Elsewhere in the world, far and away from giant alligators and monstrous tuna, a young man was relaxing in a finely appointed room, completely unaware of the chaos he was sewing in the world around him.

His name was Logan Sean Williams, quarterback of the football team for his high school, recipient of the premier local sports scholarship, college freshman, oh and level 25 [Hero]. Standing a comfortable 5'11" with hair saffron gold and a complexion most people would kill for, he never had any issues with popularity.

His mind was blissfully fuzzy from the past few days of carousing, but he had put a few things together. He was now in a new world and he was definitely the ‘chosen one’, his status even said so; giddy with delight, he summoned it again to stare at the numbers.

“Status!” he said in a loud if somewhat slurred voice; something he knew was entirely unnecessary, but did anyway for the sheer pleasure of it.

Status
Bio		Status Effects
[Name] - Logan Sean Williams [Age] - 22 [Race] - Human [Gender] - Male [Level] - 28 (28) [Allegiance] - Malcordian Royalist		[Grand Blessing of Usvalen] [Well Rested]
Bio Menu - [Expand]		Status Effect Menu - [Expand]
Classes		Titles
Primary Class: [Hero] Lvl 25 [1800/10050] Subclass 1: [Chosen Paladin] Lvl 1 [0/3] Subclass 2: [Royal Knight] Lvl 1 [0/3] Subclass 3: [Crusader] Lvl 1 [0/3] Secondary Class: [None] Subclass 1: [None] Subclass 2: [None]		[Champion of Humanity] [Sword of Usvalen] [Arena Champion] [House Scion] [Golden Child] [Chosen One]
Class Menu - [Expand]		Title Menu - [Expand]
Attributes
Resources
Health	Stamina	Mana
3208/3208	2988/2988	2663/2663
+1073 /Day (+44 /Hour)	+73 /Minute (+1 /Second)	+68 /Minute (+1 /Second)
Primary Attributes
Constitution: 21	Dexterity: 56	Intellect: 11
Wisdom: 5	Might: 90	Charisma: 101
Vitality: 21	Fortitude: 36	Spirit: 10
Secondary Attributes
Agility: 57	Awareness: 12	Willpower: 17
Endurance: 45	Faith: 70	Luck: 36
Phys Def: 184	Mag Def: 142	Mt Def: 113
Attribute Menu - [Expand]
Skills		Perks
Class Skills	Equipped Skills	[Charming Smile] [Perfect Hair] [Shining Armor] [Divine Glow (Cosmetic)]
[Charm] Lvl 3 [Footwork] Lvl 2 [Leadership] Lvl 2 [Plate Armor] Lvl 1 [Riding] Lvl 3 [Shield] Lvl 3 [Sword] Lvl 3	[Poison Resistance] Lvl 5 [Tackle] Lvl 3 [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty]
Skill Menu - [Expand]		Perk Menu - [Expand]
Abilities		Achievements
Class Abilities	Equipped Abilities	[None]
[Aura of Courage] [Banner of Hope] [Detect Evil] [Diamond Hide] [Guardbreaker] [Healing Hands] [Pommel Strike] [Rallying Shout] [Sacred Cross] [Scarlet Slash] [Share The Burden] [Shield Bash] [Valiant Charge]	[Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty] [Empty]
Ability Menu - [Expand]		Achievement Menu - Expand
Equipment Menu - [Expand]	Inventory Menu - [Expand]	Quest Log - [Expand]

“This is awesome, some genuine anime shit man!”

Being a fan of the most popular genre of anime in recent years, Logan was well versed in how this went. Other than those weird ones where the protags got the shit end of the stick, the hero always got the best stuff, went around building up a harem and just winning at everything.

Everything was going his way, after using the [Experience Crystals] he’d got out of those gift boxes, he’d leveled a whole bunch. It had hurt at first, but the [Royal Alchemist] gave him this sweet syrupy medicine and all of it just stopped bothering him after that.

This was just like his favorite show 'Reincarnating and Building A Harem Is Hard Work', the [King] proclaimed him the [Champion of Humanity], the church gave him a bunch of blessings and titles too, he even got classes out of the deal; [Chosen Paladin], [Royal Knight], and [Crusader]!

