I returned to the hospital, but Sharla had already left. After some quick inquiries, one of the patients—a man with an axe embedded in his leg—told me that the bar she’d mentioned was nearby, down an alley off the main street. Following his directions, I found what looked like a hole-in-the-wall tavern.

  Stepping inside, I was surprised by the sheer size of the place. The bar opened up into a sprawling two-tiered establishment, with wooden balustrades encircling the upper floor that overlooked the bottom. The entrance led straight to a well-stocked bar flanked by staircases on either side. I counted fifteen tables scattered across the room and a half-dozen cozy booths lining the walls. The air buzzed with the chatter of patrons, the clink of mugs, and the lively strains of a violin played by a man near the corner. He had an open case at his feet with a small pile of coins inside. A massive open woodfire oven, its red bricks glowing warmly, sat behind the bar. Shelves stocked with bottles of brightly coloured liquids framed the oven on both sides.

  The bartender, a muscular Quokka-headed man, leaned casually against the counter, smiling as he chatted with a patron. He radiated warmth and confidence. At a table off to the side, I spotted Sharla. She was deep in conversation with a man who looked like he could have walked off the set of a military drama. He wore khaki cargo pants, army boots, and a tank top, his blond hair cropped short. His weathered skin and deep tan spoke of long days spent under the sun.

  As I entered, the man spotted me first, pointing in my direction. Sharla turned, smiling as she waved me over. She kicked out a chair with her boot.

  “Ah, Ryan! Did you have any issues with registration?” she asked as I approached.

  “Sort of,” I said, pulling out the chair and sitting down. “I’ll talk to you about it later.”

  The man smiled at me, revealing teeth stained with smoke and coffee. His face was deeply lined, his leathery skin making him look older than he probably was. He extended a hand, his nails chipped and streaked with dried blood.

  “G’day. Name’s Tim. Sharla’s been talking my ear off about you,” he said, clasping my hand in a firm, brisk shake. His grip was calloused and strong. After releasing my hand, he drained his drink in a single gulp, flipped the empty mug upside down on the table, and stood.

  “I’ll leave you two to chat. Gotta hit the head,” he said, heading toward a door on the opposite side of the bar. Sharla looked like she wanted to say something but stopped herself, letting him go.

  “He seems nice,” I said, turning back to her.

  “He’s not bad, honestly,” she replied, though her tone carried a weight that her words didn’t. “He’s part of a group I hooked up with on the first day. Saved my life.”

  The bluntness of her statement caught me off guard. We’d talked for hours yesterday, but she hadn’t mentioned anything about almost dying. She’d glossed over a close call with goblins, quickly changing the subject when I brought it up later. Now, she was staring into her drink, her fingers absently rubbing her leg.

  “What happened?” I asked, concern creeping into my voice.

  Sharla hesitated before rolling up the leg of her pants. Instead of the dark skin I’d expected, there was a prosthetic made of polished wood inlaid with bronze accents. The bronze was etched with angular, intricate patterns that reminded me of the induction speaker’s robe. The prosthetic began just below her knee, attached by a bronze ring embedded with softly glowing green crystals.

  “We were ambushed,” she said, her voice heavy. “Tim and his group were the ones that fended off the goblin, I joined their group on the spot, they were on a quest to capture a goblin. Tim had what sounded like a solid plan. We had a good mix of people, and they figured my class made me the best option to tank the front line. Problem is, none of us had any trap detection skills. I stepped into a goblin bear trap—it clamped down on my leg and chained me to a tree.”

  She sighed, lifting her drink but pausing before taking a sip. “The goblins came out of nowhere. One of them got on top of me. I caught its sword with my hand—how I got this,” she said, raising her arm to show me the faint pink line from the previous day’s injury.

  “Tim managed to kill it, but we didn’t have time to get the trap off. They couldn’t cut the chain, and I was holding them up. I told him to cut it off.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she pushed on. “So he did. Took my leg at the knee. It was the only way I was getting out of there alive.”

  I stared at her, stunned.

  “I got an achievement for it,” she added, forcing a wry smile. “Apparently, getting your leg cut off by a party member on Day One is something worth celebrating. The reward was a coupon for this bad boy,” she said, slapping the prosthetic. It gave a hollow clang.

  "I'm sorry, that is seriously messed up. Are you doing alright?" I asked, my eyes still fixed on the intricate prosthetic. The metal panels flexed and moved seamlessly, mimicking the motions of a real leg. It was mesmerizing in a strangely unsettling way.

  Sharla leaned back in her chair, taking a long pull from her drink. "Honestly? Yeah. If you’d asked me yesterday, I probably would’ve been crying by now. But now... I dunno. I think it’s pretty slick." She lifted her foot and placed it on the table, flexing the heel. The device responded effortlessly, showcasing its craftsmanship.

  "The nuns said I’ll start feeling things as if it’s my real leg in a few days. And balancing on it is easier than anything back on Earth." She swung her leg back to the floor with a soft ‘clink’.

  "Thirsty?" she asked, catching the eye of the grey-furred Quokka-headed bartender.

