It was the next day. I woke up in this trash inn place alone, the cheap straw mattress still poking my spine like it had a personal grudge. Humility's bed was empty—sheets barely rumpled, no half naked demon gremlin curled up like a possessive cat. I waited a second, half expecting her to pop out of the wardrobe with that creepy yandere grin and a sword to my throat for "good morning, darling~." Nothing. Just the faint smell of old woodsmoke from yesterday's dragon party and the distant clatter of the innkeeper downstairs.
She better not have stolen my stuff.
I checked around the room like a paranoid crackhead fresh off a three day bender. Pockets? Still had the last three sad apples and the dragon heart. Sword? Leaning against the wall, chain coiled like a sleepy snake. Coin pouch? Untouched. Nothing missing.
Huh how strange, oh well.
I roll out of the creaky inn bed, bones popping like cheap gacha dupes, and stagger toward the pitcher of lukewarm water on the nightstand. One swig, two, then I freeze mid gulp. The other bed? Empty. Sheets barely rumpled. No humility gremlin staring at me with those unhinged yandere eyes. No sword pressed to my throat for "good morning, darling~." Just… gone.
"Oh no. God. Why is this a good thing or a bad thing?" I mutter to the ceiling like the paranoid crackhead I am. Option A: she dipped for good, left me alone forever, RNGSUS pity pulled me a clean break—best timeline. Option B: Pride's corrupted ass kidnapped her in the night, turned my half humbled waifu into a full on boss fight, and now I gotta duo a final boss tag team while I'm still level 21 and smelling like dragon barbecue. Option C: she just wandered off to buy pastries or stalk orphans or whatever humility demons do when they're not getting belt purified. Mid option. Safe but boring.
I scratch my ass, shrug, and decide Option C is the most likely because RNGSUS loves fucking with me in the most inconvenient ways. "Screw it. If she's gone, I'm gone too. Time to farm allies." holster the flaming grapple hook sword (still purring like a satisfied cat after yesterday's Bob assist), pocket the last three sad apples, and step out into the post dragon attack streets.
The city looked like someone had taken a flamethrower to a Renaissance fair. Charred rooftops sagged like wet cardboard, half the tiles melted into glassy black puddles that still radiated heat if you got too close. Market stalls that used to sell overpriced potions and questionable "magic" jewelry were now just blackened skeletons of wood and canvas, with the occasional sad apple or loaf of bread still smoldering in the ashes. The cobblestones were cracked and glossy from dragonfire—some sections had actually been glassed over footprints where Bob had landed for a second. The air stank of burnt cedar, spilled wine from shattered barrels, and that faint sulfur tang that clung to everything like cheap cologne. Guards in soot streaked tabards were already out sweeping debris, muttering about "that damn raid boss" while civilians hauled half burnt furniture out of ruined houses. A couple of kids were poking at a still glowing dragon scale the size of a dinner plate, giggling like it was the coolest thing ever. No one paid me much attention—everyone was too busy rebuilding or gossiping about who actually landed the final blow (spoiler: not them). I weaved through the mess, dodging a wheelbarrow full of charred lumber and a street vendor trying to sell "authentic Bob fire charred bread" at triple the price. Classic Hattusa.
First stop: the herbs and healing shop. Gotta find Marabell. The big wooden sign out front still makes me snort every time—"HERBS AND PERBS: WE FIX YOU, WE TOUCH YOU." Yeah, that name's getting changed the second I have church money. I push the door open with my hip and there she is behind the counter.
Slender waist, those ridiculous curves that the devs clearly maxed out in the character creator, green puffy hair cascading all the way down past her legs like some kind of walking salad, bright blue eyes sparkling with customer service energy, and that green dress that definitely wandered in from the fashion district and never left. Cute. Real cute.
Too bad I can't feel horny anymore.
Yeah, dear reader—yeah, you, the one still reading this garbage instead of touching grass—RNGSUS hit me with the ultimate debuff last night while I was "sleeping well" with Humility. Lust? Deleted. Replaced with pure, clean hatred. Everything that used to make me want to simp now just makes me want to punch it in the face. Not a problem, honestly. Means I won't be lusting after Bob's scaly ass or anything weird. Hate is still hate, baby. Thank you, my lord and savior.
Marabell spots me and flashes that warm shopkeeper smile that somehow still makes my cold dead heart do a little flip despite the hate debuff. "Welcome to Herbs and Healing!"
"Ah, new customer! Would you like to try our new herb?" She holds up a shiny little leaf like it's the next sword or staff. "It'll make your face glow, make it shiny and pretty!"
…Is she calling me ugly? Rude. Accurate, but rude. My mouth moves before my brain catches up. "Ah sure." God damn it, body. Still fumbling in this world, the same as Earth.
She slides the leaf over. I take one bite.
Instant regret.
My vision explodes into seizure fireworks. Legs give out. I hit the floor twitching like a broken gacha pull animation, vomiting up apple chunks and dignity while my HP bar flashes critical. Blackout.
/////
Oh no, did I kill him? Marabell thinks, staring at the twitching prophet on her floor. I gave him the wrong leaf—the one I was saving for my own stimulants! The boss is gonna fire me if this guy dies in my shop!