He was going to fight monsters and save the world!

...

Of course, that was a few days ago. There was no need to rush things.

The food might be kind of crap, but they said he could have as much wine as he wanted and all the women were falling over themselves to come after him; though he thought he might kill for some Chili's right now.

He took another sip of wine and fiddled with his menu until a knock at the door caught his attention, he yawned and looked out the window to see the sky just barely pink with the sunrise.

"Shit, stayed up all night..."

Another firm knock came, probably a butler who would assist in dressing him, what was his name... Eddie? It felt weird, but he didn’t know the fashions and after being laughed at for wearing layers in the wrong order or something he found it more embarrassing not to receive help. After a third knock, Logan called him in.

"Morning Eddie, come on in."

There was little pause after that, the door was opened and a cart loaded with fine clothing and a basin of steaming hot water was rolled in; that part weirded him out too, apparently they didn't do baths here in the normal way.

“Good morning Ser Logan, I am pleased to see that you are already awake. Breakfast today is being served in the Laelian style; roasted fish, bread, cheese, and early greens. Related, the [Royal Chef] and [Royal Brewers] once again send their apologies for their inability to reproduce the delicacies of your home to date; though the chef reports he is hopeful that with the spring harvest, progress may be made on the creation of ‘Jalapeno Poppers’ as you call them.”

Edgar was quick with his hands and in a bare moment had sponged Logan down with with hot flowery scented water and had him sliding into the restrictive undergarments that were the style locally.

“Ah, thanks dude, maybe I should tell them about hot wings again?”

The [Hero] didn't notice the momentary hesitation before Edgar responded, chocking it up to the effort of lacing the back of the lace frilled onesie like underwear.

"Perhaps sir, perhaps. I'm certain the entire court would be enthralled with the extravagant dishes you have described thus far."

After that silence reigned as the clothing went on, a white button down shirt, a gold embroidered black vest, and a patterned velvet coat lined with fur. Logan shifted uncomfortably in the increasingly restrictive elegant garments.

"Eddie, do I have to wear all of this crap? I don't mind the bling and all but this stuff looks kinda lame, does it have to be all frilly?"

Edgar winced at the butchering of his name and insult against high fashion, but hid the expression behind a polite cough, and carefully assembled a response to mollify Logan's concerns without assaulting his pride.

"I assure you Ser Logan, you are wearing nothing but the height of fashion. The style will change as we move into spring and summer, becoming lighter, and beyond that when you leave on your journey you'll find the style of dress less restrictive."

With nothing else to be said, a number of fine pieces of jewelry were applied; the positions of various gemstones carefully curated so as to be unoffensive and send the message surreptitiously that the hero was not to be sought by courtiers, a fact that Logan would take issue with were he versed in the hidden 'language' of noble dressing.

"Ah, right, it'd be kinda stupid to dress like this when I'm out kicking ass."

The butler patted Logan down carefully and picked away any stray pieces of lint before finally satisfied with is work he adjusted the hero's collar and nodded an assent with the accurate if somewhat simple analysis offered regarding traveling kit and clothes.

"Indubitably Ser, I regret to inform you the [Royal Knights] have already completed their breakfast for the day, though as I understand it a number from the [Royal Academy] wish to hear of the wonders of your homeland this morning."

---

Elsewhere in the castle, in the middle tower of arts, Chopech Vaust, the [Royal Conjurer], was pulling his hair out and pouring over his notes trying to find something, anything, that could explain the ludicrous events of last week’s court.

The pale lanky man crouched over his desk, picking through half written hypotheses and theories, his long raven hair consistently drifting into his view until he tied it back. Vaust didn’t deserve this, his rise had been meteoric; the only first seat [Royal Conjurer] below thirty years of age, nephew of the sitting [Royal Grand Magus] and now his career was ruined. He rubbed at his temples, clenched his eyes tight, and went through the events of the day in question once more.

