would get them both money and experience points.

  That was a terrifyingly incentive.

  I had already asked around a bit and discovered the town did not have anything resembling a bank. If you wanted secure storage for large amounts of money, you apparently had to travel to one of the bigger cities where actual financial institutions existed.

  Which meant my current security system consisted of a leather pouch and hoping nobody stabbed me in my sleep again.

  Maybe Old Garen could help with that.

  He seemed like the type who either had a solution already or knew exactly who to yell at until one appeared.

  At the very least I could probably buy something clever to hide the money.

  For now though, I had been doing exactly what he suggested.

  I had been sleeping in his barn.

  And honestly it was not too bad, you know as barns go. There was hay stacked neatly along the walls, and Old Garen had left me a few thick blankets that were a lot warmer than they had any right to be. Once you knew where to look, you could see faint enchantments glowing along the beams and posts, thin lines of light that shimmered softly in the wood. From what Garen explained, those spells handled most of the usual barn problems. They kept pests away, kept the air dry, and got rid of any smells. Between the magic and the hay, it ended up being a surprisingly decent place to sleep.

  I did learn one very important rule, though.

  Old Garen expected bagels every morning.

  Which, honestly, I did not mind. Even though he was a grumpy old man, he was equally grumpy to everyone, which somehow made it feel less personal. Plus, I was pretty sure that between the steady supply of baked goods and the talks every morning, I was starting to grow on him.

  At least a little.

  I kept strumming through the song and glanced toward the back of the tavern.

  The [Bladesinger] was there. He stood near the wall with his arms loosely crossed, watching the room rather than the stage. His eyes moved constantly over the crowd while the music swept through the tavern and held the audience in rapt attention. People leaned forward, tapped mugs against tables, and nodded along with the rhythm.

  The [Bladesinger] did none of that.

  Yeah, that guy was pretty scary.

  I still had not caught his name, but after watching for a few days I had pieced together his role. He was basically Prudence’s bouncer, thug, and problem solver all rolled into one person. If trouble started brewing in the tavern, he was the one who handled it.

  And if someone refused to cooperate, he handled that too.

  I had witnessed that firsthand the night before.

  Some [Warrior] had gotten drunk and started getting pretty handsy with one of the staff. At some point he also decided it was a great idea to reach for Prudence herself.

  I did not see the exact moment things happened.

  One second the room was loud and rowdy, and the next the [Warrior] was screaming.

  The [Bladesinger] stood beside him holding a napkin in one hand like he had just been wiping the bar. The [Warrior] was clutching his forearm while his severed hand lay on the counter next to a spreading pool of blood.

  Still not entirely sure how it happened, but I am fairly certain the [Bladesinger] cut the man’s hand off with a napkin.

  Which should not be possible, because…it’s a napkin.

  Then again, neither should half the things I had seen here be possible. Considering his class, maybe he just made things sharp.

  He calmly dragged the screaming man toward the door and threw him out into the street. A moment later he picked up the severed hand and tossed it outside after him like an afterthought.

  The rest of the tavern barely reacted.

  Most people simply turned back toward the stage and focused on me playing the next chord progression, which apparently was more interesting than sudden dismemberment.

  The last chord of the song faded into the warm noise of the tavern. People clapped, a few more raised mugs in my direction, and someone near the back shouted something approving that sounded vaguely like my name but might also have been “bard guy.”

  Either way, I counted it as a win.

  I gave the crowd a quick nod, strummed a final lazy chord for good measure, and stepped down from the stage. My fingers were buzzing from the strings and my throat felt pleasantly raw in that way that meant I had probably done a decent job.

  I made my way over to the bar.

  Prudence was nowhere immediately in sight, but the [Bladesinger] drifted over a moment later like he had been waiting for the song to end. He grabbed a mug from the shelf without looking and poured something amber into it before sliding it across the counter toward me.

  Then he casually waved one of the staff over.

  “Food,” he said simply, gesturing toward me. The girl nodded and disappeared toward the kitchen.

  The [Bladesinger] leaned one elbow on the bar, watching me for a moment with that same calm, slightly unsettling expression.

  “Good job,” he said.

  “Nice,” I replied, nodding back.

  I made brief eye contact and then immediately looked away. His gaze had this weird weight to it, like looking into a spotlight. Not dangerous exactly, but intense enough that you did not want to stare into it for long.

  He took a sip from his own mug.

