Anzu's thoughts snapped to the back of his head, probing his active status effects. The [Illude] spell still held, disguising his legendary gear as common robes. He'd recast it on horseback before returning to the carriage. No one should be able to recognize him.

  "What do you mean?" Anzu set the dagger down carefully, keeping his voice even.

  The merchant smiled, showing gaps in his teeth.

  "The Hero of Larsa. You know, the famous Sage? He's been back for over a year now and operates from the Grand Tower, selling indulgences."

  Anzu's stomach dropped.

  "Indulgences?"

  "That's right." The merchant leaned forward as if he was letting on a well-known secret. "They come in all sorts, but most are protection blessings. It's damn good business, from what I hear. Half the city's been to see him."

  Anzu's jaw tightened. He forced himself to ask the next question.

  "What kind of indulgences, exactly?"

  "Protection against drought's the most popular, I'd say. It costs a fair bit of silver, but people swear by it. Then there's the ones for keeping the Gutians away, blessings for good harvests, even some for safe childbirth, I hear." The merchant shrugged. "It's expensive, but what can you do? You can't put a price on safety."

  "Right." Anzu's voice came out flat. "You definitely can't."

  He turned from the stall without another word, Itani rejoining him at his side. They walked quickly, leaving the bazaar behind.

  "Anzu?" Itani's voice carried concern. "What just happened?"

  "Someone's in my tower."

  "What?" She caught his arm, pulling him to a stop. "Who? I don't understand. Who's at the tower?"

  Anzu exhaled hard, running a hand through his hair.

  "I don't know. But we need to go and check."

  "Now?"

  "Right now. I can't say without going there myself. But I think someone's pretending to be me."

  Itani gave a look that landed somewhere between shock and confusion.

  "But...how could they even do that?"

  "This is what we need to find out."

  He oriented himself by the central ziggurat's dark outline against the evening sky.

  "We'll take a left at the temple, go down Jeweller Street, and then past the scribal office. That'll bring us straight to the other side of Larsa."

  Itani nodded, her hand dropping to her bow.

  "Lead the way."

  As they moved quickly through the streets, Anzu's mind was churning. Someone had been impersonating him and selling indulgences. For over a year. The sheer audacity of it made his blood boil, but underneath the anger ran something else: he felt partly responsible for what was happening. If this was a con artist selling people empty promises for actual money, the whole charade needed to be stopped right away.

  Its stepped sides loomed above them as they took a right turn at the ziggurat. The street narrowed, and shops gave way to residential buildings with shuttered windows. Jeweller Street opened before them, reviving feelings of familiarity.

  A warm myst appeared in the center of Anzu and began spreading outwards, momentarily displacing the angst and anger.

  It was the cobblestones, the carved lintels above doorways, and the fountain at the corner where he'd once met an alchemist selling dubious imported potions. Every detail was exactly as he remembered from his time in-game.

  The Anni in him surfaced slightly from time to time, to remind him how odd all of this was: that he wasn't just in some world that resembled historical Earth, but in the world of the actual game that he'd played all those years ago.

  Anni was always there in the background, but Anzu was at the wheel, which often drowned Anni's sentiment in the experiences at hand. So much so, on occasions like this, that he felt he was back. Finally, back home.

  The thought settled into his stomach, warm and strange. Despite the imposter at the tower, despite the danger, despite everything, he was home. These streets knew him, and he knew them.

  "You alright?" Itani asked.

  "Yeah." Anzu kept walking, allowing himself a small smile. "Just... it's good to be back."

  They'd just passed the scribal office on their left, its windows dark due to evening time. But beyond it, the city wall rose in the distance, and beyond that...

  The Grand Tower of Larsa.

  It rose in the distance, silhouetted against the darkening sky, and Anzu stopped walking to admire it for just a moment.

  It wasn't just any tower. It was his tower.

  The base spread wide in a classic ziggurat fashion with tiered steps climbing upward in perfect Sumerian geometry. But above that, the architecture shifted into something else entirely. Slender pillars framed the upper floors, and between them, Gothic windows caught the last light of day. Some of them hosted stained glass whose blues and reds he'd selected himself, poring over the options in the game's customization menu for hours. The blend of ancient Mesopotamia and European cathedral had seemed fitting at the time. It was dramatic, and it screamed uniqueness.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Every second floor bore the typical Sumerian lion statues with their mouths open and fangs bared. He thought of them as gargoyles in the Sumerian style, commissioned from a master sculptor in Ur. He'd paid a small fortune in gold for this detail work.

  "That's yours?" Itani's voice carried awe.

  "Mhm," Anzu forced himself to keep walking.

  The warmth in his stomach then began to curdle into significantly colder determination. It was time to meet this supposed hero who now occupied the tower.

  The courtyard came into focus as they approached, and the warmth in his chest disappeared entirely.

  It was a mess.

  The courtyard used to be a thing of beauty. Its trees were carefully selected dwarf cedars, cypresses, and ebony saplings, all imported from abroad, which made them exotic specimens in Sumeria.

  Now, they were all wild tangles, as branches reached in every direction, abandoning the symmetry he had planned so carefully. Some had grown tall and scraggly, while others had withered halfway with brown needles clinging to dead limbs. The ground between them lay choked with weeds.

  "They haven't trimmed or watered them," Anzu said quietly.

  "What?"

  "The trees. They were supposed to be maintained and shaped." He gestured at the chaos. "I hired gardeners. They were meant to keep them in geometric patterns, water them, trim them yearly to match the tower's symmetry."

  Itani looked at the courtyard, then at him.

  "How long has it been since you were last here?"

  Yes. Maybe he was being unreasonable. He had to remind himself that he had been gone for over two centuries. This was a world now with real-life consequences and not just an online game.

