It's so great to be me again! I think, as usual, laughing with glee. I look at the crowd I'm in, and I realize how crazy my outburst seemed.

But I am! I am crazy! Or sane. I'm not sure. Those I meet claim I'm insane, but I've never thought much of it. The titles of normal and irregular mean little, and my mind's excellent as far as I'm concerned. And of course, that's all that matters.

For my situation, I find myself within a vast sea of activity. Assholes are all around! Well, that's what they likely are. Assumptions are my strong suit.

Back to these people. Most have black or brown hair, and I'm sure I'm the only ginger around. Blue and green eyes glance at me, and scowls rest on rugged faces. A laugh so giddy from a grown man must appear abnormal.

If a woman laughed, it'd be cute and alluring. If a child giggled, it'd be pure and adorable. But a lone man; that's merely peculiar to most. To me, I can't not be gleeful! Zero-One finally got his ass out of our meat suit!

Zero-One. I fucking hate that guy. I'm not sure our relation. He's switched with me since we were born, so perhaps he's my brother? That doesn't matter though, as I see him as a nuisance. Nothing more, nothing less.

Hmm, it seems I've gone off track. My mind tends to wander when I talk of that which I hate.

Right, I'm in a throng. It appears that I'm standing in a marketplace. Stands are everywhere, compacted together while the massive hoard around me shoves past each other to receive whatever the unwor they desire so much. Most are food stands, and the rest sell fabrics and weavings and... well, brightly colored garbage. That's a bummer, as I need some more daggers. I had this nice one, but Zero-One lost it. We are supposed to have a deal to use our own gear, but I guess that holds no bounds to the asshole.

In all honesty, I have no clue where I am. Yes, it's a market. A busy, ear-splitting market. But I don't know why I'm here. The last time I came out, I traversed a forest carefully to hurry and move to the next town. Zero-One must have reached this place recently, as he would have eaten by now. That glutton can't help but feed us, so I have to cough it up from time to time. I'm thankful we typically find ourselves in situations without food.

I rub my smooth hands together, smirking like the cliche villains I read about as a child for ironic value. It's time to enjoy the time while I'm out.

My legs eagerly point forward, and I walk down the worn stone pathway with my arms behind my head. I enjoy the fact my muscles flex in this position, and my tight, black long sleeve accentuates it. When I peer down, I notice the collar is buttoned up, so I pluck my fingers at them until they fall away and show off my broad chest. But another problem exists for my clothing; the leather belt is way too loose. I tighten it, pulling up my tan pants with it. However, they aren't my pants. That bastard replaced mine. These are far too gentle on my ass.

Sighing, I decide to move on from my clothes and drink. I'm thirsty, and wine sounds fantastic; especially if I can combine it with the savory flavor of a woman's tongue and lips. I gulp thinking of it, but I shake my head and dart my aquamarine eyes to every sign in my line of vision.

Merchant, house, house, merchant. Shit, this is bland. If only a tavern shot an arrow through my head so I could know of its location, I'd be merry. These houses are the same! Crappy mud bricks make up all of them, and the shingles of the roofs are an orange-brown shade that reminds me of vomit. Occasionally, a wooden sign with a lamely drawn symbol hangs, but I can't find one that signifies alcohol! Why are so many illiterate? These signs should have words instead of pictures.

My shoulders bump into the heads and necks of men I pass, and I raise my chin in cockiness for my height and overall appearance. My body oozes sexiness for two reasons; I look after my body, and hereditarily, I'm stellar. I'm taller than most men, my stomach is tight, my muscles aren't unattractively large and brutish, and who doesn't love a ginger? A proud, mysterious, red-haired hottie stigmatized for an aggressiveness most women are intrigued by. Also, women tell of my skill in bed. Well, the girlies don't last to mention, but I can infer with the pleasured moans emitted. My, they sound wondrous! Oh so extraordinary.

But I suppose men are assholes about the hue, now that I think about it. That's irrelevant though. However, that answers my question of who doesn't love a ginger; many don't like red-heads, and I can't say I haven't been mocked at some point over it. I can guarantee they paid for the insults after, and I'm going back to speaking of my situation.

