The story so nice, I wrote it twice... (in a month). (Patreon)

So, Soul fire sale again, back by what seemed to be popular demand, blame your inflating of my muse's ego. Anyway, it's here, it explains the world a bit, and it's large, so enjoy.

The horses were docile, at least. How Oliver was managing was beyond me to guess, but for my part, the old lessons from childhood were coming back, and with a vengeance. I could probably hold a gallop now if I had to... but I wouldn't have to I was sure.

There was no way anyone was going to attack this group; it had Oliver and I, and the guy who'd bought us... as well as a hundred of his closest and beefiest friends. You'd need an army to mess with... well, his army.

We'd rode sedately past other similar sized armies. Some had even yelled things at us, which my erstwhile hosts had ignored. Ignored very hard and with prejudice. Just another thing to let Oliver and I know we'd been picked by the worst team. Not that it really mattered.

Or maybe it did. I hadn't even been offered a change of clothes yet. At least my magic was keeping the skirt in one piece and firmly over what I didn't want to show. I mean, I hadn't even seen any of it myself yet! There were principles to be followed.

Our would-be slaver hadn't even looked back once, after a brief demonstration of how to sit a horse and hold the reins. Oliver was managing, but only just, and his spine was going to be missing a vertebrae by the end of the day. I couldn't tell him how to do better just yet.

I mean, I could; the compulsions seemed to be getting weaker by the minute, but I didn't want the slaver to know that, and he was still stuck on us being quiet.

Oliver noticed me watching, and winked long and slow. That made me think he was planning something. I raised an eyebrow in response, kind of wishing I had his pants - some nice gray slacks to match the white shirt.

He looked like any number of young professionals or preppy kids, the type to go to a private school and then a private bar afterwords. Too young for the bar legally, he bore the look that such a thing didn't matter and that every spoon he touched was silver.

He also had that sort of androgynous handsome look that all the girls of our world went crazy for, even though he missed the mark a bit by having solidly brown hair instead of blond or black.

He gave me a smile, and I turned away, a bit uneasy. It was clear he thought I was something I wasn't. I'd have to tell him the truth as soon as I reasonably could.

The others? We'd play that by ear and let the chips fall where they may; the truth would set you free, after all. Even if it sucked to know and learn. Honesty was always the best policy.

Besides, if this slaver didn't ask us the truth about ourselves eventually, I'd be very surprised. I'd also consider him a fool and a half. Well, more so... anyone who thinks slavery of any kind is a good idea is a fool regardless.

Said fool at last pulled up, putting a hand to his back with a wince and arching it, before sliding off his horse.

His words were welcome ones: "Let's stop here for today."

"Yes Sire!" His chief bootlicker responded, sliding off his horse with a crash and seeming none the worse for wear.

Managing my stupid skirt while sliding off the horse was a pain, but I managed. Behind me I could hear Oliver hit the ground butt first. An inhale followed by silence let me know he was cursing in his head and so was probably fine; my eyes were on our slaver.

His eyes were on me, for a long moment. then he tsked and turned away: "come this way."

I followed as he led us off the wide road and into the slightly uneven plain to the left of it. I led the horse, as he didn't tell me not to, and it moved off as far as the reins would allow, looking for something worth eating. Really, it didn't look like it would find anything here - and its hunger reminded me of my own.

My stomach wasn't trying to claw its' way out of me, but I could feel it by now; my best estimate is that we'd been on this road for six hours.

The men around us began running around, some gathering the horses, some rushing into the grass, and others just spreading out. Forming a perimeter. Our slaver paid them no mind, focusing on us.

After a moment, he spoke: "I'll tell you both what is going on. Pay attention."

Then he stopped to make certain he had our attention, watching us stare at him for a bit.

One of the armored men brought an old looking folding chair, and set it up. Our would be master plopped down into it without even looking, and only then continued.

"The system you find yourselves a part of is an old one, started millennia ago. Our world is beset by many evils. Too many for us to win against alone. Our distant ancestors found out that a soul pulled from certain planes was much stronger and could do more than we ourselves could, and so we did. Over the centuries, we learned how to control those souls and what souls had best results in our unceasing war."

