The first thing I noticed was the smell.

It wasn’t the faint antiseptic tang of the dentist’s office, or the comforting aroma of London’s perpetually damp streets. No, this was…different. Earthier. A strange mix of wood smoke, spilled ale, and something I could only describe as sweat with a side of regret.

My eyes fluttered open, and I groaned as a dull ache settled in the back of my head.

“What the hell…” I muttered, pushing myself upright.

The room around me came into focus—dimly lit, small, and definitely not my flat. Rough wooden walls enclosed the space, their surfaces marred by the kind of scratches and stains that suggested decades of hard living. A small fire crackled in a stone hearth, its glow casting flickering shadows across the uneven floorboards.

And the bed I was in? Not mine. Unless I’d somehow swapped out my cozy duvet for a scratchy wool blanket and a mattress that felt like it was stuffed with rocks.

“What the actual fuck?” I whispered, running a hand through my hair.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet meeting the cold wood with a sharp jolt. That’s when I noticed the clothes.

They were draped over a nearby rack, neatly folded and completely alien to anything I’d ever owned. A simple tunic, dark trousers, a thick leather belt, and what looked like some kind of leather chest piece—armor, maybe?

“What am I…in a Ren Faire?” I said aloud, trying to inject some humor into the rapidly spiraling confusion.

And then I saw the rapier.

It was propped against the wall next to the rack, its blade catching the firelight like it was winking at me. The same rapier from the museum, with the same strange runes etched into its surface.

My stomach dropped.

“This isn’t real,” I muttered, my voice shaky. “It can’t be real.”

But the room was too vivid, too solid to be a dream. The texture of the wood beneath my fingers, the faint crackle of the fire, the smell of everything—it was all too much.

I stood up, wobbling slightly as my legs adjusted, and took a cautious step toward the rapier. My hand hovered over the hilt, and for a moment, I hesitated.

What if this was some elaborate prank? What if Emma was hiding just out of sight, waiting to jump out and yell, “Gotcha!”?

“Emma?” I called, my voice echoing slightly.

No answer.

I grabbed the rapier, the cool metal of the hilt grounding me just enough to keep the rising panic at bay. It felt lighter than I remembered, but the runes were still there, glowing faintly in the firelight.

Before I could process what that meant, the door creaked open.

I whirled around, raising the rapier instinctively, and nearly tripped over my own feet.

A woman stood in the doorway, her expression caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. She was short, with sharp features and a weathered face, her hair pulled back into a messy bun. A stained apron hung over her plain dress, and her hands were dusted with flour.

“Well,” she said, her voice thick with an accent I couldn’t quite place. “You’re up earlier than most.”

I blinked at her, my brain struggling to catch up. “Where…where am I?”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “The Fox and Fiddle, same as last night. Or did you drink yourself stupid enough to forget that too?”

“The Fox and Fiddle?” I repeated dumbly. “What’s that, a pub?”

She snorted. “What else would it be? You’re in one of my rooms, and I don’t rent them out for anything but sleeping.”

A pub. A medieval pub. Because of course I was.

“This has to be a mistake,” I said, shaking my head. “I—I don’t even drink ale.”

The woman shrugged. “Maybe you should start. Clears the head after a night like yours.”

“What are you talking about?” I demanded, clutching the rapier tighter.

She gave me a pointed look, her gaze flicking to the sword. “Look, girl, I don’t know where you came from, and I don’t care. But you paid for the room, you didn’t cause any trouble, and that’s all I need to know. If you want answers, you’re not going to find them up here.”

With that, she turned and walked out, leaving the door ajar behind her.

I stared at the open doorway, my pulse pounding in my ears.

This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. I was in London. I was at the museum. I was…

Gone.

The thought hit me like a punch to the gut, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

But panic wasn’t going to help, and neither was sitting here like a lunatic. If this was real—and every instinct told me it was—I needed answers. And apparently, they weren’t in this room.

I glanced at the rack of clothes, then down at my own, realizing for the first time that I was still wearing what I’d had on at the museum—jeans and a t-shirt.

