Connor Hayes

The tavern wasn’t much to look at, but it didn’t have to be.

The building was old, with walls of uneven stone and a roof patched with mismatched shingles. A wooden sign above the door swung lazily in the breeze, its paint faded to the point where the name—something like “The Rusty Kettle”—was barely legible.

It was perfect.

I pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges blending with the low hum of conversation and the occasional clink of tankards. The smell of roasted meat and stale ale hit me immediately, a familiar mix that felt oddly comforting.

Rachel followed close behind, her steps hesitant as she glanced around the room.

It wasn’t crowded—just a handful of patrons scattered at tables near the fireplace, their conversations low and murmured. A stout barkeep stood behind the bar, polishing a mug with the kind of focus that suggested he’d been doing it for years.

I headed for a corner table, motioning for Rachel to follow.

“Is it always this quiet?” she asked as she slid into the seat across from me.

“Depends on the time of day,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “And the kind of trouble the locals are dealing with.”

She gave me a skeptical look but didn’t press further.

The barkeep approached, his face lined with age but his movements steady. He looked me over, his eyes lingering on the bow slung across my back before shifting to Rachel.

“What’ll it be?” he asked, his voice gruff but not unfriendly.

“Two ales,” I said, sliding a few coins from the pouch the farmer had handed me.

The barkeep nodded, taking the coins without comment and disappearing back to the bar.

Rachel fidgeted in her seat, her fingers drumming against the edge of the table.

“You don’t seem like the tavern type,” she said after a moment, her tone light but probing.

I shrugged. “I’m the type that appreciates a place to sit and a drink that doesn’t taste like river water.”

She snorted, a small smile breaking through her guarded expression. “Fair enough.”

The barkeep returned quickly, placing two mugs of ale on the table before retreating to his post. I took a long sip, the bitter taste washing away the dryness in my throat.

Rachel stared at her mug for a moment before taking a tentative sip, her nose wrinkling slightly.

“Not a fan?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s… strong,” she said, setting the mug down. “I’m more of a wine person.”

I chuckled softly, taking another sip. “Figures.”

She shot me a look but didn’t say anything. Instead, she leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied me.

“So, are you going to tell me how you ended up saving my ass back there?”

“Right place, right time,” I said, keeping my tone casual.

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly not buying it. “And the whole ‘this is my forest’ bit? What’s that about?”

I shrugged, setting my mug down. “I’ve been here a while. Long enough to know the lay of the land. Long enough to make it mine.”

She tilted her head, curiosity flashing in her eyes. “And long enough to pull off those ridiculous shots?”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth. “Practice.”

She rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her ale.

The conversation lapsed into silence for a moment, the sounds of the tavern filling the gap. Rachel’s gaze drifted to the window, her fingers tapping idly against the mug.

“You’re not from around here, are you?” I asked, breaking the silence.

Her eyes snapped back to mine, her expression shifting to something more guarded. “What makes you say that?”

“The way you talk. The way you fight.” I shrugged. “Doesn’t add up.”

She hesitated, her fingers tightening around the mug. “What if I said the same about you?”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

I smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Fair point.”

Her lips twitched in a half-smile, but the guarded look in her eyes didn’t fade.

“I’m just trying to survive,” she said finally, her voice quiet but steady. “Same as you.”

I nodded, lifting my mug in a small toast. “To survival, then.”

She clinked her mug against mine, her smile softening just a little.

For now, that was enough.

Rachel tilted her head, her curiosity obvious. “You said this forest is yours. Did you just… decide that, or is there more to it?”

I took another sip of my ale, savoring the brief pause before answering. “Depends. You want the truth, or the easy answer?”

Her lips quirked in a faint smirk. “Truth. Definitely.”

I leaned back in my chair, running a hand through my hair. “I’m from Kansas.”

“Kansas,” she repeated, like she was trying to fit the word into the picture of this medieval world. “You’re really from Kansas?”

“Born and raised,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “Midwest U.S. Cornfields, tornadoes, you name it. Not exactly the kind of place you’d expect someone to end up… here.”

She set her mug down, her brow furrowing. “I’m from London. And I thought I was the only one…”

“Trust me, I had the same thought at first,” I said. “Until now, I figured I was alone in this.”

Rachel stared at me, her voice dropping. “And you’ve got the system too? Like, stats, perks, all that?”

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Ranger class. Got a quick tutorial on the basics after I unlocked it—stats, quests, inventory. It was a lot to take in, but it got me through those first few days.”

Her jaw dropped slightly. “You got a tutorial?”

“Yeah,” I said, smirking faintly. “It wasn’t much, but it explained enough to keep me from getting killed. I take it you didn’t get one?”

“No!” she said, throwing up her hands. “I just woke up in a tavern with a sword and a bunch of stats I barely understood! No tutorial, no guide, nothing!”