He took a moment to point at my hand before continuing. The same man who had brought his camp chair, brought two more and set them up behind Oliver and I.

I hadn't been told not to sit, so I did so, checking to make sure nothing was wrong with it and I wasn't going to have it pulled out from under me in some petty trick. These people seemed the type, after all.

The man just gave a minute nod, a weary nod, and continued: "The system is simple. You find demons and demonic activity, and you stop it. There is magic in place to assure you get credit for every deed you do, good or ill. do enough good, and you will be released, to do as you will... within reason. You will not simply be allowed to kill me after your release, no matter how much you may want to. That will remain true for the others as well. Do well, and you will find yourself rewarded. Do poorly, and you will not."

The man leaned forward, trying to pierce us with his gaze. it was actually kind of cute, in the 'aww hes trying so hard' way: "My kingdom is not a rich one. You two were the best I could afford. I don't expect much out of you, as your classes and levels are, in a word, weak. Almost useless. However, if you survive, if you do even a little, all our fortunes will improve - so try not to die on me."

Well, now I had a question.

"Why pick us? Why not bundle your cash, or whatever it was you used, and get just one very good hero?"

Never mind the whole hero thing for a moment, that was an entire new can of worms; a hero, I was not.

Oh, I didn't like that wry grin. "Simple, Both of you together aren't worth a greater hero. the mage over there can be made into something, but a level five is a level five, weak at he start. A level five mage is likely to die... they have a lifespan measured in days at most without some help, and no we don't have the help for them. Your level is fine, but your class is nigh useless. You can make others better or weaken your enemies, but such spells are of limited use and you also need support. The chances either of you survive even a week is low. Which is why I want you to prioritize your own survival if possible. Of course, the demons are unlikely to let you - your best chance lies in laying low."

Interesting. Despite my inclinations, I wasn't about to deny the man's assertion; after all, he didn't know. "What are these levels? How high do they go?"

The man sighed before answering. Yes I know, you've done all this before. "Levels are how your power is measured. Everything here has a level, yet those summoned are the only ones who seem able to grow those levels - and I've never heard or seen of any champion among us over level forty. However, there are records of heroes reaching level ninety. If any reached higher, I don't know of it. Level ninety is the realm of the gods here."

Also good to know. Well, while he was open to questions...  "You mentioned the world being able to tell when we do something; how?"

The supposed king shrugged: "I don't know exactly. It just does, and the actions reflect on your status. Either the Gods do it, or the planet itself does; I couldn't say how as I'm neither a mage nor a priest."

Huh. Some kind of karmic system in this reality? "Has it always been there, or is it a more recent invention?"

"Couldn't say," the confederate king replied. He held out his hand, and a water bottle got slapped into it by a passing minion. He drank a sip, then held it out.

As if he'd poison one of us after paying for us. Whatever.

I took a long pull and handed it off to Oliver, who was staying quiet but clearly listening.

It was time to put him on the spot: "Oliver, you got anything? I'm out of questions for now."

Oliver nodded, thoughtfully. "So what are we walking - or trotting into? Where are we going, and what can we expect when we get there?"

"Well, we're going to my kingdom. It's a small place, as countries go, with a long and rich history that no one really cares about anymore. Once there, we will equip you, train you as best we can, and then send you on your way, hopefully to right wrongs and triumph over the evils of the world. At least, that is the plan I have. We don't have the best gear for your classes, especially a witch, but we still have some things. Just try not to lose the stuff; they are all treasures to us."

Right. So, poor and cash strapped. He was really rubbing that fact in.

"Well, I'd say clothes are the first thing; what we have isn't suitable for what you're asking us to do." Oliver was taking things surprisingly well; no crying, no histrionics. So was I, really. Maybe it just hadn't sunk in just yet that I'd be fighting for my life. Maybe there was something else going on? Some other kind of mood control, if not outright mind control?

Yet another thing to worry about.

"Another thing. The man who was apparently in charge back there mentioned a way back to our old lives if we played along; how does that work?"