I'm using my sexy physique soon, as long as I don't time out by then. I have eighteen minutes and twenty-four seconds left. Time passes fast when you're mindlessly strolling through so many faces. I'm glad I cut my hair short, as the fucking hot temperature makes my clothes stick to my glistening flesh as is. Matted hair appears and smells horrible. Night air feels much sweeter when compared to this sun's which burns my pale skin commonly.

While walking, I catch a wooden sign in my peripherals. Yes, a tavern! The sign of a bottle is proof, primarily due to the crosses on the label. The grayish wood is old and cracking, so the bottle shape can hardly be made out, but I can smell the stale alcohol from outside the place.

The building rots, and the moist wood erected into it has an earthy yet polluted scent. Grinning devilishly, I stride in with superiority on my mind. Burnt food immediately hits my nostrils, but overwhelming notes of sweat and booze cover it up well; though it's not like I enjoy the body odor. On an underworldly hot day, it's difficult to avoid the reeking scent of humanity.

Not accounting for scent, this place is shit like all taverns. Or, at the very least, the cheap ones I can readily visit.

Oak chairs barely hold those above them, reminding me of sitting on balsa wood. Scratched and deteriorating tables are where boisterous drunkards loudly gloat about lies and whores patiently sit while awaiting the next man willing to pay. I dislike prostitutes. They're too easy, and far too many men explored them in the past. Virgins sit highest on my list, but I'll settle for any woman my lips can latch onto in the end.

My nose twitches as a female server in red passes me with a tray of food. I glance at the dish, and my stomach churns while I have the thought to hurl from the mere sight of what some poor fool ordered. Three plates sit on the finely crafted spruce tray: three plates of horror.

One meal appears to be meat. A hefty slab of meat. Based on the size, the inside is likely raw, though the exterior seems lightly overlooked. Strange, white flakes cover it, so I'm pondering if dandruff made its way on. That wouldn't be surprising.

The others aren't as strange. One is a wilted salad of lettuce, tomato, and cucumber; the cucumber is translucent with age, and the tomato is dark. The last plate holds a few baked potatoes, but all appear dry and hard. Nothing appetizing leaves a cook's hands within a tavern, and even the booze tends to taste watered down; the bastard owners need to save every coin they can.

After grimacing while eyeballing the tray that travels to a party of obese men with ragged work clothes, I turn and lightly nod my head in disbelief for the "food" I've seen in taverns. My eyes itch from smoke permeating from the kitchen, and I sigh while narrowing my eyelids.

I stride to the glossy counter up front, plopping down on one of the tall chairs with a view of the alcohol bottles, glasses, and mugs. Two more chairs are to my left, and three are on my other side; a pretty lady is two seats away to the right.

Her lovely, magenta eyes, which signify she's a magic user, gaze emptily at a glass of red wine while she taps the side of it; a pleasant chime rings whenever her long fingernails hit the glass, but her delicate hand that gently whacks the countertop annoys me ever so slightly.

Her skin is fair, and I bet rubbing against it would feel so nice. It appears smooth, and the freckles on her cheeks are adorable. I love the cute ones. But somehow, she's sexy at the same time.

She wears a close-fitting, black dress that I yearn to remove, as its begging me to with how much it reveals. Her decently plump breasts call to me, squeezed tightly by the dress, and her nipples perk up to my satisfaction.

The fabric hugs her sides, so I can see the curves an artisan could've crafted. Resting my hands on her shapely hips would be desirable. Her ankles are delicate, and her dainty feet dwell in black heels. The dress covers her crotch by a hair to my disappointment, but I can stare and wonder as long as wish. However, my desire runs short compared to my lust for alcoholic numbness, so I face forward to the glasses in front of me.

Tankards and glasses for wine hang on the wall, and I lick my chapped lips in anticipation. I swallow my syrupy spit, smirking gently. My eyes scan over the bottles, and I ponder my cheapest option. The one without the label, I'll go with that bottle. I'm pretty sure it's wine. Well, I'm at least sure it's alcohol. Or a worker could've pissed in the fucking bottle.

I'm not sure if I've got any cash. It wouldn't be my first dine and dash, but I prefer paying to avoid an issue until I leave the town and before anyone catches me for my killings. It turns out that murder is horrible, and knights and whatnot have been on my sweet ass for a while. But relocating and hiding works wonders.

