The cavernous throne hall of the Nightbound Citadel echoed with a single, steaming groan.

  Lord Vorgath the Desolate Flame, Sovereign of the Nightbound Citadel, He Who Devours Crowns, Breaker of Oaths, Harbinger of the Ever-Burning Eclipse raised his clawed gauntlet to the torchlit ceiling and basked in the glory of his own power.

  Like all of his poses, he had practiced it extensively.

  The theatrical silence shattered under the sound of something limping.

  And wheezing.

  And… clanking.

  The massive doors creaked open, and General Grakthul Blackmaw dragged himself inside.

  Feared Dark General of the Southmarch.

  Conqueror of battalions.

  Breaker of siege lines.

  Slayer of dozens of Human War Wizards and Elven Holy Knights.

  And now:

  Dragging himself like a damaged wheelbarrow.

  Because one leg wasn’t moving.

  And his armor looked like someone had folded him with a two-ton paperweight.

  Vorgath slowly lowered his gauntlet.

  “…General Grakthul,” he said. “You return sooner than expected. Did you retrieve the Princess?”

  Grakthul fell to one knee.

  Then the other.

  Then the rest of him followed.

  “M-my lord… I… I bring grave news.”

  Vorgath leaned forward on his throne.

  “Speak.”

  Grakthul sucked in a trembling breath.

  “My lord, I… I was defeated.”

  A horrified gasp rippled through the hall.

  Someone at the back keeled over.

  Vorgath blinked.

  “You?”

  He gestured vaguely.

  “You, the eight-foot-tall, skull-crushing embodiment of brutality?”

  He squinted.

  “And by WHOM, exactly?”

  Grakthul shuddered.

  “A human.”

  Another gasp.

  Someone whispered a prayer.

  Vorgath narrowed his burning eyes.

  “A human hero? One of prophecy? A chosen champion? A wielder of forbidden light?”

  Grakthul shook his head weakly.

  “N-no, my lord. I do not believe he was a hero.”

  “…A warrior then?”

  “N-no.”

  “A battlemage?”

  “No.”

  “A knight of the Seven Radiant Orders?”

  “No, my lord.”

  Vorgath’s eye twitched.

  “Then who, exactly, bested you?”

  Grakthul swallowed.

  “A man… in a very strange hat.”

  Vorgath stared.

  “A… .”

  “Yes, my lord…”

  The Demon Lord drummed metal fingers against the throne.

  “And how did this… hat-wearing mortal defeat you?”

  Here it came.

  The part Grakthul had been dreading.

  “My lord…” He whimpered. “I was struck by a carriage.”

  “…A carriage.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Pulled by what? A phantom steed? A spectral direwolf? A wyvern of derision?”

  Grakthul hesitated.

  “It was… self-propelled.”

  Vorgath stared.

  “And very angry,” Grakthul added pitifully.

  Vorgath massaged the bridge of his nose through his helmet.

  “So let me understand this, General. You, conqueror of the Red Plains, bane of the Ironpass Legion, scourge of the Winter Coast…

  were defeated — and — beneath a magic wagon owned by some mortal with questionable fashion choices?”

  Grakthul whimpered, “My lord, the beast roared. It roared continuously. Every turn, every twist, it howled like a demon. I thought it would devour me. Rocks broke my bones. The earth tried to swallow me whole. It was… terrifying.”

  Vorgath exhaled slowly, smoke curling from between his teeth.

  “Grakthul.”

  “Y-yes, my lord?”

  “Go to the infirmary.”

  “Th-thank you, my lord—”

  “And after that,” Vorgath said coldly, “report to the Hall of Tactical Ridicule.”

  Grakthul’s eyes widened.

  “No! My lord, please— not the Hall—”

  “Your shame,” Vorgath declared, rising as lightning flashed theatrically (he’d paid extra for that installation), “shall be used as a lesson to all!”

  He pointed dramatically toward the doors.

  “And FIND THIS MAN IN THE STRANGE HAT.”

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  * * *

  Kotetsu burst through the last wall of underbrush like a bellowing, metal rhinoceros, skidded across packed dirt, and fishtailed straight toward a wooden wall bristling with spears.

  A pair of guards on the battlements screamed.

  “Gate! Gate! OPEN THE GATE!”

  The gate did not open fast enough.

  Cottonwood dust billowed. A rooster fled for its life. Two guards dove off the wall entirely.

  Kotetsu screeched to a stop inches from the village entrance.

  Cletus exhaled, clinging to the steering wheel. “Thank God. Civilization.”

  The elf princess was clinging to the inside door handle, hair wild and eyes full of trauma. “Civilization is… debatable.”