“Yeah, that’s subtle,” I muttered, grabbing the tunic and trousers.

Changing was awkward and more complicated than I’d expected, but I managed to get everything on without tripping over myself. The leather chest piece was surprisingly comfortable, though I wasn’t thrilled about how tight it felt.

I strapped the rapier to my side, the weight of it unfamiliar but oddly reassuring.

Taking one last look at the room, I squared my shoulders and stepped into the hallway.

The hallway stretched out before me, dimly lit by flickering lanterns mounted on the rough wooden walls. The floorboards creaked underfoot as I walked, each step reminding me how far I was from anything resembling normal.

I paused, taking a deep breath to steady my nerves. The air smelled faintly of smoke and ale, with an undercurrent of something metallic I couldn’t place.

“Alright, Rachel,” I muttered under my breath. “You’re in the middle of…wherever this is. Figure it out.”

I took another step—and froze as a faint chime echoed through the air, sharp and clear like a bell struck in a cathedral.

“Welcome, Adventurer!”

I spun around, looking for the source of the voice. It wasn’t coming from behind me. Or above me. Or…anywhere, really. It was just there, echoing in my head.

Before I could process what was happening, a glowing screen appeared in front of me. It hovered in the air, translucent but undeniable, its soft light illuminating the shadows of the hallway.

Welcome, Adventurer!

Your class has been assigned: Duelist.

Your journey begins here.

Current Stats:

* Strength: 0

* Agility: 3

* Endurance: 1

* Intelligence: 2

* Charisma: 1

“What the actual hell?” I muttered, staring at the screen.

It didn’t make sense. None of it made sense. I reached out cautiously, my fingers brushing against the light. It rippled under my touch, like the surface of a pond disturbed by a pebble.

“This can’t be real,” I said, my voice shaky. “This is…some kind of glitch, right? A hallucination?”

The screen didn’t respond, but another chime sounded, softer this time.

Race Selection Unlocked!

Choose your race:

* Human: Balanced stats, adaptable, and versatile.

* Elf: Increased Agility and Intelligence, but reduced Strength.

* Dwarf: Increased Strength and Endurance, but reduced Agility.

* Half-Orc: High Strength, moderate Endurance, but reduced Charisma.

* Halfling: Increased Charisma and Agility, but reduced Endurance.

I stared at the glowing options, my heart pounding in my chest. “Okay, Rachel,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. “Think this through. What’s the least likely option to get you killed?”

My gaze lingered on each choice.

Human seemed safe, familiar, but maybe too familiar. I wasn’t sure “balanced” was going to cut it in whatever the hell kind of situation I’d found myself in.

Elf? It had its perks—extra agility and intelligence sounded great, but the reduced strength made me nervous. What if this world had giant spiders or something?

Dwarf? Probably practical, but…come on. Me, a dwarf? Hard pass.

Half-Orc? Yeah, no thanks. Reduced charisma was a disaster waiting to happen.

Halfling? I didn’t love the idea of reduced endurance, but the thought of being quicker on my feet was tempting.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Alright, let’s get weird. Elf it is.”

The moment I made my selection, the screen shimmered and faded, leaving me alone in the hallway once more.

A strange warmth washed over me, not unpleasant but deeply unsettling. It felt like stepping into sunlight after a cold rain, my muscles tingling as if they were waking up for the first time.

I flexed my fingers, then my arms, half-expecting them to look different. But they were the same as always—at least on the outside.

“Okay,” I said, taking a shaky breath. “That just happened.”

The screen didn’t reappear, and the hallway was silent again, save for the distant murmur of voices drifting up from downstairs.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Gripping the hilt of the rapier at my side, I squared my shoulders and started toward the staircase. If this was real—and it felt far too vivid to be anything else—I needed answers. And sitting here gawking at invisible stat screens wasn’t going to get me any closer to them.

The staircase creaked as I descended, the voices from below growing louder with each step. It was strange—everything about this place felt both impossibly real and utterly surreal at the same time.

