Bryant Riordan. The Hero of Might. He slurs his words through his mug of ale, glistening eyes dedicated to the ample bosom of his companion seated across from him.

She pumps her breasts fuller for him, squishing her wrist beneath the fat as her chest leans over the table. Her low-bodied shirt skirts to the nipple line, revealing the faintest touch of pink. Swishing her own mug around in her hand, she slips a casual comment into the conversation. “There’s a good dungeon to the North you may like.”

“Your gobchickren and Honeypea combo.”

Bryant sobers with excitement, pointing at her with a grin. “Perfect! There’s a set of armour that would absolutely put me ahead in the game.”

I collect the emptied mugs, nudging the plates onto an exposed space. He catches a glimpse of my chest first, watery eyes lusting over in an instant.

“I don’t believe I caught your name,” he slurs through a half-grin.

“Anything else you require tonight?”

“Your number.”

I cock my head to the side. “My...?”

“Right. No phones here.” He stares at the food dumbly, then shovels a bite into his mouth and practically melts. “This is amazing! I’ve been dying to try it since I saw that cutscene in the opening credits.”

The girl smiles blankly, then brushes the nonsense aside to lay her hand over his and flirt with him. I slip away to my orders. Yuki and Artemis also file into the inn throughout the night, both quickly disappearing up to their respective rooms.

Conversations filter through in scattered batches as I flit between the tables.

“...the castle...”

“ ...trial. The Queen... missing...”

“...generation of Summoned. The third wave...”

“...convention...”

Bryant finishes his drinks and stumbles upstairs alone. The girl sets down her nearly untouched mug and leaves through the doors. A cloaked individual meets her outside. She cleans her hands as they talk, a scowl disfiguring her lips. A few minutes, then the two leave together.

The night whittles away. Yuki returns downstairs at the faint espers of sunrise, orders a quick meal, then escapes through the doors. Significantly more formal than previous presentations. He has cut and styled his hair to obscure one eye, colour dyed a deep blue-black.

I finish collecting the dishes and pile them up at the sink. The soap has a faint hint of lilac as I wash, tickling my nose. Orren, the Inn Owner, wanders over and plucks up a dish to admire under the crystal lights.

“Shin’er then Scrub. Wut’s yer secret?”

“My partner often leaves the dishes to me. Loves cooking but not the cleaning.”

“Only got the one room for both ya. Wehre’s he?”

“Not here.” A soft smile to disguise the prick in my chest.

“Dead?”

I shake my head.

“Ain that a bitch. If he were ded, you’d at least get to cuss at him. Commitment too much?”

“No, not at all. It shouldn’t be...”

Running a towel over the dishes, she stacks them into her apron. A firm whistle whisks them into their respective shelves at once. “A bitch ainnit? Why I never married. Inherited this Inn from my father and will be ded afore I give her up. Buh while yer waiting on him, assumin nuthin in the oven, bedder get yer jewel beck on.”

She taps her own for emphasis. I feign surprise, feeling my throat for an accessory I know isn’t there.

“Oh.”

“I getchu. Ken be a pain ta member. Sed ya moved ere recent, right? Got it in yer things?”

I shake my head. “Don’t believe so.”

Producing a quipp and a pad of paper, she scrawls a messy map and tucks it into my pocket. “Happens te the best o us. Get yerself down ta thi store. She’ll set yer up proper.”

“Thank you.”

She pats my shoulder, twice. The type of pat where the giver doesn’t quite realize her strength. “Finih those up an ye’er good to goat. Member yer room?”

I nod. “Yes, thank you.”

She straightens up, then stops. Scratching her head, she fumbles out one last consideration. “If yer need te staye the nigh in the city agen, come bek ere. Ken always use anover pair o hends.”

“Thank you. I will keep that in mind.”

“Yer coins’ll be reddy wen ye wake.”

