Demon Wolf

When the priest grandly flourished his hand towards the temple’s assortment of books, Wolf honestly expected more than one hundred volumes. While the shelf, made of glossy black wood, stood fully stacked, it was far too small to sate Wolf’s thirst for knowledge. It most certainly contained no information about breaking through the barrier between the worlds.

Skimming through the titles, he noticed thirty-five pertained to sheep, wool, animal husbandry, and farming. There were also nine ambiguous books, which Wolf prayed were sheep-related.

For example, Taming my naughty little lamb; Wolf dearly hoped it was about raising sheep or an anthology of children’s stories.

The priest spotted his grimace and smiled awkwardly.

“Locals love sheep.” He shrugged.

Wolf looked at him, mirroring his grin. “My father used to say, ‘You play with the cards you’re dealt.’ How would you like me to pay? Per book, per day?”

“Per book seems fair.” The priest nodded thoughtfully, but he felt the urge to speak up for his tiny parish. “While sheep are not a kingdom-wide trend, Boreo does mainly focus on agriculture. Unlike the wilderness outside the wall, where tribes aspire for diversity and self-sustainability, Glorious Tyranny is mind-bogglingly vast. Local rulers practice specialized production and optimal exploitation of their country’s unique advantages. Kingdoms and empires produce what they can, trading for what they need with others…”

After a brief introduction on Glorious Tyranny, from which Wolf learned trivia regarding this strange world, he bought decent woolen clothing and “library” access. When Wolf inquired about clothes, the pastor tried to sell him a silk frilly gown. Wolf cocked an eyebrow at the first garb the merchant offered, but remained civil enough not to slap him dead.

If I put on a dress, I could pass for a woman. Wolf held back a snort, smiling instead.

“I hope I’ll return these in less than a week.” He stored the books, even Taming my naughty little lamb. His father taught him all books were worth skimming, and that you should not dismiss them because of crappy titles and plain covers.

“You have paid a week’s rent for the books. Unfortunately, my temple’s too small. I can’t offer room and boarding services. In cities, Houses of Fairness have guest wings where valued customers can pay for their stay.”

The priest sighed ruefully; yet another chance for fair trade had slipped through his fingers just because he managed a tiny, subpar chapel. His eye twitched and his hand drifted towards his robe’s inner pocket.

Wolf observed the hesitating priest, giving him a moment to reach a decision. However, the man kept nibbling his lip, and Wolf broke the awkward silence.

“Could you perhaps give me directions to a reputable inn? Or some other place renting rooms?”

“Ah, yes, of course, valued customer.” The priest raised his gaze and smiled at Wolf, drawing his hand out of his robe. “The best inn around here is Agnes’s Barn. Then you have Milla’s stable…”

***

Agnes’s Barn looked nothing like its name suggested. Wolf expected a large wooden structure, with giant doors, but it was yet another pale, stone building, its architecture identical to this two copper town’s other structures.

The inn was larger than average houses, half the size of the enforcer station in which Wolf got his papers. Inside, the place was clean; its walls whitewashed and free of soot.

The common room was packed. Aroma of sheep, hay and beer mixed in the air, replacing the clingy smell of smoke Wolf associated with Fermion’s taverns. Black and white embroidery hung from the pale walls, depicting sheep grazing and drinking water while lambs played, frozen mid-hop.

When Wolf entered the lounge, the patrons’ murmur abruptly stopped, birthing awkward silence. Massive wooden chairs creaked as women eating cheese or mutton and drinking beer turned around, all of them training their eyes at him as if they’d never seen a man before. Then the pub exploded with laughs and whistles and boisterous calls.

Wolf snorted, heading for the counter.

After half a day, their catcalls hardly annoy me. Wolf refrained from shaking his head and rolling his eyes as he approached the proprietress.

“Good evening, I would like to rent a room. The best you have,” he said, glad that at least this elderly lady did not size his ass.

“Your id please.” The innkeeper pulled out a thick book from beneath her counter and flipped its pages. “How long will you stay with us, young man?”

Wolf took out the unassuming card from his pocket and handed it to the woman. “Three to five days. Does the room have a bath?”

“Yes?” She raised her eyebrow, giving Wolf a dubious look before nodding.

It’s only natural she’s confused. I’m wearing animal hides, yet I asked her about rooms with an attached bath. Wolf smiled without saying a word. I need to rid myself of this barbarian status. Hopefully, changing my clothes will be enough.

