Idyllic.

He squinted his one good eye. That was the first word Walter thought of when could see Letun. From their vantage he could see most of it and the surrounding countryside. If he ever wanted to be a tourist in a medieval resort town he would pick this one. From a distance the townsfolk looked like tiny ants.

The tallest building was a white-stone keep, which Walter estimated was roughly six stories tall, nestled in the town’s center. The way buildings crammed next to it he figured it was less of a military outpost and more of a symbol of authority. Sunlight reflected off the white surface.

When Walter asked Elin gave a tour-guide description.

“That’s Manticore Keep. It was once the center of military command in the area. When the Royal Army took a more aggressive stance against the Necropolis they repositioned to Griffin Keep. It was deemed a waste to abandon it so it was lent to the seated nobility. Over time Letun grew around it. Now it’s being used for city administration.”

The buildings directly next to the keep were made of similar stone and had vermillion tiled roofs. The tallest was only about three stories. A well-maintained wall, with bar gates so large they could be seen from afar, segregated the keep and mansions from the rest of the town.

“Those are the unseated nobles.”

“What’s the difference between seated and unseated?”

“Seated nobility has a hereditary line and hold accords for title and estate to manage, and are called seated because they have a chair in the crown’s court. Unseated nobles have been given sinecure by the high nobility on an individual basis. Make no mistake, however, they hold sinecure because they have great political sway and are useful to the high nobility. Don’t insult them.”

“Right. So basically the king owns everything, and it filters down to the seated nobility, then to the unseated nobility and then to the citizens?”

“On paper, yes. Some of the nobility are so established it’s unthinkable to remove them. Things can get complicated.”

The town spread out further from the center. Between the inner wall and the outer wall were thousand of buildings, divided into three unequally divided sectors.

The biggest sector, taking up two-thirds of the town, was overcrowded with small houses, one to two stories in height. Most of the houses were made of different materials and had different roofs. Some roofs were clay tiles and some wooden shingles. The streets in that sector looked labyrinthine. Elin explained, “This is the residential district.”

The second biggest was uniformly filled with buildings all three stories in height, with two heavy-traffic streets forming an squished, ‘X’. “That’s the merchant’s district.”

The last sector, merely a sliver compared to the other two, was only filled with a smattering of buildings. It was packed with animal pens. It also had one large gate instead of several smaller ones. “The agricultural district, it’s used primarily to organize and resell animals the farmers delivered.” Occasionally a wagon entered the gate full and left empty.

Built into the wall was a second keep, only smaller and had a courtyard, extending out of the town like a bump. Armored guards moved with a purpose about it. Walter figured that was the town defense.

The land around the town was beautiful. A large lake was nearby, glistening brightly under the midday sun. Surrounding everything, town, lake, and the nearby plains, was a lush forest. It was impossible to imagine monsters ever attacking here.

“Hovels?”

“That’s the unofficial pauper’s district.”

There was a collection of makeshift houses, about one-third the city’s size, that congregated near the outer wall of the city.

It wouldn’t be a medieval town without poverty, I guess.

“I don’t see any farms?”

Elin pointed to the distance. Walter raised his hand to block the sun’s glare. Just on the other side of the forest was a clearing, segmented with walls, which looked like little more than stacks of large boulders, and hedgerows. Occasionally, there was a small walled compound with several buildings.

“I see,” he said, “The farmers can take care of themselves.”

“The Spawn of Ouroboros are typically unintelligent and only attempt to attack the innocent, not buildings or what we grow. As long as people stay out of sight, for the most part, they’re safe. Farmers hire adventurers during harvest times. If things are especially dangerous the town will mobilize the guard.”

That makes sense. Unlike NPCs in a game these people are real so they adapted. They’re not just standing around waiting to be saved.

When they got closer to the town Walter noticed several buildings that stood out, a bit taller than the rest. Two in the merchant’s district and several, which looked like churches, in the residential district.