  The gate guards—one older, one younger—stumbled up, blinking at the truck like it had just materialized from hell and had immediately violated several laws of physic

  The older guard swallowed and forced a shaky smile.

  “W-welcome, traveler, to the Village of High Meadow.”

  Cletus looked past him.

  Nothing but forest.

  Miles of forest.

  Not a blade of grass taller than a squirrel’s eyebrow.

  “…Where’s the meadow?” he asked flatly.

  The guard blinked. “The… meadow?”

  “Yeah. High Meadow. Usually that means grass. Or a hill. Or some kinda open field. Y’all have none of that. This here is a tree closet.”

  The younger guard whispered, “I told you the name was misleading.”

  The older guard elbowed him.

  The Elf straightened, smoothing her hair with dignified panic. “Guardsmen, as the First Daughter of the—”

  Cletus cut across her without looking.

  “Nope. Don’t do that. Not again.”

  She deflated with a tiny, offended gasp.

  The guards looked between the two of them, very confused.

  Cletus leaned an elbow out the window. “Listen, boys. I’m tired, I got hit by a truck this morning, then I hit an orc with my truck, don’t ask questions. Does this place got a Motel 6?”

  Both guards stared at him like he’d just asked where they kept the nuclear reactors.

  “A… what now?” the older guard managed.

  “Motel 6. Cheap rooms? Beds? The place that leaves the light on? No?”

  Cletus sighed. “Fine. Any kind of inn will do. I just need somewhere to sleep and maybe a shower hot enough to melt my sins.”

  The younger guard brightened. “We have the Crooked Lantern Inn!”

  Cletus started digging in his pockets. “Perfect. How much for a room? I got…”

  He pulled out his wallet and revealed

  – Three dollars

  – A gas station receipt

  – A half-crushed pack of gum

  The guard squinted. “You plan to pay with… paper rectangles?”

  Cletus froze.

  Then sighed.

  Then put his wallet away like he was burying a dream.

  “Well, hell.”

  The elven maiden seized her opportunity, lifting her chin elegantly. “If I may, m’lord, I can—”

  “Nope,” Cletus interrupted again. “Do not do somethin’ self-sacrificing or royal. We ain’t that desperate yet.”

  She stared at him with the expression of a woman who has been denied the chance to be noble in her life.

  Kotetsu hummed.

  “I recommend asking about alternative currency.”

  Cletus pointed at the truck. “I’m not tradin’ you.”

  “I did not suggest that.”

  “Good,” Cletus grumbled. “Just makin’ sure. What passes for cash around here?”

  The older guard puffed up with authority. “Stranger, coin of the realm is gold, silver, or bronze. If you lack them, you may barter… or seek temporary work.”

  Cletus blinked.

  “Work?”

  The elven maiden clasped her hands hopefully. “Perhaps the Guild—?”

  “Ma’am, do not even start.”

  The guards exchanged a glance.

  The younger one whispered, “Is… he scolding a princess?”

  The older whispered back, “I don’t know what he’s scolding, but I’m not getting involved. They’re obviously very involved and very much in love.”

  Cletus leaned back in his seat, exhausted.

  “Kotetsu,” he muttered, “remind me again why we didn’t just stay in the forest?”

  Kotetsu’s engine rumbled gently.

  “You were pursued by twenty-seven orcs and a furious general currently nursing three shattered ribs, a dislocated knee, and a crushed femur.”

  “…Right. Good call.”

  The older guard cleared his throat. “If you need a place to stay, stranger, the Crooked Lantern Inn is down the main road. Maybe they’ll let you work off a night.”

  Kotetsu revved indignantly.

  The truck rolled forward through the gates.

  Whispers followed them immediately:

  “That’s him! The one riding the metal beast!”

  “It roars like a storm spirit!”

  “Is he a hero?”

  “He looks like someone named him ‘Bubba.’”

  Cletus slumped in his seat.

  “…Great,” he muttered. “I ain’t even been here five minutes and already got a reputation.”

  Kotetsu hummed, pleased.

  “Designation acquired: The Man Who Rides the Roaring Metal Spirit.”

  The Elven beauty sighed dreamily. “It rather heroic…”

  “Not helping, ma’am.”

  The Crooked Lantern Inn sat at the center of High Meadow like someone had tried to build a tavern while drunk, blindfolded, and being chased by bees.

  The top floor leaned left.

  The bottom floor leaned right.

  The chimney leaned forward, as if eavesdropping.

  Cletus stared up at it.

  “…This whole building is beggin’ OSHA to smite it.”

  Kotetsu’s headlights flickered thoughtfully.

