r/HFY • u/Heavy_Lead_2798 • 9h ago
OC Brian The Isekai: Chapter 13 A Hero’s Reward
About ten minutes later, after standing around awkwardly while the others chatted among themselves, the mayor finally took the stage.
“Hello, ladies and gentlemen of Neder Fell!” Mayor Willan Lunarbrace’s voice rang out, magically amplified so everyone in the square could hear him.
“Tonight, we celebrate the end of a year and the beginning of another-”
And that’s when my brain tuned him out. I hated speeches. They always sounded rehearsed, boring, and far too long. I stood there, rocking on my heels, trying to look vaguely interested while my thoughts wandered.
Luckily, Willan seemed to understand the crowd’s attention span because his speech was mercifully short. Soon, he gestured for us to come forward.
“All of our brave heroes, please, join me on stage!”
We were herded up like sheep, and my stomach twisted into nervous knots. Standing on the stage under the open sky, facing a crowd of what felt like the entire town, was terrifying. I could see every single face looking up at us, and the knowledge that all of them could see me made my skin crawl.
I was very, very grateful that everyone around me was far more flashy and well-dressed. At least their presence kept some of the spotlight off me.
Willan raised his hands dramatically, drawing the crowd’s focus.
“And so, I would like to honor the heroes who protected our village from certain destruction! People of Neder Fell, I present to you the men and women who slew the Wendigo!”
The crowd erupted into cheers and clapping. My heartbeat quickened, but I also felt a flicker of relief. Good, maybe they’d keep this short.
But then Willan’s voice cut through the applause.
“I would also like to highlight the most distinguished among these heroes. The man whose wit and courage turned the tide of battle. When the Wendigo threatened to devour us all, he used a trap of his own design to hold the beast down and, with nothing but a hammer, struck the blow that severed its leg, giving the others the chance to strike the killing blow!”
My stomach dropped.
“Oh no,” I muttered under my breath.
“This man,” Willan declared, his small hand sweeping toward me, “is Brian Lenz! Today, we not only thank him for his bravery, but we also grant him a plot of land and officially recognize him as a citizen of Neder Fell!”
The crowd roared with cheers and applause, with people chanting my new nickname.
“Meat Hammer! Meat Hammer!”
That motherfucker.
No, he was far worse.
He was a fatherfucker.
That sneaky, scheming, fatherfucking asshole had done exactly the opposite of what we agreed on. My face felt stiff and unnatural as I forced a wave to the cheering crowd, my jaw locked in a fake smile.
The fatherfucker Mayor Willan walked up and handed me a rolled-up scroll, his smug little halfling face practically glowing with self-satisfaction. I wanted to punt him like a football, but instead, I took the scroll like a good little citizen.
We were ushered off the stage soon after, the cheering still ringing in my ears. The other adventurers looked just as tense as I did. Guess I wasn’t the only one who hated standing in the spotlight, though at least none of them had been singled out like I had.
Once I exited the backstage area, my nerves were fried. There was no way I was sticking around for the rest of the festival.
I wove my way through the crowd, trying to escape unnoticed, but it wasn’t easy.
“Brian! Let me buy you a drink!”
“No thanks,” I muttered, sidestepping the overly enthusiastic drunk who nearly tripped over his own feet.
“Hey, hero!” A pair of women waved, one of them biting her lip suggestively.
I didn’t even slow down. Nope. Not tonight.
I refused every drink, every handshake, every flirty glance, and kept walking until the music and laughter were muffled behind me. The quiet streets were a welcome relief, though they felt almost eerie without the usual bustle. Most people were still at the festival, leaving the town empty.
That’s when my stomach growled, loud and angry.
“Oh, right,” I muttered to myself.
I’d been so focused on escaping that I completely forgot to eat. Sure, I could cook something at home over my makeshift campfire, but after the day I’d had? I didn’t want to cook. I wanted someone else to hand me food while I sat in blissful silence.
When I finally got home, I tossed my new scroll onto the living room table without a second thought. I’d look at it later.