“Those are the temples. The largest is the Temple of the Witness,” Elin declared proudly.

“And in the merchant’s district?”

“The adventurer’s guild and the mage’s guild,” she sounded decidedly nonplussed.

Inside the walls the town was just as impressive to Walter. The merchant’s district had uniform buildings, made in a medieval wattle-and-daub style and each looked like they had freshly white-washed panels. The streets were paved with tight fitting stones. Straight wooden lamp posts were on the side of the street at measured intervals with a faintly glowing orb at the top.

There was hustle-and-bustle everywhere. Elin had to gently part the crowd to make space for the horse, and Walter, behind her. The air filled with the call of bids and haggling, and products and small silver coins exchanged hands briefly.

Passing through a dividing wall gate they entered the residential district. The crowd thinned out.

“We need to report to the temple and then get you healed.”

“How much HP do you think I have left?” Walter asked cautiously. It occurred to him that, if his HP were at one point and he stubbed his toe, he might fall over dead.

“Most likely 100.”

“How could that be? Why would I need to be healed then?”

“Hmm? You just sustained minor injuries. It doesn’t show on your HP. And why wouldn’t healing magic work? You’re not making sense.”

“So the goblin couldn’t actually kill me?”

“No, it could have.”

“I don’t understand. If the goblin couldn’t reduce my HP--”

“--Even minor injuries can add up to a vital injury, Walter.”

“Oh.”

So HP isn’t really a measurement of a person’s total health? What is it then? Maybe I’m thinking of this backwards. HP probably isn’t something people have it’s something that’s calculated, like a heartbeat monitor in a hospital. Even injured people can have a regular heartbeat. When I look at someone’s HP I’m probably doing something akin to checking their pulse? That makes it much less reliable.

Everything’s even more scary this way. Lucky attacks could kill instantly, like in real life, instead of like in the game when there would be fixed damage.

“What about MP?”

“Hmm?” Elin motioned by tilting her head.

“Can someone cast spells without MP? Are there times you can cast a spell without the MP number changing?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of. If you cast a spell you lose MP.”

So HP is like a heartbeat monitor and MP and like a gas gauge. One is a guess and one is more accurate, but both are merely measurements of something in world and not an actual thing.

Walter considered the town to be idyllic; he considered the Temple of the Witness to be resplendent.

When he was looking at it from the vantage point it didn’t seem tall. But when he stood at the base of the wide steps leading to the double door entrance it seemed to tower into the clouds. Like the churches in Sorcery Chronicle it was a prime example of neo-gothic architecture. It’s defining feature was an incredibly detailed stained-glass window depicting a battle between a knight and a hydra.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Elin asked, grinning. She pointed at the knight in the stained-glass, “That’s Idrin, Paladin-the-First. The temple in the capital is several times bigger but this one is special to me. I was knighted here.”

“Who is the witness?” Walter asked, studying the architecture.

“That would be his wife.”

“Wait, what? A paladin got married?”

“Is that so strange? His wife was Menrva the Healer, one of the first four [Heroes] to aid our world. Between the era of the first four and the era of Idrin she kept herself alive with healing magic and aided him on his quests, undoing any injury he suffered no matter how terrible. When he finally died in his sleep it is said her heart stopped beating, at the same time, and she joined him hand-in-hand in the afterlife. It’s really romantic.”

“If you say so,” Walter answered, shaking his head.

“You don’t think it is?”

“Well, if I had a wife, I wouldn’t want her to die.”

Elin gave him a startled look then started giggling, “Well, there were three-hundred years between the two eras. Besides, if you loved someone as much as she did then it would be worse to be alone.”

“Oh, well, in that case, never mind.”

“Ah, one thing. Our contact is Brother Favian. He’s a bit… odd.” Elin bit her lip, scratched her head while staring at Walter, then said, “And we have to report before healing you. Are you going to be okay?”

“Sure. It only hurts when I ask questions.”

