Chapter 12
Written by Bayzo Albion
After a bit more chatter with the charming demoness—her flirting as sharp as her bargaining, each word a playful jab that danced on the edge of danger—I left the clothing shop, stepping back onto the cobbled street with a newfound sense of purpose. Clad in my simple yet stylish ensemble of a long black shirt and sturdy gray trousers, I felt less like a wayward fool and more like a man ready to carve his mark in this enigmatic paradise.
So… women here drain men's life energy? Are they all succubi, weaving their charms to ensnare the unwary? The demoness's warning about the elf sorceress echoed in my mind, stirring a cocktail of suspicion and curiosity. Was this world truly as benevolent as it seemed, or was every smile a mask hiding sharper intentions?
"System," I muttered aloud, my voice low to avoid drawing more stares, "did I really end up in paradise? Or is this still just a test of my supposedly unspoiled soul, a cosmic game to see if I'll crack under temptation?"
> System: You may pause your private world and transfer into the Shared World, where real users will tell you the full truth about subatomic existence.
> System: Would you like to leave your current world?
"No," I said flatly, shaking my head as if the System could see my resolve. "My world is my fortress, my own creation. And I don't like people poking around in my story—real or otherwise."
With that, I headed deeper into the village, guided more by the growl in my stomach than by any lofty philosophy. Hunger had begun to outweigh my musings, a primal reminder that even gods in their own domains need to eat. The streets bustled with life—villagers gliding past with effortless grace, their faces radiant, their movements a choreography of perfection.
I stopped a pretty girl with radiant eyes that sparkled like twin sapphires, delicate magical tattoos winding down her arms in intricate patterns that pulsed faintly with arcane light, like veins of starlight beneath her skin.
"Kind lady, could you tell me where I might find… say, a food shop or a place to sate a weary traveler's hunger?" I asked, infusing my voice with a touch of charm, hoping to blend courtesy with the roguish appeal I was cultivating.
"There's a tavern just around that corner," she replied with a smile that warmed the air around her, her voice melodic and inviting. A thin ribbon of blue magic unspooled from her fingertip, curling through the air like a wisp of smoke, pointing the way with a flourish that felt both whimsical and precise.
"My thanks, fair lady," I said, bowing politely, my new attire lending the gesture a hint of dignity I hadn't felt while bare.
"Always a pleasure," she purred, her eyes glinting with mischief—and then she added, almost off-handedly, "Would you care to…?"
Her fingers made a rather unmistakable gesture, one slipping suggestively through the circle of the other, a universal sign that needed no translation. My "companion" in the trousers twitched at once, a visceral response that surged before I could quell it, but I clamped down on the impulse—figuratively and quite literally—drawing on my adjusted resistance to temptation.
"I must decline your generous offer," I answered, voice polite but firm, a smile masking the effort it took to rein in my instincts.
"Pity," she pouted, lips pursed in a playful moue that was equal parts disappointment and challenge. "I suppose that sly elf has already claimed you, hasn't she?" With a dismissive little huff, she turned and sauntered off, her hips swaying with deliberate allure, as though she knew exactly how much trouble she left in her wake, a siren's call lingering in the air.
Medieval magical internet… what a concept. I shook my head, a wry grin tugging at my lips. At this rate, half the village probably knew me by name already, my exploits—or lack thereof—spreading like wildfire through their arcane gossip networks. The thought was tinged with irony as I kept walking, scanning signboards adorned with glowing runes and the too-perfect faces of passersby, each one a testament to this world's relentless beauty.
"System," I asked silently, my thoughts directed inward to avoid further curious glances, "what's the difference between High Difficulty and Medium? I need to know what I'm signing up for here."
> System: High Difficulty introduces drama, moral dilemmas, and consequences severe enough to make you want to crawl under a blanket and question your existence. Recommended only for users with resilient psyches, prepared to face challenges that test the soul.