His job had been simple, put on a show of faux magic to ‘summon a hero’ that would identify the first prince as an acceptable candidate. It was meant to be a convincing farce, nothing but nonsense symbols drawn in red paint with sparkly grit mixed in and a hidden light spell to make the prince glow; the bulk of it was about as magical as a cheese sandwich and yet… he appeared.

A boy, about twenty years of age dressed in gold etched plate armor and holding a gods damned glowing sword, just materialized in the middle of the ritual and introduced himself as a [Hero]!

Everything went off script, the [King] gave him a pointed look as he welcomed the boy and gave him a knighthood in ceremonial splendor before the church gave him the most powerful blessings they had. With all the [Lords] watching, there wasn’t much anyone could do; it's not as if he could reveal the ritual as a fake publicly, and now they had a bumbling simpleton declared as the [Champion of Humanity]. His first question wasn't 'How can I help?' or anything vaguely heroic, no in fact, after all the pomp and circumstance he asked 'Where can I get a drink?'. Like some sort of common sellsword!

Vaust threw a handful of his fruitless scribbles into the air and screamed in frustration, flipping his work table; thinking nothing of wine stains on the ancient grimoires now scattered across the floor.

“How! God’s blood, how is this even possible!?”

He snatched up the instructions for the decades old carefully designed non-ritual from a growing maroon pool of wine and stared at it.

“I’ve read and reread it, done tests of every possible spontaneous arcane arrangement, and none of it makes any sense! The ingredients were vetted to prevent inadvertent effects, by hell’s gate I could do more potent ritual magic with a stale turnip and chicken feathers!”

This was a nightmare to Vaust, he was liable for this situation and his tenure at the [Royal Academy] was possibly the only thing that had saved him from losing his job, or perhaps even his head.

The [Hero] they’d summoned didn’t know the first thing about combat and rarely rose before noon, spending the nights drinking and laying with maids who were under orders to acquiesce to his every request. Thankfully, he’d taken to the [Scarlet Tonic] well as a treatment for leveling sickness, and with any luck it would help in training him up properly and ensuring his loyalty.

Vaust was only happy he wasn’t responsible for the management of the simpleton, though his own lot was hardly enviable. Thinking more on the subject he gripped his aching head and nearly considered having a sip of the scarlet tonic himself as he worked up the courage to meet with the church representatives. The council of bishops had signed off on a fake hero and now he had a real one and a lot of explaining to do; and thanks to his complete and utter lack of an explanation, that translated into a lot of boot licking.

---

Breakfast was pretty good today, the fish was trout and it was deliciously grilled, the wine was pretty much grape juice though, and the 'early greens' (whatever that was supposed to mean) were a little bitter side salad, the bread was definitely good though; the whole thing reminded Logan of his dad's cookouts. Today he did decide to sit at the Royal Academy table and was pleasantly surprised; it turns out that waking up early netted him a bigger breakfast and more time to talk about The System with [Royal Scholars] and [Court Mages] before his afternoon training.

Most of the conversation to begin with was dominated by questions about modern stuff like toilets, cars, and computers; even with as little as Logan knew about them, the gathered crowd still hung on his every word; he loved it.

"I see... so these 'toilets' are like chamber pots enchanted with [Water Magic] to flush soil into the sewers, most intriguing, perhaps contracted water sprites are involved?"

This uninformed stance from the old [Court Mage] made him feel immensely superior,"Well, like, not actual magic... but it is really cool."

Another spoke up before Logan could explain further, bruising his pride by being somewhat accurate. "Actually, I think I might have a better handle on the idea, it's similar to the old aqueduct systems you see in the ruins or the pipes in some [Dungeons], all gravity feed and water pressure."

With no one left to impress, he checked out halfway through the conversation about engineering principles and the potential to recreate the ideas he'd talked about and stayed glazed over through his second serving and some talk about politics, eventually growing too bored of that to even allow it in his periphery.

"So, like... what kind of monsters do you guys need me to kill? Goblins? Orcs? Dragons? Oh, wait, is there like a demon king or something?"

The gathered ranking officials took his interruption in stride. "Ah, that's for The Church and the [King] to figure out really. I don't think there's a [Demon King], but I could be wrong."

"We had one last year, didn't we? Isn't it usually a decade between?"