I chuckled softly, taking another sip of ale. “Sounds rough.”

She glared at me, but there was a flicker of amusement behind it. “And how much have you… figured out? You said you’re a Ranger? What level are you?”

“Ten,” I said simply.

Rachel froze, her eyes going wide. She blinked, then glanced upward at what I assumed was her HUD. Her lips parted in shock as her gaze locked onto something only she could see.

“Level ten,” she repeated, her voice almost a whisper.

“Yeah,” I said, watching her carefully. “Why?”

Her eyes darted back to me, and she gestured vaguely toward her own HUD. “Because I’m still level one.”

I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Not a mean laugh, but the kind that bubbles up when someone says something you completely weren’t expecting.

“Hey!” she said, her cheeks flushing. “It’s not funny!”

“Sorry,” I said, holding up a hand. “It’s just… it takes time, alright? You’ll get there. Leveling up isn’t exactly fast in this place.”

Her glare softened slightly, but the frustration lingered. “So, what, you just… hunted things in the woods until you hit level ten?”

“Pretty much,” I said. “Quests helped. The system throws random ones at you sometimes—hunt this, gather that. It’s not glamorous, but it gets the job done.”

Rachel leaned back in her chair, her hand rubbing the bridge of her nose. “And here I am, struggling to survive one escort job without getting stabbed to death. Great.”

“You survived, didn’t you?” I pointed out. “And you’ll keep surviving, as long as you stay smart.”

She didn’t answer right away, her gaze flicking toward the window where the moonlight spilled across the cobbled street outside. When she turned back to me, her expression was more thoughtful.

“What’s it like?” she asked. “Getting stronger. Unlocking… stuff.”

“It’s a rush,” I admitted. “The first few levels, you barely notice a difference. But then the perks start kicking in, and suddenly, you’re faster, sharper, better. You feel like you can take on anything.”

Rachel studied me, her eyes narrowing slightly. “And what happens when you run into something you can’t take on?”

My smirk faded, and I met her gaze evenly. “Then you run. Or you die.”

The weight of my words hung between us, and for a moment, neither of us said anything.

Finally, Rachel exhaled, reaching for her mug. “Guess I’d better start leveling up, then.”

“That’s the spirit,” I said, raising my own mug.

She clinked hers against mine, her faint smile softening some of the tension in her face.

Maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t the only one who’d figure out how to survive in this world.

The faint chime of the System rang in my ears just as I finished my ale, the soft glow of a notification appearing in the corner of my vision.

Party Member Added: Rachel Turner

Name: Rachel Turner

Class: Duelist (Blade Dancer)

Level: 1

Health: 100/100

Mana: 50/50

Note: Party members can locate each other using the Map feature. Access unlocked.

I blinked, momentarily stunned. Before I could say anything, Rachel sat bolt upright, her eyes wide.

“You got that too?” she asked, her voice tinged with both curiosity and disbelief.

“Yeah,” I said, nodding. “Guess we’re officially a team now.”

Rachel frowned, her gaze shifting upward, likely scanning her own HUD. “It says we can find each other on a map… I didn’t even know there was a map.”

“Neither did I,” I admitted.

I opened the System Menu and tapped the newly added Map tab. A detailed topographical layout of the area appeared, with markers showing our exact positions—two glowing dots close together in the tavern, surrounded by the outline of the village and the sprawling forest beyond.

“This is useful,” I said, smirking as I studied the screen.

Rachel tapped at her HUD, her expression a mix of awe and relief. “It’s like a GPS. Finally, something that makes sense.”

I chuckled, closing the map and pulling up my inventory. After scrolling past the usual items—arrows, tools, herbs—I found the pouch of coins I’d accumulated over the past few weeks.

With a flick of my fingers, I materialized the pouch on the table between us.

“What’s this?” Rachel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Call it a loan,” I said, smirking. “Fifty gold coins, some silver, a bit of copper. Enough to keep you alive while you figure things out.”

Her mouth fell open. “You’re giving me all this? Why?”

“Because you need it more than I do,” I said simply. “I’m doing fine in the forest. You’re starting from scratch.”

She stared at the pouch, her expression torn between gratitude and disbelief. “I… I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t say anything,” I said, standing and finishing the last of my ale.

Rachel blinked, looking up at me as I slung my bow over my shoulder.

“I’m heading back to the forest,” I said, adjusting my cloak. “You know where to find me if you need help.”

“Wait—” she started, but I held up a hand, cutting her off.

“Good luck, Rachel,” I said, smirking faintly. “You’re going to need it.”

Before she could argue, I turned and walked out of the tavern, the cool night air greeting me as the door swung shut behind me.

The forest was calling, and I wasn’t about to keep it waiting.