The tavern was deathly silent after I smashed the table into splinters during my arm-wrestling match against the behemoth.

  The only sound breaking the stunned quiet was my drunken mentor, who burst into roaring laughter.

  Annoyed, I looked up from the giant—who suddenly seemed so much smaller, cowering on the floor—to Corbin.

  “Where is Idris, and is he okay?”

  Corbin ignored my glare, taking a long, deep swig from his tankard instead. He set it down with a satisfied sigh, wiped foam from his mouth, and then stretched luxuriously, interlocking his fingers behind his head. With a lazy gesture, he pointed a single finger towards the door.

  “In the stable.”

  A stone fell from my heart. I wouldn’t have been able to forgive myself if Idris had died because of me. I just hoped Corbin hadn't made him sleep in the stable with the horses, though knowing him, it was entirely possible.

  Shaking my head, I turned my attention back to the shivering pile of meat on the floor.

  “I’m going to tell you something. If I had lost, you would have insisted on your gold piece, no matter what. So, either I get my gold piece and you leave, or you spend the next few weeks working as my lackey. And believe me… I will find you. You have until this evening to decide.”

  The meat colossus just nodded in disbelief, his eyes wide and terrified. The surrounding patrons looked at me as if I had just grown a second head. Only Corbin, the old scoundrel, gave me a proud thumbs-up from his table, looking like a father who had just watched his son win a prize fight.

  Sighing, I brushed the wood splinters off my gambeson and turned to leave. But the crowd stood frozen in my path, a wall of stunned faces.

  “Can I get through, please?”

  Instantly, the wall parted. People scrambled back, knocking over chairs in their haste, opening a wide path to the door as if I were a leper carrying the plague.

  Thoughtful and a bit perplexed, I walked past them towards the exit. Were they afraid of me? Were mages that rare out here? Or was it just because I had decimated Otis, the local tough guy? Hm.

  I pushed the heavy oak door open, and an icy wind greeted me instantly. The cold brought a sobering but important realization with it.

  I still hadn't really arrived in this world.

  Magic, for me, was a tool. A cool gadget. A hidden ace up my sleeve. But it wasn't truly a part of me yet. When I heard I had to arm-wrestle Otis, I had panicked. Terrified. Fair enough, the guy had maybe 130kg of muscle on a two-meter frame, but just a few days ago, I had defeated a mage encased in a multi-ton stone golem. Sure, that mage was a child, but one hit without that protective amulet would have turned me into paste.

  My time on the streets in my old life had conditioned me to run, to hide, to protect my life at all costs. Maybe I was too fearful. Too reactive. But I knew the other side of that coin, too. If I let this power go to my head, if I started believing I was untouchable, I would become arrogant. And in a world like this, arrogance got you killed.

  I took a deep breath, letting the freezing air fill my lungs, and refocused on my task. Find Idris.

  The sky remained a heavy, slate grey, and snow fell silently and softly, coating everything in a pristine white blanket. Visibility was poor, a few dozen meters at best, so I decided to just walk towards the village proper.

  As it turned out, the tavern was situated a bit outside the main settlement. I couldn't see any other buildings immediately. The only sign of life was the sound of children—the ones I had seen playing from my window. Through the dense veil of snow, I could only see their silhouettes as they jumped joyfully down the road, heading towards the village.

  Watching them, an idea struck me.

  Grinning, I ran after the children, mimicking their movements. I bounded like a young deer, leaping through the drifts. But I cheated, just a little. With a pulse of gravity magic, my body became noticeably lighter. My jumps grew longer, higher, effortlessly clearing obstacles.

  It reminded me of Pip. How she used to jump through the snow in winter, chasing snowflakes, her black fur stark against the white.

  With a heavy heart, I pushed the memory aside. I landed softly in the snow, about twenty meters behind the group, and called out.

  “Hey! Can I ask you something?”

  Startled, the children froze. They spun around, eyeing me with suspicion, huddled together. They whispered among themselves before slowly edging closer.

  “My Lord, who are you? We have never seen you here,” one of the boys asked, his voice trembling slightly.