  “I calculate a sixty-two percent chance it collapses before morning. Seventy-eight if someone sneezes.”

  “Comfortin’,” Cletus muttered.

  A wooden sign creaked overhead:

  THE CROOKED LANTERN INN

  &

  ADVENTURERS’ GUILD (Annex)

  — Now Hiring: Anyone Not Afraid of Wolves or Taxes —

  Standing in front of the entrance was the most stressed-looking halfling Cletus had ever seen. Not that Cletus had met many halflings in his life. This would, in fact, be the first halfling that Cletus had ever met.

  Barely three feet tall.

  Hair parted perfectly.

  Vest buttoned all the way up.

  Ledger clutched like a life preserver.

  Pencil tucked behind his ear with military precision.

  He was flanked by two enormous half-orc women, both built like well-loved warhammers.

  One had a scar across her cheek and a braided mohawk.

  The other had tusks polished to a mirror shine and biceps you could crack walnuts on.

  Both stared at the halfling with the unmistakable look of women who would commit multiple felonies in his honor.

  The halfling did not seem to notice.

  He simply checked something off in his ledger, frowned, and murmured:

  “You’re late.”

  Cletus blinked. “Uh… for what?”

  “For your adventurer registration.”

  “I didn’t register.”

  “That does not stop people from being late,” the halfling replied without irony.

  The Elf Maiden stepped forward, attempting regal posture for the nineteenth time today. “Good sir, if I may—”

  “Please speak one at a time,” the halfling said sharply, still not looking up. “Or better yet, don’t.”

  The Elf Beauty’s eye twitched.

  Kotetsu hummed with approval.

  “I like him.”

  Then the halfling finally looked up.

  He froze.

  He stared at Cletus.

  He stared at Kotetsu.

  He stared at the faintly glowing tire tracks in the dirt.

  Then he closed his ledger very slowly, reopened it, and fainted.

  Fortunately, he fainted directly into the arms of the two half-orc women, who caught him with synchronized tenderness.

  “Oh—Hank!” the scarred one gasped. “Sweetheart, breathe!”

  “Give him space!” the tusked one barked, clutching him like a delicate bouquet. “Sudden events overwhelm him!”

  Cletus stared. “…Is he alright?”

  Both women glared at Cletus with a protective rage normally reserved for dragon slayers.

  The scarred one growled, “Who are to question Hank’s well-being?”

  Hank groaned awake.

  The tusked woman fanned him with a hand the size of a Sunday ham.

  “There, there, precious. The scary man and his monster chariot won’t harm you.”

  Hank sat up at once. “It is not a ‘monster chariot.’ It is a Category-Unknown, High-Threat Spirit Construct violating at least transportation regulations.”

  He stood, straightened his vest, and pointed his pencil at Cletus like a tiny, furious schoolteacher.

  “You. Human. With the weird looking hat. You have brought chaos into this town.”

  Cletus shrugged. “Not on purpose.”

  “That does not make it .”

  The Elven Lady stepped forward again. “If I may, sir, I believe—”

  “No royal exemptions,” Hank snapped.

  “No noble waivers.

  No ceremonial privileges.

  No highborn discounts.”

  She stared at him, scandalized.

  “How did you—”

  “I have a lengthy file on you, Princess. Multiple contracts surrounding your kidnap, rescue, capture, assassination, blood sacrifice, and marriage proposals.”

  He opened his ledger again.

  “Now. If you require food, shelter, or the legal right to exist in this settlement, you must either Pay in coin or register with the Adventurer’s Guild.”

  Cletus groaned. “Figures.”

  Kotetsu hummed. “I recommend compliance.”

  “Of course you recommend ‘compliance’, it’s your fault I’m here!”

  Hank nodded approvingly at Kotetsu.

  “See? Sensible.”

  Cletus pointed at the truck. “He ain’t sensible. He told me to floor it off a cliff because the ‘trajectory seemed invigorating.’”

  Kotetsu rumbled.

  “It seem invigorating.”

  Hank pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “I can already tell you will triple my paperwork.”

  Cletus grinned. “Yeah, people say that.”

  Behind him, the Elf Maiden whispered, almost to herself: “…Why does he make trouble look so effortless?”

  The two half-orc women whispered to each other:

  “Look at him…”

  “He’s so tiny… and so brave…”

  “I would conquer kingdoms for him.”

  “I would conquer ”

  “He could conquer

  Hank remained blissfully unaware.

  “Fine,” he declared, snapping the ledger shut.

  “Come inside. We’ll start your registration. But first—”

  He pointed sternly at Kotetsu.

  “The spirit vehicle stays outside.”