Knock knock knock.

  Artyom didn’t have to wait long before a fancily dressed man opened the door.

  “Ah, you must be from the- hold on, I don’t believe I recognize you.”

  “Hi, I’m Artyom, with the hero’s party.”

  “The hero’s party?!” the man all but exclaimed. “Please, do come in! I- er, where is the rest of the party?”

  “They all had other important matters to attend to,” said Artyom, seeing the disappointment in the noble man’s eyes. “However the hero made sure that one of us would still be able to meet with you today and address your concerns.”

  The other man immediately brightened up and led Artyom into his cabin.

  While the outside was constructed out of whole logs, despite there being no nearby forests, the inside was furnished much like a modern home from Earth. Pristine white plaster walls held a manner of artwork over them; a mix of scenic landscapes and several portraits of the owner himself. Sofas and single-person couches upholstered with dyed leather were placed around the edges of the main room, seemingly oriented towards the portraits rather than any central point.

  Magical lights hung from the ceiling with no apparent fuel source. Neither was there any sort of mechanism to control the illumination, as far as Artyom could tell.

  The noble took a seat in an elegant leather rocking chair while he pointed Artyom towards one of the askew three-person couches.

  The man from Earth took a seat at the corner farthest away from the noble just to make it easier to look right at him.

  Getting a better look at him, Artyom could see he was wearing a green wool sweater vest over a doublet. It was odd fashion, but it worked on his particular skinny frame. His face slightly tended towards height over width, ending with cropped black hair akin to Artyom’s. His green eyes were filled with giddy delight that was entirely focused on Artyom right now.

  “So, sir-”

  “Lord Chard,” he interrupted.

  “Excuse me, Lord Chard. I was informed you had some concerns that the hero could address, so would you share them with me?”

  “Hmm, now that I think about it, there isn’t much help I need from him on my lands,” he started. “And beyond the recent undead attack, there hasn’t been any danger here either, and I’m sure he’s already working to resolve that. But I suppose-”

  Artyom could see the man turn ever so slightly red, if only for an instant, before he regained his composure.

  “Never mind, I suppose there isn’t anything I need from the hero at this time. I do thank you for your time however, and will be happy to let him know if anything arises.”

  Artyom cocked his eyebrow. “I dunno, I’ve heard you’re not really happy with all the orphans. You want to say anything about that?”

  At that, the man’s cheeks flushed crimson, and his sweater alongside it.

  “Hold on,” said Artyom, leaning forward in his seat. “Is that made of chroma wool?”

  Immediately Lord Chard lost a shade of red and looked back with interest. “Why yes, actually. Made from one of the last batches exported by Freeacres.”

  Artyom nodded, and memories of his interactions with the first bit of civilization he’d encountered in this world came to mind. He made sure to forcefully stop them and return to the present before they progressed too far.

  “Though it’s a pity what happened to them,” the noble continued. “And that’s the issue you’re likely talking about.”

  Artyom remained silent, but motioned for the other man to continue.

  “With all of this talk of warbands, there have been so many new orphans being made. So many of them filling up the congregation at the church, always talking and making a nuisance out of what should be a session of quiet prayer, it’s just so-”

  Artyom cocked another eyebrow, and Lord Chard instinctively stopped.

  “Those poor kids,” he continued after a second. “And there are so many of them too. Obviously this is their home now, but the thought of there being any more? It fills my heart with frustr- sadness. For their plight, that is.”

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  “Right…” said Artyom. He couldn’t help but feel there was more to his motivations, though. As annoying as… petty annoyance was, nobody as rich and powerful as a noble would risk personally implicating himself over something like this. Even in a world where everyone was dumb. “Is there any other reason you’d like the hero’s help?”

  “Of course, my lands would also benefit from the increased protection, but it’s for the children, of course!” He tried flashing a grin, but there was an unmistakable worry in his eyes. And something even more behind it.

  Artyom didn’t say any words, he just leaned forward even further.

  Whatever pressure Lord Chard was under suddenly broke him. He practically began to deflate as he took a long, miserable exhale, his voice softening to a scared whisper. “Almost all of my troops have already been levied to fight on the front lines. I can’t keep my people safe.”

  Artyom looked into the noble’s eyes and for the first time, saw truth in them: pure desperation.