  Confused, I looked around. Lord? Did they mean me?

  But as I looked at the group more closely, it dawned on me. There were three boys and two girls, all wrapped in a motley collection of patched, oversized layers of coarse wool. Their heads and shoulders almost disappeared under heavy hoods, tufts of scraggly fur lining the rims. Their simple, cracked leather shoes were stuffed with dry straw that rustled with every movement.

  I rubbed my hands together nervously. The situation made me uncomfortable. I knew this dynamic too well. I remembered how people in expensive clothes used to walk past me, looking at me with disgust while I shivered in dirty, stinking rags.

  But those days were behind me.

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  “My name is Grim, not Lord. I haven't been here long and I'm looking for the stable. Can you tell me where to find it?” I asked, trying to sound as friendly and un-lord-like as possible.

  To my surprise, one of the boys stepped forward. “We are on our way home right now. I can take you with me; I live right next to the stable,” he said with an inviting gesture.

  I nodded my thanks and fell in step with the troupe as they set off.

  We crunched through the snow, passing small wooden houses and huts made of clay, straw, and timber. In some houses, people peeked curiously out of windows, their faces pale ovals in the gloom. Others, seeing me, abruptly pulled their curtains shut.

  I stuck out like a sore thumb. A brightly colored, expensive sore thumb. And from the behavior of my guides, who had fallen completely silent, I realized that people who looked like me weren't exactly popular here.

  Eventually, the group thinned out. One by one, the children peeled off towards their own homes until only the boy and I were left.

  “Say, we are in Millstone, right?” I asked cautiously.

  The boy stumbled, catching himself before he could fall. He turned around, eyes wide. “You don't know where you are, even though you are here?”

  Under other circumstances, that would be a valid philosophical point. But in this case…

  “We arrived by carriage during the heavy blizzard yesterday. I couldn't really see where the road was taking us,” I explained, stretching my arms and yawning.

  Hearing this, the boy just nodded and pointed a finger ahead at a large barn about fifty meters away. “Look, there’s the stable. We have to hurry, or I’ll get in trouble,” he explained, picking up his pace.

  I exhaled heavily, a plume of white steam escaping my lips, and followed him. Why are people here so weird?

  Just before we reached the stable, a man came out leading a large black horse on a rope. He looked at the boy, shaking his head, and then barked a laugh. “Go on, get inside, your mother is waiting.”

  The boy lowered his head. “Yes, Papa, I’m going…”

  The father nodded, watching his son disappear behind the stable. Then, his gaze landed on me. He looked me up and down, visibly surprised to see a child in such attire wandering through the village.

  “Can I help you?” he asked, his tone polite but guarded, as he patted the horse which was dancing nervously in place.

  “I’m looking for my coachman, Idris. I was told he was in the stable?”

  The man nodded curtly, focusing on calming his beast. “He’s inside. Just go in. I have to take this horse out to the paddock before there’s an accident.” And with that, he led the horse around the corner and vanished.

  People really are short on words here.

  Shrugging, I entered the stable.

  Immediately, I wrinkled my nose. To the left and right were rows of horse stalls. The floor was covered in muck and straw, and with every step, the stench flared up anew.

  God, that’s vile. A shiver of genuine disgust ran down my back. I knew there were people who loved the smell of horses but to me, it just smelled like shit.

  Trying to breathe only through my mouth, I spotted my target. A part of our carriage was sticking out from a side bay of the barn.

  I walked deeper into the gloom, hearing someone working, clinking metal against wood. But when I reached the carriage, I couldn't see anyone.

  “Idris?” I called out tentatively.

  The noise stopped abruptly. A head popped out from a side chamber.

  “Grim!” Idris burst out laughing.

  He rushed out of the chamber, arms wide, and pulled me into a bear hug. “Thank the Gods you’re back on your feet! How are you?”

  Perplexed, I returned the hug awkwardly, waiting until he let me go. He looked at me with concern. “Is everything alright?”

  I swallowed hard and looked away. “Idris, I’m… I’m damn sorry about how the journey went. We almost died… I hope you, your horse, and the carriage are okay,” I explained quietly, nervously rubbing my fingers together.