Elin snorted.

Delicate choir singing greeted them when they entered. The inside was filled with warm multi-colored light filtering in from six additional stained-glass windows. Each one was of Idrin performing a good deed or defeating a monster.

“These depict the seven trials of Idrin,” Elin whispered. Then she tugged on his shirt to follow her.

This is some strong hero worship.

In the back of the temple were some offices. Stopping at a door Elin took a deep relaxing breath, nodded to Walter like she was about to enter a life-and-death battle, and opened the door.

Just who is this guy and why is she so terrified of him?

“Lady Elin Folcey reporting,” she managed to squeeze out meekly.

The first thing Walter noticed was the stench of a room thick with tobacco smoke. The second thing Walter noticed was a booming voice yelling, “Lil sis!”

Little sister?!

A man with the size and muscles of a bear, and to say ‘bear’ wouldn’t be inaccurate considering how much hair was on his arms and how thick his beard and hair was, snatched up Elin in a bear hug, armor and all, and danced foot to foot. Elin struggled to breathe and her legs shook helplessly as he jumped back and forth.

The deadly warrior Elin was trying to jab him in the ribs and this bear-man didn’t even notice.

“Favie, please, you’re embarrassing me! Put me down! I’m not a doll!”

Favie?! This is Brother Favian?!

“Fine, fine, fine!” he said joyfully, “I just hadn’t seen you in so long I couldn’t help myself! It’s been two years! How you holding up, lass? Been eating? You still look far too skinny. I can tell by your armor you’re still lining ‘em up and knocking them down. Slay a dragon yet? Can’t wait to see you with a dragon slayer medal!”

During the one-sided conversation Elin tried to get a word in edgewise, only for her voice to falter in a rush to answer the next statement.

Suddenly Brother Favian straightened up, cupped his pipe, puffed a few times, and eyed Walter.

“So, who’s this chap?”

“Favie, this is Walter Alvis. He’s the escort.”

“Got her pregnant, huh? Well, marriage ceremonies are held at the end of the week.”

“He’s not that kind of escort, you numbskull!” Elin roared, her face turning so red Walter thought she might have suffered a sunburn. She squeezed her eyes shut and quickly covered her mouth, realizing her scream just shattered the sacrosanct atmosphere of the temple.

“I’m just kidding lass. I’m just kidding.” His guffaws continued, however, to ruin the atmosphere. When they died down he puffed again. “But, seriously, if you make a move on my lil sis I’ll break every bone in your body.”

“Shut it! I’ll break every bone in your body!” Elin screamed, punching Brother Favian in the solar plexus. He coughed out a ring of smoke and then gave another hearty laugh.

“Right, well, I have your orders,” Brother Favian said, “And some funds. Seems the high-and-mighty herself--”

“--Don’t call her that, Favie--” Elin warned, narrowing her eyes a bit.

“--Seems Priestess Evelyn wants you to get your chap here established in the town. Records and whatnot, job, place to stay, that kind of thing.”

“I hoped I’d be returned to the front line.”

“Sorry, kiddo, no such luck. You’re a babysitter.”

Elin snatched the scroll from his hands and rolled it open. After confirming the orders she said under her breath, “What good is a knight if not in combat?”

“To each our own trial,” Brother Favian said, taking her hand and pressing a coin bag into her palm, “Order says hold up at the Pilgrim’s Folly, temple’s payin’.”

Elin twisted her mouth a bit.

“Ah, one other thing,” Brother Favian said, holding his finger in the air a moment dramatically, like he just remembered something, “This came from the Paladin’s council. Here ya go.”

It was a sealed letter. Elin took it with both hands and a twinkling eyes. She broke the wax seal on the back and unfolded it. Her eyes scanned it once, then twice, and her face fell. She was struggling not to frown.

Brother Favian gently took the letter and read it, “I’m sorry lass.”

“What?” Walter asked.

“I was just disqualified for paladinhood.”