The Reeve's Hall was just a large wooden longhouse. It was warmer than the outside, at least.
A single smoky firepit burned in the center of the room, casting a long flickering shadows. It smelled of wet wool and old ale.
Reeve Murdoch was not a king. He was a bald barrel-chested man with a face like a worn-out boot and an iron-grey beard that looked wiry enough to scour a pot.
He sat at a heavy oak table, his gaze fixed on Dante, while Thomas, the guard, stood uneasily by the door.
Rin-Rin was already bored.
"Producer-sama, this 'venue' is so low-energy! There's no back-stage, the lighting is terrible, and where is the craft-services table? Rin-Rin needs sparkling water!"
She was currently examining a moth-eaten tapestry of what looked like a bear attacking a nobleman.
"Rin-Rin, please," Dante hissed, his [Hasted] mind a buzzing wreck of social anxiety. "This is... this is the client. Be professional."
"Hmph. Fine." She struck a pose, planting her hands on her hips. "Rin-Rin is ready for her close-up, Mr. Reeve-man!"
Murdoch, who had been listening to Thomas's whispered report about "purple Goblins" and "death-music," just sighed. He was a man at the end of a very long, very strange rope.
He looked from Rin-Rin's pink dress... to Shivvy, who was a pale trembling shadow hiding behind Dante... and finally, to Dante himself.
He focused on Dante, his eyes raking over the mud-caked, blood-stained, and cartoon-covered pajama pants.
The Reeve's face, already a roadmap of exhaustion, crumpled.
He took a slow breath.
"Sir... Mage," he began, his voice a low, careful rumble.
"We are... grateful. For your... 'assistance'... with the Goblin issue. And we will, of course, discuss the bounty for clearing the ruins."
He paused, steepling his fingers.
"But before... before any of that... I must, with all respect, point out... Sir... you are, ah... you're in your nightclothes."
Dante froze.
The adrenaline. The fighting. The running.
He had completely and utterly forgotten.
He looked down.
His pants, adorned with a fading pattern of cartoon rocket ships and the words "BLAST OFF!", were torn at the knee and caked in a drying mixture of mud Goblin-bile, and his own blood. His t-shirt was a stretched-out grey rag.
And he was barefoot.
His face, his ears, his entire neck went hot.
It was, without a doubt, the single most profound moment of mortification he had ever experienced.
He was a Level 2 Creator. He was a "Producer-sama."
And he was, to the leader of this village, "Sir Pajamas."
He wanted the forest floor to open up and swallow him.
"I..." he stammered, "I... yes. I... it was... it's been a long... morning."
He had to fix this. Now.
"I need," he said, his voice flat, "to buy clothes. And boots. Now."
"Ah!," Murdoch said, clearly relieved to be on solid understandable ground, "an excellent idea. Mistress Gable's shop is just... well..." His eyes flicked to Dante's empty, pajama-pant pockets. "Of course, the bounty can cover... your... expenses..."
"No," Dante said, the word coming out sharper than he intended.
He couldn't stand here for one more second. He needed to solve this himself.
He turned, ignoring the two most powerful men in the village, and looked at the one person who could help him.
He knelt, getting on her level.
Shivvy flinched, her eyes wide.
Dante softened his voice, dropping it to a conspiratorial whisper.
"Shivvy. It's okay. I just need your help. Your [Inventory]."
She nodded, trembling.
"Ummm," he whispered, "do you have money? Coins? Gold? Anything?"
He was asking his bank alt for cash.
Shivvy looked at him, her terror momentarily eclipsed by a look of pure concentration.
She trusted him. He had asked her for something.
"I have 'Items,' Creator," she whispered back. "I have what you put in."
"Is any of it... money?"
"Um..." She held out her small, dirt-caked hand. She squeezed her eyes shut. "I have... 'Old Skull Token'... 'Faded Coin of '... no, wait..."
Thomas and Murdoch were watching this bizarre, whispered exchange with silent attention.
"Ah!" Shivvy's eyes snapped open.
"I have [Aethelgard Treasury Coin and [Aethelgard Silver Piece and 4,500 [Copper Bits]..."
"Just one of the the 'Treasury' ones. The gold," Dante said, desperate.
"Quick."
"Okay, Creator."
Shivvy held her hand out flat.
She frowned.
A thud echoed in the stone-and-wood hall.
