Being drunk on brabat alone wasn't enough to become unconsciousness in Redlands.
But coupled with a blow to the head…
Krow sighed as he was kicked out of the game to his virtual room.
[You've been rendered unconscious. Choose length of unconsciousness. 0:00:00:00]
It was nightfall in Redlands anyway. Tomorrow was Friday and he had work.
He set himself to wake up after one and a half in-game days of unconsciousness. Then logged out.
When he woke up in Redlands next, it was to a room very different from his assigned one at the First Tower. He cautiously eyed the room, not moving. He sat up, frowned.
There was a window right beside the bed, and the morning sun filtered prettily through pale gauzy curtains.
"Uncle said you should sleep more." Beside the bed was a tiny draculkar. Small enough when standing that the elevated bed platform hid her from his eyes.
Krow relaxed a little.
"And you came here to keep an eye on me?" He smiled at her, pressed curiously at the bandage on his head before unraveling it.
The scent of medicinal herbs strengthened.
Dropping the herb-poulticed bandages on the side table, he swung his legs off the bed, tested his balance as he stepped off the platform.
Good enough.
The reality system that governed in-game health seemed to think he had minor effects from the night of drunken fighting and therefore swept them all away.
He plucked at his starting shirt and trousers, the only clothing he was wearing. The room had an armchair and table, and a bedside table, but no wardrobe or clothing shelves.
"Do you know where my clothes are?"
"In the clothes chest?" The child, barely over toddling age, looked at him like he was stupid.
"And where is this clothes chest?"
"Under the bed!"
"Is it? Thanks. Good work for knowing."
The child giggled happily.
Krow dropped to his knees and tossed the blankets up. The underside of the bed platform was divided into drawer components.
Boots, coat, weapons – they were all there.
Where was his mask?
He reached to open the bedside table drawer. Accessories, check.
"Shouldn't you go tell your uncle or your parents that I'm awake?"
The child grinned and shot off, yelling. "Imah! Imah!"
Krow pulled back the bead-curtain on the other doorway, satisfied when he saw a bathroom. He washed quickly and dressed.
His clothes had been washed and pressed, his boots buffed.
He should thank whoever did that. His clothes had been looking a bit messy. Cleanliness affected durability as well.
He leaned toward the mirror, clipped his earrings on.
The mask stretched across his face again.
Buri grinned at him lazily from a circular table. "The sleeping beauty wakes! It is the second day already, and the fight is long done. Aren't you too slow?"
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"You try waking right after being hit on the head." Krow sat on one of the curved seats surrounding the circular table. "This is your house?"
"The long-gone ancestors kept the wines of the old nobles, and after they fell, continued to live in this village. We are honored," Buri continued with sardonic air, "by rooms in the Khoyresk."
"You don't sound very honored."
"A second tower in a dying village. What is there to be honored about?"
"Buri." A female draculkar came out of the kitchen, voice admonishing. She was older than them both. The tiny draculkar from his room smiled at him from behind her robes.
"This is my kinsister, brother's wife. And that little one is Dayan, my one and only niece. Maga, this is Krow, the serpent slayer, the long sleeper, the patron saint of barmen."
"I assure the lady, and the little lady," Krow said wryly as he stood to greet the older, "Those titles are not mine to claim. Ilas Krow. Krow is fine."
She put the cloth-covered basket she was carrying on the table, smiled at him. "Please call me Maga, as my kinbrother does. I'm told you started a barfight to defend my son's honor."
Krow blinked. "I did what?"
"Pfft!" Buri bent over the table in laughter. "You don't remember! I knew you weren't old enough to drink!"
Ah, he...threw a cup at someone menacing the bartender. But after that was fuzzy. Not to mention, the thing about virtual reality populated with AIs was that the action continues even after a gamer leaves.
"And you're old enough to not be clumsy." Krow saw the draculkar trip and take down two tables and no people.
He remembered plenty, okay?
Buri only laughed harder.
Krow turned to Maga. "Is it a dying village?"
"I would not say so, but…every year more of the young ones leave." She slid plates and cups to six places at the table. "The herb fields aren't expanding."
"Not that they could," interrupted Buri, recovering from his laughter.
"Buri." Maga sighed. "Young Krow, I heard you registered in the village? I hope for your future, you are not an herb-grower."
"The hunting close to Cerkanst is particularly varied," Krow mildly stated in reply.
"We are at the edges of the Dalsantelasfald. The monsters close by are strong," Maga warned him. "It's one of the reasons we cannot expand past the foot of the cliff."
He nodded. "There are no hunters in the village?"
Buri snorted. "Of Common monsters, yes. But this is a village of herbalists. The nearest village is a hunter village attached to Rakaens. The town would never send their huntmasters and butchers here, to an unaffiliated village, to teach skills that would lessen their profits."
An unaffiliated village.
In the end, it was that bit of data that was a cherry on top of all the other reasons to register in Cerkanst.
Krow didn't realize it came with such downsides.
There were many unaffiliated villages in the borderlands, something that wasn't allowed in the lowlands and highlands. It showed how much disinterest the Cyzar had for the edges of his nation.
A group of people could create an unaffiliated village on unclaimed land, as long as they could pay the 'rent'. But they received no support, as they were not attached to the trade networks of the towns. Plus, their taxes went directly to the kingdom coffers and nothing returned.
Cerkanst didn't grow enough herbs for towns to want to offer a production contract, and their fields could not be expanded to gain enough to improve their infrastructure.
Good for Krow, but not good for the people here.
"Rethinking your registration?" Buri smiled at him, eyes half-mocking, half-understanding. He twitched one side of the cloth away from the basket and took out a small meat pie, biting into it.
"No."
"Good," came a deep voice from the doorway. "We need more people in the village."
Kalorke the tavern-owner walked into the room, face and hands wet with wash-water.. At his heels was last night's young bartender.