Jack Thatcher awoke to the sound of sizzling meat.

  He jerked awake, a cold sweat forcing the tight bandages around his chest, hand, and thigh to cling to his skin.

  Where was he?!

  The room he was in was small, but not claustrophobic. There was an ornately carved chair settled into one corner, with the curved lip of a chest pressed against the edge of the bed he was in.

  To his left, a window overlooked the yard where his fight with the orcs had taken place, and he could just barely see the ever-present shroud looming beyond.

  Jack tried to get ahold of his breathing, but failed miserably. He scanned the room for threats.

  He’d just had Derrick’s steel boot on his back while an orc berserker approached, calling him a dog over and over and over…

  There was the sound of rapid footsteps padded only slightly by a thick carpet, and the door to his room flung open.

  “What?! What is it?!” Olric demanded, looking worried beneath his thick gray beard and powerful brow.

  He wore an apron that had red smudges across it.

  Jack merely stared at the man, not comprehending anything, while feeling everything.

  Olric scanned the room himself and let out a long sigh. Still, he peered at the window just to be sure. When the farmer was confident there were no immediate threats, he took the chair by the corner. It creaked loudly under his considerable weight, but held strong.

  The man’s warm brown eyes were nearly the hue of amber, and caught a shred of the morning light peeking through the window. Every other part of him, however, was obscured by shadows.

  “You were screaming,” Olric said slowly. Softly.

  “I was?” Jack asked, feeling just how hoarse his throat was.

  “You were.”

  Another long silence.

  Olric tilted his chin up just a bit. “Need to talk about it? The dreams, I mean?”

  Jack could tell the man was uncomfortable. Still, the fact that he would offer, despite barely knowing him—it was sweet.

  “No. Thank you, man. But no. I’m…” he tried to think of the right words, but too many came to mind.

  Overwhelmed. Exhausted. Anxious. Outraged. Hollow. Frenetic.

  He felt all of these and more in a wild cocktail that swirled through every iota of his consciousness. Each fought for dominance, leaving him dizzy with emotion.

  “I’m fine,” Jack lied. It was a comfortable lie.

  “Well, suit yourself. Come on.” Olric stood up and walked to the door, opening it to let in the intoxicating aroma of bacon and eggs. “Breakfast is nearly ready, and I will eat it all if you don’t git.”

  With that, the farmer stepped into the hallway and was out of sight. Despite the threat, Jack still took a moment to center himself as best he could. Whenever he felt overwhelmed, he found it best to give himself a checklist. If he could just break down a problem, he could fix it. It was another comfortable lie, but at least this one was closer to the truth.

  He started to list off the items that needed his attention. It felt good. Familiar.

  I need to get off this freaking planet.

  To do that, I need to complete the suicidal quest the old Banisher dumped on me.

  I don’t stand a chance unless I get a class, level up my skills, and preferably get some decent gear.

  I can’t do any of that unless I level up, which means sidequests, which means leveling under the radar of the knights who want to murder me because of my tattoo and a misunderstanding, and the gangs who see me as easy prey.

  Jack scoffed to himself. Then a thought struck him, and he rose out of bed. He peered at his opaque reflection in the window and stopped short. He looked good. Really good. His muscles were taut and readily visible. All the fat he’d battled with for most of his adulthood was largely gone, and in its place was a lean, strong man.

  It was simultaneously gratifying and unnerving. It felt unearned, and he hated that. Still, if he were going to survive here, not worrying about his physique felt like a win, however small. As he studied his newly improved body, he spotted a pile of clothes draped over the iron-studded chest by the lip of the bed. There was a note atop them.

  Had some spare clothes and some old work boots that might work nicely. If you sleep in, come find me out in the dewcap field outside your window. It was shameful how you didn’t know the first thing about the most basic alchemical ingredient, so we’ll remedy that, too. Left some food out too.

  ~ Olric

  Hesitantly, Jack picked up the clothes. It was a homespun tunic that felt like cotton, yet was a good deal more durable than that. It was a pleasant blue, with tiny filigree stretched across each of its hems. Beneath the wrist-length tunic was a belt, brown pants, and a pair of old leather boots resting beside the chest.

  On a hunch, Jack Inspected them all.