  "Uh, yeah, kinda," I admitted, my gaze drifting to the mug in her hand. Then I hesitated, tapping my fingers nervously on the table. "But... that’s kinda the problem. I’m broke."

  She blinked at me in confusion. "I’ll shout you. But... why did you have to pay? They gave me money—like fifty of these coins." She reached into her pocket and pulled out a polished greenish coin, holding it up between her fingers. Deep lines divided the coin into four segments, as though it could be broken apart. Both sides were embossed with a regal crown.

  I sighed, explaining what had happened at the guild. I chose to leave out the detail about the coupon for now, wanting to wait until we were somewhere more private. As I spoke, the bartender brought over two mugs filled with a frothy white liquid. The drink had the consistency of eggnog and smelled of spiced rum and vanilla. Wisps of steam curled from the surface, enticing me.

  Hesitantly, I took a sip. It was creamy and rich, with a taste that reminded me of a hot milkshake. The warmth spread through my chest, settling into my stomach like a comforting fire.

  Sharla folded her arms across her chest and regarded me thoughtfully. "Tim’s not going to let you in if you don’t have a class," she said after a moment. "I’m not even sure you could team up with us. Did you finish the induction quest at least?"

  I sighed again. "Nope. Still sitting there, unfinished. It doesn’t have a timer or anything, so I guess it’s just stuck there until I figure something out."

  She frowned. "That’s... weird. I was going to suggest you take a healer class. Tim’s been saying we could use another support role. Did you consider it?"

  I shrugged. "I was going to look around for a job, maybe check in with the guild again to see if anything better comes up."

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  A thought struck me, something I hadn’t noticed until now. "Hey, weird question... but have you needed to go to the toilet since you got here?" I asked, lowering my voice in embarrassment.

  Sharla grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. "Nope. Not unless I drink these." She gestured at her mug. "Everything else just... disappears or something. But if you down enough of this, you’ll definitely need to go."

  "Huh," I muttered. Whoever or whatever designed this place had a bizarre sense of convenience.

  Sharla tried to convince me again to take a healer class, explaining that Tim and Oliver, another party member, were both DPS, opting for a short sword and daggers respectfully, Rachel was a mage focused on buffs, and Michael was already a dedicated healer. "We’ve got a good group," she said, "but Tim’s adamant about needing someone who can spot traps."

  Tim returned from the bathroom, giving us both a quick nod. "I’ve got to meet up with the others," he said, his voice gruff. "Nice to meet you, Ryan." He turned and left with a short wave, but not before exchanging a subtle look with Sharla. She shook her head slightly, answering a question he hadn’t asked aloud.

  As he disappeared, Sharla leaned toward me. "He asked me to find out what class you were."

  I grimaced. "Well, that’s awkward."

  Sharla downed the last of her drink and stood, wobbling slightly. "I’ve had too many of these things. I need to walk it off. Wait here," she said, heading toward the restroom.

  Left alone, I scanned the room. The tavern bustled with life. Groups moved from table to table, some sharing animated conversations, others breaking into arguments. At one booth, a group seemed to be debating heatedly. A woman with short brown hair gestured wildly, her voice rising above the din.

  "They’re forming parties," I murmured to myself, watching as people huddled together, exchanging whispered plans.

  Sharla returned a few minutes later, her expression slightly more serious. She slid back into her seat and placed her hands flat on the table. "Alright," she said. "What’s the plan?"

  I stood and followed Sharla outside. As we walked through the bustling streets, she shared her idea. "There’s this trader I met yesterday before we headed out. He offered to buy whatever loot I came across. I didn’t have anything to sell after, well… you know. But we can see if what you’ve got is worth anything."

  We wove through the North side of town, down a side street where the noise of the main thoroughfare began to fade. Eventually, we stopped in front of a house with a large open window. A makeshift stall had been set up there, cluttered with oddities and trinkets—everything from polished bones to vials of unknown liquids. Sitting behind the counter, nestled into a well-worn chair, was an elderly man of the same diminutive race as the guild receptionist.

  The trader had a large, bulbous nose that dominated his face, sitting just above pale, slightly cracked lips. His unkempt stubble was a patchwork of grey, and his bald head was surrounded by a strip of thin, wiry hair that hung limply at the sides. He wore a paisley vest, faded and heavily stained, over a once-white shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Despite his dishevelled appearance, his sharp eyes twinkled with an astuteness that belied his age.

  “Hey, Zilph,” Sharla called cheerfully as we approached. She placed a hand on my back and gave a gentle push, nudging me toward the counter. “My friend here’s got some stuff he’s looking to sell. Mind taking a look?”

  I hesitated for a moment before stepping up to the stall. “Uh, so how does this work?” I asked, glancing at the assortment of wares and then at the old man.

  Zilph grinned, his raspy voice carrying a thick accent that made him sound like a retired British headmaster. “I’ll give you a fair price, don’t you worry.” He waved a hand, and two translucent screens appeared. One hovered next to him, while the other materialized beside me. At the same time, my Personal Storage opened in my interface, displaying my inventory. Each item now had a small checkbox beside it, and a new button labelled Offer sat at the bottom of the list, though it was currently greyed out.

