The large sack had contained, as he’d expected, quite a few coins. They were gold, and there were fifty of them. They had settled at the bottom of the sack in a large pile, though they disappeared when he touched them, and re-appeared in his inventory. Pretty useful to not have to carry heavy coins around all the time, he thought. The second item was a satchel. He was notified by the system when he picked it up and shook it out, but it didn’t disappear. According to his Equipment tab, it had room for eight items.

Last was a tightly bound bundle of rolled papers. There were ten individual scrolls, with no sign of writing on the inside or outside. He’d been tempted to open one right away and examine what was inside, but had looked through his inventory first. One of the options was to ‘Examine’ an item. Using the ‘Examine’ feature on one of the scrolls brought up a new window of text.

Another useful thing, he thought. He put the bundle of scrolls into his satchel. The last item in the sack was a folded piece of paper that, when he examined it closely, turned out to be a map of Tyrman, the continent that he was on. Milagre was in the northern center of the country, which looked massive. He’d seen how big Milagre was in person, so judging by the scale of the map this country was huge.

“Well, that’s that,” he said, flipping the satchel closed. “If I’m really here to stay, I should learn some more.”

It helped that he didn’t have much waiting for him on Earth, he thought with a laugh. He lived alone, with no close friends or family to talk to. His interests in gaming and writing hadn’t exactly let him take time to find a romantic partner, either, so he doubted anyone would notice his absence. Well, his landlord would notice on the first of the month when his rent wasn’t paid, but outside of that, he was unknown and hidden.

But here in Ahya, he could do anything he wanted. He just had to learn what options there were. If he could arrange more quests like the one he’d done the previous night, but less dangerous, he could earn some more money. And if magic was a thing in this world, then other fantasy tropes should exist too, he assured himself. Tropes like dungeons. It would be cool to raid a dungeon.

Slinging the satchel over his shoulder, he exited the room and made his way downstairs to the taproom. It was much quieter now than it’d been the previous night, with all the drinking, eating, and laughing patrons. Now there were only his fellow residents, scattered throughout the room and eating breakfast. Impossibly, Mandra was at the bar this morning as well, looking far more alert and awake than Eric felt. She turned and smiled as she saw him appear and take a seat. Not long after, there was a steaming plate of eggs, meat, and toast in front of him.

“Do you want some coffee with breakfast?”

“Sorry, I’m not a big fan of coffee,” Eric said. “Do you have orange juice or anything like it?”

“I have a strawberry tea if that’s more to your liking,” Mandra offered. “Would you like it hot or cold?”

“Cold, please,”

He dug into his breakfast at once, savoring the lightly salted scrambled eggs. The meat too was delicious. Cooked, but still slightly pink in the middle, tasting sharply of garlic. When Mandra set a cup of strawberry tea in front of him, he took a sip and raised an eyebrow in surprise. He liked tea and had tried a great number of varieties, but this was something else entirely.

“This is really good,” he said. “Thanks, Mandra.”

She smiled widely, her eyes crinkled with the expression. “You’re very welcome, dear. There’s more for you if you’re still hungry.”

Eric took a bite of the toast, which had some savory butter spread over it. It was sourdough, or at least this world’s equivalent of it, he noticed. They may have been in medieval times, but the food was damn good. The good food and tea filled him with energy, waking him up more effectively than anything else could have done. By the time he was finished, most of the other overnight patrons had left, and he himself had an impulse to explore the city more completely.

The bell above the door chimed as Emma came in, a basket of herbs once again on her arm. Her dress was much nicer today, lighter green with silver trim. She wore a half cape that bore some simple symbol, but he didn’t recognize it. No surprise there.

“Little Emma!” Mandra exclaimed, coming from the kitchen and beaming. “You’ve been away too long, my dear! How’s your father?”

“He’s fine, Mandra. Still old, still complaining.” She flashed a grin at Eric. “I see you survived the night.”

Eric couldn’t help but give a chuckle. In the chaos of this morning, from Samuel to his own emotions, he’d quite forgotten that Emma had promised to check on him today. He felt quite touched, though he tried his best to look casual.

“Oh he fit in quite well,” Mandra said, looking over at Eric proudly. “Did you hear about Moran’s little girl?”