"No, about twenty years back there were two at once, so that's not a rule as such."

From there, the conversation lead in a more pleasing direction, Olavin the [Royal Grand Magus] gave him a crash course in some of his items and promised to have some of the more unique stuff appraised. They also talked about the bonuses he got from his titles and status effects, he showed off his menu and wowed the whole table with his stats.

He learned a whole lot from that conversation, for one, he wasn’t speaking English; that was why they pronounced the new words in a weird way. Somehow an entirely different language was slotted into his brain next to it without him noticing, that made perfect sense though; it was just like the novels he’d read instead of listening in social studies class, the hero always just knew the language in the new world.

With all of that out of the way, Logan headed down to the training yard to thrash some of those [Royal Knights]. He'd been up all night trying to decide how to spend his points and with his new [Abilities] he was sure they'd need twice as many to even tire him out.

---

Later that day Chopech Vaust sat waiting patiently in a silent meeting room, he had been guided here through the gilded grand temple by two [Acolytes] some half hour ago; and thus far his only company had been the ticking clock, a cooling pot of tea, and a slice of cake he was too nervous to eat.

These fake hero seeking spells had been a tradition going on almost ten generations now, and the expectation was that the favored prince of the reigning king would be provided with divine favor in the eyes of the people while acting as a mouthpiece for the church. It was a form of mutual self preservation and aggrandization that only worked so long as both sides were in agreement, now with an unknown factor in the mix, who knew if it could continue.

He should have been thinking of what he was going to say; but what could be said?

“Oops, it actually worked?”

There was no precedent for this and Vaust, as the one being held responsible, was being thrown to the wolves. His paranoia rant rampant over carefully constructed arguments, like a flooding river crashing above it's banks. This wasn’t a chance to explain himself, this was another way to be rid of him; academic tenure doesn’t protect from excommunication… or torture.

The door opened and his heart jumped into his throat. A kindly looking old man in pearl white silk vestments edged in gold padded his way to the opposing seat and poured a cup of the lukewarm tea. Vaust couldn’t tear his eyes away.  The silent man didn’t so much as look at him and instead got comfortable by removing his mitre and setting it on the table resting in front of him. His were steely blue and sharper than most swords Vaust had ever seen and that stare pierced deeper as the priest's gaze rose to meet his.

[High Father] Yves Almar gave a light chuckle and rubbed the back of his balding head in a disarming grandfatherly manner. Vaust wasn’t fooled though; Yves Almar was the leader of the fourth inquisition and even now his Title [Divine Butcher] was spoken of only in hushed tones.

“My apologies for the wait Mr. Vaust, the council only just adjourned,” He said setting his cup down with a clink and cutting a generous slice of the uncomfortably red currant cake; thin and wrinkled fingers holding the knife with a level of expertise and precision that betrayed the gentle manner on display, reminding Vaust of just who he was dealing with.

“I do hope you don’t mind if I partake, I know it’s rude to do so in a meeting, but speaking frankly; I’m famished. It was a heated debate and no time was given to recess for any reason.”

“Of course Father Almar, don’t mind me, I’ve already had lunch,” Chopech lied, gritting his teeth as several minutes passed; Yves merely eating his cake and making small talk. 

Pleasantries as light and immaterial as clouds passed between the two as the vice of fear gripped Vaust’s heart tighter and tighter; commentary on the weather and the quality of the year’s wine were the trivialities of the day. Father Almar was genial and friendly and generally a delightful conversationalist; and it chilled Chopech to his core.

He was expecting it any moment now, the pleasantries would end, questions would begin, and answers wouldn’t be found; he would be carried kicking and screaming into the dreaded [Hall of Ablutions] and flayed like a fish, or even tortured right here under spells of silence and binding in search of a truth that eluded even him.

The conversation carried on, and despite himself, Vaust found he was laughing at an off color joke told by the bishop; something about a mule and a [Milkmaiden]. His laughter was soon cut short however; the moment his guard dropped, those steely blue eyes met his.

“It really is a blessing isn’t it; for the first time since the scriptures were written, our Lord Usvalen has graced us with a true [Hero].”