  I glanced back at Sharla, who gave me an encouraging nod. I selected the wolf meat and pelt, and the Offer button became active. I pressed it.

  Zilph leaned forward, his sharp eyes glinting with interest as he examined the list. “Not bad, not bad. You don’t happen to have the heart, do you?” he asked, looking up at me with an inquisitive expression.

  I shook my head. “Sorry, I had to leave it behind.”

  He tutted, shaking his head. “Shame. They’re worth a pretty penny, those are.”

  After a moment, he tapped on his screen, and a prompt appeared on mine displaying his offer:

  200 Crowns.

  I accepted without hesitation, eager to finalize the deal before he asked how long the meat had been unrefrigerated.

  ‘CLINK.’

  The sound echoed in my head as a new widget appeared in my interface, next to the notification tray. It displayed the number 200 alongside a spinning icon of a golden crown.

  “Pleasure doing business with you,” Zilph said with a satisfied grin, leaning back in his chair. Sharla and I stepped away from the stall and began making our way back to the Bottomless Pit.

  The sun still hadn’t reached its zenith despite everything that had happened since leaving the hospital. Time seemed strange here, as though the world stretched and compressed it at will. As we walked, Sharla abruptly stopped mid-stride, her eyes unfocused for a brief moment. Her eyes shimmered faintly with a soft, gentle glow, and I realized she was reading a notification.

  I frowned, wondering if my eyes did the same thing when I accessed my interface. The thought lingered as we continued down the cobblestone street, the murmur of the town surrounding us like a distant hum.

  "I gotta cut this short, sorry," Sharla said, her eyes flashing faintly as she interacted with her interface. "Oliver’s got intel about a goblin caravan we’re going to hit. I’d rather not head out right away, but there’s a time limit on the quest. If we don’t finish by sundown, the guild’ll penalize us."

  She extended her arm, clasping my forearm briefly before letting go. Her eyes darted around the street, then she started jogging toward the North Gate without another word, leaving me standing in the middle of the street. A pair of notifications blinked into the corner of my vision as I watched her disappear into the crowd. I mentally clicked the first, and two stacked windows popped up, playing automatically in sequence.

  BA-DING

  Achievement:

  You do have friends!

  Description:

  Look at you proving all those people on Reddit wrong! Someone actually tolerates you enough to want to talk to you even when you're not right in front of them. You have successfully added someone to your contacts list!

  Reward:

  You have a friend—that’s reward enough.

  BA-DING

  Achievement:

  Eager Beaver!

  Description:

  You’ve gained access to an interface option before installing the corresponding module. Your experience will be restricted until the module is installed. Can’t do anything right, can you? Starting to think you’re doing this out of order on purpose.

  Reward:

  1 I.O.U for a module.

  I sighed, dismissing the notifications as I continued down the road. Sharla had been guiding me around the city, her mini-map—a perk from completing registration—helping us navigate the maze of streets. Without it, I’d opted to rely on my sense of direction to make my way back to the adventuring guild. My plan was simple: register, check my options, and return to the Bottomless Pit.

  As I walked, I couldn’t shake the thought of Sharla running off to capture another goblin. Less than two days ago, she’d nearly died in a goblin ambush, losing her leg in the process. Strangely, the thought didn’t send me into a panic the way it might have yesterday. Was it the spiced drink from earlier? Or was something about this world already numbing my reactions?

  Taking a shortcut through a series of alleys, I zigzagged between houses and narrow streets. Laundry flapped in the breeze, strung between windows. Children ran by shouting and clashing pot lids and sticks as they played at being adventurers. The settlement bustled with life, its diverse inhabitants making the town feel both familiar and alien.

  Humans, dwarves, and gnomes dominated the population, but traders of stranger races added bursts of colour and chaos. Goblins—few and far between—lurked in shaded alleys, their hairy arms and fishlike faces blending with the shadows. Scaly humanoids in chainmail led caged beasts to imposing buildings. Feathered creatures sang haunting melodies on the walkways, their humanlike hands tipped with curved claws gesturing theatrically. Each verse painted tales of monstrous beasts ripping adventurers apart or of triumphant victories over the same.

  I stopped at the edge of the main street, realizing I’d miscalculated my route and ended up farther from the guild than planned. Sighing, I pulled the Safety Inspector coupon from my inventory for the first time, holding it up to examine. The green slip of paper shimmered with gold-leaf accents, the words ‘Redeem 1’ and ’Safety Inspector’ elegantly embossed on either side.

  As I admired the craftsmanship, a large, calloused hand shot out from beneath my arm, grabbing for the coupon. The angle was awkward, and instead of snatching the ticket, the hand caught my own. I spun around, startled, and saw a cloaked dwarf yanking at my wrist. Their grip tore the slip in half before they jerked free, bolting into the crowd.

  “Oi! What are you playing at?” I shouted, but the figure was already vanishing into the sea of bodies.

  I looked down at the ruined coupon in my hand as it crumbled into dust. A sinking feeling hit me, but before I could fully process what had happened, five new notifications blinked into the corner of my vision. Then, something else caught my eye. In the top left of my interface, new text had appeared: ‘Safety Inspector.’