Casual Heroing

The settlement, a city of some sorts, maybe a town, was indeed extremely close. I was lucky that no guard or sentry came to check after the gunshots.

There are tall wooden walls made of trunks. Not small trunks. Oak trunks, twice or three times my waist. Maybe even more. And if that hadn’t been a good hint of what was expecting me on the other side, there was a small queue of people around the gate. Twenty or so people, and all of them way over two meters tall. The shortest must have been somewhere around two meters and a half. The tallest was almost an entire torso bigger.

Mon Dieu.

I had to force the French out of my head. When I tried speaking French, English came out. If I wanted to say something in French, it was hard. I knew English, but not this well. Even my thoughts were English—and it was like I had always spoken this language.

But the current problem at hand was that two half-giants were checking on the people, asking questions that I couldn’t make out from this distance. They were slowly combing through the line and both guards had some weird stone in their hand.

Magic.

It was a simple deduction. If there are health potions, magic is a given. What fantasy world I’m in? Are Dragons casually strolling around or are they just remoted tyrants? My knowledge of fantasy stories is not small. I hadn’t played many games when I was growing up, but my sister had. And I’m not an idiot – that’s the most important thing.

Health potions, half-giants, glowing stones?

If I didn’t accept the situation swiftly, the situation would swiftly overwhelm me.

Adapt.

It was a tall order from how I survived among thieves and murderers. And more, how I never did time while clawing my way to the top. I still regretted that I wouldn’t be able to see the kind of panic and the new wave of money that was going to hit my fellow Parisiennes. Not even the military was going to stop my operation back on Earth. It was a hydra, meant to work even if I went in hiding, or died – or went to another world, I guess.

I glanced at the woods behind me and turned to be fully hidden around the tree.

Think.

What could be a problem at the gate?

Blood. Shaky backstory. The glowing stones?

Skills?

If I have gained a [Gunman] class, these people have classes as well? Let’s assume so. And if the guards have [Guards] class, they have skills to reveal criminals.

Can I climb the walls—no. Too tall.

Look for a smaller village?

They could potentially be even harder to get through. People in small settlements are naturally suspicious of strangers – especially the strangers covered in blood.

I could wear the spare clothes the hunter had, but—

No, I can use my own blood as an excuse. I can use it as a credible backstory. I was attacked. Let’s use that. The best lies are mixed with a lot of the truth.

No changing, then.

…

“A Human?” a booming voice asks.

“Hello,” I say with a contrived face, “excuse me, I have no idea where I am. I got lost after I was attacked.”

“Attacked?” the huge half-giant, towering over me, almost double my height, asks.

“I was wounded pretty badly and I thought I had died. A health potion saved me.”

“Lissius,” the half-giant gestures toward his partner. “We have a situation here, stop the queue.”

“Lady, please state your business—” the half-giant called Lissius, smaller than the titan on the other side asks before said titan could jab his shoulder.

“She has been attacked. The truth-stone confirmed it.”

“Cordius, you know that there’s procedure for—”

Cordius waves away Lissius.

“Shut up,” he booms. “I’ll take care of this. Just sign the papers when I send them down.”

I followed the rapid exchange with my shoulders tensed. They are eyeing the blood on my top with suspicion, but the glowing stone flashed blue. And that apparently means that I’m telling the truth.

Cordius, a giant of somewhere around three meters tall, seemed inclined to let me in without any questions. He said he was going to take care of me. Are half-giants trustworthy? Are their skulls too thick for a bullet to go through? Should I aim for the throat? Would a potion heal that?

“She’s covered in blood!” Lissius protests.

“Her blood, Lissius.”

Cordius puts a huge hand around my arm and gently pushes me forward, not letting go.

“Come with me,” Cordius says.

…

I’ve been brought to an office built for someone almost twice the size of a human. I had to hop on the chair that was as tall as my hip.

“We don’t get many Humans, here. We barely get any other race,” Cordius says while moving a stick around the walls. He goes to every wall and briefly touches it with the stick he took out of his magic bag.

Cordius moves like a man sure of himself, a man who carries more than his acquaintances give him credit for. He’s relaxed, but attentive enough to keep an eye on me at all times. The half-giant struts like a lion meeting a hyena, proud and sure of the hierarchy.

The laws of the jungle are not easy to change, indeed.

What surprises me is how this man is reacting. I’ve met policemen. Killed a few, even. And this man doesn’t behave like a policeman, but more like a boss.

I look for signs, hints, anything that could give me an edge over this man. But I can’t help but stare at the most interesting tract in this room - the huge windows. While he brought me here, I peered around and even if these people are giants, they still have larger than usual windows. More interestingly, even, roofs have entire sections made of translucent glass. Whoever half-giants are, they seem to share a connection with the sky.