Concern flashed across Emma’s face, and she nodded. “Yes. Poor Mari. I hope she gets found soon.”

“She was found last night, and rescued from those nasty thieves,” Mandra said. She tilted her head meaningfully in Eric’s direction, who had busied himself with studying his wrinkled tunic, apparently not taking notice of this part of the conversation.

“By Eric?” Emma looked confused. Then her face relaxed into a calculating sort of smile as she looked him over once again. “Well, you’re just full of surprised, aren’t you?”

Eric gave what he hoped was a diffident shrug. “I just snuck down into the tunnels and took her when they weren’t looking.” He didn’t add the bits about the distractions or his own sneaky movements. That would have sounded too much like bragging, and Emma didn’t seem the type to like braggers.

“Well, I have the morning off,” she replied, coming to sit across from him. She put her head on one hand and let out a long sigh. “So if you wanted to check out the city, I can accompany you.”

Mandra appeared, holding a steaming cup of coffee that she set in front of Emma. “You’ll work your own father to his death, dear. He needs you to keep his business alive.”

“He can manage a day or two on his own,” Emma said dismissively. “Besides, we don’t have many patients nowadays, with the war ending.”

Eric, who had been in the midst of another stip of the strawberry tea, coughed and spluttered. “There's a war?”

“Of course,” Emma said, looking at him in confusion. “Attos tried to invade Zaban. Nearly succeeded, too. If Tyrman hadn’t stepped in, they’d have overrun the druids.”

“You didn’t know about the war?” Mandra asked, also looking at Eric as if he were an oddity. “It’s all the world has cared about the past winter.”

“Maybe they didn’t care much in Welsik,” Emma said, tapping her fingers on the mug of coffee. “They make half the magical weaponry used in war, but they don’t care much about who’s fighting who. As long as they make business, they’re happy.”

An entire nation of blacksmiths, Emma had told him. Of course, he’d claimed to be from Welsik the previous night when questioned by the guards. Not being from this world, he of course knew nothing about the country. Now he was learning that apart from normal craft, they could also make magical gear? Maybe visiting the nation would be worth his time. In any event, he only offered the two women another shrug.

“Well, we should get going,” Emma said suddenly, draining the rest of her coffee in one go. Eric copied her actions. “Thanks for keeping him safe Mandra, and thanks for the coffee.”

“No worries, dear,” Mandra said warmly, scooping the empty dishes up with the speed of long practice. “Come back tonight if you can’t find other accommodations, Eric. I’ll give you a good rate, as thanks for that business with Mari.”

Eric waved over his shoulder as he followed Emma out of the tavern and onto the street outside. In the proper daylight, he could make out more details of the buildings around them. Each of them was of excellent design, two to three stories high, and teeming with activity. Judging by the bags that each person carried, it looked to be some shopping area, just outside the market district. These buildings were probably owned by local merchants, who had earned enough to own more permanent accommodations.

“Where is your horse?” Eric asked, noticing that the large animal wasn’t present.

“At the moment, he’s probably carrying my groaning, complaining father around,” Emma said with a grin. “I don’t use Spackle when I’m in the city. Much faster to go by foot.”

“Spackle?”

Emma chuckled. “Strange name, isn’t it? Well, I named him when I was a little girl, for his spots.”

Eric searched his memory for an image of the horse. “But he didn’t have spots?”

“He does when he-,” Emma began, then shook her head. “Sorry, I forgot to mention that he’s a Stravian Steed.”

“Ah,” Eric said, hoping he didn’t look surprised or confused. He’d given up on hoping that everything was explained to him. “I see.”

“Yep. Well, when he changes, he’s white with dark green spots. It looks like green paint was spackled on him. So of course, Spackle.”

“Clever,” Eric said dryly. “Very original.”

“Well, I was a kid,” she said. “I think I get some leeway for the stupid name.”

Eric said nothing further on the subject, merely watching Emma’s face as she started to lead him down the wide cobbled street. Her eyes were narrowed against the bright sunlight beaming down on them, which scrunched up her nose. It was a very charming look, he thought. Perhaps a day in her company wouldn’t be the worst idea ever.