The celebration that followed was everything I’d imagined a rustic, medieval village festival would be, and more.

  The air, once filled with the sounds of battle, now buzzed with laughter, lively music from fiddle and pipe, and the clinking of tankards. The tables groaned under the weight of the feast. There were great wheels of yellow cheese, loaves of crusty bread still warm from the oven, roasted chickens glistening with herbs, and a vast, steaming pot of stew that smelled richly of beef and barley. Jars of pickled vegetables and pots of honey and jam completed the spread.

  It was a humble bounty, but it was offered with immense generosity. This moment felt more real than many of my memories of home. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  Dekka was, without a doubt, the guest of honour. Children vied for the privilege of feeding her scraps of chicken skin and crusts of bread dipped in gravy. She accepted this tribute with the dignified grace of a queen, though her wagging tail and eager eyes betrayed her excitement. Selina sat proudly beside her, one chubby arm thrown around Dekka’s neck, proclaiming to anyone who would listen, “My oggy got the big one!”

  I was passed from group to group, my tankard of small beer constantly refilled before it could ever be empty.

  “A brilliant strategy, lass!” boomed Borin the lumberjack, clapping me on the back with a hand that felt like a ham. “Never seen the like! Whack-a-Mole, you call it? We should make it a yearly tradition!” The others around him laughed and raised their mugs in agreement. Amused I raised my mug with them. Did the ubiquitous carnival game have its roots in something humble like this. People just trying to protect their food from pests?

  "You know," said Marcus, the cheesemaker, taking a long pull from his mug, "in all my years, I never would have thought to send a beast down after those varmints. We tried smoke, tried flooding the tunnels, even tried playing music to drive them off - nothing worked."

  "Music?" I asked, genuinely curious. Allowing myself to be sat at one of the long tables.

  A younger woman across the table laughed. "My grandmother swore that moles hated fiddle music. Had poor Tom out there playing for three hours straight one morning. The moles probably thought it was breakfast entertainment. If anything, I think they ate faster"

  Tom, presumably the fiddle player, raised his mug with a grin. "Those moles have better taste than some of you!"

  The banter continued, and I found myself relaxing in a way I hadn't since arriving in this world. The shared experience of the morning had created bonds that felt surprisingly real. These didn’t seem like NPCs following programming - they were celebrating together, sharing stories, genuinely enjoying each other's company. Just like people.

  "Elizabeth," Cecil's mother - I really needed to ask her name - appeared at my elbow with a plate piled impossibly high with food. "You must try the honey cakes. Selina helped make them this morning, didn't you, sweetheart?"

  Selina nodded enthusiastically, her mouth too full of cake to speak properly, then leaned over to whisper loudly in my ear: "I only dropped one on the floor. Don’t worry I fed it to the chimkens!"

  The honey cakes were incredible - sweet and dense with a hint of something I couldn't identify. As I ate, I noticed more and more people approaching our table. Word of the successful mole hunt was spreading, and some of the villagers who had been busy or for what ever reason couldn’t help were arriving to hear the story firsthand.

  "Is it true you trained a monster to hunt underground?" asked a weather-beaten man who'd introduced himself as Fletcher.

  "She's not a monster," Selina piped up fiercely. "She's a oggy and she's the bestest!"

  I was about to correct the 'trained' part, no one ‘trained’ a terrier to run after animals in holes, when something interesting happened. A soft chime sounded in my head, followed by text:

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  [Local Reputation: SCOTT'S HILL increased to Honoured] [New Title Available: Mole Bane] [New Title Available: Community Problem Solver] [Warning: Your actions have attracted attention from neighbouring settlements]

  That last line made me pause mid-chew. Attention could be good or bad, depending on who was paying it. But who could be against saving crops. I did wonder what all the titles meant.

  I toggled open my HUD. There indeed was a spot for a title. I could only choose one. [Verminbane] seemed the most badass. But [Community Problem Solver] could open doors. That made me pause again. Who could see these? I choose Verminbane, because I liked it, and closed the HUD. It felt rude, like reading your phone at the dinner table.