  [Blue tunic. Rarity: Uncommon]

  [Brown trousers. Rarity: Common]

  [Olric’s enhanced boots. Rarity: Uncommon]

  [+1 Dexterity & Resilience when worn]

  That final line had him get even more curious, so he quickly threw everything on. The moment he slipped on the boots, he felt the familiar warmth of power spreading across his body. He felt lighter, yet more solid all at once. It was an odd juxtaposition, but a welcome one.

  Grinning crookedly, he strolled past the window, through the hallway, and into a veritable feast to his sleepy eyes.

  Piles of bacon rested in carved wooden bowls. Scrambled eggs rose above the line of a large platter that dominated the center of the long kitchen island. Sprinkled throughout the table were smaller bowls filled with what appeared to be butter and a few different types of jam.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Olric was already busy chowing down on his food, smoothly spreading butter across a hefty slice of sourdough. He gave Jack a nod with a mouth full of eggs, and dipped a metal spoon into a red jam, only to spread it generously across his bread.

  Jack had never seen anything more beautiful in his life than that food.

  It called to him, and he was moving before his mind had time to process every little detail, or how Olric had prepared so much food. He didn’t waste time, carving out a jagged slice of the steaming sourdough, plopping more butter on it than was necessary to deep fry it, and then topping that with a large dollop of the jam.

  When the food greeted his mouth, he thought he’d finally died and gone to heaven. It was such an explosion of flavor, he didn’t know his taste buds came in that range and strength.

  Through another mouthful of food, Olric chuckled at whatever face Jack was currently making. “Put some points in perception, huh? Makes everything taste better. And worse, but you won’t have to worry about that under my roof. The shroud will have to consume my heart and soul before I stop making proper food. The world is depressing enough. Don’t need to add to it with a crappy meal, am I right?”

  “Uh-huh,” Jack agreed through his stuffed mouth. When he managed to finally swallow, he grinned appreciatively at the old man. “Thanks. For all of this. For giving me a place to stay, for the clothes, the boots—all of it. It means more than you know. Thank you, Olric.”

  The farmer shrugged, but Jack could tell he was pleased. “I’d have hell to pay with my wife if she found out I did anything less for the Banisher.”

  Jack nearly choked and looked around. “Oh, shit! I’m so sorry! I didn’t even think to ask. Is she joining us for breakfast? Should we save some for her?”

  “Stop your badgerin’, kid. No… She ain’t joinin’ us. She’s eating with Ardent as we speak.” Olric didn’t meet his gaze as he lifted his bread and took another large bite.

  “Oh…” Jack started, feeling even worse than before. “Olric, I’m so sorry.”

  The older man shrugged again and looked away. “Yeah, well. Everyone’s lost someone in this damned war. I ain’t special in that regard. The shroud stole everything from me. But if I’m lucky, maybe I can take a few things back.”

  Brown eyes fixed on Jack, and there was a fire there that burned brighter than the sun. “And now that the Banisher is back, maybe we can take back a few more things while we’re at it.”

  “Right. I’ll get straight on that,” Jack answered, not sure what else to say.

  “Like hell you will! We need to get that puny level of yours up before you even think about clearing your unique quest. Now, I did some thinkin’, but I’d like to know if you had a plan yet.”

  “Yeah, actually, I was going to talk to you about that. You said last night that mechanics are never out of a job unless they’re convicts. So, I was meaning to ask: what do mechanics do here on your world?” Jack said, wiping his lips with the bandages that still covered his left hand.

  Olric slipped a slice of bacon from its bowl and chewed off a hefty chunk. Chewing, he replied, “Why do you ask? If you’re going for subtle, that ain’t the way.”

  Jack didn’t want to admit why he really wanted to see if he could unlock some sort of mechanic skill. It felt too outlandish, even for a world of magic. Still, the image of that strange machine across from where he’d crash-landed hadn’t left his mind, no matter how many times he expelled it from his thoughts.

  But the more he thought of it, the more he was certain.

  It had been a mech. A suit.

  And if he could fix it…

  “I need to level, and so starting with something I know has got to be a good way to start. And besides, Captain Stark would be more suspicious if I just gave up my declared trade to pick mushrooms for the rest of my life, right?” Jack argued. “But if I pick up some tools and figure out how this world’s machines work and stuff, I’ll not only learn a ton, but might even get some sidequests from people who need that sort of stuff fixed!”

  Olric stroked his beard.

  “I see the logic, but there’s somethin’ you just don’t know. Mechanics are the black shelks in our society.”

  “Sorry, shelks? What is that?” Jack interrupted.