It was not the clink of a coin. It was the heavy thud of a paperweight.
Sitting in her tiny pale hand was a piece of gold.
But it wasn't a coin. It was a Coin.
It was massive. It was easily three inches across and a quarter-inch thick. It was made of a gold so pure, so bright, it seemed to thrum with its own magical light, casting a warm yellow glow on her hand.
It was stamped with the stylized majestic head of a Gryphon, the symbol of the Aethelgard Online kingdom.
It was a high-level quest item, a "Gold Piece."
Dante just looked at it. It was bigger than he remembered.
He didn't notice the silence.
He didn't notice that Thomas, the guard, had let his torch drop a few inches, his mouth hanging open.
He didn't notice that Reeve Murdoch, the grim pragmatic leader, had shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly on the stone floor.
He didn't notice "The Gasp."
It was a sharp shared intake of breath from the only two other men in the room.
Dante, completely missing the context, picked up the coin.
'It was heavy.'
"Will this do?" he asked, turning to Murdoch.
Murdoch's face was pale. His eyes were not on Dante. They were locked on the coin.
Thomas was staring at it like it was a live cobra.
These men had lived their entire lives with currency. Small, thin, hammered-out silver bits, clipped and shaved, or common dull copper pieces. Gold was a rumor. It was a king's metal or a dragon's hoard.
And this... thing... that Dante was holding. It was more pure, solid, and obscene gold than either of them had seen in their entire lives.
It was probably worth...
...more than the village.
...more than the fields.
...more than the entire fiefdom.
And this... this man... in his pajamas...
...had just pulled it from a frightened girl's hand like it was nothing.
...and asked if it 'would do'.
Reeve Murdoch's entire worldview, which had already been cracked by "purple Goblins" and "death-music," now shattered, re-formed, and settled into a new terrifying and absolute reality.
He was not just a Mage.
He was a Noble Lord from some unseen terrifyingly wealthy "Mage-Kingdom," traveling incognito, in the "custom" of his people (pajamas), with his "magic-using handmaiden" (Rin-Rin) and his "terrified coin-holding servant" (Shivvy).
He was "Lord Pajamas." And he was, without a doubt, the richest man who had ever set foot in Oakhaven.
Murdoch's entire demeanor snapped to attention.
The tired and grim Reeve was gone. In his place was a bowed, deeply respectful, and terrified local official.
"Honored... Sir," Murdoch stammered, bowing. A bow.
"That... that will more than do."
He didn't look at the coin again. It was like staring at the sun.
"Thomas!" he barked, not looking away from Dante.
"Y-yes, Reeve!"
"Escort... Lord... escort our honored guest to Mistress Gable's shop. Immediately. Get him... anything he requires. Anything. Put it on the village's account."
"B-but Reeve, the... the account..."
"Do it!" Murdoch hissed.
"Hey, I can pay," Dante said, hefting the massive gold coin.
"NO!" both men shouted at once.
Dante flinched.
"That is," Murdoch said, composing himself, "that is a treasure, sir. A 'King's Mint'. You cannot spend that here. It is too much. We have nothing that you could buy with that."
He was, in his own way, saying: 'Please, sir, do not destroy our entire village's economy with your pocket change.'
"Right," Thomas said, his voice high and squeaky. He opened the door.
"This way... My Lord."
"...'My Lord'?" Dante whispered to himself, his stomach turning.
"Producer-sama!" Rin-Rin cheered. "A promotion! You're a Lord now! Does that make me a Court Idol? Ooh, I get a castle!"
"Just..." Dante sighed, his shoulders slumping. "Just follow me. And please, Rin-Rin. Don't sing yet."
"Hmph. Tough crowd."
Oakhaven Provisions was a cramped single-room building that smelled of dried herbs, smoked fish, and old leather.
A white-haired woman with a face like a friendly wrinkled apple stood behind a counter.
Mistress Gable.
Thomas the guard stumbled in first, his face pale.
"Gable," he hissed, "be respectful. He's someone important."
"Important?" she said, adjusting her spectacles.
"He's not another one of your cousins from the—"
Dante entered.
Mistress Gable stopped.
Her eyes took in the pajamas. The mud. The bare feet.
Then Rin-Rin bounced in, her neon-pink dress a visual assault.
"Hellooo, shop-keep! We're here for a costume change!"
