Sarah had given Leo a thorough dressing-down, a verbal lashing that could curdle milk at twenty paces. The subject of her ire? Guild cards.

  Apparently, these little pieces of enchanted cardboard were the golden ticket to free gate passage, a fact Leo had conveniently neglected to mention, resulting in Sarah's earlier, rather undignified, scramble for loose change. She'd spent the subsequent hours honing her newfound skills, channeling her inner warrior woman (with a dash of "why didn't you TELL me?!" thrown in for good measure).

  As the sun began its dramatic descent, painting Grower in hues of fiery orange and soft lavender, they made their way back to the city. From a distance, Grower looked like something out of a fairytale, if that fairytale involved a hefty stone wall encircling everything. Only the tips of a few particularly audacious buildings dared to peek over the ramparts, the rest of the city playing a coy game of hide-and-seek.

  They approached the eastern gate, one of two gaping maws in the wall, and Sarah sailed through, her passage smooth as silk, thanks to her proximity to the esteemed Captain of Guard House 3 (and not, she reminded herself pointedly, because of any help from a certain forgetful someone).

  The gatekeeper with the scar that looked like he'd lost a fight with a knife-wielding Thief was nowhere to be seen, probably off somewhere swapping stories about close shaves and rogue turnips.

  Leo, bless him, had apologized so profusely, Sarah half expected him to start weeping and gnashing his teeth. His penance? Dinner. He'd offered to treat her, a transparent attempt to prolong her company, and honestly, after all that skill-sharpening, the prospect of food was too tempting to resist. Hours of wielding whatever magical energy this world offered had worked up an appetite that could rival a rampaging ogre.

  And that's how Sarah found herself perched delicately on a plush velvet chair, facing Leo across a table laden with crisp white linen. The restaurant, all chandeliers and hushed whispers, was one of those places where the cutlery probably cost more than her entire wardrobe back on Earth.

  It was so fancy, she felt a sudden urge to check if she’d accidentally wandered onto the set of a period drama. The whole experience was making her slightly uncomfortable, like she was an extra in a play she hadn't rehearsed for. She half-expected a waiter in a powdered wig to pop out and ask her if she'd prefer her soup served with a silver spoon or a miniature golden shovel.

  She glanced at Leo, who was beaming at her, oblivious to her internal monologue about medieval gardening implements. "So," he said, "I hope you like it here. It's supposed to be the best in Grower." Sarah managed a tight smile. "It's... Certainly shiny," she replied, hoping that didn't sound too much like she'd never seen a chandelier before. She just needed to remember to keep her elbows off the table and try not to accidentally knock anything over with her newly acquired magical abilities. This dinner was going to be an adventure in itself.

  "Just so we're on the same page," Sarah began, her voice calm and measured, "This isn't a date. I'm having dinner with you as a thank you for your help earlier." She watched his reaction closely, her expression neutral, making sure he understood the clear boundaries she was setting. There was no room for misinterpretation.

  "Of course," Leo replied, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face before he schooled it into polite neutrality. "I understand completely and have no ulterior motives. If you did change your mind, however..." He let the sentence trail off, a hint of playful suggestion in his tone. Sarah's gaze remained unwavering, her eyes holding his. He coughed, a slight flush rising on his cheeks. "Just a joke, haha. It was a joke."

  The first course arrived, a culinary masterpiece that looked more like a work of art than food. Sarah stared at it, a mixture of awe and bewilderment swirling within her. Was she supposed to eat it? It seemed almost sacrilegious to disturb such a beautiful creation. Top? Bottom? Maybe a quick photo for posterity, a testament to the world's most creative dish? Eating dinner was not supposed to be such a struggle.

  Finally, abandoning all pretense of etiquette, Sarah picked up her spoon and took a tentative bite. Her eyes widened. Whatever it was, it was absolutely divine. A symphony of flavors exploded on her tongue, a culinary revelation. She devoured the rest with undisguised pleasure, already anticipating the next course.

  The second dish was equally stunning, a vibrant tapestry of colors and textures. This time, Sarah didn't hesitate. She dove straight in, savoring every mouthful. It was so good, so utterly transcendent, that a single tear escaped and traced a path down her cheek. Leo, sensing her emotional response, madw gentle small talk throughout the meal, asking if training had been beneficial, carefully avoiding anything too personal, yet managing to glean a general understanding of the woman before him. He was intrigued.