Our slaver host shrugged: "You'd have to ask the priests the particulars, I don't know. I do know that I've never seen it happen myself, as all our candidates I've met or seen in action died before they could complete their service, and I've never heard of anyone else's succeeding either. Some have completed their service and decided to stay, though. I didn't have a chance to talk to those; some of those might even still be alive, but I don't know where."

"You're being surprisingly forthright about things," Oliver commented.

So he thought they were lying about something too.

"I believe it's best not to lie to people like you. That said, if you have attachments to your old world, it is best to forget them for now. Any distraction can see you killed again."

He spoke truth as he saw it, but even so, I was certain there was something there. How would you even form a new body for a soul on a world you didn't have a presence on? That did raise another question, though. "The spell that got us here, how does it work?"

"As far as I know, in simplest terms, the spell finds a freshly... released soul of some power, fishes it up as a fisherman might, and wraps a new body around it. The ritual can only be cast in the temple we left this morning, as far as I know, and once done, the body and soul are attuned to this world and its systems."

Right, but that didn't explain everything. "How is the body made? Can there be differences in what bodies the souls can be stuffed into?"

The man's look of sudden clarity told me he got the point, and the calculating look after told me he was working on how best to screw me with the knowledge: "The spell uses the soul's own memory in order to craft the body and clothes, which is why you all look as you do from your own world, but some rare cases have had differences. Why? Did you notice something in your case? Some have theorized that many of you looked less... heroic on the other side. Are you going to tell me that's true?"

Time to play it coy and let him think this was all his idea: "I'd really rather not say."

The man shook his head. "No, by all means tell me - I'm curious now."

Hook, line, and sinker, to borrow his fisherman analogy. "Well, this morning, by my time, I was almost thirty years old and rather emphatically male."

A bit of hyperbole was called for, and from the green look the guy was now sporting, it was beneficial. He wouldn't be trying anything untoward any time soon - probably.

"That is... I've never heard of such a thing," he finally settled on. "It might be due to the fact that the spell only catches at most fifty souls at a time, and this time it caught one extra. If you were the extra soul, then the spell might have failed you somehow."

He was looking me over again, clearly seeking defects. Much like I had before, in the circle.

I raised my arms and gestured down: "Well, it doesn't seem like a failure exactly, but I have a strong picture of myself, and this is most certainly not it. Same number of arms and legs at least, and from what I can tell, I won't break any random mirrors I cross. But yeah, this wasn't what I lived with for decades."

I couldn't see my nose, so it couldn't be one of those stereotypical witch ones, and no one was screaming and running away in horror.

"You are most easy on the eyes, Isobel," Oliver said. "no worry on that score at all."

I couldn't pay attention to my fellow partner in crime just now - our would-be slaver was staring at me, eyes narrowed. Between my eyes and the mark on my hand specifically.

"Problem?"

He shook his head. "There doesn't seem to be, but just to be sure, stand up and hop on one foot until I tell you to stop."

I did so immediately, and he made me do it for a full minute. I found myself hopping on my left foot, when I was pretty certain I was right-handed before - an interesting oddity.

At his call of stop, I looked up from trying to keep my balance to find his eyes firmly glued to my chest. Right, of course. I looked over to find Oliver looking me in the eyes with a smile that seemed a little too knowing.

I wanted to snark so very badly, but I didn't dare give him ideas.

I sat, and he went for it: "I didn't tell you to sit."

"You didn't tell me not to, either, and the chair was right here."

"Fair point, that one was on me, I suppose. I'll have to remember to be more specific. What did you say your name was again?"

The compulsion hit all at once, and it was strong, but it was also surprising; the compulsion was to give my name as Isobel, and not the name I'd been born with. "Isobel."

"So that's why. What was your name before?"

Well, now I wanted to know what he meant: "Peter Jarrow. What do you mean?"

The slaver king shrugged: "Since you said Isobel at first, that is your name, as far as this world is concerned."