Mistress Gable just put a hand on her heart.
"Oh... oh my."
"He needs your finest," Thomas said, his voice trembling,
The old woman's eyes darted around her shop. Her "finest" was a bolt of un-dyed itchy-looking wool and some pig-leather hides.
"I... I have... ah..."
"Pants," Dante said, his voice flat. He was so, so tired of this.
"Please. Just gimme pants, please. And shirt. And boots. Anything. That fits me."
"Y-yes, sir. Of course, sir."
Gable scurried into a back room.
Rin-Rin was already inspecting a rack of farming scythes.
"Producer-sama! Look! This one looks just like my 'Dark Metal' single's album cover!"
"Don't. Touch. The scythes."
"Mooooo. You're meanie, Producer.sama!"
A minute later, Gable returned with clothes.
A simple dark-green linen tunic. A pair of sturdy, brown, woolen-twill trousers. And a pair of worn, but solid, dark leather boots.
'It was the Adventurer Starter Set! It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.'
"Yes," he said, his voice thick with relief. "That. All of it. How much?"
Mistress Gable looked at Thomas. Thomas looked at Dante. Dante was still holding the Aethelgard Gold Coin.
"I... it's... t-ten..." Gable stammered, terrified of the coin. "T-ten coppers, sir? For… the lot?"
Dante looked at the massive gold coin in his hand.
He had no idea what a "copper" was, but he knew this wasn't it.
He turned, whispering to his bank.
"Shivvy. Something smaller."
Shivvy, who was hiding behind the door frame, dutifully held out her hand.
Blink.
A single, tiny, perfectly minted silver coin appeared in her palm. It was also stamped with the Gryphon.
A [Silver Piece].
Dante took it. He looked at Mistress Gable, who was wringing her hands.
And then he put the silver coin on the counter.
"Thank you," he said. "This is for your trouble."
Mistress Gable stared at the silver coin. A single Aethelgard silver was, by its weight and purity, probably worth 100 of her 'coppers.'
This was a massive overpayment.
"Sir, I... I can't... this is..."
"Please," Dante said, already grabbing the clothes. "I just need to change."
He vanished into the back room she'd indicated.
Mistress Gable looked at the silver coin. She looked at Thomas, who just shrugged, his face saying 'He's a Lord, don't argue'. She looked at Rin-Rin, who was humming to herself. And she looked at Shivvy, who was still hiding, a pale, thin, silent child who looked like she hadn't eaten in a week.
Gable's face, hardened by years of village life, softened.
She picked up the silver coin.
And then she walked over to a barrel by the counter, which was filled with bright, red, and shiny apples.
She picked the reddest and most perfect one. Then she walked over to the door frame, where Shivvy was trying to make herself invisible.
Shivvy flinched, her eyes wide, expecting to be hit or yelled at.
Instead, Gable just held out the apple.
"Here, dearie," the old woman said, her voice a kind crinkly whisper.
"You look like you could use this. Go on. It's a gift."
Shivvy stared at the apple. It was so red.
She looked at the old woman's smiling wrinkled face. Then at Dante, who was just emerging from the back room, finally dressed in pants.
'A gift.'
No one had ever given her anything. She was a bank. A tool. A key.
Shivvy's small hand slowly reached out. Her fingers brushed the apple's skin.
She took it and held it in both hands, her eyes fixed on it, as if it were a holy relic.
And then... her shoulders started to shake.
A single hot tear splashed onto the apple's skin. Then another. And another.
"Hiks…"
It was a silent heartbreaking overflow of tears. She had been "waiting" for ten years. She had been terrified. And she had been useless.
And this "NPC" had just been kind.
Dante, now wearing boots that fit, turned to see his bank-alt-turned-assistant weeping over a piece of fruit.
"Uh..." he started, his "Producer" composure completely gone.
He was awkward.
But he just put a hand on her head, ruffling her matted brown hair. It was a clumsy gesture.
"It's... it's okay, Shivvy," he said, his voice quiet. "It's... it's just an apple. We'll get more."
"Yes it's okay, Kouhai! We will get more and more and more exciting gift in our journey!"
Her tears just fell faster.
Dante sighed, looking at Mistress Gable, who was smiling at them both.
He gave her a small nod.
"Come on, party," he said, his voice a little stronger. "Let's go find the Reeve. We have a quest to accept."