I drag my palm against the top of my belt, stopping when I hit a cloth pouch dangling to my left. My fingers clamp onto the sack, and I lift it to my face with a sigh. The bag weighs little, and it's Zero-One's fault. He didn't rob the corpse when he took over last time. I undo the strings, peering at a measly eight silver. That's barely enough to afford a room at an inn, never mind needed supplies. I wipe my face exhaustedly, but I came to a tavern to drink, so I'm drinking.

I snap my fingers, as I see a waitress at the corner of my eye. She falsely grins with cherry cheeks, strolling to me and setting the tray she held on the counter. Her black hair is down; it shouldn't be with that length when she handles food. But those periwinkle eyes shimmer with innocence, so I forgive her. Though, she is a fleshy woman; I've gone for far worse.

"Sir, what would you like?" She says with a cheery tone, and I charmingly smile. My eyes float to the bottles, and what the unwor? I'm broke, so I should drink a fine wine instead of possible piss in a bottle.

"Sweetie, I don't need such formalities," I tell informally, stabbing her with my sharp gaze. "My name is Ten, so you can refer to me as such."

She purses her lips as if I was rude, and I honestly don't think I was. Perhaps calling her "sweetie" set her off. "I'll keep that in mind. What would you like to order?" She folds her arms over her flat chest, causing the ruby dress she wears to sway gently.

"How much is the fourth-best red wine here?" I question, knowing the top would raise suspicion. She giggles.

"It's all made here, and Healiotri is known for expensive beverages. It's two gold, so you may want the cheapest at twenty-five silver."

Healiotri. I'm in Healiotri. The home of the most significant winery and brewery? Shit. Why the unwor aren't many taverns around in this place? I've had wine from Healiotri a few times, and it tasted overworldly. I could feel the kisses of angels on my cheeks as I drank. If I can have this again, I'm going for the best. Screw it.

I smile with confidence, sitting straight while I tilt my head up. She changes her countenance to one of shock, and I place my hand on my chin as I stroke the stubble I neglected to shave instead of heading over here. But a little sexy stubble never hurt, and it might go well with the light hair above my lip.

I lean to her ear, hiding my lips from others with my hand. "I'm not supposed to tell, but I can to a pretty lady like yourself. I'm actually working for the king, and I'm heading to Savite as we speak to break up a rebellion. I'm the head, so I fear I may not survive. This may be my last drink, so I'm using the last of my coin for it."

When I move back, her pupils twitch, and she holds her mouth. Her eyes glaze with water, and it appears like she'll cry. I don't see why. Savite is an outlying village near Vlers, a kingdom to the west known as a residence to savages. But Savite holds many of these brutes, so nobody should care about it. I choose the site since one who'd break up a rebellion there would be under a huge threat. However, none give its people pity.

"Are you alright, miss?" I ask, taking the hand from over her mouth and holding it tenderly. Her frown is strong.

"M-My son. He's visiting Savite, as his father is an ex-knight of Vlers who moved to the town. Please help. I'll give you the drink on the house. Actually, I'll get the best," she whimpers, barely able to look me in the eyes with the sudden depression she feels. Fuck. I really wish I choose another outlier. Well, she's getting me the best without payment or my asking, so everything is working well.

"I'll be sure to protect all the residents. Men of mine already stationed and assist with the matter. Evacuation should be taking place, and I'm heading there for the battle to come after. Your son will be fine." She wipes her eyes, giving a nod of thanks and walking to the back for my drink. My shoulders go limp, and I smirk for my skills in bull-shitery. That's not a word, and I'm typically harsh for illiteracy, but whatever.

I turn to the gorgeous broad beside me, crossing my legs and placing my hand on my cheek. She stares at me with disgust, likely with the idea I flirted to the waitress. True, I had to some degree. However, I didn't have the intention of anything more, but I do with this one. With eight minutes and forty-two seconds remaining, I'm afraid I'm running short of time.

Thanks for reading part one! I hope you enjoyed and will read on. I'd love if you voted and shared!

Note: a few terms.

Hell and heaven don't exist, so it's the overworld and underworld. So-

What the hell- what the unwor

Heavenly- overworldly

Hellishly- underworldly

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