Seeing him remain silent, the owner cleared her throat. “Ahem. That would be two gold crowns per day. Would you like our kitchen to prepare your meals during your stay? We offer room service. We have roast mutton, mutton stew, grilled lamb loins, our haggis is the best in town—”

Wolf shook his head and fished two gold coins from his pocket, clicking them against the counter.

A minute later, he entered a comfy room with a kingsize bed. He hardly glanced at the bed and went straight to wash himself. The first thing he noted was how cramped the stone-tiled bathroom was. It had a metal tub, a toilet and a washbasin, each fighting for space, leaving little room for guests, but Wolf did not care. He turned on the tap, and in no time started scrubbing.

Once sufficiently clean, he returned to the room and froze mid step. Several dozen woven sheep stared at him from the walls, enjoying the various poses in which the artist captured.

Should I pack these tapestries into a wardrobe? Would the owner mind? He scratched the back of his head while gazing at a jumping, bleating lamb then stopped himself after hearing Mandy’s phantom nagging. I don’t think I should.

In two steps he reached the bed, noting the subtle creak of the thick floor boards straining under his weight. He gingerly sat on the mattress, but the woolen thing kept sinking beneath his butt.

“Fine,” Wolf muttered. With a snort, he sat cross-legged on the fluffy carpet. He covered his legs with a surprisingly soft woolen quilt and began reading while munching on self-made Monster Beast snacks.

Wolf started with cultivation books. Other than explanations on how stages and realms worked, he also found information on cultivator organizations referred to as sects. He was unfamiliar with the term, but soon correlated it to Swordsage dojos back in Fermion.

With sects, size mattered. The bigger and more widely spread the organization, the more power it wielded, offering better conditions to their members. Unfortunately, other than vague rudimentary information, Wolf found no details.

Next, he planned to focus on local geography, eager to find the closest rift home. He doubted anything would change, but visiting the rift would cost nothing, save a bit of time.

Unless the authorities trace its collapse back to me. A sudden knock startled Wolf, just as he considered this risk.

“Young Master, are you well? You haven’t left your room the whole morning,” the elderly innkeeper called after tapping the door.

“I’m fine. Give me a moment.” Wolf stood and glanced through the window, noting it was around noon. The night had passed without him noticing.

He put on the silk underpants he had bought and paid the luxury tax for, before clothing himself in the newly purchased woolen garbs. He strode to the door and opened it, two golden coins clamped between his fingers.

“Here’s today’s rent,” he said, then noticed three envelopes in proprietress’s hand.

“No need, Young Master,” she shook her head. “Your suitors have already paid your bill. They almost started fighting over the honor.”

Wolf blinked. What? “What?”

Breathe. One…

“Young Mistress Groundhoffer, Young Mistress Wagner and Young Mistress Daseldoff sent letters of introduction; hoping you would grace them with your company over wine this evening.” The elderly woman smiled nervously, handing the envelopes to Wolf.

… four, five. No; even after counting to five twice, this makes no sense. Some random provincial bimbos want to court me?

“I don’t have time for this.” Wolf moved to shut the door, but the innkeeper stopped him.

“Please listen. Young Mistress Grundhoffer’s aunt is the minister of agriculture, a very important post. Young Mistress Wagner comes from an affluent background, her parents became rich through adventuring. They are strong and the town guards call on them in more violent cases. As for Young Mistress Daseldoff.” The elderly woman gulped and lowered her voice.

“I heard folks say she’s the daughter of the queen’s personal bodyguard and the kingdom’s guardian…” She paused, glancing left and right, grimacing like a devil might overhear her. She leaned over. “… the honorary grand-duchess, Mistress Daniella Daseldoff.”

Wolf stared at her, utterly unimpressed. ‘Never heard of them,’ he wished to say, but those words were pointless. He wanted to learn how to return home and this was all just nonsense he had to suffer for his goal. He took the letters, then handed the landlord the two coins he had prepared.

“I wish not to be disturbed.” He waved his hand, shooing the woman with the envelopes.

The moment she stepped back, he closed the door.

Wolf snorted and patted his belly. Neither full nor hungry. Normally, this would be optimal, but I need to eat more, in case something unexpected happens.

Chewing on roasted Lindworm, Wolf continued his reading. Unfortunately, his peace was short-lived.

 

Random Roll

sleepydad88

Grundhoffer was set to be a niece of the minister of agriculture and Wolf’s main pursuer. D4 decided the number of love rivals, d100 how important they are. Wagner got a 71 making her wealthy, but not overly influential. Daseldoff got a 98, and I got a headache.