I still hadn't felt compelled to answer my full name, which was good, since names might hold power here. In fact, I was almost certain they did, since the man's reaction to learning Isobel wasn't the name I was born with all but clinched it. I'd probably made the binding tattoo weaker by using a fake name, which would explain what was happening now.

Good.

The armored guys, who had been keeping their distance and looking the other way as hard as they could while I was hopping, began setting up tents. I guess it was getting dark.

The slaver king turned to Oliver: "Your full name?"

"Oliver Riley," Came the immediate answer. An answer I knew was false since all people named in that convention on our planet had three names, not just two. Was his tattoo also weakened? If so, how? What could he have lied about to give that advantage?

It didn't matter; either way my goal was clear; first me, then him, then everyone else if I could.

"Well, Oliver, Isobel, I'd like for you to put any dark thoughts aside and work with me for the betterment of all of us. Your old life is gone, yet you can build another one here. It could even be a better one, should you let it."

I wasn't going to lie here. "We shall see."

Once again, his eyes were glued a little lower than I'd like.

"Your pardon, Sire."

Somehow, a fully armored man had snuck up behind me. Neat trick.

The slaver tore his eyes away from my form. "What is it?"

"The tents are up. You may retire at your leisure."

A quick look around confirmed it all, of course. "Excellent. You both have the tents near mine, the large one in the center there, and you may take your pick. One to a tent, of course, then wait inside for further orders from me."

"Of course," Oliver answered smoothly.

We all three got up and one of the soldiers walked up and grabbed out chairs as soon as we did.

I pointed left, and Oliver picked up on it; he nodded and took the right.

The tents we were assigned were small, but larger than the ones the soldiers had. There was a small cot inside, and with the chair successfully delivered, a chair too. A small table was propped in the corner, which could double as a desk, I supposed. But I had no use for it just yet.

There was no sign of actual clothes, of course. If this continued, I was going to be borrowing someones', whether they liked it or not. I didn't like how... breezy everything was.

I had a feeling about this place. A feeling that they wouldn't be handing me pants, which for a place embattled was pretty stupid. Fighting in dresses or skirts seemed pretty stupid.

Then again, all I had to my new name were the clothes currently on my back, so if my slaver decided to hold out on me, then that was it. Still, he had to let me go sometime, unless he was lying to me, and I could go ahead and earn my way. This place didn't have a fully developed market economy like back home, or I would eat my non-existent hat.

Hm, given the skin this body had, a hat might not go amiss. Otherwise, the sun, which had felt nice earlier, would be another enemy soon enough. It would be just my luck to complete the dumb bullshit these people had waiting for me, join their war and win, only to die of skin cancer.

Or die again of skin cancer, if they were to be believed. I didn't have any recollection at all of dying, or even being close to dying. No memories of horrible diseases or of playing in traffic, no hints of anything like that.

This body was... well, I'd drool if I wasn't looking top down at it. I still had no idea about the face just yet, but I wasn't even sure I wanted to know, now. It was dirty, with a light sheen of dust, but I hadn't sweat at all. Of course, it didn't feel hot or anything, but if this world were like ours, the temperature would drop. When it did, these clothes weren't going to cut it.

Well, I'd wait and see. I had nothing else to take stock of. There was nothing else to do except sit here and wait... and say "status."

The guy hadn't told me to be quiet again, after all.

I had a lot of spells. A slue of spells, as it were; maybe a hundred? Half seemed to be curses or spells designed to make others stronger, like the obviously named ' brute strength' spell, but I had a few direct attacks. Many more of my spells were defensive in nature, like 'nature's shield', a spell designed to reduce the effect of elemental attacks directed at me or the target of my spell. That sounded pretty good to me, I bet Oliver knew fireballs and such, and if he did, others would too.

I really wanted to try the golem creation skill, as having a nice murderous clay man to take out my enemies without even trying would be cool, but I needed to keep that as an ace in the hole, I think. I did notice a sculpting skill among my other skills, which would probably help.

There wasn't any clay around here anyway, and while I could use mud, I knew mud would be only barely effective. What else could I use? Wood or stone? Hmm, no on the wood, but I could use stone or metal. A nice metal golem would be strong, my newfound knowledge told me.