  “What happened with the woman up there?” he said. “I saw that she expressed her… affection.”

  He added the last word with a small wink.

  Oh.

  My brain immediately locked up.

  Crap, I thought. What do horny assholes normally say in this situation?

  There was a pause that probably lasted half a second but felt like an entire minute.

  “Oh, she was hot,” I said quickly. “But she just does not compare to… Prudence.”

  The words came out before my brain had time to review them.

  Oh crap. Why did I say that?

  The [Bladesinger] froze for a second and stared directly at me.

  Just… studying.

  Then he suddenly barked out a huge laugh that echoed across the bar.

  It was so loud a few nearby patrons looked over.

  He slapped me on the shoulder hard enough to nearly send me into my drink and shook his head while still laughing.

  Then he walked away down the bar, still chuckling to himself like I had just told the funniest joke he had heard all week.

  Well, that was interesting.

  Stolen story; please report.

  I guess he thought I was now pining over Prudence. That would make sense, especially considering the comment he made the first night that suggested this sort of thing had happened before.

  Though if she really did have some kind of magical item that nudged people toward being interested in her, then she probably had a long history of leaving behind a trail of lovesick puppies.

  The girl the [Bladesinger] had sent toward the kitchen returned a minute later carrying a heavy wooden plate. She set it down in front of me with a small nod before heading back toward the bar.

  It looked like potatoes and green beans buried under a thick brown gravy.

  I did not hesitate.

  The gravy tasted faintly like lavender, which was not something I had ever expected to say about gravy, but somehow it worked. The potatoes soaked it up nicely and the whole thing hit the exact balance between comforting and strange that seemed to define most of the food in this world.

  This was what happened when you ended up in another universe.

  I had not yet seen a single fruit or vegetable that perfectly matched something from Earth. Everything looked close, but not quite right. Shapes were slightly off. Colors leaned a little too bright or a little too dull. Even the textures sometimes felt like someone had described the idea of food to an artist who had never actually eaten before.

  It was like a parallel world grocery store run by someone who had only had items that had been generated from what AI thought food was like .

  As I kept eating, I felt a steady gaze settle on me from across the tavern.

  I looked up.

  A man sat near the far wall with a mug in front of him and a posture that suggested he had been there for a while.

  Sorcerer {Level 45}

  He looked like a completely ordinary guy wearing worn leather travel gear, the kind you would expect from someone who spent more time on the road than in cities. His dark hair was tied loosely at the back of his neck and his expression had the careful neutrality of someone trying very hard not to look like they were staring.

  The moment our eyes met, he quickly looked away.

  I had noticed him the first night. And the second night.

  And now tonight.

  He had shown up for every performance I had done so far and watched the entire time with the kind of attention most people reserved for sword fights or gambling tables. More than once I had seen him shift like he was about to stand up and come talk to me, only to change his mind and sit back down again.

  Maybe he was just shy.

  Or maybe he was another problem waiting to happen, ether to try to try get in my pants or kill me.

  Either way, that was probably my cue to leave before I accidentally wandered into another awkward situation.

  I started to stand up and make my exit when Prudence slid smoothly into the seat beside me, a small wrapped package resting in her hands.

  “Hey there,” she said easily. “Good show tonight. I love the songs you’ve been playing and the crowd clearly does too.”

  At the same moment, I felt that familiar pressure brush against the edges of my thoughts as the an influence tried to settle in again. The sensation slid off my mind just as easily as it had the last few times.

  Great. This again.

  I kept my expression relaxed and gave her an easy smile.

  “Just happy to entertain,” I said. “Glad you enjoyed it so much, Prudence.”

  She rested one elbow on the table and tilted her head slightly. “So, heading out for the night? Will we see you again tomorrow?”

  “Yep,” I replied. “That is the plan.”

  “Perfect,” she said with a nod. “Though, I was wondering if you could do me a favor.”

  I stayed quiet and let her continue.

  “You’ve been staying with the old [Enchanter], right? Garen?”

  That made my brain pause for half a second because I had not told her that, and as far as I knew I had not told anyone else either. Still, I kept my face neutral and answered casually.

  “Yes, I have been.”

  “Well,” she said, lifting the package slightly, “I had some food prepared for the [Cleric]s at their temple tonight, but they never came to pick it up. Would you mind dropping it off on your way?”

