Ok… so now what?
Everyone moved about their day like nothing had changed. Footsteps passed me, conversations blending into a constant hum. Carts rattled over stone roads while merchants shouted prices I didn’t recognize.
I walked through the district, hands in my pockets. If I was going to make it here, I needed work. All I’d ever done before was construction. I figured that would carry over well enough—even in a world like this.
The streets smelled of baked bread, leather, and dust. People brushed past me—some in worn work clothes, others dressed in fabrics that caught the light. I checked storefronts, signs, side streets.
Nothing.
This wasn’t going anywhere.
I stopped and pulled out the map. The parchment felt warm in my hands.
My icon appeared instantly—right in the center of the district.
Jobs bulletin board.
“…Okay,” I muttered. “That helps.”
I headed straight for it.
Bulletin boards lined the plaza, packed so tightly they almost merged together. Papers fluttered in the breeze as people argued, tore postings down, or slapped new ones up.
Nearby sat the Adventurers Guild. The clang of armor echoed from inside. Armed figures came and went, eyes sharp, movements deliberate.
Not my lane.
The boards were different.
Some requests were neat and professional. Others were rushed, stained, written in uneven ink. A few made my skin prickle—something about them felt wrong.
After what felt like too long, one finally stood out.
Stonewall Construction
Entry position wanted
10 gold coins per day
Simple. Honest.
I pulled it free and folded it into my pocket.
“Alright.”
I checked the map again. West of the town center.
Easy enough.
The crowd thickened as I moved. The smells changed—less food, more dust. Buildings grew heavier, stone replacing wood.
Stonewall Construction was impossible to miss. Wide. Solid. Built to last. A heavy sign hung over the entrance.
I stepped inside.
A bell rang overhead.
The smell hit immediately—stone dust, old wood, sweat. Familiar. Grounding.
Behind the desk stood an older man with a massive gray beard and arms like tree trunks. His eyes assessed me in a single glance.
“Hi,” I said. “John Cobblestone. I’m here for the entry-level position.”
He studied me, then extended his hand.
“Bruce Oaktree.”
His grip was firm, calloused.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“I’ll need your ID.”
He scanned it quickly.
“No experience,” he said.
I waited.
“But your background’s clean.” He nodded once. “I can work with that.”
Bruce clapped his hands. “Alright, newbie. You’re with Arthur Scale. Veteran. He’ll show you the ropes.”
He checked a paper. “Roof repair. District Two.”
I frowned. “The noble district? I thought peasants weren’t allowed.”
Bruce snorted. “Work’s the exception.” He grinned. “Fancy nobles can’t be seen doing it themselves.”
The door creaked open.
“Perfect timing.”
A large lizardman stepped through, ducking under the frame. Bronze-colored scales caught the light. His presence filled the room.
“Arthur,” Bruce said. “This is John. Newbie.”
Arthur’s yellow eyes flicked to me.
“Don’t slow me down,” he said. “You’ll manage.”
He disappeared into the back and returned with a tool belt, tossing it at me.
I caught it.
Heavy. Solid. Hammer at my side. Tools pulling at my hip.
My pocket vibrated.
I pulled out my ID card.
Job Updated: Apprentice Builder
Level: 1
“…Interesting.”
Arthur was already moving. “Come on. Noble district’s east gate.”
Outside, a wagon waited—two massive birds harnessed to the front, feathers shifting as they let out low calls.
Arthur climbed up front.
“Don’t get ideas,” he said. “I drive.”
The wagon lurched forward.
Too fast.
I grabbed the side as the wheels rattled violently. At a corner, the wagon lifted—just slightly—before slamming back down.
Shouts followed us.
“Watch it!”
“Who taught you to drive?!”
“Maybe we should—”
Arthur shut the door.
Hard.
The ride ended in a sharp stop.
“Out,” he said. “Inspection.”
White stone towers rose before us—the noble district gate. Every block was perfectly fitted. Even the ground beneath my sandals felt cleaner.
Guards approached, armor polished.
“You know the drill,” one said. “Carriage stays here. Peasant wagons don’t pass the gate.”
Arthur loaded the tools onto his back without a word.
The moment we crossed through, everything changed.
Trees lined the street in perfect rows. Nobles walked with their chins high, dressed in layered, immaculate clothes.
No beastfolk.
Only humans.
Massive houses stretched down the street—fountains flowing, magic lights hovering softly in the air.
I exhaled slowly.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “The class divide’s obvious.”
I looked around once more.
“Not much different from my world.”
“Where are we going?”
Arthur kept walking, boots crunching softly against the white gravel path. “The Grey Manor. A tree branch fell on the roof. Rolled off, so that’s one less thing to worry about.” He glanced back, eyes sharp. “Mind your tongue. Open your mouth at the wrong time and you could get yourself in serious trouble around here. And watch out—the oldest daughter, Amber Grey. Blonde hair, cute face, ruined by a bad attitude.”
