Bloodstains are harder to remove from white cloth than red wine. The crimson shade of hemoglobin dried on my hands, acting as a constant reminder of what I had done.

  Assuming that they were bandits was a mistake. Their plate armor engraved with the same symbols as their currency implied they were guards, or perhaps the city's watch. Realizing that they would likely be missed, I dragged their bodies off the road and temporarily covered them with an array of loose branches and leaves.

  At the very least, I planned to come back and provide them with a proper burial. Even with their negative karma ratings, I had a feeling their sudden disappearance wouldn't go unnoticed. Whether they were corrupt guards or moonlighting as bandits for extra money, it mattered not. Now they were fertilizer.

  I gathered their horses and rummaged through their packs, securing myself a stale loaf of bread and two canteens filled with water. Water hit my parched throat, tasting like gold. I drained the first canteen and tossed it aside, deciding to carry one. Even the canteens were branded with the armored bear logo. So, I made a mental note not to flash my stolen supplies to anyone else I encountered. Finding myself at the center of another manhunt so soon after arriving would throw a massive wrench in my gears. I'd done enough running.

  In the distance, smoke billowed up into the horizon, suggesting I was nearing civilization.

  I continued my trek, heading toward the moon like Chaos suggested. Within half a mile, I saw the outline of what looked to be a village at the bottom of a hill. There were about a dozen buildings tightly tucked together behind a timber wall that circled around the encampment.

  Before making an appearance, I took a quick break out of view. I took a seat on a mossy rock behind a giant tree. A gentle breeze dropped loose violet leaves from above, reminding me of the gorgeous cherry blossoms in Japan.

  I scarfed down the loaf of stale wheat bread, chasing it with gulps of water from the second canteen.

  +HP Recovery

  At first, the letters were a strange sight to behold, but I was quickly growing accustomed to them. Despite the HP recovery notification, my right arm remained paralyzed. According to my math, I should've been sitting on 85 experience points. Whether I needed 100 or 1000 XP to level up, I hoped it happened soon. I'd much rather be trapped in a world built with a western MMO framework than a grindy Korean one. Knowing my luck, it was the latter.

  I used the last of my water to re-hydrate the blood on my left hand and attempted to wipe it off on the leaves. The dark red transitioned to a light pink as I rubbed them raw into the brush. Finally, I tossed the canteen away, too fearful it could be used as evidence against me. In a similar train of thought, I wondered how technologically advanced this world was. If they investigated crimes with some sort of magic fueled forensics, remaining a free man could prove more difficult than it did on Earth.

  "I'm a good person. My positive karma is proof of that," I whispered.

  Ah, talking to oneself, the ultimate sign of mental stability.

  I trudged downhill, closing in on the village. The guilt slowed my pace. I could argue self-defense in the killing of Zelva and Lee. Kohad, on the other hand, begged me to spare him. Did that make me a murderer? A serial killer?

  No. Technically, a serial killer commits multiple murders on different occasions. At worst I'm a spree killer.

  That revelation did little to make me feel better as I approached a wooden gate with two guards stationed on each side. Two watchtowers stood tall beyond the village's walls, overlooking the gate, each tower outfitted with two bowmen.

  As I approached, a guard stepped forward and raised his hand, signaling for me to stop.

  I obeyed, recognizing the armored bear emblazoned on his plate armor. According Karma's Gaze, the guard on the right was named Zardor and sported 371 positive karma. The man to his left, Olaf, was barely positive with 20 karma. Both were level three. I relaxed my stance and took a deep breath.

  "State your name and business," Zardor said.

  My name? I was Derrick Hauser, pretending to be David Cyprus. Neither name seemed appropriate for this setting, especially considering everyone I had encountered so far only went by one name.

  "The name's Cyprus," I said. "I'm a traveler heading to Ingcaster hoping to find work."

  "Cyprus, you traveled alone?"

  "No, no," I lied and raised my blood-stained palm. "My party was attacked by bandits two days ago. I'm the sole survivor."