  I ran the idea through my head quickly. I did not love the situation, mostly because she had never asked me for anything before. At the same time, the tavern was clearly busy and delivering food to a temple sounded like a pretty normal errand.

  Even if my instincts were quietly whispering that something about this felt off.

  “Sure,” I said with a friendly shrug, making sure to layer my tone with just enough charm to sell the idea that her influence had worked again. “Always happy to help.”

  “Perfect,” she replied with a quick smile. “Thanks again. I will see you tomorrow night.”

  She gave me a wink before standing up and heading back toward the bar where two new customers were waiting for drinks.

  I grabbed the package and stepped out into the street. The night air felt cool after the warmth of the tavern, and I paused long enough to casually scan the street before starting down the road. Old habits were forming quickly, and I was getting used to checking for trouble before moving anywhere.

  I patted Mouthy the dagger at my side just to confirm he was there.

  As I walked, I looked down at the package in my hands. It was made from something similar to cardboard, though it felt more like several thick sheets of handmade paper pressed together and folded into shape. I had seen similar containers around town before, so the packaging itself did not seem unusual.

  When I shifted it slightly, a familiar smell drifted out.

  Lavender gravy.

  That confirmed it was definitely food.

  Honestly, I had no interest in getting on the bad side of the local temple if I wanted to keep my little music career running smoothly here. Still, the thought lingered in the back of my mind that I probably needed to move on within a week or so before I overstayed my welcome and gave too many people too many opportunities.

  With that in mind, I adjusted my grip on the package and started walking toward the [Cleric]s’ temple.

  As I walked through the quiet streets, I tried to reason through the situation.

  Maybe Prudence had simply been asking around about me. That would explain how she knew where I had been staying. It was not like I had been hiding the fact that I was crashing at Old Garen’s place. Plenty of people had wandered into the shop in the mornings while the two of us were sitting there eating bagels and arguing about the world over coffee.

  And lately I had been getting… noticeable.

  Three nights of packed tavern performances would do that.

  People talked.

  Word probably made its way around the town long before I even thought about it.

  I let out a quiet breath as I walked.

  I mean, this was a world without televisions, smartphones, or the endless flood of distractions I had grown up with. When people here wanted entertainment, they talked to each other. They shared stories, traded rumors, and gossiped about anything interesting that happened. And right now, apparently, I counted as interesting.

  So it was not exactly wild to think Prudence had simply heard about where I had been staying.

  Still made me uncomfortable.

  It was well after midnight now. The town still held a little life, but it was the kind that came right before everything shut down for the night. The Magic lanterns glowed softly above doorways while shopkeepers finished closing up and the last few travelers drifted through the streets.

  Most of the people still outside were the working types wrapping up their day.

  A pair of [Warrior]s walked past me carrying a stack of wooden practice shields back toward what looked like a training yard, both of them grumbling quietly about someone losing a spar earlier. Farther down the street, a lone [Mage] stood outside a small shop waving his hands slowly as a line of glowing runes sealed the front door like a magical lock.

  Another [Warrior] leaned against a post near a stable, carefully cleaning a sword with an oily rag before sliding it into a scuffed sheath. Two younger [Mage]s walked by with the relaxed swagger of people who had clearly spent the evening drinking, one of them still holding a helmet under his arm.

  A tired looking [Wizard] shuffled past me with a stack of scroll cases tucked under one arm while muttering something about spell matrices under his breath.

  The further I walked, the quieter things became.

  Most of the lanterns had already dimmed and the streets slowly opened up into wider, darker spaces between buildings. The occasional person still moved through the night, but it was clear the town was settling down.

  Up ahead, I could see the faint outline of the [Cleric]s’ temple rising above the nearby rooftops.

  I adjusted the package under my arm and kept walking toward it.

  I had spent the last few days picking up a lot just by listening in the tavern. Turns out playing music while pretending not to listen is a great way to learn how a place works.

  One thing I figured out pretty quickly was how people felt about [Cleric]s.

  Most folks strongly tolerated them. That was about the nicest description anyone used.

  They annoyed people, preached constantly, and always seemed to be trying to convert whoever wandered within arm’s reach. Unfortunately, they were also the most reliable source of healing around, which meant everyone still had to deal with them whether they liked it or not.

  The body in this world could heal from almost anything eventually, as long as you survived the initial injury. Broken bones, deep cuts, even some really nasty stuff would recover over time.

  The problem was that it still hurt like hell.

