He wasn’t lying, that’s for damn sure. As we left the dungeon, I was surprised to find that it was a proper dungeon in the RPG sense, not just the underbelly of a castle. We left through a side exit, but the main entrance nearby had a steady stream of adventurers, presumably natives, flowing in and out. The path was lined with merchant stalls, some selling supplies, others buying things liberated from the depths. Down the road a little ways was a small town, probably centered around supporting the adventurers who made their living underground. 

All around us were gently rolling grasslands. Off in the far distance, I could just make out the jagged peaks of mountains. I didn’t have a good feel on the cardinal directions yet, but the compass on my watch said they were off to the west. A faint easterly breeze brought with it the smell of fish and brine. Maybe we were close to the sea?

 “This place must get some gnarly weather,” I said. 

“I’m impressed that you guessed,” the old man said. “Done a little travel, I take it?”

“A little,” I said wryly. “Say, you still haven’t told me your name yet.”

“With good reason,” he said. “Names are sacred here. Knowing someone’s proper name gives you a measure of power over them. You must never, ever, tell anyone your real name. It’s best if you just forget it.”

“Duly noted,” I said, and immediately stripped the name tape velcroed to my plate carrier off and stashed it in a pocket. It was just my last name, but I knew better than to invite trouble I couldn't afford. 

“So, what should I call you?” I asked. 

“I go by Tojo,” he said, somewhat sheepishly. “It was the first thing that came to mind when someone asked.”

“History buff?” I asked. 

“A little. I was working on a research project on what you Americans called World War II before I died. It was my way of rebelling against my teachers, who liked to gloss over the dirty bits. Tojo’s culpability in the war was my main focus.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” I said. “Well, if we’re pulling stuff out of thin air, I guess I can go by Stoner.”

“The man who invented the M16?” Tojo asked. 

“One and the same. I doubt I’ll be able to use this thing for long,” I said, patting my M4, “but it’s nice to have a connection back to the old place.”

“Ask the Goddess about ammunition,” Tojo advised. “She has a way of providing. As you Christians might say, She moves in mysterious ways.”

“Not a Christian myself, but I get what you’re saying,” I replied. 

“My apologies if I offended you.”

“Nah, you’re fine. It’s an easy assumption for an outsider to make,” I said. 

Tojo and I continued to chat amicably as we approached what was apparently one of the nicer inns on the outskirts of town. It was a three story building, timber construction and neatly built at that. The walls were whitewashed and clean, the lawn was well maintained, and the windows were all large and largely free of imperfections. I’m not a historical architecture nerd, but it looked way nicer than the buildings up the street a little ways. 

By and large, I found Tojo to be pleasant company. And no, he didn’t ignore his wives the whole way. They, he explained, were behind me in case I went crazy or something. It wasn’t unheard of for freshly summoned Knights to go nuts within the first hour of summoning. Exposure to mana could have an adverse effect on one’s sanity if one was especially sensitive. That’s why the Goddess liked pulling from Japan enough to “inspire'' light novel and manga authors to write isekai stories. People who grew up in Japan were especially resistant to the stuff, and having a ready supply of nerds who were willing to throw themselves in danger for the waifus really helped make life easier. 

“What about Scots Irish?” I asked. 

“I honestly don’t know,” Tojo said. “It’s not about bloodlines so much as residual mana left over from Earth’s mythical ages. I’m not entirely sure how it works, to be honest. You should ask the Goddess.”

“I’ll make a note.”

I meant that literally, by the way. Any time there was a question that I felt might be pertinent that Tojo didn’t have an answer for, I pulled a notebook out of one of my pouches and scribbled it down. I knew better than to rely solely on memory. 

Tojo got us checked into the inn. I couldn’t understand a word of what was being said. The local language had familiar phonemes, but I couldn’t make heads or tails of the syntax. 

“You can sleep soundly tonight. This inn is reserved for top ranked adventurers, and their security is impeccable. No one would dare cross the Adventurer’s Guild.”

An honest to god maid led us to her rooms. She looked human, as near as I can tell. She had darker skin, a deep bronze that I suspected was the result of genetics as much as exposure. Back home, I had a knack for figuring out ancestry based on things like bone structure and complexion. Part of the whole Sherlocking thing. But I couldn’t really tie the maid to any one ethnicity. Her skin and silver-white hair suggested that her people hailed from a hot, sunny area. Desert maybe? There was a vaguely Middle Eastern cant to her features, though nothing I was willing to bet money on. 

She was also extremely fit, taut muscles straining at the thin fabric of her maid uniform. The way she moved suggested she was a fighter, and a well trained one at that. I guess they did take their security seriously. There was nothing remotely immodest about her uniform, but some decidedly hungry glances cast in our direction suggested that there were other services on offer than security, should we ask. Either that, or adventurers from Earth were considered desirable enough to risk the ire of Tojo’s wives. 

“Well, I suppose this is where we part ways,” Tojo said, offering his hand. 

I shook it firmly. Despite his slight stature, his grip was pure iron. 

“Not sticking around?” I asked. 

“Oh, we’ll be here tonight, at least, but we’re heading out early in the morning. I expect you’ll want to sleep in tomorrow, and we have a lot of ground to cover. My granddaughter’s birthday is coming up next week, and Sina will never forgive me if we miss it,” he said. 

“Yeah, nah, that makes perfect sense,” I said grinning. “I had a hard enough time keeping one wife happy back on Earth. You do what you gotta do, man.”

“I’m glad you’re so understanding. I know all this is a lot to take in,” he said. 

“It’s not my first time getting dropped off in a strange land. I’ll be fine. How old’s the granddaughter?”

“She’s turning 16. It’s an important birthday here,” Tojo said. 

I fished around in my pouches until I found my backup pocket knife, a Gerber assisted opening folder with a clip point. It really was just a backup, barely used, so I didn’t mind parting with it. 

“Give this to her for me, will you? Consider it thanks for showing me the ropes.”

Tojo took the knife in both hands, the way I’d seen Japanese businessmen accept business cards on TV, and bowed respectfully. He then turned and presented it in the same fashion to one of his wives, the one with the daggers. Sina, presumably. Judging by the points of her ears and the golden blond hair, she was of elf ancestry. Her eyes widened as he whispered a few words for her. It was the first show of emotion I’d seen her make all day. 

Sina was a tiny little thing, barely even 5 feet tall, but she had no trouble jumping up and wrapping her arms around my neck in a crushing hug. I couldn’t understand a word of what she was saying as she babbled on, but I got the gist of it. Tojo helped me pry her off before her hug had a chance to starve my brain of oxygen. 

“To receive a gift from one of the Goddess’s chosen on the 16th birthday is an extremely auspicious sign. And among her people, knives are considered sacred. I should be grateful you didn’t present her with a dagger, or the poor girl might track you down with intent to marry,” Tojo said. His shit eating grin said he was joking, mostly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. 

“Don’t worry,” I said. “The only dagger I have is in my boot, and after the day I had? Nobody is gonna want that as a gift.”

“That’s probably for the best, for both of us,” he said, palpably relieved. “Mena is enough of a handful without having to worry about her running off just yet.”

“I’d send her packing, don’t worry,” I said. “16 is a couple decades too young for my tastes.”

“I’ll send word if she makes a break for it,” he promised. “Those who serve the Goddess learn not to trust coincidence. I suspect we’ll see each other again, soon enough.”

“Well, that gives me something to look forward to, my friend. Until the next time.”