  Zardor stroked his salt and pepper beard. His gaze softened. "Sorry to hear that, but I can't say I'm surprised. The roads south of Waystone are in a constant state of lawlessness. Aside from the goblins and bandits, the wildlife is even more dangerous. From the looks of your arm, it looks like you encountered the devil beetles."

  "Waystone Village? Is this not Ingcaster?"

  "He really isn't from around here," Olaf snorted.

  Zardor shook his head as he removed his palm from the hilt of his sword. "Ingcaster is half a day's ride from here. You're at Waystone Village."

  "I see," I said, not looking forward to the long walk to Ingcaster.

  "If you pay the toll, you'll be allowed entrance. Otherwise, you'll need to take the back route, which will add another day of travel. Though if you intend to travel alone, I wouldn't recommend it."

  "How much is the toll?"

  "Two silver," Zardor said.

  I plucked two silver coins from my purse and placed them in Zardor's palm. The guards raised the gate, allowing me to pass through without bloodshed. I still had 68 silver leftover from the toll, which would hopefully be enough to buy some supplies and perhaps a horse.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  Waystone Village seemed bigger from inside its walls. There were nearly a dozen two-story buildings with stone foundations and aged wooden walls. Besides the larger establishments, there were many single-story shacks housing the village's residents.

  I strolled through the town center, staring at a fountain that would've been more impressive had it not been bone dry. Though the villagers didn't seem to mind, the population of what I estimated to be a few hundred carried out their daily tasks, tending to their gardens, hanging up laundry and unloading carts of supplies to strip of quaint shops.

  Across from the fountain was the largest building in town, with a wooden sign hanging above an open door. Though I couldn't read the signage, I figured it was a tavern of sorts from the sight of men drinking and eating on the first floor.

  Beyond food, water and weapons, the most vital resources I needed to acquire was information. I made my way inside, finding myself greeted by a collection of unassuming glances. There were at least thirty people occupying the bar and dining room. Overwhelmed by the sudden explosion of status information from Karma’s Gaze automatic activation, I shut my right eye.

  I wished the damned thing came with an instruction manual. At the very least, Justice could've provided me with a tutorial. Instead, I held my eye shut and shuffled over to the bar and took a seat next to a bald elderly man who had a cloud white beard that extended down to his beer belly.

  The bartender worked his way from the other end of the bar, stuck in his own battle, fending off impatient patrons with fresh pints.

  "Don't come here for the service," the old man said.

  "It's no issue."

  The old man swallowed the last sip from his mug and slammed it down. "Something wrong with your eye?"

  "Oh, uh..." I snapped it open to glean his karma rating before shutting it again.

  Target: Jordain

  Level: 1

  Karma Rating: +235

  "I got a spec of dirt in it."

  Besides the combat advantage, my power proved itself useful in social situations as well. Though it raised the question of how a man lived to be his age without ever reaching level two.

  "Is it always this busy?" I asked.

  Jordain chuckled and tapped his mug twice more on the counter, glaring at the bartender. "Now I'm sure you're not a native. There ain't much to do here besides drink."

  "What else gave it away?"

  "You walked in here like this shit hole was The Vestial. That, and nobody with a brain goes outside of these walls without anti-venom."

  I sighed. The last thing I wanted to do was stand out. A chill shot through my veins. Being an outsider had always put a target on my back. Whether it was here or Earth, the same rule applied.

  "Don't sweat it," Jordain said and slapped my back.

  He extended his left hand. "The name's Jordain."

  "Cyprus," I said, and shook his hand.

  The gesture did little to ease the sense of paranoia that infested the darkest corners of my mind.

  When the bartender finally made his way to our corner of the bar, I paid three silver for two pints, returning the nice gesture, planning to extract as much information from the old man as possible.

  "I'll keep the drinks coming if you can give me some information," I said, sliding a pint his way.

  "Where are you from?"

  "Earth," I said, tired of lying.

  "Strange, I've never heard of that country. Well, what is it you want to know?"

  "Everything."

  ***

  It took six more pints and three hours to withdraw some general information from Jordain by claiming to be a foreign traveler. By the end of our conversation, I had learned a general overview of Aclana, the country Justice had ditched me in. It was a country with four hundred years of colorful history, though within recent decades it passed its heyday. Its economy faltered after overextending itself in too many wars.