John nodded. “Noted. But do we at least report it to the guards or someone?”
Arthur scoffed. “You can, if you enjoy being laughed at.”
They stopped at a wrought-iron gate.
Arthur gestured forward. “Here.”
John’s steps slowed.
No one needed that much money.
The manor rose beyond the gates, white stone untouched by grime or age. But it was the garden that caught him—the air smelled faintly sweet, flowers trimmed so precisely they looked unreal. Even the paths curved with intention. The place was quiet in a way that felt expensive, like noise itself wasn’t allowed to linger.
Arthur snapped him out of it. “Don’t get caught up in the scenery. We’ve got a job that needs doing.”
A servant approached with a practiced smile and perfect posture. “My name is Fred. Nice to meet you. I assume you are the builders.” He motioned down a side corridor. “Please step this way and wash yourselves first.”
He placed a bar of soap into Arthur’s hand.
John blinked. “Oh. At least we have soap here.”
He lathered his hands without hesitation, working the bar like it was familiar.
Arthur turned slowly. “You already know how to use it?” His gaze narrowed. “I’m surprised. Most peasants don’t. Where did you say you were from?”
John met his eyes. “You never asked.”
After they cleaned up, Arthur kept watching him—too long for it to be nothing.
“I never told you how to use it,” Arthur said. “You’re not secretly a noble or something, are you? Or… former.”
John paused, then said evenly, “Let’s just say I come from far away. Everyone has it where I’m from.”
Arthur studied him, then grunted. “I’m not going to pry. But I know for a fact—even in kingdoms far away—it isn’t common.”
John didn’t answer.
Fred returned, walking briskly. “The tree branch landed on the west bathhouse. Lady Amber was rather fond of that one.” His tone hardened. “So please work quickly.”
They crossed the grounds toward a smaller building tucked near a line of trees.
John slowed. His eyes traced the structure. “That support beam is damaged. Hard to tell, but there’s a hairline crack in it. Not just the roof.”
Arthur followed his gaze. “…Good eye,” he admitted. “Maybe you’ll be useful after all.”
Arthur scaled the side of the bathhouse with frightening speed, gripping stone like it was nothing. Moments later, broken tile and splintered wood rained down.
John stared. “I guess being a beast person has its perks. I’ve never seen someone scale a building like that.”
Arthur didn’t look down. “Get your wheelbarrow from your bag. Start hauling it into a pile by that tree.”
John laughed. “A wheelbarrow in a bag? There’s no way.”
Still, he reached inside.
An inventory screen flickered into view.
Tools.
Materials.
**Wheelbarrow.**
“…Okay,” John muttered. “I guess I’ll try it.”
He tapped the icon.
The bag pulsed, fabric stretching unnaturally before a full-sized wheelbarrow appeared with a dull thud.
John stared at it. “Huh.”
Arthur glanced down. “Don’t admire it. Start hauling.”
The stone was heavier than it looked. “Dang… this is heavy,” John muttered. Arthur made it look effortless.
Back and forth he went, sweat darkening his clothes.
*Man… I could really go for a smoke right now.*
The sun beat down. His pace slowed.
“All right,” Arthur called. “Break time.”
Arthur hopped down and wiped his hands. “I’m heading back toward the front gate for lunch. Do whatever you want—but don’t expect me to feed you.”
John checked his personal bag.
No food.
“Figures.”
Then he noticed something at the bottom.
A pack of cigarettes.
A lighter.
*Food later. Smoke now.*
He slipped behind a small outbuilding and lit one, exhaling slowly. “Hopefully no one sees me… not sure what the rules are around here.”
A second flame sparked nearby.
A blonde woman in a plain dress stood beside him—simple enough to pass for a maid. She smoked like it was routine.
“Funny,” she said. “I’ve never seen you around here before. You could use better clothes.”
John glanced down. “These? They’re just my work clothes.”
She smiled. “Oh yes. *Work clothes.*” Her eyes lingered. “So what’s your job—construction? Or what you’d call a builder?”
“Builder.”
Her eyebrow lifted. “Then you’d better do a good job.”
John chuckled. “Most people can’t tell the difference between a good repair and a bad one.”
He pointed toward the main house. “Those windows aren’t sealed properly. Bet it gets cold in winter.”
She studied him, then flicked her cigarette away.
“I like you,” she said. “You say things how they are.”
She turned to leave, then paused.
“My name’s Amber Grey.”
She smiled and walked off.
John stood there a moment longer, smoke curling into the air.
“…Yeah,” he muttered. “That makes sense.”