  “I see, Lord Chard.”

  “Of course you do, it’s obvious! Everyone sees it, every single noble of the kingdom does, but we don’t say it. Nobody dares to, we know what’s at stake!”

  Artyom looked on in silence as the noble clawed at the armrests of his seat.

  “Any of us could recall our troops from the front lines, but enough of that would weaken the kingdom enough to allow the Dark Lord’s real armies to break through the gates and lay waste to the kingdom as a whole! All it takes is a single noble to be the first, and others will follow. Even discussing the matter might encourage someone to become the herald of our end. We must stay silent!”

  “So you really need Tommy’s help,” said Artyom with wide eyes.

  Things suddenly began to make sense. He was quick to dismiss all of the nobles at Baron Cabbafor’s party as stuck up idiots because of… whatever was up with this world, but to think they were navigating this dance right under his nose.

  Artyom felt a brief flash of shame, both at missing something happening under his nose and being so dismissive of an entire group of people. Though they happened to be dumb and rich people, and back home it would be safe to assume they only cared about their subjects as far as how much money they could make off their backs.

  Before Artyom began his mission, he was told this was a Fairytale world, a place where everyone is innocent, kind, and happy. But that notion was quickly thrown on its head when he witnessed the Dark Lord’s war band commit the most heinous of war crimes.

  Everyone here was definitely naive, which could be mistaken for innocence, and Artyom thought there had been a mix up.

  He was starting to have second thoughts. Rich people in rotten worlds didn’t do this.

  But what lengths would someone truly desperate go to?

  “Thank you for your time, Lord Chard, I’ll get your concerns to the hero and hopefully we can do something about the warbands.”

  The noble settled down, the weight on his shoulders easing just a little. “Thank you, I truly appreciate it,” he said with a weak smile. “And please keep this little outburst to yourself, we don’t need any rumors circulating or else…”

  Artyom simply nodded and stood up. “I’ll be going now.”

  Lord Chard showed him out and thanked him again before softly closing the door. He continued to stare at Artyom through the window as the man from Earth walked away and out of sight.

  “I think I’ll check up on Tommy and Lensa, maybe they know who the real culprit is and I don’t even have to bother with this whole investigation anymore?”

  By the time he made it to the church’s entrance, it was late into the evening. The sun was beginning to touch the horizon and its previous silver glows turned golden. The ocean’s beauty was transcendental, something that belonged in heaven rather than on the mortal plane.

  Artyom was transfixed by its beauty and forgot about much of his worries, but was broken out of the stupor by a call.

  “Hey Artyom, what’s up!” exclaimed Tommy as he ran out the front door to him with Lensa in tow. “Lensa finished praying for an answer, but she says it’s inconclusive or something. What did you say again?”

  “That the goddess requests us to keep searching ourselves for the time being,” said Lensa.

  “Uh huh, and why’s that?”

  “Are you questioning the goddess?” snapped Lensa.

  “No, I’m questioning you,” replied Artyom. “Did she give you a reason she wants us to continue this wild goose chase? Though it’s not much of a chase if you haven’t actually done anything to find it yet.”

  “And I’m sure you have done plenty.”

  “As a matter of fact, I have. I’ve already identified several suspects-”

  “For the armor piece or for the undead attack?” she asked with a look of suspicion.

  “Both,” said Artyom matter-of-factly. “Whoever stole it wants us to stay in town, and-”

  “There is no culprit behind the undead attack!” shouted Lensa. “What a teammate you’ve been so far, why did we even allow you to join?”

  Artyom, rather than immediately replying, looked at Tommy.

  He fidgeted while looking between the two, words seemingly on his lips but none coming out.

  “Nothing to say about this kind of treatment?” asked Artyom. He didn’t like team drama, but with only the three of them here and nobody else to back up Lensa, he finally felt empowered to finally say something.

  “I mean, should I?” he said quickly. “Let’s all be friends and just focus on looking for the armor piece.”

  Artyom didn’t let the disappointment show on his face. Tommy had been through a lot today, no point tearing off another bandaid right after someone had pulled off one.

  Lensa didn’t pay him any mind and opened her mouth to shout something, but was interrupted by a scream.

  “Help, hero!” a woman shouted as she stopped before the group after a dead sprint. “The orphanage is under attack by zombies!”