  Suddenly, Idris grabbed my shoulder and pulled me gently towards the door. “Everything is alright. Come on, let’s go get something to eat. I bet you didn’t get any breakfast in that dive Corbin put you in, did you?” he said, chuckling.

  I froze. “What do you mean? Aren't you in the same tavern as us? Corbin didn't make you sleep in the stable, did he?” I asked, my voice rising. If that was the case, I was going to tear Corbin a new one. That would be absolute insolence.

  But Idris shook his head reassuringly. “No, no. I’m quartered in a proper inn in the village. But Corbin put you two in the 'Adventurer's Pub' outside of the village because he said it would be much more fun.”

  Hearing that, the pieces clicked into place.

  So 'Princess' wasn't a villager, but an adventurer. That made so much sense.

  I burst into laughter.

  Corbin is such a bastard. He put us there solely for his own amusement, staging the whole thing so he wouldn't be bored.

  Idris looked at me, confused by my sudden outburst. I just sighed heavily. “Come on, let’s go to the tavern. I’ll explain on the way.”

  “And what do you plan to do with your Princ—” Idris started, but he was cut off by a tumult in the distance.

  Loud, angry voices. Screams of rage and grief.

  Idris and I looked at each other, startled.

  “Let me guess,” I said, a bad feeling settling in my stomach. “Your tavern is in the direction of those voices?”

  Idris scratched his head uncomfortably. “Yeah. It’s right in the village center, on the market square.”

  Sighing, I nodded and steeled myself for whatever was coming. What now? Bandits? Dragons? A mob of angry mothers-in-law? Whatever it was, I just hoped it wouldn't involve us.

  We trudged up a small slope through the snow. Why does the damn market square have to be on a hill?

  Annoyed, I stomped upward. Soon, through the veil of falling snow, I saw an agitated crowd gathered in a circle.

  As we got closer, we heard a voice bellowing something to the mob, and the mob roaring back in agreement. But something about the scene felt wrong. Something towered over the people. A wooden pole? A cross?

  Two crosses.

  One large, one small.

  We could only see the tops over the people’s heads.

  I heard someone scream, “We damn the womb that bore the monster, and the breast that suckled the abomination! Never again shall such a beast walk among us!”

  And the crowd roared back, a single, terrifying word: “JUSTICE!”

  We stood behind the crowd, unable to see what was happening. I looked at Idris, but he seemed just as overwhelmed.

  I steeled my resolve and began to push slowly through the crowd. I had to find out what’s happening here.

  But before I could break through to the front, my vision was blocked.

  Hands—cold, trembling hands—cupped my face.

  “Don’t,” a woman sobbed, her voice cracking. “Th-that is no sight for an in-innocent child.”

  What the hell is going on?

  Gently, I took her hands and pulled them away from my face. I looked up to see a woman weeping bitterly. Her eyes were red and swollen, tears streaming endlessly down her cheeks. She looked defeated. Broken. As if the life had drained out of her.

  She closed her eyes and bit her lip, trembling. “My poor child…” she whispered.

  And I knew, with a sudden, sickening certainty, that she wasn't talking about me.

  My heart hammered against my ribs as I slowly turned around.

  And then, it stopped.

  A young woman, naked and stripped of dignity, was nailed to the large wooden cross with crude iron spikes.

  The sight was a nightmare made flesh. Her chest had been mutilated—her breasts severed, leaving jagged, weeping wounds where blood ran down her pale skin like red tears. And below… her abdomen was a ruin. A gaping, bloody hole, as if someone had hacked something out of her with an axe. The blood dripped down and stained the snow red.

  But the greatest horror was her face. Her eyes were open. Empty. Glassy. Yet tears still tracked through the grime on her cheeks.

  Is she… is she still alive? Why would they do this?!

  I felt the world tilting on its axis, threatening to collapse.

  Then, my gaze fell on the second, smaller cross next to her.

  And everything made sense. A terrible, brutal sense.

  A baby hung on the second cross.

  A small, green baby with a bulbous nose and pointed ears.

  A goblin.