My old skills, even the useless ones, I still knew. Right next to those however, were ones I couldn't possibly know from home; demonic and draconic languages? There were dragons, because of course there were. Any fantasy setting had to have dragons.

What else could it have? Snake people? Lizard people? Well, since it might be anime, cat people were probably a thing. I hadn't seen any other races out of all the people I'd seen, but that didn't necessarily mean much; humanity on the whole was notoriously insular, likely to shun the other. I didn't doubt for a moment that the world and setting mattered little in that regard.

I'd likely see other races when I got out of here, and away from human-held lands. Hell, the demons might not even be bad here; so far I only had the word of slavers on how evil they were, and I wouldn't be taking the word of slavers for anything. I'd do my own investigation.

I had many nature and animal related spells and skills. Calling animals to me was a thing I could do, and it wasn't even hard. The spell didn't start out as powerful, but apparently it had five versions, each stronger than the last. The mana cost ranged from a negligible few points all the way up to twenty, and at that range of power, I could summon apex predators in the area... so bears or tigers or something like that. Probably.

Again, not something to try right now.

Oh, there was that; magic sight. It would allow me to see magic and enchantments on people and things. A pretty standard thing for any spell caster to have, from my experience with movies, books, and games. That was something I could use, and only another spell caster could out me, which for here meant Oliver.

Oliver wouldn't tell unless he was forced to, I was sure. He might even be trying the same thing himself, even now. He wasn't stupid.

The chant was a single word, and as soon as I spoke it my hand lit up. Or rather, the tattoo on my hand. I could read it now, it was a "geas". I knew that spell, it was under my curses and hexes branch of magic, and if my version was anything like this one, I would never use it in my life.

Just the thought had me choking down bile. The only reason it wasn't vomit was because my stomach was empty; a fact that I knew because it was trying to eat itself. I guess that wherever you went, biology stayed the same, and not even death changed that?

Well, let's hope not anyway; I was already different than what I remembered; I really didn't need anything else altered or going wrong on me.

Let's see. If I had a bowl, I could conjure water, and that would give me something to drink at the least. Or maybe something to look at my face with, if it was clear enough. Could I ask for a bowl? I could possibly make one, if I could find a tree; or rather, the tree would make one and let me have it if I asked nicely.

Was I a witch, or a druid? From what I knew, these sorts of spells and abilities were more a druid thing than a bubble bubble toil and trouble thing.

Maybe it was just another difference? In our world, at one time, there was little difference between a witch and a druid, and that may be the case here, or it might be a side effect of a spell screw up. Not a comforting thought, but I could make it work. With enough buffs and enough curses, I was pretty sure I could make anything work.

Like this buff of weakness... losing fifty points of strength seemed like a great start, if my own strength was anything to go by. Stat-wise, it seemed a little weird that strength was the only physical trait under a twenty-five, but I didn't really have a basis for comparison. I simply didn't have enough information, and I needed more.

I'd been told to pick a tent and wait in it, but the would-be slaver king didn't say anything about where I had to wait in it, and I could see things from the door.

There, with my spell in action, I could see some glows around other people, or rather around some of the items they were wearing. Even from this distance, I could see what some of them were. A sword of fireballs? What an interesting concept; why wouldn't you slap that on a bow, and not what is clearly a melee weapon?

There was another spell that could help, maybe: 'examine'. It was meant to tell you all about a person in order to best heal them according to the knowledge stuffed into my head. It might provide more, however. Some gut instinct told me there was more.

Before I could rethink it, I said the word needed, and an entire new world lit up before me.

That guy was named Suun, not to be confused with a sun, and was twenty-nine years old. He had a bum shoulder and an old ankle injury that had only partially healed, but you couldn't tell it from his walk as he patrolled the outer edge. Most importantly, he was level eight, as the spell judged things. He had a focus on the sword, with the 'swordsman' skill at... wow, level fifteen. He also had hit points and mana, being thirty-five and four respectively.

