I ducked into an alley o the shopping area and slipped into my new gear. The robe was a simple white cloth with red trim, leaving my shoulders bare and highlighting, well, a lot of skin—cleavage and thighs, mostly. Great. The tiara in, a simple band of wreaths without any embellishments, which was fine by me.

  Finally dressed like someone who didn’t just roll out of the gutter, I strolled through Vilge Number Four, feeling a touch more fident, and asked an elven guard for dires to the Priest mentor.

  “Mentor?” she echoed, her high-pitched voice ringing dowire street. “I know! Ght, the by the big general store, a again.”

  ging uhe sudden i of passersby, I tried to make my escape from her, but not before notig her armor. Somehow, it was even more impractical than mine. Her chest practically bursting out. How would that even blo atta, well, reality… or whatever this simution was? With a silent curse at the developers—and the questioaste of the game’s AI—I hurried away, finding the building at st.

  The old elf greeted me warmly, “Wele, young Priestess.” His white, full-body robe seemed ordinary, but his gaze wasn’t. When he looked at me, I felt stripped bare, as if his eyes saw straight through me. Ah, the sing spell—one of the few advantages NPC trainers had over pyers. I wondered if the real-world simution had something simir.

  The room smelled thickly of amon, like a bakery rather than an araining hall. “Hello. I’m here to learn advanced skills, if possible,” I said, trying to keep my toeady. My hesitant steps betrayed my hough. Stupid body—why could I talk to him easily but get toied around Lisa?

  “Let’s get on with it then—three basic skills—”

  “I ’t learn that many right now. I already have five, and I don’t want to give any up,” I interrupted, apologetic. He looked at me with newfound i, his old, discolored teeth showing as he smiled. His tongue flicked out, coated in saliva, and I had to suppress a shudder as his intense gaze roamed from my head to my feet. I instinctively took a step back, w if even Boris would find him creepy.

  “Show me your skills, then. I’ll judge if you’re worthy!” he said, lig his lips in a way that made me ge.

  “Old man, I decide my destiny! These skills are mine, and you ’t take them from me!” I retorted, agitated at the thought of losing my heroic abilities. He just snorted back. Right. I attempted to show him Ice Dance, visualizing the runes, but of course, I fumbled the spell. Not my fi moment.

  Without a word, he waved a hand, juring a blue haze that enveloped us. “Judging by the build-up of energy, these aren’t on skills. Focus and do it properly,” he instructed, his tone insistent.

  I tried again, trating on eaent with precision, but the Ice Daill wasn’t ing together. Before I could try once more, he creeped closer, reached out and gripped my hands firmly, guiding them. I froze, tempted to yank my hands away and smack him, but his grip was surprisingly strong.

  “Young Priestess, you’re too reckless in your runecraft. Magic is about precision, not speed. A failed spell is useless. Even if it takes time, don’t rush.” Ugh. I khat, but finesse was never my strong suit.

  The reality was frustrating—my casting speed was gging behind others. I wao scream at him my favorite profane words, but my experieaught me otherwise. Mentors were usually wise, and their experience was boundless. Yes, I could beat a warrior mentor, but this old pervert? He knew more about magic than me.

  Ugh! Fine!

  Begrudgingly, I let him circle behind me, his damp robe stig to my skin as he guided my hands, feeling the unfamiliar, calm tug of mana as he directed my movements. For the first time, the runes filled with energy smoothly, without the usual resistance. Whatever he did, it surprised me. I hadn’t achieved that, ever.

  As I fihe st rune, he sniffed my hair—seriously?—and I shouted, “Ice Dance!” A frosty blue light spread across the room, leaving a shimmering yer of ice.

  “An exceptional spell, worthy of a hero! Have you met a God?” he asked casually, as if divine enters were everyday occurrences. Of course, I ig some yogurt at the grocery store and chatted with god in the queue for bananas. I opened my mouth to answer, but noticed that he was still gripping my hands, enjoying the touch.

  “Yes, the God of Ice Blood,” I replied, trying not to think about it as I attempted to free myself.

  “Splendid! I was waiting for a Hero to e to our vilge. I haven’t expected a young, booming hero with beautiful bosoms. Destiny has brought you to me with such… vigor,” he whispered in my ear, far too close for fort.

  Trying to escape his clutches failed again, so I his remark. Obviously, it was the destiny. It wasn’t like I had to visit him at level five for the adva. He caressed my butt. Hey! The sensation of his cmmy hands was the st straw. I gathered all my strength and nimbly jumped away from him, twisting around his hand using imperial steps taught to… young princesses to escape from situations just like this one.

  He posed himself aured for me to sit. “I have a task for you, should you be brave enough to accept.” I shrugged. There was nothing on the floor—no mats, no tea, not even a cushion. I waited for him to settle first before relutly sitting, careful to keep a distaween us. Imperial steps won’t work on the floor.

  [You received your first quest. Do you want to disable the quest system?][The anic quests have greater rewards, but you won’t get help from the system; reended only for experienced pyers]“Disable the help!” I muttered to myself. What kind of tester would I be with quest arrows and logs cluttering my s?