“Goblins have tattoos but can’t remember their origin. We inherited glass and iron from our ancestors, and we have been taught to always look up since time immemorial.”

“Time grinds everything to dust. Even stories can only survive to a point before dying and laying as sand at our feet,” I murmur.

“If I hadn’t already checked your class, I’d think you were a [Bard].”

Is that normal?

Can people just see others’ classes?

“Cassandre,” Cordius says while sitting on his tall chair and opening a register, “not a common name. Not one I can place, at least. Are you from Teiko, perhaps?”

“Happy to be unique,” I smile cheekily.

“Not Teiko, then?”

I try to keep my face relaxed to give as little away as possible.

“Not Teiko,” I say.

“And not Carilia, either. You don’t seem to know where you are. And you are not a [Spy].”

Cordius drums his huge fingers on his table.

“Lady Cassandre, would you mind telling me what a ‘gun’ is?”

My calves and thighs are tensing up, ready to run. This is bad. They know guns? No—the class. He can see my class.

“Just a metal weapon,” I say, conscious that this man could be using a truth stone.

“How dangerous of a weapon? Is it something from the Yin State?”

“Quite dangerous, and no.”

“Quite dangerous—interesting. You approach a half-giant city far from any Human settlement, have no idea where you are, have a strange class, covered in blood, and you make my danger evaluation skill scream as if you were a level 35 [Swordmaster]. Now, now. Isn’t that interesting?”

…

“I’m sure we’ll see each other around,” Cordius says after having personally taken care of my documents. He also brought me to a cheap and safe inn where I can stay on my own.

After a few more questions, he simply stared at me for a few minutes. We both examined each other, staring straight into the other’s eyes. No one made a move or blinked; it reminded me of the game my sister asked me to play. She always said I had scary eyes, but that playing such a game with me would make her feel more of an adult—older. And whatever made her feel better, that was all that mattered to me.

I ignore the gazes that are shot around me in the inn. I’m used to them in other forms, and their still just drying eyeballs, nothing more. These ones are just bigger.

I tell the [Innkeeper] that Cordius recommended this place to me, to see if that is going to score some points for me. Yes, [Innkeeper], another thing that exists. Not just the weird concept of an innkeeper, but the [Innkeeper] part.

Focus.

I shouldn’t let stupid thoughts distract me in such a dire situation. I have no general idea where I am, no reference apart from a few hints scattered here and there.

I’m not dead.

I’m in a new world.

Simpler minds would be distracted by such a grand realization, by such a cruel fate. Separated from my enemies—they have been saved by my leave. Shall my heritage live long and disseminate panic throughout Paris for as long as corrupted minds will govern.

But I am not stupid.

I take a look at my room upstairs, filled with furnitures of the right size—the [Innkeeper] has a couple of rooms for non-half-giants.

I’m not stupid.

My first order of business is not resting. I slept enough before the [Hunter] could find me. And I have more important matters to attend to. Currently, my knowledge about this world is non-existent. I need more information, and I probably need money as well. The pittance I found in the [Hunter]’s pouch can last me weeks, maybe a little more than a month. How do I know? I looked at the hanging board with the prices marked onto it with yellow chalk. If I could cook for myself, I could maybe go two months. But I am not my father, and I do not intend to waste my time among breads and cakes.

I go out on the street, drowned in a cacophony of sounds belonging to the mid-day traffic. The haggling of [Merchants] at every corner looks more desperate than resourceful, and the few wares I see on the stalls around, however enlarged they are, look mediocre. There’s an overall decadence in this city, a lack of energy. I don’t know magic, but this place doesn’t smell like, doesn’t taste like it.

Poverty.

Poverty is a plague that affects the entire world; in some places, like Paris, it’s just a symptom that there are many rich people. In others, like here, where you can’t find any contrast, it’s the herald of a dying city.

If I could have chosen my own class, [Merchant of Death] would have made for a good title. That’s what people who deal with guns are, even though most don’t have the honesty to admit as much to themselves and the others. I never cared for it. Death has always been the only God I flirted with, the only glimmer of divinity in the gray world that raised me.

I take a deep breath.

I’m being overly dramatic while looking at a city that could simply be a bit poor. But my guts rarely lie to me; and here, I look at isolated people who have very little despite the large means afforded by their size.

There’s a story here, a great story. A tragic one. Something that reeks of rot and resentment, a grudge. And where anger breeds, there’s opportunity, there’s desperate people ready to do anything to survive, to escape the mediocrity that haunts them.

I taste the misery on my tongue while licking my teeth, like a snake looking for blood.

This city might need Cassandre El Maddouri as much as I need them.