I groan at being called old, though I guess 37 is old for a girl someone who is barely in her 20. Especially in a medieval type of world, where people who live past their 40s are not the rule, but the exception. Still, to be called ‘old’ stings a little, even if it might be at least partially true.
After recovering from the immediate shock, the rest of her sentence registers with me and I ask, “Wait, what do you mean by, ‘the new champion’? I thought that old coot said something about me being ‘the chosen one’, but you make it sound like there have been ‘champions’ coming in before.”
The barmaid nods enthusiastically and explains, “Why yes, of course. Magnus, the ‘old coot’ as you’ve called him, goes out to the holy cave summon a new champion once a year, each time when the stars align. But…”
“But…?” I ask, fearing that I already know what she meant to say.
“Well, I don’t know how to put this, but usually it’s some at least somewhat handsome young man.”
And now she’s not only calling me old, but also ugly without even noticing…
“Well, more attempts, better chances I guess. What happened to the other champions who have been summoned to this place before me?”
“I’m afraid I don’t know that. They all left to set out in order to vanquish the evil that threatens our world.”
“Yeah, about that...what evil? I mean, this place is about as peaceful as it gets. Save for some of your patrons, that is. And while we’re at it, people on the street looked at me as if I was the devil himself trying to drag them to hell.”
The barmaid blinked a few times and then asked, “I am sorry, but what is that, ‘a devil’? And what do you mean by ‘hell’?”
I grimace slightly, figuring that the christian church and its dogma apparently do not exist in this realm, prior to explaining, “Right, what’s the most evil thing you know?”
“The demon king, obviously.”
“And the most dreadful place you can imagine?”
“Um...that’d be the abyss of eternal torment, into which the demon king throws all those who are foolish enough to oppose him.”
“Fine, then let me rephrase that: ‘The people looked at me as if I was the demon king seeking to throw them into that abyss.’. Same idea, really. Either way, what gives? And what was with that ‘warm welcome’ a little earlier?”
The barmaid laughed a little, apparently unsure how to respond, when someone calls out to her to get a refill on his drink.
Thankful for the distraction she smiled at me apologetically and hurried off.

While I was waiting, the same men from earlier walked up to me from behind.
I only noticed them, when their leader placed his large hand on the counter right next to mine and I turned around with a start.
“So, yer s’posed ta be the new champion, huh?” the guy in charge asked with a nauseatingly foul breath reeking of too much alcohol.
“Apparently so,” I replied truthfully and turned around to face the counter again, silently hoping that they’d get the hint and leave me alone. They did not.

Instead, he grabbed me at my shoulder and forced me turn around again to face him, burping into my face, “Hey, look at me when I’m talking to ye!”

Up to this day, I don’t know what got into me back then, but I was too fed up with the situation to think straight.
So I grabbed the guy’s hand at his wrist and shoved it off my shoulder forcefully, getting up in the process, “Ah yeah? You’ve got some nerve to talk to me that way!”
“Ya?! What, just ‘cause ye come from some fancy world of demon slayers, ye think, yer better than us?! Do ya?!” the guy exclaimed, but before I could even process the apparent problem in his sentence, he already pulled back and landed a powerful punch into my face, sending me back first over the counter.

Oh and just in case you think I got back up right away and started a bar brawl with everyone beating down everyone like you often see it in those wild west movies, I’m afraid I have to disappoint you.
The punch knocked me out cold and I only came to much later, lying in an uncomfortable bed made from wood and straw.
Needless to say, it was not my own bed and my wife was not lying next to me.
And the raging hurt in my nose which took the brunt of the hit, as well as the dumb pain from the back of my head, where I hit the ground, quickly reminded me, what had happened.
It was at that point, where I seriously started questioning the validity of the notion, that ‘one cannot feel pain in their dreams’.

It was only after that realization, when I noticed through the veil of pain, that I was not alone in this room.
A young boy of maybe 8 years with bright blue eyes was sitting in the room on a stool, fixing me attentively. When he noticed, that I had noticed him, he got up and asked how I was feeling.
I don’t recall exactly what I told the boy, but I remember his expression of not understanding a word I was saying, so it was probably something like, ‘Like a truck hit me’.

At any rate, the boy left the room to fetch his mom, who was apparently the mother of the barmaid I had met earlier, considering that they looked almost like twins, just with an age gap of maybe 15 years, though I didn’t ask her age.
I had received enough of a beating for one day.

“Are you feeling better, Sir?” the woman asked with a pleasant voice and I recall thinking, as silly as it may sound, how nice it was to be treated with some actual respect for a change.

“Like a mountain of muscles decked me right into the face,” I groaned groggily, slowly trying to sit up, despite every fiber of my body telling me to stay down a little longer. Looking back, I probably should have listened to it. Just keep lying down and let the world around me take care of itself.
But alas, back then I was still too convinced that this was all but a dream, so I figured this was the part, where the good stuff was going to happen.
I mean, it’s not cheating on your wife if you dream about getting with another woman who doesn’t even really exist, is it? Nobody could ever blame me for that, right.
I mean, men had that problem for eons and they still had successful marriages. Even made up stories about gender-changing demons, who took the semen from men during their sleep, then changed their gender and implanted the stolen seed into women while they were sleeping. Of course, these stories are complete nonsense, born in a world, where ‘adultery’ simply ‘did not happen’, when it really did. But is it adultery, when the woman in question is not even real?

However, as things go, I was worried for nothing, as the beautiful woman said, “You can sit, very good. In that case I suggest you get yourself cleaned up and leave my inn, before causing any more trouble for me and my family.”

She got up and left with swift and determined steps, with the little boy trailing behind her faithfully like a well trained dog.
My face contorts into a wry smile at the image of the boy being a little dog, but my body punishes me mercilessly for trying to laugh, as the very act of breathing becomes a painful endeavor, making me wish I could just stop.

After a few more minutes of trying to stop my everything from hurting, I finally managed to get up and stagger over to a mirror, looking at my own face for the first time since coming here.

That guy sure got me good, my face being little more than a bloody mess.
I don’t even want to know what I looked like before I got saved by that woman and her family.
And I also realize, that I actually got lucky, that I gave out after that one hit, because other than my face and my head, my body still seemed to be fine.
Meaning Mr. ‘Big, tall and brutal’ was satisfied to have knocked me out and did not deem it necessary to beat me into a complete cripple.

I exhaled deeply, picking up a piece of nearby cloth, moistened it in a nearby bowl of fresh water and tried to wipe away the blood, however the instant the cold cloth made contact with my skin, it felt like a million needles pricked me all at once and I had to inhale sharply in order to not cry out, swallowing hard to keep the tears from flowing.

And that is how I got my first scar. The first of many more to come, both physically and emotionally.

Back then I was glad that this was only a dream, because otherwise I’d be hard pressed to explain how I managed to get my nose broken.
By now, I worry that I may never be the same again, even if I do it make back home.