It doesn’t take long to finish the dishes. Draining the sink and wiping down the counter, I leave the back just in time to glimpse a half-dazed Arty being escorted through the doors, buried in the centre of his teammates. Bryant stumbles from the door next to his room when I ascend the stairs, half dressed and flushed like a fool in heat. It swings open again almost instantly, the lady within stealing a final kiss in the heat of passion. The jewel Orren had referenced earlier sits properly across her forehead as a headband despite the birds’ nest of her viridian curls.

Carlile’s voice carries from downstairs. The girl who flirted with Bryant the previous night, and appears to be a member of his team, responds. Civil but clipped. The type a person of authority offers when they neither wish to be bothered nor for their reputation to dip.

Slipping into the room gifted by Orren, I lock both bolts and lean my back against the door. Carlile strides past a handful of seconds later, rapping his knuckles on the vacant room opposing.

No answer, of course.

The Hero of Might, on the other hand, valiantly flings open his own door to half-tumble down the stairs. By the false concern followed by flirtatious banter, it seems he was spared a head-splitting experience by his companion. And, luckier for him, there is indeed a tonic for his inebriation.

There is a jangle of keys, then the door to my other room opens. A muttered swear, and Carlile heads back downstairs.

Warning: Item Reaching Critical Capacity

The words cut through the spinning of my head. Drooping to my knees, I fumble my phone from my possessions.

Warning: Insufficient Mana.

Warning: Phone Communications Disabled.

<< Call Tammy >> Failed.

Dropping my phone, I hook my fingers under and fling the glove from my hand. The lower line has been depleted to an outline of itself, the entire bar greyed. The Rubik’s Cube groans and creaks, shivering a fresh bout of dizziness through me. I clutch the floor, vision blurring and destabilizing.

Warning: Item Shut Down.

Shut down? Item?

Initiating. Three…

This doesn’t make sense. I’ve gone days without sleep before.

Two…

The transmigration changed my phone. What else did it change?

One.

… … …

Recharge Complete. Item Operational.

I jolt awake, refreshed and energized. The light in the bedroom is full. Midday, perhaps? Grabbing my phone and glove, I take a breath and head downstairs. Orren greets me with a smile, dropping her cloth on one of the small tables.

“Yer paye.”

“Thank you,” I say, accepting the string pouch. “I didn't overstay, did I?”

“Not aht all. Bout tree bell.”

Six hours. “Thank you.”

“Have a sit. Must beh famshed.”

She pats the table she just washed. I sit down obediently, offering another thank you that she brushes off on her way to the kitchen. She returns with a small bowl and utensils.

“Just the basic mel. Ain’t runnin no chairtee.”

“Perfect, thank you.”

Raising the spoon to my lips, I note a kneeling Jo from beyond the window frame. Feeling the road with his fingers, the hunter tilts his head in confusion.

The door to the inn swings open. Orren’s cheerful smile drops. “Told ya reddy. That Summon’d jus left. Only tree of em stayed o’ernnite.” She glances over Jo’s shoulder to me. “Innit that rite?”

Jo meets my emerald eyes and stares a long, hard moment. “And you are?”

Guess there are exceptions to the never says a word.

“I helped Miss Orren with serving the customers last night.”

“Have you seen anyone with black hair and orange eyes last night? Would have worn a strange uniform. Black and a white undershirt.”

I saw a black wig and custom contact lenses.

“Unfortunately not.”

Jo frowns, then requests to take a look at the rooms upstairs. Orren refuses on behalf of her hung over customers and the mildly veiled insult. After a bit of silent debate, the hunter withdraws.

Orren sighs. “Fir' the cart and now thi. Er Majtry’d never be so incopntent.”

“Her Majesty seems to have been absent for a while.”

The woman sighs. “Er Majestry’s at sum conference of Monerks. One ov them mut be holding er up.”

“The kingdom will breathe easier once she returns.”

Orren cackles in agreement. “I’ll sey! Betterbe gettin beck to werk. You good ‘ere?”

I nod. Finishing the bowl, I wash and leave it near the sink. A brief consultation with the map and a fair bit of wandering leads me to the face of a humble shop. Inside, a dizzying array of shelves - each stockpiled with various bits and baubles. Empty test tubes, wands, and various books and scrolls all seem to hoard shelf space from one another under a strange organizational order.