"I see," I muttered, a spark of intrigue flickering amidst my caution. "So for now we'll keep it on Medium. When I get bored of peaceful living—then I'll turn on hell, and see how much chaos I can handle."
People along the street gave me odd looks—not at my stylish new shirt, which hugged my frame with subtle elegance, but at my habit of muttering to the System out loud, as if conversing with an invisible companion. To them, I probably looked like some mad prophet raving in the sun, or a drunk weaving through sobriety's thin veil. Or both, a curious blend of lunacy and bravado.
Smirking at my own audacity, I reached for the next door in front of me, its wooden frame carved with intricate patterns that pulsed faintly with enchantment. The door creaked as it opened, releasing a wave of heat, laughter, and smells that clung to the air like a drunken hug—roasted meat, bitter hops, the musk of sweat, and something else, an undercurrent that whispered of danger, the kind only found where strangers gather too close and secrets are too easily overheard in the din of revelry.
I stepped inside, crossing the threshold into the tavern's embrace.
The dim lantern light flickered across the crowd, shadows dancing on walls painted with smoke and stories, the air thick with the hum of voices and the clink of mugs. My stomach growled, a primal demand for sustenance, but my instincts hummed louder, sensing the pulse of adventure beneath the surface of this raucous scene.
Inside, the crowd was far from ordinary, a tapestry of figures woven from the fantastical. Nearly every table was packed with knights and guards, their armored shoulders gleaming in the dim lamplight, polished steel reflecting flickers of flame. Not a farmer in sight, no merchants haggling over wares, no weary villagers seeking respite. Just men in steel and leather, their postures radiating the coiled readiness of those who lived for a fight, their scars and calloused hands telling tales of battles won and lost.
And the women… they weren't the plain-faced barmaids of fairy tales, serving ale with tired smiles. They had horns curling elegantly from their temples, wings tucked behind chairs like folded cloaks, tails idly swishing with a life of their own. Their eyes glittered with hunger—the kind that didn't always mean food, a predatory gleam that sized me up as I entered. More than one gaze slid across me like I was already on their menu, a dish to be savored or devoured at their leisure.
"Oy! Look who finally stumbled in!" bellowed a drunk guard, jabbing a meaty finger in my direction, his voice cutting through the din like a warhorn. "Our lost wanderer! There are already legends about you, ha-ha-ha!"
"Our fearless Gandalf!" shouted another, slamming his mug against the table with a resounding thud, ale sloshing over the rim. "Let's drink to Gandalf, hero of the unclothed!"
"May you keep us entertained, Gandalf!" added a third with a conspiratorial wink, raising his glass high, foam dripping like liquid starlight.
"TO GANDALF!" the knights roared together, mugs lifted in a unified salute before being drained in one thunderous gulp, foam dripping onto beards and breastplates as the hall shook with their raucous laughter. One man even tried to break into song, his voice cracking on the first syllable before dissolving into a fit of choking laughter, the entire table erupting with him in a cacophony of mirth.
I gave a slow, dignified nod, doing my best to wear the expression of a man long accustomed to such fanfare, though my heart raced with a mix of amusement and unease. The important thing was not to let on that I barely understood what was happening around me, caught in a whirlwind of unexpected fame in a world I'd only just begun to navigate.
"They're already singing ballads about your bravery," said a melodic voice, soft yet resonant, cutting through the noise like a clear bell.
I turned, my eyes meeting a waitress with snow-white wings that shimmered faintly in the lamplight, her presence ethereal yet grounded. She drifted closer, her feet never touching the floor, as if gravity were a mere suggestion she chose to ignore. Her dress rippled like mist, clinging to her form in a way that was both delicate and alluring, and her eyes glowed with a soft inner light, warm yet piercing. Her smile was gentle enough to make even the rowdiest knight pause, a beacon of serenity amidst the chaos.
"Welcome to our tavern," she said, bowing her head gracefully, her wings fluttering slightly, sending a faint breeze across the table. "What would you like to order?"