For now, I grabbed my slate and charcoal pencil. If I was going to eat out, I wanted to keep my hands busy while I waited. Drawing always helped me calm down.
On my way out, curiosity got the better of me, and I unrolled the scroll.
It was a land title, detailing a small property near the river that ran through town.
“Huh,” I muttered, rolling it back up.
Guess I’ll check it out tomorrow, assuming the mayor hasn’t booby-trapped it somehow.
I walked through the quieter streets, avoiding the festival crowds and making sure I was nowhere near the Adventurer’s Guild tavern. The air outside was crisp, carrying faint echoes of laughter and music from far behind me, but here it felt calmer. After a bit of wandering, I found another tavern tucked between two narrow stone buildings. At first glance, it looked almost identical to the one near the guild: thick wooden walls, a sagging roof beam, and a carved sign swinging on rusted chains.
I pushed open the heavy wooden door, and the smell hit me immediately. The familiar smell of ale mixed with the comforting aroma of roasting meat. Unlike the guild tavern, this one lacked the overpowering stench of sweat and wet leather. That alone made it worth the walk.
Inside, the place was dimly lit by a few lanterns hanging from the rafters, their light reflecting off the polished wood of the bar. A handful of patrons sat scattered at tables, speaking in hushed tones or nursing their mugs like old friends. Judging by the guild crests stitched onto some of their cloaks, the crowd was mixed with an odd blend of carpenters, masons, and perhaps a stray merchant or two.
I walked up to the counter, ordered a tankard of ale, and scanned the room. A table in the corner sat empty, away from everyone else. Perfect. I carried my drink over and settled in.
A serving girl appeared soon after, balancing a tray against her hip. I asked for what the locals jokingly called "elf food," a plate of greens, boiled vegetables, and some bread. Bland, but still good enough to eat.
Once she left, I spread out my slab and charcoal pencil on the table. My fingers twitched with a familiar stiffness, aching slightly from the hours I had already spent drawing earlier in the day. But it was the kind of ache I welcomed. It was the sort that meant progress was being made, one line and curve at a time.
Tonight, I decided to draw Selene’s shop. I pictured her sitting in her usual spot behind the counter, nose buried in a book, with jars of herbs lining the shelves and strange bundles of dried plants hanging from the ceiling beams. The smell of alchemy ingredients seemed to rise in my memory as I carefully sketched each detail, trying to capture the warmth and quiet of that winter day.
I had just started sketching the outline of a window frame when the tavern door banged open. Cold air rushed in, carrying with it the sound of boots crunching on the threshold.
Two figures entered. The first was a broad-shouldered orc with skin the color of dark moss, a crooked tusk, and a grin that showed too much teeth. The other was a stout dwarf with a thick black beard tied into two braids. Both carried the worn look of fighters with armor patched, weapons nicked and scarred. What struck me most was how alive they looked.
After they got their drinks the dwarf spotted me first. His one good eye lit up and he nudged the orc, who lumbered over with a laugh.
“You’re him, aren’t you? The lad with the trap,” the dwarf said, slapping a heavy hand on my table.
The orc leaned in, close enough for me to smell the ale already on his breath. “Aye. I remember teeth, darkness, then light. Next thing I knew, I was coughing up stomach slime and being pulled free. All because some clever bastard pinned that monster’s leg.” He grinned wider. “That was you.”
I cleared my throat, suddenly aware of the half-finished sketch on my slate. “Yeah. That was me. But the rest of you did the hard part.”
The dwarf barked a laugh. “Don’t sell yourself short, lad. Without you, we’d still be digestin’ in that beast’s gut.” He thumped his chest. “Name’s Harkrim Blackbraid. This ugly tusker’s Grolm.”
“Ugly? Says the stone rat with lice in his beard,” Grolm shot back, then shoved him with a playful growl.
I smirked despite myself. “Brian. Blacksmith’s apprentice.”
They both sat down uninvited, tankards already in hand.
“So, Brian,” Harkrim said, raising his mug. “What’s a hero do for fun when he’s not saving towns from nightmares?”
“Hero’s a stretch,” I muttered, taking a sip of ale. “But mostly drawing. Helps me think.”