  Dessert, a decadent chocolate fondant, arrived just as Sarah was recounting a particularly difficult memory from her last tour. She spoke of Sam and Dean, two young recruits from upstate, who had been lost in a devastating suicide bombing. The words tumbled out, raw and painful, yet strangely cathartic. Sharing the burden, the emotional baggage that had been weighing her down since her first death, felt… lighter. A weight had shifted, a knot loosened.

  After the meal, Leo insisted on walking her home. Sarah suspected he was simply curious about her address, but she didn't object. She felt a strange sense of connection to the lion after their shared meal and conversation. As they arrived at her small cottage, nestled just off Central Street, Leo stopped, his eyes widening in surprise.

  A queue of customers stretched down the street, waiting patiently outside her door. He was also surprised that she had managed to get a cottage in such a prime location. It was a testament to her resourcefulness, her resilience. He looked at her with newfound respect.

  So she thought. It wasn't as though Sarah had a neon sign flashing "Ethically Sourced Tower" above her humble abode. Explaining Solus, the grumpy gatekeeper of her magically-acquired tower, and how she’d tried to die to make her way past him, was a saga worthy of its own bard.

  Maybe, just maybe, when they were closer – when he wasn't at risk of turning on her faster than a goblin on a gold coin because of her "unethical" class – she could regale Leo with the full, unexpurgated, tear-jerking, laugh-until-you-cry, possibly-involve-a-talking-door version of her life story.

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  But that epic tale was for another time. For now, Leo was more interested in the burgeoning queue outside her cottage, a line that snaked around bend and threatened to spill into Mrs. Higgins' prize-winning petunias. Were they here for Sarah?

  He seemed a little… Jealous. Like a puppy guarding its favorite chew toy, but the chew toy was Sarah's attention.

  Sarah, ever the entrepreneur, explained her little side hustle: a business that offered stat points and related status buffs. Leo's jaw dropped so low she was worried he'd swallow a ladybug. Never. In all his days of adventuring and guarding the city, he had never heard of anything like that.

  A person could, of course, raise their own stats through dedicated, often tedious, actions – like chopping wood until your arms felt like they were made of lead or practicing swordplay until you could practically parry a bee. But no one, absolutely no one, could offer stat boosts to other people. It was impossible.

  Leo was briefly introduced to Ariel, a woman whose eyes lit up at the mention of "good job" as Sarah was handed yet another hefty bag of coins. It was becoming a bit much. Good thing her ring had the storage feature, otherwise she'd be needing a pack mule, and those things smelled terrible. The Guard Captain, bless his punctual soul, left, mentioning his shift was about to start. Sarah, ever gracious, bid him farewell, already mentally calculating how much food she could buy with her earnings.

  She had a hefty pouch of jingling coin, enough to make a dragon envious, and a lonely, slightly senile door named Solus to comfort (he had a tendency to rant). And then there was the pressing matter of guild affiliation. The "Knights of the Round Tablecloth" (legendary for their exquisite needlework, capable of stitching a dragon's ripped wing back together) or "Order of the Mystical Muffin," whispered to possess the most delectable pastries in the realm. Imagine, membership meetings fueled by blueberry scones that could make you levitate (or at least feel like you could).

  Decisions, decisions, she thought. It was a tough life, being a magically-gifted Necromancer with a penchant for baked goods.

  She really should have consulted Leo before he'd vanished. His opinion held some weight, especially after witnessing her "training" – a chaotic display of flailing limbs and accidental mishaps that somehow resulted in a flock of sheep spontaneously combusting (he’d politely called it “spirited”).

  Sarah sighed and climbed the creaking stairs, her footsteps silent as ever. Time to console Solus. The lonely door, crafted from some ancient wood, was positively radiating melancholy.

  "Master," Solus groaned, the sound a low, drawn-out complaint. But Sarah, attuned to the subtle shifts in his tone, detected a flicker of something else – a nascent affection. She smiled; she was finally starting to understand the door's complex, and often contradictory, personality. His... Eccentricities. Like an accustomed general, once you got to know him, he wasn't too bad. Even if he could kill you on thought. Thoughts of being electrocuted by red lightning were still fresh in Sarah's mind. It had been less than a week ago.