Vaust choked on his own spit and nearly fell into a coughing fit.

“Father, I-I can explain!” he said on reflex, despite knowing full well that he couldn’t.

“Don’t be a fool Mr. Vaust, not one of us can hope to explain a miracle, even the one who worked it.” Yves smiled his terrifyingly friendly smile and leaned over to gently pat the gawking mage on the shoulder.

“Or should I say [Saint] Vaust.” This time, Chopech nearly choked on his own tongue.

The [System] sprang up into his vision with a helpful and informative message window.

System Message Rejoice! By Proclamation of [The Council of Bishops] you have been found worthy of being canonized despite your mortal status. Class Conversion [Magus] ► [Saint Hierophant] Class Conversion [Conjurer] ► [Divine Eidolon Master] Class Category Unlocked [Divine Caster] Event Bonus! By proclamation of the [Council of Bishops] you have been granted the title of [Saint of Usvalen]! Effect On Equip: A spark of divinity lives within all things, and by recognition of your church, yours has been truly awakened. [Holy Magic] deals a bonus 20% damage and [Healing Magic] restores an additional 20%, additionally your touch can cure minor ailments and diseases among the faithful. Title [Saint of Usvalen] automatically equipped. ►Confirm◄

Vaust found it pertinent that no option existed to deny it. This wasn’t a choice. Yves merely watched and smiled until the newly minted [Saint Hierophant] recovered enough to ask the question.

“I’m being canonized? W-why!? I-I’m not even a member of the clergy!”

“Ah, but that’s the thing. You, my dear boy are a miracle worker. God himself has recognized you and your efforts, and it would hardly look good if we didn’t as well.”

The priest stood, stretching his arms out with drama and gravitas swelling his words and then paused to allow time for Vaust to process, sitting back down to sip at his tea casually.

When no response came, Yves spoke again in a more level and less fanciful fashion, as if to clarify.

“My dear Mr. Vaust, you are a man of the clergy; specifically by unanimous vote of the council of bishops.”

The gears in Vaust’s head turned wildly as he considered the implications.

Where would his loyalties lie between the Royal Academy and Church? 

Could he even keep his seat as the first class [Royal Conjurer]?

What would happen when the [Hero] inevitably fell or took a broad enough misstep to lose his head?

He was drawn from his contemplation by Father Almar’s hand once again patting him on the shoulder, this time in congratulation.

“Of course, the Title will only be official so long as you make a pilgrimage; thankfully there’s a [Hero] who must do the same. I’m certain the pair of you will find it enlightening and a skilled summoner is a wonderful boon to any party. Before you express your concerns, I assure you, the Church will extend its most hearty support in your journey to spread the word.”

Yves Almar, the [Divine Butcher] smiled at Vaust as he carefully rested his mitre back on the shiny dome of his head and made to leave the room, stopping at the door to speak.

“As the [Book of Usvalen] says, ‘Walk the world, purify it with your steps to bring it under the order of man; in doing so, you order yourself under your own command and purify your soul’.”

Vaust was dumbstruck, the meeting was ending and he was being ordered to make pilgrimage; He jumped from his seat and ran after Yves only to be stopped by two [Holy Guardians] before he could enter the sanctum.

“Wait, y-you can't do this to me!” His outrage swelled and overrode his better judgement as he screamed at the retreating form of the clergyman, held back by sausage thick muscular fingers biting into his arms under his robes.

The old priest didn’t eve look at him, merely waving and calling back through the echoing hall. “Enjoy your pilgrimage Mr. Vaust, I shall anticipate to your no doubt safe and triumphant return.”

Vaust was 'politely asked' by the large and well armed guards to go on about his business elsewhere and have a nice day. With nothing left for him in The Grand Chapel, Chopech returned to his home, not the place he slept mind you, but where he felt most comfortable; The Black Wyvern tavern.

There, with the knowledge that in a few months he would be leaving with that idiot to visit whatever spots the church and crown determined 'sacred' enough, he drank himself under the table.

He might not see the tavern, the [Bard] strumming off key, or the questionably dressed barmaids again for a long time now; perhaps not ever again in fact. He had to savor that night like good wine.