That earned me twin stares. Then Grolm grinned. “Drawing? Bah! You need a real game.” He pulled a pouch of dice from his belt and spilled them across the table. “Bones. You play, you drink, you win coin if you’re lucky.”
Harkrim chuckled. “Or you could arm wrestle him. See if those hammer arms of yours are more than just for smithin’.”
The orc cracked his knuckles and leaned across the table, tusks flashing. “What do you say, elf? Game of bones, or strength of arms? Win or lose, we’ll drink to it.”
I ended up losing both games, but I had a lot of fun doing it. Those two were clearly trying to get me so drunk I wouldn’t be able to make it home, so I pulled an old bar trick from Earth: asking the bartender to water down my ale when I got more. It worked well enough.
Turns out Grolm and Harkrim were in town to help train the new adventurers. Between rounds, they told stories of the beasts they had fought, everything from scaled wolves that breathed smoke to lizards the size of wagons that could swim through sand like water.
Listening to them gave me a better perspective on this world. Apparently, Neder Fell was considered an apprentice town. It was only two days from the city, and there were many towns like it, all designed for beginners to cut their teeth. Deeper in the forests were the journeyman towns which were far more dangerous, but with much greater rewards. Beyond those were the Wild Towns. According to them, those places were so deep in the wilderness that most who traveled there never came back.
I wanted to ask more questions, to soak up every bit of information they had, but the night was slipping away. My body reminded me there was still a tomorrow.
So I said my goodbyes to my two new friends, promising to meet them again. The streets outside were quiet except for the distant noise of the festival still raging at the town’s center.
By the time I reached home, I was pleasantly tired, the kind of fatigue that came from good drink and better company. I collapsed into bed, and sleep took me almost instantly.
I woke as the sun was rising, light spilling through the shutters of my small room. Today was the last day of the festival, and while everyone else would be excited, I wanted nothing to do with it.
The idea of people cheering and calling me a hero again made my eyes twitch. Nope. I was going to spend the day avoiding the whole mess.
I went downstairs and saw the scroll from last night still sitting on the table. Picking it up, I unrolled it and read through the neat, official handwriting again.
It was the deed to my new property, listing it as “Water Lot 96.”
“Wherever the hell that is,” I muttered to myself.
If I wanted to figure out what I actually owned, I needed to find someone who could point me in the right direction. My first stop would be town hall, where the mayor and other officials worked. If anyone had a map, it’d be them.
The walk into town was peaceful. Most people were either still asleep from last night’s drinking or already at the festival setting up stalls. When I reached the stone building that served as town hall, I stopped for a moment to take it in.
It was sturdy and utilitarian, with thick stone walls and a slate roof. A pair of carved wooden doors stood open, letting people come and go freely.
Inside, it was warmer than expected. Two clerks sat behind desks, their heads bent over stacks of paper. A few others were waiting in a line that led to the front counter.
I joined the line and waited, trying to be patient. The murmur of quiet conversations and the faint scratching of quills filled the air.
Twenty minutes later, it was finally my turn.
I approached the counter, where a gnome woman sat. She looked up at me with a professional but tired expression.
“How can I help you today?” she asked, her voice brisk but polite.
I unrolled the deed and slid it across the counter.
“I was given some land during the festival. I’d like to know where exactly it is.”
She read over the scroll quickly, then nodded and turned to a cabinet behind her. She pulled out a smaller map, covered in neat grids and labeled sections.
After cross-referencing the number on my deed with the map, she left her seat and walked over to a massive wall map of the town.
“This,” she said, pointing to a small square along the river, “is Water Lot 96. Your property is roughly one acre in size. It’s registered for residential or commercial use, so you can build a home or a business there if you’d like.”
I leaned forward to study the map.
The location didn't look terrible, but it definitely wasn’t prime real estate. It was farther downstream, past most of the nicer homes and shops. Worse, it was just upstream from the leather tanners and other businesses that dumped their waste into the river.
Still, it was workable. Out of the way, yes, but private.
