Wares and Wounds

I gasped, pushing myself up off cold, damp cobblestones. The air smelled overwhelmingly of smoke, unwashed bodies, and horse manure. My ears rang with the sounds of rattling horse-drawn carriages and unintelligible shouting. It worked, I thought, trying to access my status screen. It’s an honest-to-god RPG world.

Surrounded by stone buildings and figures in medieval armor, I felt a euphoric surge, immediately followed by annoyance when I realized I had no tutorial or free gold. Then I heard the whimpering. Kenji Tanaka was curled into a ball beside me, still desperately clutching his sacred briefcase. His anxiety was a palpable force.

"My phone is dead," he choked out, staring at the useless slab of glass in his hand. "No signal. No WiFi. No modern amenities. What are we going to do, Yamamoto? How are we going to file reports?"

I tried to get him up. "Tanaka, look around! We’re in a world of swords and sorcery! We're free!"

"This is unhygienic! I bet they don't have proper labor laws or due process!" he retorted, already focusing on the terrifying political structure of this feudal kingship.

A large figure approached us—a scarred, muscular Human Crusader (Level 19) in dented plate armor. He eyed Tanaka, then me, confusion heavy on his face.

"Out of the way, newcomers. And you," he motioned vaguely at Tanaka. "You're awfully pale and short for an orc. Must be a low-level one from the Northern Waste."

Tanaka blinked, processing the insult but still demanding a manager. The Crusader, realizing his mistake in confusing a human for a low-level monster, apologized hastily and moved on. I stared at Tanaka, then back at the retreating Crusader. The resemblance to the Orc Boss wasn't just in my head. This is going to be my life.

"We need currency, shelter, and a working exchange rate immediately, Yamamoto," Tanaka commanded, his eyes wide with a familiar corporate desperation. "I'm going to die here."

"Not if your anxiety kills me first," I muttered.