  And it could take months.

  So when people needed healing now instead of waiting, they went to the [Cleric]s.

  The temples apparently charged ridiculous prices for it too. Healing magic was valuable and they knew it, so most places treated it like a premium service.

  Unless you pledged yourself to their god.

  That was the trick.

  If you dedicated yourself to a god, the [Cleric]s of that temple would often heal you for free or at least cheap. It was the main way temples recruited followers, and from what I heard it worked surprisingly well.

  People would walk in injured, swear themselves to whatever god the building belonged to, get healed, and then go right back to their lives.

  Tavern gossip claimed people switched gods all the time depending on who was offering the healing.

  Old Garen had said that was a bad idea.

  According to him, you only really got one shot at picking a god. If you tried to switch later, you could lose any benefits and possibly attract the wrong kind of attention.

  Which sounded like a terrible gamble in a world where gods occasionally showed up in person. Having met some gods, I did not want to play those types of games with them.

  Still, it was not a system I could really judge.

  Having grown up with American healthcare, I understood the kind of desperation that pushed people into situations like that. And if I was being honest, I would absolutely lie about religion if it meant someone fixed my broken leg.

  I had mostly avoided the temple up to this point and had not exactly been eager to change that. The whole place carried the same energy as a street you learned to avoid back home, the kind lined with panhandlers and overly enthusiastic people handing out pamphlets for their very obvious cults.

  Still, this should be simple enough.

  Drop off the food. Leave. No long conversations required.

  The temple came into view as I rounded the corner, its tall stone front catching the glow of a few lanterns that still burned near the entrance. Most of the building looked quiet for the night, but one figure stood near the front steps.

  A [Cleric].

  He wore layered robes that hung loosely around him and gave off that faint, clean look that seemed to follow religious types everywhere. As I walked closer, he noticed me immediately and stepped forward with a warm, practiced smile.

  “Hello there, child,” he said, approaching with hands clasped in front of him. “Are you here for healing?”

  He gave me a quick once-over like he was checking for injuries before continuing with a smooth smile.

  “In the name of That Face, he knows you, I can heal you for the proper donation.”

  “No, I’m good,” I said quickly, lifting the package a little. “I’m from the tavern. I think someone here ordered some food.”

  The [Cleric] glanced down at the bundle in my hands and his smile widened in recognition.

  “Oh yes,” he said pleasantly. “One moment.”

  He turned and disappeared back through the temple doors.

  I stood there on the steps waiting, shifting the package slightly in my hands while I looked around the quiet courtyard. The place was massive, easily large enough to house a full kitchen somewhere inside the complex. That made the whole situation feel a little strange. Why would a temple this size need to order food from a tavern?

  Maybe they were splurging. Did priests splurge?

  Maybe I was just projecting my own expectations onto a culture I barely understood. For all I knew, ordering food was some kind of weekly treat or celebration.

  Before I could think about it much longer, the temple doors opened again.

  A different [Cleric] stepped outside, and the moment I saw her I recognized exactly who it was.

  It was my enthusiastic admirer from earlier tonight.

  Flashy McNipple Tweaker herself.

  “Hey there,” she said with a slow, seductive smile. “I’m so glad you were able to come by.”

  That was when it clicked.

  This was a setup.

  Not the usual kind of setup where someone lured you somewhere quiet so they could stab you and take your stuff. No, this was a setup where someone expected to get laid.

  God fucking damn it.

  “Uh,” I said, lifting the package slightly like it might function as a protective barrier. “I brought the food from the tavern.”

  “Oh yes,” she said smoothly, stepping a little closer instead of reaching for it. “We ordered it just for you.”

  That sentence took a moment to process.

  “You… ordered food,” I said slowly, “for me.”

  She leaned casually against the temple pillar in a pose that probably looked seductive to literally anyone except the one person it was aimed at.

  “I couldn’t exactly invite you over without a reason,” she said with a playful smile. “But after your performance tonight I simply had to meet you properly.”

  I stared at her.

  My brain was doing emergency math.

  “You have a wonderful voice,” she continued, stepping a little closer. “And those fingers on the guitar… I kept thinking about how talented they must be.”

  My brain slammed on the brakes.

  “Nope,” I said immediately.

  She blinked.

  “I’m sorry?”

  “I’m flattered,” I said quickly, raising one hand in surrender while still clutching the package with the other. “But I am not interested in that kind of… activity.”