She panics, flailing around the counter, knocking over potion bottles, until her brain finally supplies the only helpful idea it has left: pillow. Except she doesn't have a pillow. So she does the next best thing—gently (okay, frantically) pulls my head into her lap and just… sits there for five straight minutes, cheeks burning redder than Bob's fire breath, whispering "please don't die, please don't die" while trying not to think about how awkward this looks.
/////
I wake up to two giant moons hovering right in front of my face. Soft. Green dress fabric stretched to its limit. My hand is already reaching out on pure muscle memory before her voice cuts through the haze.
"Oh I'm so glad you're awake! I'm so sorry about what happened—I hope my lap could relax you from the bump on your head…"
Right. The leaf. That goddamn leaf one shot me harder than Bob and Uncle Infinite combined. She panics again and shoves me off her lap way too fast—my face eats the floor with a wet slap.
"Oh I'm so sorry I didn't mean to do that!" Her face is pure vulnerable cinnamon roll guilt.
I sit up, wipe dirt off my cheek, and grin like the prophet of chaos I am. "Well if you're sorry, you have to do me a favor."
"A favor…?"
"YES I WANT you to be…" I wiggle my whole body, shaking my hips, hopping around her like a deranged squirrel on a sugar rush. Her expression slides from worried → scared → "what the actual hell is happening." I point dramatically. "A friend!"
"A friend?"
"YES." Thumbs up. Brightest smile in the kingdom. "Just friends! Nothing else!"
She blinks. Slowly. Like she's waiting for the punchline. "…You just wanna be friends?"
"Yup. Just friends." My face is basically a glowing emoji at this point. Hers looks like she's contemplating jumping into the nearest dragon's mouth.
"And nothing else?"
"Nothing else." I beam even harder. She somehow looks even more doomed.
"So now that we're friends, let's go out and have fun!" I grab her hand and drag her out the door before she can file a restraining order. From the outside we probably look like the world's most miserable couple—me still reeking of sewer water and dragon ash, her smiling like she's being marched to her own execution. People on the street give us a pity stare. Whatever. Friends.
My secret plan (that I definitely didn't explain because I forgot about it) passive ability, luck bounces back. Something bad happens → something good follows and vice versa. The herb knocked me out cold, but I got lap pillow privileges. Balance restored. Now I need another shot of bad to force the good. So sewers it is. We're gonna sneak through the undercity, find Pride and the corruption tunnel, beat her smug ass with Marabell's herb buffs and my flaming grapple sword, save the city, fund my church, then head to Ulpiana for gambling arc heaven. Easy.
We climb down the nearest sewer ladder just outside the eastern gate. The iron rungs are slick with moss and gods know what, and the second my boots hit the bottom the smell punches me in the face like a drunk uncle at a wedding—medieval piss mixed with modern sewage and pure regret. This world's sewer system is some unholy hybrid: half old timey stone channels carved by ancient elves (narrow, dripping, full of rats the size of house cats), half suspiciously modern concrete pipes that hum like they've got actual plumbing tech the rest of the city hasn't unlocked yet. Flushing toilets somewhere above dump everything into kennel-like collection basins that overflow straight into these tunnels, creating slow moving rivers of brown sludge that slosh against the walls every few minutes. The air is thick, humid, and eye watering; faint torchlight from grates above barely reaches down here, so most of the passages are lit only by glowing mushrooms and the occasional bioluminescent slime mold that pulses like a bad rave light.
We wander for what feels like hours, lost as hell—taking wrong turns into dead end alcoves filled with floating trash and suspicious bubbles, slipping on algae covered ledges, dodging swarms of sewer rats that scatter when my sword flares. The tunnels twist like a drunk snake: some sections are wide enough for a wagon, others so narrow Marabell has to turn sideways, her green hair brushing the ceiling. Every so often a fresh rush of wastewater cascades down from a grate above, soaking us to the knees and adding new layers to the stench. We pass rusted old pipes leaking greenish ooze, shiny new ones that thrum with some unknown magic, and walls covered in faded carvings that look suspiciously like dragon runes. The deeper we go, the louder the dripping and the sloshing gets, until finally the tunnel opens into the center chamber.
Giant bowl shaped room. Light beaming down from a massive hole in the ceiling like a spotlight from heaven (or hell jury's still out). Pipes everywhere old rusty ones leaking multicolored sludge, new shiny ones humming with faint magic and occasionally spitting pressurized jets of water. Curved lines of liquid slosh across the floor every five meters like some demented arena trap, forming perfect concentric rings that rise and fall with the city's plumbing rhythm. And right in the middle, sleeping like it owns the place: the chimera.
Two headed wyvern salamander hybrid. Yellow black striped nightmare. One wing already mangled from some ancient brawl. Four arms (two fused to wings, two soft salamander grabbers). Two clawed legs. Snoring like a broken engine, the sound echoing off the curved stone walls and making the water ripple.
I slap a hand over Marabell's mouth before she can scream and blow our stealth run. "Shhh. We just gotta sneak around it to that tunnel on the other side. Pride's lair is straight through.