  Sarah settled into her favorite armchair and regaled the murder door with the day’s adventures. She recounted helping Leo organize his chaotic office (a task akin to herding cats), their brief discussion about her future training, the helpful guard with the suspiciously symmetrical scar on his eye and the toll she had to pay to simply leave the city, the eerie quiet of the forest, the rabbit monster that had seemingly died of a heart attack as she’d zoomed past on her magically-enhanced (and out-of-control) high. She conveniently omitted the part where she’d accidentally crashed headfirst through a rather sturdy tree, a detail she felt would only fuel Solus’s already high anxiety levels.

  Solus listened intently, occasionally interjecting with dramatic sighs and pronouncements about the decline of modern carpentry. Once the void in the door’s wooden heart was filled (or at least partially soothed), Sarah was about to head downstairs when Sebastian, in his new twelve-year-old form, popped into the room. His hair was an unusual shade of electric blue, and his features were cherubic, almost unsettlingly so. "The tower is closed for the night, Master," he announced in a voice that was surprisingly deep for a pre-teen.

  "Weird," Sarah muttered, more to herself than anyone. "Not as weird as, you know, inhabiting the dead in the first place, but still weird." She glanced at Seb, the young, formerly spectral butler, now solid and rosy-cheeked, happily munching on a chicken skewer. "Awesome. It looks like you have been dominating your opponents all day, Seb." Sarah smiled, genuinely pleased. He’d been an absolute trooper, running the trials for hours, his ghostly form flickering in and out of existence as he managed the flow of challengers. Now, finally corporeal, he seemed to have an equally healthy appetite.

  "Hungry?" she asked, already knowing the answer. He nodded enthusiastically, a small smear of sauce appearing on his cheek. They shared the skewers, the savory aroma filling the air. It seemed like only moments ago Sarah had devoured a three-course meal, but she had a reputation to uphold. The Flutton, they called her, and for good reason.

  The three of them chatted easily, the earlier tension of the trials fading into comfortable camaraderie. It wasn't until the conversation lulled that Sarah realized a logistical problem. Where were Ariel and Sebastian going to sleep? A quick mental image of the perpetually grumpy Immortal Receptionist curled up in her chair downstairs flashed through her mind. Absolutely not. That wouldn't do at all.

  "How many souls did we get today, Azrael?" she murmured, glancing at the ring on her finger. The book bound within should have been keeping count.

  [Three, Master,] the disembodied voice responded.

  What? Sarah’s eyebrows shot up. Is that it? What about those sheep that… you know… exploded?

  [They were just sheep, Master. Not monsters,] Azrael replied, his tone flat.

  Oh. Sarah felt a flicker of confusion. Sheep were just sheep, but rabbits were apparently dangerous enough to be classified as monsters? The logic of this world was a strange and often baffling thing. She decided not to dwell on it; her head was starting to ache. Three souls would have to be enough. Hopefully.

  Sarah accessed the tower’s interface. With a flick of her wrist and a surge of magical energy, she revamped the entire level. Three drab, featureless rooms transformed into luxurious tower suites. Two became beautifully appointed bedrooms, complete with plush carpets, rich drapes, and even, inexplicably, actual windows that looked out onto the bustling street below. The third room was converted into a spacious and modern bathroom, perfect for her newly corporeal workers. She didn't understand the how of it all, but the results were undeniable.

  A wave of satisfaction washed over her. Ariel and Sebastian had proper living quarters. “Go inform Ariel please, Seb,” she instructed, stifling a yawn. It had been a long, if ultimately successful, day. The trials had opened without a hitch, and everyone, even the losers, seemed to have enjoyed the experience. There was always the chance to try again, after all.

  Finally, she settled into her own bed, the soft mattress a welcome relief. A nagging feeling tugged at the edge of her consciousness, a sense that she was forgetting something. She considered it for a moment, but whatever it was seemed minor, easily dismissed. She reviewed the day’s gains in her mind, a slight twinge of disappointment lingering at the low soul count, and drifted off to sleep.

  < Identify has leveled up

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