Strongest Among the Heavens

Paul didn’t understand, especially as Dasha turned on his heel. "W-what is a Rakshasa?"

"It means perseverer. Think of them as monsters."

"Monsters...?"

The other players were also asking around and seemed to come to the same conclusion. Everyone had gathered at the centre of the village, and the mangled wooden pieces at the south must have formerly been a gate.

With a cursory glance, Dasha memorized their names, faces, levels, and classes. In his opinion, the only player noteworthy was Hugo Sánchez, the Mexican man with the slick haircut and an unknown level. His ear piercing glowed unnaturally white and he carried no weapons on him, not even a gauntlet. His rugged hands suggested he was adept at hand-to-hand combat, however.

"Soooo....this is nice," said Sylvia Fitzgerald. Makeup smudged and auburn hair streaked with gray, the woman exuded a distinct smell and an unkempt appearance. She carried with her a long, thick, and half empty bottle of beer, which she would tempt herself to drink. "Anybody want to talk? Maybe coordinate? Or just screw these people and run?"

"Oh Lord." Jackson Callahan face-palmed. His short-cropped brown hair was hidden beneath a well-worn baseball cap and a trusty longsword serving as his companion. "Can’t ya shut up, lady!? You asked these clearly broke ass people for booz! Are ya stupid or sumpn?"

That was the thickest, most asinine Southern American accent he had ever heard. The man might as well have said howdy and worn a cowboy hat.

Sylvia rolled her eyes. "So what? It’s just booze."

"Sylvia, right? I dunno if you’ve been taught this, but there’s a time and place for a drink," Jack shot back.

Her eyes narrowing, Sylvia retorted, "Well, darlin’, I’ll be the judge of what’s good for me, thank you very much. I didn’t ask for your opinion."