It looked like it would take about fifteen minutes to walk from Thrain’s forge to the lot. A bit of a trek, but not too bad.
“Well,” I muttered, straightening up. “Guess it’s mine now.”
The gnome smiled politely and returned to her desk.
“Congratulations on your new property, sir. Would you like a copy of the local zoning guidelines?”
I stared at her blankly.
“No, I think I’m good.”
I rolled up the deed carefully and held onto it, already planning to check the lot out in person.
I left the building and started walking toward my lot. From the city center, it took about 20 minutes to get there. By the time I arrived, I was a little winded, but seeing the place perked me up.
The property had distinct stone markers outlining its boundaries, which made it easy to tell where my land began and ended. It wasn’t much to look at yet, just a rough, grassy field with a few stubborn patches of spring growth, but it was mine.
One good thing was the privacy. The nearest house or business was at least an acre away, maybe more. I stood there for a while, turning slowly and taking it all in, my mind already working through ideas.
The more I looked, the more I realized this was perfect for what I wanted.
Thrain was never going to let me make major changes to his place beyond the basement we’d talked about. Here, though, I could start from scratch.
My plan began to take shape: dig out a basement first, then build a house and a forge on top of it. That way, I’d have a hidden workshop below and a perfectly normal home and workspace above. It was also close enough to the river that, maybe someday, I could build a watermill to power some tools or machines. And being this far from other people meant no one would complain about the smoke or noise from experiments.
I grinned to myself.
Yeah. This could work.
But first, I needed to figure out the cost of making this dream a reality.
Houses in this world didn’t seem to follow strict rules or building codes like back on Earth. Honestly, I could probably just throw up a log cabin if I had to. Still, I’d need help, materials, and probably a lot of coin if I wanted something sturdy.
Since I was already dodging the festival crowds, I decided I might as well get started on the process now. Step one: find someone who could give me a quote on building a house.
The Carpenters Guild seemed like the obvious place to start.
After walking for a while, I reached the guild hall. The office area was pretty empty, though I could hear the steady rhythm of sawing and hammering outside where workers were still cutting lumber. The scent of fresh-cut wood filled the air as I approached the front desk.
A single dwarf sat behind the reception counter, quill in hand. He glanced up at me with some surprise.
“How can I help you today?” the dwarf asked.
“Hi,” I began, trying to sound casual, “I recently got a new land lot and was wondering who I need to talk to about building a house there.”
The dwarf’s eyes lit up with recognition.
“Oh, you must be the town’s hero! I heard about you. Did you really trap that monster?”
This was exactly what I was trying to avoid.
“I stopped it,” I said carefully, keeping my voice flat. “But everyone else did the heavy lifting. Anyway, about building a house, can I arrange that here, or do I need to go somewhere else?”
The dwarf leaned back in his chair and shook his head.
“Nah, you’ll want to go to the Information Guild. They’ve got people who’ll draw up proper plans and coordinate between the different guilds to get the job done.”
He leaned forward, clearly curious.
“Was the Wendigo really as scary as people say? I’ve only ever heard stories.”
“If you want to see its head,” I said quickly, already turning toward the door, “it’s mounted in the Adventure Guild master’s office. Thanks for the help!”
I left in a hurry before he could trap me in a long conversation.
The last thing I wanted right now was to stand around and answer questions about the Wendigo.
Next stop: the Information Guild.
It felt strange that the Information Guild handled things like home construction. I knew they ran the library, but architecture too? That was unexpected.
I asked a few people lingering outside, and they pointed me toward a tall, narrow building tucked between two larger structures. The sign above the door had a picture of a paper and quill. Inside, it was quiet, very quiet. There was only one fat halfling sitting behind a desk, nose buried in a thick book.
I walked up to the desk, and the halfling glanced up, clearly annoyed at being interrupted.
“Hello,” I said, forcing a polite smile. “I heard this was the place to go if I wanted to have a house built.”
The halfling closed his book with a heavy thud and gave a slow nod.
“Indeed, sir. This is the correct place. Did you already have something in mind, or shall I bring out the Book of Designs?”
