Game Master in Another World

The heady scent of sizzling meat cut through the market’s bustle, drawing us past stalls of dyed fabrics and hammered iron. We found its source at a humble timber cart where golden chicken crisped over a crackling stove. The aroma of hot oil and spiced sauce was a promise so potent our mouths watered before we’d even seen the menu.

Before we could debate options, we’d already gravitated to the cart.

“Welcome! Looking for something to eat?” the vendor called.

Igasnov nodded, eyes fixed on the frying chicken.

“Four servings, please,” Vera finally blurted out.

“That’ll be four silver pieces,” he replied with a grin.

Igasnov handed over the coins, and the vendor promptly arranged four wooden plates—each heaping with tender chicken and a side of fried vegetables, all finished with a glossy drizzle of brown sauce. “Enjoy your meal, and come again,” he added.

We carried our plates to a nearby bench against a blank wall and dug in. The sweet-salty harmony and succulent, oil-kissed meat delighted our palates. Moments later, the plates lay bare, and I marvelled at how swiftly it had vanished.

“That was incredible,” Vera said, breaking the post-meal hush.

“A truly satisfying feast,” Juliana agreed.

“Can I have seconds?” Toby pleaded.

Igasnov chuckled. “Let’s give our stomachs a moment. Even the best fare can overwhelm if you overindulge.”

“What shall we do this afternoon?” he asked.

“I’d love to see more of the city—perhaps you could guide us?” Vera suggested.

Igasnov laughed. “I’ve only stayed here briefly, but I can lead you to the highlights.”

“That sounds delightful,” she replied.

“First stop: the Solvarn Temple. Its architecture is astonishing,” he announced, rising. We wound through narrow, crowded lanes, the familiar blend of dust and horse dung filling the air, until we emerged before a majestic white temple, its walls gleaming in the sunlight.

“Look at that archway—how does stone curve like that without collapsing?” Vera breathed.

“Shall we go in?” he asked.

“Yes, please,” she replied eagerly.

Passing under the arched entrance and heavy wooden doors, we stepped into a luminous sanctuary. Pristine white walls, everlight stones overhead, and tall windows bathed the interior in an almost ethereal glow. Igasnov led us to a pew where a priest knelt in silent prayer.

“Vincent! I’ve brought some tourists to see the temple,” he announced.

The priest rose with a warm smile. “Igasnov! It’s been far too long.”

“Indeed, old friend.” Vincent’s gaze then drifted to Vera. “And who is this charming companion?”

“Vera, my partner. These are Juliana and Toby,” Igasnov introduced.

For a moment, Vincent studied us, his brow furrowing before he shook his head and offered a cordial nod. “Pleased to meet you all. But tell me—did I hear you’re travelling with the Devil of Freyton City?”

Igasnov’s face tightened. “I did accompany her, but ‘Devil’ is undeserved. She defended Freyton from Forlinth aggression.”

Vincent’s smile began to drop. “A defence, perhaps. But this war has gone on too long. We must subdue that nation for there to be any lasting peace. Surely you back our soldiers in that?”

Igasnov shifted his weight. “I’m neutral. I’m from neither side and wish no part in this conflict.”

“Neutrality allows the wound to fester,” Vincent said, his voice losing its warmth. “Wouldn’t you favour a swift Forlinth victory, if it meant eradicating the threat for good?”

“Even if it meant genocide?” Igasnov asked softly.

Vincent’s eyes were cold now. “They would do the same to us. We must destroy them utterly.”

Igasnov laughed darkly. “And what does Solvarn teach of justice for those who had no choice?”

“Justice is for the guilty,” Vincent replied. “We must punish wrongdoing, not excuse it.”

“And innocent civilians?”

“They were complicit if they didn’t revolt,” Vincent retorted.

“But Cyril claims the port attack was unprovoked,” Toby murmured.

Vincent turned to the boy, his expression clinical. “You speak of Cyril with an accent I recognise. Their officials likely twist the story to stiffen resolve.”

Toby’s eyes filled with tears. “My parents wouldn’t die for a lie!”

Vincent’s expression softened as he rested a hand on Toby’s shoulder. “I’m sorry you learned it here. Your secret’s safe—I trust Igasnov’s judgment.”

Igasnov exhaled. “Thank you, Vincent. I appreciate your discretion.”

Vincent nodded gravely. “Just keep an eye on him—his lineage might raise eyebrows.”

A flush of anger warmed me.

“Shall we be going?” Igasnov said abruptly. “Good to see you, Vincent.”

“Indeed. Do return soon.”

He guided us outside. “I’m sorry, Toby. I didn’t expect that,” he murmured.

Toby blinked back tears. “It’s okay.”

“Let’s head back and unwind,” Igasnov suggested. “A game of Five Hundred at the inn should do us good—the proprietor keeps cards on hand.”

Toby managed a small smile, and we retraced our steps through the alleys until we stood once more before the familiar tavern.

Back inside the sparsely occupied tavern, we took our seats at a corner table. The quiet hum of the place made me wonder how it turned a profit. Igasnov joined us a moment later, producing a trim deck of cards and shuffling them with practiced hands.

“I’m not sure who invented this game, but it’s rather enjoyable—do you all know the rules?” Igasnov asked.

I knew the rules, naturally, having introduced this game to the world.

“I don’t,” Toby said quietly.

“Right, let me walk you through it, then.” Igasnov ran through the basics with Toby, and judging by the attentive way Vera leaned in, she was likely learning them for the first time as well.

Igasnov dealt the hand. I turned my cards over, struck immediately by their unusual construction—thin wooden slips, the suit symbols scorched into the surface by what looked to have been a small iron. There was little give to them, almost none, though they were not so different from the ones I had known in my previous life.

In the end, experience prevailed over tactics. Our team—myself and Vera—reached five hundred points with swift efficiency, while Toby and Igasnov lagged far behind.

“Ugh, how are you this good at cards, Juliana?” Igasnov groaned, his head sinking into his hands. “Aren’t you supposed to shun society?”

“I’ve been lucky enough to have a remarkable mentor—he’s the one who taught me this game.”

In truth, I had done nothing more than guide Juliana’s hand throughout, calling each play as it came.

“Well, I’d very much like to meet him,” Igasnov said, setting down his beer. “Perhaps then I’d actually have a shot.”

“I suspect you already have,” Juliana said, smiling.

“And you won’t tell me who he is, will you, Juliana.”

Our smile stretched a little further. “That, I’m afraid, is not mine to say.”

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