  Wars that resulted in Aclana losing territory to its rivals. Following the loss of its major capital Galvile, King Ledra signed a treaty with Kalistan to the north to focus on its ongoing border disputes with the country of Durotai to its west. The disadvantageous treaty, combined with higher tax rates, skyrocketing inflation, and a looming recession, created the perfect storm for a coup.

  The noble faction, Sawara, coveted control of the military and used their influence to force the royal council to indict the king for acts of treason. They hung him from the balcony of the royal palace in front of thousands who cheered his death. However, in the following months, the population's quality of life failed to improve.

  Instability loomed, according to the drunk.

  Not only did Jordain give me a podcast quality rundown of the current political atmosphere, but he was also giddy to over-explain his love of the city of Ingcaster, and its "immaculate" selection of prostitutes. He went into disgustingly graphic details of his encounters with the ladies of the night. Though I learned the names of a few rough districts to avoid, he often rambled off-topic, assaulting me with a volley of unbelievable anecdotes. Finally, he instructed me to visit The Gilded Boar's Guild to find work.

  "Thanks for the drinks." Jordain hiccuped. "For now, visit our merchants and get some medicine to fix that arm, and your eye."

  I paid our tab, bringing my silver reserves down to 60. But I decided the information gained was well worth the price. I departed from the tavern and headed across the street to the merchant. Unlike the tavern, this shop was a quaint, single-story wooden building with two windows displaying an array of products.

  The door creaked as I entered, finding myself as the only customer. A woman side-eyed me from the counter, uninterested in my arrival.

  "I don't entertain beggars, get out."

  "What gives off that impression?" I asked as I approached the counter.

  Target: Eliza

  Level: 3

  Karma Rating: +560

  Level 3?

  The woman looked to be in her late twenties with untamed red hair that flowed down to her shoulders and a freckled face that disapproved of my very existence. Her hands, however, were calloused and rough. Though she was slender, I bet it was all muscle and she could probably beat half the town's men in an arm-wrestling match on any given day.

  "You wear dirty clothes and a lecherous look on your face."

  Now she’s projecting.

  "I'm a paying customer," I said, pulled out my coin sack and slapped it down on the counter. "And if you're not interested in my business, I'll go elsewhere."

  No wonder she didn't have any customers lobbing around insults like that.

  "Sorry," she said. "I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. What can I help you with?"

  "I need antivenom," I said as I scanned the store. "I'll take that shirt and those pants." I pointed to the rack behind her.

  A black hooded cape caught my attention, and I had her grab that, too.

  "Anything else?" she asked.

  "A canteen and a pound of spiced jerky."

  Eliza gathered the items into a wool sack and placed it on the counter.

  "How much is that?"

  "Eighteen silver."

  I counted out 18 coins and placed them in the center of her palm. She graciously took the currency and dropped it in a tin underneath the counter.

  "Do you have any weapons for sale?"

  "Nothing fancy," she said and disappeared into a closet in the back.

  After a moment, she returned with an armful of short swords and daggers. I pointed to the cheapest looking dagger in a worn leather sheathe.

  She handed me the dagger, and I removed it from its sheath, examining the blade. There were two nicks along the blade's edge, and the iron could've used proper sharpening.

  "What about this dagger?"

  "The others are of better quality, but I could part with that one for two silver."

  Eliza smiled and shook my hand.

  "Deal."

  I wondered if she had just taken me for a ride or was actually just happy to have a sale. Regardless, I had everything I needed for my journey to Ingcaster with 40 silver to spare.

  I hooked the dagger to the front of my belt and threw the burlap sack with the rest of my supplies over my shoulder.

  "Thanks," I said and headed for the door.

  "Sorry about before. My name's Eliza and I appreciate your business. Come by again."

  As I reached for the door handle, I spotted the faded blood on my hand. I froze in place, my twisted mind dragging me back into the darkness. Visions of violence replayed before my eyes.

  "Everything, OK?" Eliza asked.

  I turned around and asked, "Do you sell shovels?"