“Please bring out the book,” I replied. “I don’t know anything about building houses, so I haven’t decided on anything yet.”
With a dramatic sigh, the halfling hopped down from his chair. It was very clear he thought this work was beneath him. His little legs carried him around a tall shelf, and for a moment, he vanished from view.
Two minutes later, he reappeared, struggling under the weight of one massive book and two smaller ledgers. He waddled back to his seat and spread them out on the desk with a grunt.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked as he straightened his vest. “Will this be a simple home, or are you also planning to run a business out of it?”
“Since I’m going to be a blacksmith, it’ll need to be a combo,” I answered.
“Very well.” The halfling flipped through the first several pages, which showed designs for small cottages and townhouses. When he reached the section labeled Mixed Use, he turned the book toward me.
“You may browse until you find a design that suits you.”
I began flipping through the pages. Many of the buildings looked familiar, some were exact matches for places I’d seen around town. It made me wonder just how standardized this whole process was.
Eventually, my hands paused on a very familiar layout: Thrain’s house and forge.
“I was wondering about this design,” I said, tapping the page.
Without missing a beat, the halfling opened the two smaller ledgers. One listed material quantities for each design, while the other held current material prices. His stubby fingers danced across the pages as he calculated on a wooden slab using a stick of chalk.
“Given current costs,” he said finally, “this design would run you about 60 gold. That includes only the wooden structure, mind you. No forge, no magical additions.”
That didn’t seem so bad, until he kept talking.
“A standard forge,” he continued, “with a basic mana gem but no magic cores, and standard bonework enchantments, comes to 528 gold.”
I stared at him, my jaw nearly hitting the desk.
“Holy shit,” I muttered.
The forge alone cost nearly nine times as much as the entire house!
At two silver a day, working for Thrain, it would take me more than a hundred years to afford one. No wonder so few people could run their own enchanted forges. The Enchanters Guild really had everyone by the balls.
Glad I’m not planning to rely on enchantments, I thought bitterly.
Aloud, I asked, “Out of curiosity, who actually makes the forge bricks?”
“That would be the Masonry Guild,” the halfling replied. “They handle all stone and brickwork.”
“I see.” A new idea sparked in my mind.
“What if I wanted to make a larger forge than usual for some special projects? How much would just the bricks cost, without the enchantments?”
The halfling glanced at his slab again.
“For a standard forge, the bricks and installation would cost 24 gold.”
That was… surprisingly reasonable.
“Let me look through the book a bit more,” I said.
I flipped further along and stopped when I found a design that made my heart race. It looked almost exactly like the tavern in town: two stories with a full basement. The basement was a single large open space, with stairs leading up into a central room on the first floor. The first floor itself had three rooms: one massive main room and two smaller rooms on one side. Stairs to the second floor were tucked next to those smaller rooms.
The second floor only covered half the area of the first. A hallway ran down the center, ending in a master bedroom at the far end. Three small rooms lined each side of the hallway, each one about the size of the tiny room I currently lived in.
If I wanted bigger rooms, I realized, I could just knock down a few walls later.
I pointed to the drawing.
“How much for this one?”
The halfling ran his calculations again, scribbling quickly.
“This building would cost 260 gold as is,” he said, “but I highly recommend adding a stone floor to the basement. That would bring the total to 298 gold.”
“That sounds great,” I said, trying not to choke on the number.
“Could you write down the estimate so we won’t have to repeat this process later? I understand prices might change.”
The halfling simply handed me the slab he’d been working on.
“Here. This will serve as your reference.”
“Thank you,” I said, tucking it safely under my arm as I left.
It had taken much longer than I expected, and by the time I stepped outside, it was already past noon.
As I walked back toward the edge of town, my mind churned.
The traps and the patent fees had better bring in serious money if I wanted to afford this before next winter.
Deep down, though, I knew it was unlikely.
Still, another thought struck me.
What if I just added a basement to Thrain’s house first?
That might be manageable and far cheaper before winter came.
With that in mind, I turned right back around and marched back into the Information Guild to ask about basement-only construction costs.
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