Buried in the far corner, a middle-aged lady brushes the oversized rim of her hat to reveal a pair of spectacles. The round lenses glint in the pale light, obscuring her eyes from view.

“Been a while. Greetings.”

“I believe this is my first visit to this shop?”

The tower of documents to her right tremble in protest at her careless wave of a hand. “Since my last customer. Most of my clientele make use of my delivery services. What can I do for you today?”

“I’m here for a certain necessity,” I answer, tapping my throat for emphasis.

The glasses seem to droop with disappointment.

“Type?”

“You don’t happen to have a tool to confirm that, do you?”

“It’ll cost you,” she says, holding up her fingers. I deposit the three Credence into her hand, which quickly exchanges itself for a receipt. Plopping a glass sphere on the counter over an unfortunate stack of inventory reports, she gestures impatiently for my hand. Mumbling beneath her breath, her lenses soon light up with the same vigor as the ball.

“I knew you were a rare one.”

My hand retreats almost immediately.

“You’ll be needing this, and this, and this...” I avoid the bag she sweeps past my head and the various empty potion containers and scrolls that launch themselves inside. “Staff? Wand. Mortar, pestle, distillery kit...”

The list continues, the bag bulking up considerably. I grab the wand that swooshes past my head, halting her momentum.

“Unless you intend on gifting all this for free, I would like an explanation.”

Her glasses stare at me for a moment. Even this close, the light continues to obstruct her eyes from view. An enchantment, perhaps.

Conjuring a box from beneath the counter, it replaces the glass sphere on her inventory reports. She flips open the lid to rummage around inside. Finding a jewel that matches the colour of my eyes, she displays it to me proudly. There is a mix of pale grey and blue within, roiling through the green as though the gem was a pool of clear water.

“You, my dear, are a combat specialist. Bu~t not just any ordinary combat specialist. While most are busy mastering a specific element or honing their damage output, you have already intuited exactly what you need. You are a combat specialist with an affinity for support magic!”

The brim of the hat slips over her face. She whips it off and spins in an excited circle, knocking over her stool. Whooshing a mere inch from my nose, she squeezes the gem into my palm.

“Potions! Taming! Incantions or summoning magic... all within your domain! You can even create them, too. An artificial space wherein the sole master is yourself! You are the only invite any party needs. And you don’t even need one yourself!”

“How much? The jewel.”

Her wrinkled lips quiver. Cooling, her glasses peer at me. “You’re... not excited? Not in the slightest?”

“Do I need to be?”

Nowhere in the nonsense she spouted was an option for me to return to where I need to be. Not unless I am expected to summon the entire world into this one.

She sighs. “Six cretia.”

I hand her one scende and receive four cretia in return. She takes the jewel back and removes her wand from her robe.

“Throat, wrist, or head?”

“Does it have to be one of the three?”

She shakes her head. “Those are the most popular. You can pretty much put it anywhere so long as it’s on your person.”

I mull over her words for a moment. “Can you customize the design?”

“It may cost you.”

“That’s fine.” I briefly summarize my intentions. Her glasses gleam anew, and within a matter of seconds I am fashioning a belt around my hips. The jewel, now an emerald buckle, clasps perfectly.

She waves her wand, passing me a slender pouch from a corner of her shop. “Pouch of Inventory. Six slots, so use them well.”

One hundred eighty scende, but a good price. I fashion it over the buckle and secure it. Testing a few stretches and movements, I beam.

“Perfect, thank you.”

Indicating the pouch in my hand, courtesy of the king, her glasses gleam. “Want me to remove that for you?”

“The money or the tracking spell?”

“With one word from you, both.”

Glad she appreciates the humour.

The spell only activates when the strings are tugged. Since I know the conditions, it’s no threat. I shake my head, a smile on my lips. She gives up quickly, stepping onto the next agenda.

“Now. As for the rest of your purchases–.”

“I will take thirty vials, the slips, the mortar and pestle, and the scroll for basic potions.”