  The old elf’s voice rang out again. “I’ve retly received reports of straivity on the Isnd of the Dead. Please iigate these is and explore the Tomb of Queen Irwen.”

  Wait, hold up—is this the Imperial quest? The fall of the Empire, already? Regret immediately crept in. Disabling the quest log suddenly felt like a rookie move, but no way was I bag down now. My pride was at stake—no crutches from the system.

  “I accept. I’ll gather my friends and—”

  “No, dear Hero. You must do this alone.” He stopped me before I could finish and leaned in close. Too close. Was he going to caress me again? What’s his deal?

  “Do you realize I’m a priest? I ’t hahis solo! I’ll fail!” I protested, scooting backward as the rough ground scraped against me.

  “You are right; I apologize, young heroine. For the duration of your mission, Donovan will apany you.” He turned and called out, “Donovan! e here!”

  “Hey! Wait, old man—I never agreed to this Donovan guy tagging along!” I pouted, but he was already ign me, grinning with those dreadful, rotteh of his.

  The metallik of armor echoed through the room, and a warrior in gleaming silver approached, kneeling before the mentor. He looked barely twenty, with short bck hair and a soft, ued face. He hadn’t seen much, if any, battle. Just perfect.

  [Donovan Lv.10]Css: SquireSquire Donovan, at your service, Master Teorn!” he shouted with way too muthusiasm. Wait, Master Teorn? This old guy? Teorn was the retired priest I’d entered wheing the mai! I remembered his dramatic backstory, something about him saving a Duke’s life after his exile.

  Apparently, he’d been banished for… well, sleeping with the Duke’s daughter and her maid simultaneously. Cssy. Every starting vilge had its notable NPC to kick off the big story arcs, so running into him again wasn’t too shog. But his stats? Insane. His heals practically carried me through tough fights back then. I eyed him, and he shot me a grin back. Womanizer. Yeah, he was unfettable.

  “Donovan,” Teorn tinued with the same serious tone, “you’re to travel with this young heroine and protect her with your life. Do you uand?”

  “Yes, sir! I’d sooner die thahe enemy harm her!” he boomed, practically vibrating with zeal. My poor ears. It was annoying, so I stood up, walked over to him, aended my hand.

  “My name’s Princess. I hope we—”

  “Princess?! I’m a Prioo! Are you an actual princess?” Donovan blurted out, practically bowing to the floor iement. I wao protest, to shut this whole thing down, but as I g Teorn, I caught him openly ogling my ridiculously low-cut robe. Great.

  “Donovan, stop with the ‘Prinonsense. You’ll never restore your nobility without hard work!” Teorn chided, although his eyes didn’t move from the nee of my robe as he crept closer. his was not happening.

  “I refuse the quest,” I decred, stomping toward the exit. Mai with these two? Hard pass. Teorn, quick as ever, sprinted over and grabbed my hand.

  “Please wait, Hero Princess,” he said, his voice all soft and pleading as he ran his fingers over my palm. I shivered, irritation boiling inside me. ’t even dee a quest in peace? Fine, let’s py hardball with this pervy priest.

  “If you want my help, here are my ditions. First, a thousand gold pieces for supplies, for me and Donovan. Sed, if we’re traveling to that isnd, I want us on one of the Duke’s raid ships. The ones heading past the scorched nd. Deal?”

  I turo leave, but Teorn tightened his grip, a sly grin spreading over his face.

  Then, to top off his noble charm, he pulled me closer and kissed my palm with all the flourish of a knight. “Agreed. Both ditions are perfectly reasonable.” Wait… what? He actually agreed? I thought those demands were eous—at least slightly out of reach.Alright then.

  “Very well,” I said, feigning nonce. “But I’ll need half a day to prepare.” Almost said ‘log out’ there… did these NPow this was all a game, or was that strictly a pyer thing? They must be ign it hard…

  “The Duke’s fleet will pass through the vilge tomorrow. Meet us at the temple, and we’ll be ready. Here, your promised pensation.” His tone finally shifted to something more like a proper mentor than a medieval creep. About time.

  [You received 1000g]“Thank you!” I managed a quick smile at Teorn before practically bolting out of the building. I felt at the pce like it could explode any sed, and I sprinted away, leaving that creepy atmosphere behind me. On the familiar alley, I logged out without hesitation.

  Ba reality, I fumbled for my old shirt and pants, only to stop and stare at my smaller hands. Damn, every time. I sighed, settled for a white shirt and skirt instead, and checked the clock. Midnight. Perfect timing, sihe game had just started a new 16-hour cycle, which meant I wouldn’t be getting much sleep.

  And then, out of nowhere, a loud, meical roar filled my ears—a propeller parting up? What in the world? Was this some kind of simution glitch?

  The se ged suddenly, and I found myself inside a pne, fully dressed in skydiving gear. I wasn’t aloher. o me, a younger version of Lucas was grinning, looking thrilled at whatever insanity was about to happen.