  The plant-life can be watered, pruned back, and with that, the courtyard would be renewed. What awaited him at the tower itself was a different story.

  They passed through the outer gate of the courtyard, and Anzu's jaw clenched.

  There was a crude wooden hut squatted directly in front of the tower entrance, covering it completely.

  A hut.

  It was just crude planks hammered together without craft or care, making the whole structure lean slightly to one side. It blocked the elegant archway he'd commissioned, obscuring the paired lion statues that flanked the doors. He could just see their stone muzzles peeking around the edges of the ramshackle construction.

  And in front of the hut, may all the Sumerian gods help him, was a wooden stage.

  Anzu stopped walking.

  "What is that?" His voice came out very quiet.

  Itani studied the structure, her face carefully neutral. "Looks like... a stage?"

  "Yes, a crude stage," Anzu repeated the word like a curse. "In front of the entrance, blocking the lions."

  They were rough boards nailed into a platform, which was just tall enough to make you stand above a crowd. The kind of thing a traveling performer might erect in a village square, or a charlatan selling snake oil.

  "Maybe he gives speeches... or something?"

  "He gives speeches." Anzu closed his eyes, breathing through his nose. "Someone has been living here selling so-called indulgences, and giving speeches from a wooden stage built in front of my door."

  "Anzu..."

  "We'll kick him out."

  "You don't even know who..."

  "I'm going to find out who this is, and then I'm going to telekinetically kick them from here to the Zagros mountains."

  The crowd numbered perhaps thirty people, including merchants, farmers, and a handful of adventurers. They stood in a rough semicircle before the stage with their faces turned upwards.

  And on the platform stood the fraud.

  Anzu's hands curled into fists. Clearly, he'd try to resolve the situation in a peaceful manner, but this was just too much.

  The man was older. Perhaps of about fifty years. Grey threaded through his beard, and his face carried the weathered lines of someone who'd spent decades under the sun. He wore Sage robes of a green color, which were acceptable enough at a distance. So, perhaps an alchemist?

  But the details made Anzu's vision narrow.

  It was the yellow moon and stars of the [Robe of Mululil]. They'd been stitched onto the chest of the green robe. Even at a distance, it was patently crude work with uneven threads of the kind anyone could manage with no skill in sewing. The celestial symbols sat crooked, the moon was lopsided, and stars of different sizes scattered across the green fabric like afterthoughts.

  "...these troubled times require strength," the fake Hero proclaimed, spreading his arms in a wide semi-circle. "The Gutians press from the east, while the Mardukists tighten their grip in Lagash, Ur, Uruk. But here, in Larsa, we remain protected. Why? Because of the blessings I provide."

  "How much for drought protection?" someone in the crowd called out.

  "Fifty silver. A bargain for peace of mind."

  Anzu stepped forward with Itani close behind. He made sure to keep his voice conversational and, most importantly, calm.

  "A question, my good man."

  The fake hero's gaze snapped to him.

  "Yes?"

  "If you're the Hero of Larsa, why do you need to sell indulgences at all?"

  The crowd shifted slightly as murmurs rippled through it. The fake's smile didn't waver, though.

  "These are harsh times we live in, friend. The old ways of adventuring, of heroic feats of hoarding treasure, those days are past. Now, I use my gifts to help people. By purchasing these blessings, we all contribute to better days ahead."

  "Better days," Anzu repeated. "I see. Another question, my fine fellow."

  The fake's eyes narrowed slightly.

  "Yes, but make it quick."

  Anzu pointed at the man's sleeve.

  "I see you have the emblem of the Wind Demon dungeon there."

  The fake glanced down at his sleeve, where a small embroidered symbol of a stylized gust of wind sat.

  "I do, indeed. It was well earned."

  "Impressive. A [Level 90] dungeon." Anzu let the pause stretch a little. "So, then, where's your Sand Dragon emblem?"

  The crowd's murmuring stopped and focused on the fake hero, who just blinked.

  "What?"

  "The Sand Dragon dungeon. It's the basic [Level 95] entry requirement for Sages." Anzu kept his tone light, almost helpful. "You'd need to complete it to progress. But I don't see the emblem on your other sleeve. Strange, don't you think? For someone who's [Level 120] and an Archsage of Blood and Death?"

  Confusion rippled through the assembly. A merchant near the front frowned, while a woman whispered something to her companion.

  The fake's smile cracked at the edges. "The emblems, see, they're not all visible. Some are kept private, you understand. It's a sanctity only Archsages fully comprehend."

  "Sacred." Anzu nodded slowly. "That's convenient. You see, I'm just asking questions for the people here. We're trying to make sure you are the real Hero of Larsa."

  "Now listen here..."

  "Actually, I have a better test." Anzu gestured toward the tower behind the shabby hut. "If you're the real Hero of Larsa, why not unlock the doors? Everyone knows that only he has the key and that the doors are magically sealed."

  The crowd turned as one, staring at the tower entrance, or what little of it showed around the wooden shack.

  The impersonator's face flushed.

  "What I do in my private quarters is my own business! That entrance leads to personal chambers, sacred Archsage spaces not meant for..."

  "So you can't unlock it."

  "I won't dignify this with... this session is over!" The fake Hero's voice rose, sharp and defensive. "All of you, go home. Come back tomorrow if you want blessings. This evening's proceedings are terminated immediately!"

  The crowd hesitated and then began dispersing in small clusters in a confused manner. Whispers followed them, and many heads were turning back toward the stage.

  Anzu watched the fake descend from the platform, his robes swirling, and how those crooked stars caught the torchlight.

  Got you... my fine fellow.