  She tilted her head, studying me like I had just told her gravity was optional.

  “Oh, don’t be shy,” she said warmly.

  “I’m not shy,” I replied. “I’m not interested.”

  I held the food toward her to take. “Please take the food.”

  She smiled wider, apparently interpreting that as a challenge.

  “You haven’t even heard my offer yet,” she said, lowering her voice slightly. “I was planning to show you exactly what a devoted follower of Sunset can do for a man.”

  She leaned forward a little.

  “We could eat and then I could swallow that—”

  “FOOD!” I blurted.

  She froze.

  “The food,” I repeated, aggressively presenting the package like it was a sacred artifact. “From the tavern. That I brought. For the temple. For eating.”

  She glanced at the bundle and then back at me.

  “I’m not really interested in the food,” she said.

  “Okay,” I replied, crouching down and placing it carefully on the ground between us.

  I stood up, and turned around to leave.

  She stepped forward.

  “Wait,” she said with a teasing smile. “You don’t want to hear what I was going to say?”

  “NOPE.” I practically shouted.

  Then I ran.

  Not a calm jog.

  Not a dignified retreat.

  I ran like a man who had just discovered that temples apparently outsourced seduction the same way they outsourced dinner.

  I turned at the first street and hurried down it, putting distance between myself and the temple as quickly as possible. After a minute or two the adrenaline started to fade, so I slowed down and focused on catching my breath while continuing to walk.

  Jesus Christ.

  What the hell was that?

  What was wrong with these people?

  Still, I thought I had handled that situation reasonably well. A few days ago I probably would have been dying inside from the awkwardness alone, but at this point my standards for “uncomfortable situations” had shifted dramatically. Compared to accidentally killing someone with an insult that made them fall off a cliff, running away from an aggressively flirtatious [Cleric] barely registered.

  Perspective was a strange thing.

  The streets were mostly empty now, and after turning that corner I was completely out of sight of the temple. I had also wandered a little farther away from Old Garen’s place than I planned, so it took several minutes of quiet walking before I started getting close to familiar streets again.

  Honestly, I was ready to be back in the barn.

  Sleep sounded fantastic. I could count my coins, marvel at the completely absurd amount of money I had made in a few days, and pretend that the end of tonight had not happened.

  I was just about to turn the final corner when something slammed into my right side.

  It felt like someone had shoved me.

  At the same moment a voice screamed behind me.

  “DIE IN THE NAME OF SUNSE—”

  The shout cut off into a wet choking sound.

  I spun around immediately.

  The flashing [Cleric] stood behind me with a short sword raised in her right hand, poised to bring it down.

  Her left hand clutched at her throat.

  A dagger was buried there. Several inches deep.

  Mouthy my dagger.

  Both of Mouthy’s mouths were open along the sides of the blade, and his tongues had extended far beyond anything I had seen before. Each one stretched two or three feet out from the hilt like thin, writhing tentacles. The tongues were wrapped tightly around the [Cleric]’s throat, pulling the blade deeper into the wound.

  She was gurgling and panicking, stumbling backward while desperately trying to grab the dagger’s handle.

  For a moment her grip seemed to be the only thing keeping the blade from sliding all the way through.

  Then the tongues jerked sharply.

  The dagger flipped upward with brutal force, slicing a massive gash from the base of her throat up toward her jaw. Blood sprayed across the stones.

  She staggered.

  The movement sent the dagger tumbling free from her hands, the tongues having loosed their grip with the movement.

  Mouthy hit the ground.

  Instead of lying still, the dagger caught itself on its extended tongues like some kind of grotesque tripod. The thin appendages flexed and shifted until the weapon was balanced upright, wobbling slightly as it faced the dying [Cleric].

  She gargled once more before collapsing onto the street. The sword clattered beside her as blood spread across the front of her robes.

  I stood there, frozen, trying to understand what I was looking at.

  Mouthy began to move.

  One tongue lifted, then the other, stepping the dagger forward like nightmare wind up toy. It walked across the stones until it reached the fallen [Cleric], hovering above the open wound in her throat.

  Then it drove itself downward.

  The blade slid back into the gash while the tongues retracted. The dagger wiggled slightly as if settling into place. I could see the edges of its lips pushing against the torn flesh before they disappeared into the wound.

  A quiet, wet chewing sound followed.

  I stood there in complete shock.

  WHAT THE FUCK!