That was... weak. According to my own status, that was very weak. It was possible that one of my few direct spells could kill the man outright, and if not he would not be feeling well enough to do much. Hell, my own combat skills might be enough to take him out if he were alone, and that wasn't counting the stuff I knew from home.

I'd really like to try the weapon skills I supposedly knew, but I needed a weapon for that. On the other hand, I could do the stuff I did know, that didn't need weapons. It would be good to get used to this body, at any rate.

I closed the tent flap; I could look later now that I knew, and I didn't need an audience for this. Even if I wasn't going to fall on my ass.

Yeah, fighting like this was going to be difficult; just throwing a punch the correct way required me to twist my body more so I could clear my own chest. Let alone losing power on it. My kicks, the low ones were fine, but the higher I went, the more I needed to swing, as if I tried to stay stable, everything on me moved. I did find kicks easier at least, my agility was much better.

I only fell three times, and after that it was more or less child's play. A few more sessions of this, and I'd be dancing able to dance the waltz - if I knew the waltz, which of course I didn't.

I did know some piano... did these people even have a piano? I knew a bit on how to play one, but not how to make one, so if not, I guess that skill was going to rot.

I could always learn some other, more primative instrument, assuming I lived long enough.

The tent flap opened, luckily as I was taking as break. I'd have to remember to tie it next time.

"Lady Isobel, I have your dinner," the knight informed me as he strode in with a bowl of what appeared to be stew in one hand, and a spoon in the other.

Right, that wasn't obvious at all. Whatever, not important, and neither was my privacy, apparently. What was important is this guy's name was Edwin, he was twenty-six, and his level was six with a focus on the sword and spear. He also had a skill level five in cooking. He was even weaker than Suun was, and my spell was apparently still active. After what had to be over an hour.

Maybe I was wrong, but that seemed like a long time to me, but I'd take it. Any advantage at all, I'd take it.

I took the bowl and spoon in opposite hands and waited for the man to leave. Thankfully he did that quickly enough.

Skill level five in cooking seemed to be nothing at all; this crap was bland and watery, with very little of anything in it to give it flavor. Uncharitable of me, maybe, since the best cook in the world couldn't do anything without good ingredients. Or maybe they could, and I was crazy; cooking wasn't really my forte.

Except now I had a cooking skill myself, of five. Which was apparently enough to know that steps could be taken to salvage this mess, now that I thought of it. Was there a difference between my skill of five and the knights?

Maybe it was the chemistry thing? I did have quite a high skill in alchemy - at least, the twenty-five in it seemed high to me. It was higher than the twenty I was rocking in Golem creation, but not higher than the thirty I had in sculpting. Going by what I'd seen so far though, these were very high for a given skill.

All cooking was chemistry, wasn't that the saying? It was something like that, anyway.

"Excuse me, Lady Isobel," the same knight from before said just before barging in. He took my bowl and spoon and turned to leave.

"I should like something to drink. Coffee if you have it, water if you don't."

He didn't even turn around: "As you wish, my Lady."

Wait, there was more. "And a blanket, if you can find one!"

This time, he didn't respond. I knew he heard me though.

There was nothing to do but wait. Wait and look at my skills. I had all the basics I'd expect, like math, reading, and writing... along with things like social studies and Spanish, which had an asterisk near them. Probably to let me know that they were useless here.

Wait, Japanese? I didn't know how to speak Japanese. Why did I know how to speak Japanese? The words for 'good afternoon' readily came to my lips, and the pronunciation was likely correct, the accent something I vaguely recognized from my past binges with movies and television programs. There was no asterisk next to it; yes, it would be useful here.

"Excuse me, lady Isobel." The knight had come again, and just as before, he didn't seem to care about privacy.

The load he was bringing my way was not just one blanket, but two, and with what could only be a canteen of some sort on top. It was made of wood and what looked to be animal hide, and the entire bundle smelled of horse sweat.

Whatever, it would do. I took it and thanked him, and of course, he ignored all that and just left.

Suited me just fine; I went ahead and tied the flaps together to give myself a bit more warning, and took a sip of the warm and slightly nasty water. I'd need it, and if need be, I could use what I was given for all kinds of useful things.