  "Elizabeth," Cecil called from the head of the table, raising his mug, "a toast to our visiting hero!"

  Everyone raised their drinks, and I felt my cheeks flush. Hero seemed like a strong word for someone who'd essentially played whack-a-mole with enthusiastic villagers.

  "To problem solving and good dogs!" I called back, which earned me a cheer and made Dekka's tail wag so hard I had to snatch Selina's cup and move it to the other side of the girl so it didn’t get knocked over.

  As the afternoon wore on, the festival atmosphere intensified. Someone had brought out instruments, and spontaneous dancing broke out near the barn. Children ran between the adults' legs, playing some complicated game that seemed to involve a lot of shrieking and falling down. I’m not sure but I think my dog was winning.

  I watched a group of teenage boys trying to impress girls by demonstrating their 'mole whacking technique' with increasingly dramatic flourishes.

  "You've given them something to be proud of," Cecil said quietly, settling into the chair Marcus had vacated. "It's been a hard season. The moles, some sickness that hit the chickens last month, late frost that damaged the early crops. Today feels like the tide turning."

  That comment about sickness reminded me and I was going to ask what he knew about Rivermore when a commotion near the road caught my attention. A group of riders was approaching - not villagers, but people in finer clothes mounted on horses that looked like they'd never seen a hard day's work.

  The music faltered and died. Conversations became whispers. Even the children seemed to sense the shift in mood and moved closer to their parents.

  "Well," Cecil muttered, "that didn't take long."

  "Who are they?" I asked, though I had a sinking feeling I knew.

  "Tax collectors, most likely. Or representatives of Lord Ashford. He owns most of the land around here." Cecil's jaw tightened. "They always show up when there's good news to spoil."

  The lead rider dismounted with practiced arrogance. He was tall, thin, and dressed in deep blue cloth that probably cost more than most of these farmers made in a year. His eyes swept over the celebration with obvious disdain.

  "I am Bailiff Cromstead, representing Lord Ashford," he announced in a voice that carried across the suddenly quiet gathering. "I understand there has been some... excitement here today."

  "Just neighbours helping neighbours," Cecil replied carefully, standing up. "Nothing that concerns the Lord."

  Cromstead's cold gaze found me, and I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass. "And who might this be? I don't recognize you, traveller."

  Before I could answer, Selina piped up from beside me: "That's 'Lizabeth! She saved our farm with her oggy!"

  I wanted to disappear into the ground. Or possibly send Dekka down a mole hole and follow her.

  "Ah," Cromstead said, his thin lips curving into what might charitably be called a smile. "The famous problem solver. Tell me, traveller, are you aware that organized hunts on Lord Ashford's lands require proper permits? And that any... unusual methods must be approved in advance?"

  The silence stretched like a taut rope. I could feel the weight of everyone's expectation, their hope that their celebration wouldn't be destroyed by bureaucratic nonsense.

  I stood up slowly, Dekka rising alertly beside me. "I wasn't aware there were any permits required for pest control," I said as evenly as I could manage. "Especially when helping neighbors with a problem that threatened their livelihoods."

  "Ignorance of the law is no excuse," Cromstead replied. "However, Lord Ashford is not unreasonable. Perhaps this matter is best discussed with the Lord himself?"

  And there it was - the twist I probably should have seen coming. In a world with lords and bailiffs, even helping people came with complications.

  I glanced around at the faces of my new friends, saw the worry creeping back into their expressions, and made a decision. I didn't want to leave but staying seemed unwise.

  "Of course," I said, matching his fake smile with one of my own. "I'm always happy to discuss... proper procedures."

  YOU HAVE RECEIVED A QUEST Explain your actions to the lord of the land.

  “Excellent. We will ride ahead and let his Lordship know to receive you.”

  This was about to get interesting, though I found myself worried about the townspeople; the fact that they were NPCs seemed less significant that it had.