  “Oh. Right. Offworlder and all that.” Olric chewed on the question for a moment. “Damn. I’ve never had to explain a shelk before. They’re animals we breed for their wool, mostly. Meats good too, in a pinch.”

  “Huh. We got those too, but we call ours sheep,” Jack offered, taking one of the slices of bacon for himself.

  It was perfection.

  “Oh, good! Yeah, then you know that shelks are nasty buggers on account of their three eyes and appetite for flesh, but they’re necessary. Black wool shelks are shunned because why go through all that work to keep from them biting each other’s faces off when all they’ll give you is undyeable wool!” Olric explained, gesticulating each point with his own slice of bacon.

  “What?” Jack whispered, but then shook his head. “Shelks are nothing like sheep, just for the record, but yeah. I get the metaphor. Why are mechanics such pariahs? All we do is fix stuff people break because of their negligence and ignorance anyway! Why shun us?”

  “The answer to your question is a long and complicated one, and I just don’t have time for that right now. Ask me again later. But the short of it is that mechanics—at least so far as this town is concerned—are little better than looters and bonepickers. They’re obsessed with Titanhold, and I can’t entirely blame them. Who knows what those zealot bastards had hidden away before the shroud claimed their city?” Olric answered right as he stood up and stretched his lower back.

  “What is with this world?!” Jack demanded. “Did you guys all have a meeting before I arrived about how precisely to screw me over in every single damned way?”

  Looking down at him, Olric sucked at his teeth and gave him an apologetic shrug. “Kid. I don’t know what it’s like in your world, but out here, nothing’s fair. We fight. We bleed. We run. Ain’t nothin’ so shiny as hope out here. If you want something, you die for it. That’s just the way things work. Now, I’ll admit things seem disproportionately dire in your case, but is that really going to stop you? Did Ardent, or whoever else, that chose you make a mistake, or are you gonna set things right?”

  Jack stood up, feeling heat rise up his neck and into his cheeks.

  “Of course they made a freaking mistake!” Jack yelled. “I’m a nobody mechanic with shit to my name and a deadbeat sister who’s probably going to get shot because I was too dumb and unlucky to stop her this time! The only reason I’m here is that I was an idiot and stood for a girl who ditched me the second she had the chance to leave! I was literally dying when some creepy magic chains yanked me into a portal, I met some bastard who made me spin a wheel, and then I was thrown headfirst into death-town out there!”

  He laughed. It was a dark, brittle thing.

  “My world’s plenty cruel, Olric, but at least there, I know how everything works! Here? I’m worse than a child, because at least a child has an excuse as to why they don’t know stuff. Me? I not only have to fake it, but I also have to make sure no one’s the wiser, otherwise I’ll be lynched on the spot because some god put ink on my chest!” Jack shouted, clenching the edge of the counter until his knuckles were white.

  “But did I get a choice? Do I ever get a damned choice? Nope! Good old Jack is just going to tuck his head down and keep working, because that’s all I’m suitable for! ‘No time for feelings, Jack. There’s work to do.” He spat the final words like the poison they were.

  They had the rhythm of a recitation, and the pliability of old leather.

  Before Olric could so much as rebut any of Jack’s tirade, the mechanic was at the door. He yanked it open, letting the crisp chill of the morning compete with the hearth’s retreating warmth on his back. He hesitated at the threshold, but then walked away, closing the door behind him.

  It wasn’t until he was over a hundred yards down the dirt road leading to Thistlebrush that Jack finally felt like he could breathe.

  He’d seriously screwed that up. He knew it.

  Olric had been nothing but kind and hospitable to him, and he’d just spat in his face. Not for the first time, Jack’s anger had burned a bridge between himself and someone who lent a hand to help.

  Ahead, the stone walls of Thistlebrush were a pale beige against the sun’s rising glory. They were framed by a variety of crops and wild grass, with this thin dirt road joining a much larger street made of old cobblestones. He paused at the intersection, watching a tarp-covered wagon pass by, its cart-horse chuffing at him as it passed. Its driver didn’t look in his direction.

  “Screw it,” Jack muttered, taking a seat at the edge of the path just beyond the final cobblestones.

  He’d make things right with Olric later. First, he needed to get stronger. And what better way of starting that task than figuring out how this accursed system actually worked?

  “Open System,” Jack said, focusing his will on the idea of menus and descriptions.

  A single blue screen flared to life in front of him, and Jack got to work.