As I reached the landing, I spotted a long mirror hanging on the wall to my right. The glass was cloudy with age, its surface dotted with faint smudges and scratches.

I paused.

Something in the back of my mind told me to keep moving, that the answers I needed weren’t going to come from a mirror. But curiosity—or maybe vanity—got the better of me.

I turned to face my reflection.

At first glance, I looked…normal. Same auburn hair, same pale skin, same slightly-too-thin build that I always told myself I’d do something about. But as I leaned in, my heart skipped a beat.

My ears.

They were longer, more pointed than before, the tips just barely peeking out from beneath my hair.

I reached up, hesitating for a moment before touching them. They were warm, real, and definitely mine.

“Okay,” I muttered, swallowing hard. “That’s new.”

But it wasn’t just the ears. My face looked…different. Subtly so, but enough to make me blink a few times to be sure. My cheekbones seemed sharper, more defined, and my skin had a faint glow to it—like I’d just stepped out of a spa after a week of facials and hydration treatments.

My eyes caught the light in a way that made them look brighter, clearer, almost unnaturally vivid.

I tilted my head, trying to process the changes. “Is this what elves are supposed to look like?”

It wasn’t just my face. My posture seemed straighter, more confident, and there was a lightness to the way I moved, as if my body had been fine-tuned overnight.

For a moment, I couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, at least I got an upgrade.”

The smirk faded as reality came crashing back. This wasn’t normal. None of it was. I’d chosen to be an elf because it seemed like the smartest choice, but now I was standing here with a new face and pointy ears, and I still didn’t have a clue what was going on.

I ran a hand through my hair, taking a shaky breath. “Focus, Rachel. Answers first, existential crisis later.”

The murmur of voices from downstairs pulled me out of my thoughts, and I turned away from the mirror, gripping the hilt of the rapier at my side.

The blade felt reassuringly solid, the weight of it grounding me as I descended the last few steps and stepped into the main room of the tavern.

It was bustling, alive with the sounds of clinking mugs, raucous laughter, and the occasional shouted argument. The smell of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air, mingling with the faint tang of spilled ale.

The space was warm, dimly lit by lanterns hanging from the low wooden beams. Long tables stretched across the room, crowded with people dressed in rough tunics, leather vests, and patched cloaks.

I hesitated at the foot of the stairs, scanning the room for…what? An explanation? A friendly face?

The woman from earlier—the one who’d called this place the Fox and Fiddle—was bustling between tables, carrying a tray laden with mugs of frothy ale. She glanced my way and gave a small nod, her expression unreadable.

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered, stepping into the room.

As I wove through the crowd, I couldn’t help but notice the way people looked at me. Most of them barely glanced up from their drinks or conversations, but a few paused, their eyes lingering just a second too long.

I wasn’t sure if it was the ears, the sword, or something else entirely, but their gazes made my skin prickle.

One man—a burly fellow with a thick beard and a scar running down his cheek—leaned over to his companion as I passed, muttering something that made them both chuckle.

I ignored them, keeping my head high and my steps deliberate. If there was one thing I’d learned from years of working in customer service, it was how to fake confidence when you had absolutely none.

I reached the bar, a sturdy wooden counter lined with empty mugs and the occasional discarded coin. The bartender, a wiry man with a sharp nose and a permanent scowl, was wiping down the surface with a rag that looked like it hadn’t been washed in years.

“What’ll it be?” he asked, his voice flat.

“Uh…ale?” I said, trying to sound like I belonged here.

“Coin first,” he said, holding out a hand.

Crap. I hadn’t thought this far ahead.

My fingers instinctively went to my pocket, where I felt the crumpled twenty-pound note still tucked away. Without much thought, I pulled it out and placed it on the counter.

“This work?” I asked hopefully.

The bartender gave the note one look before letting out a short, humorless laugh. “Not unless it’s gold. You’ve got coin or not?”

I froze, my stomach dropping. “I, uh…”

Before I could finish the sentence, something shimmered in front of me.

A translucent screen blinked into existence, just like the one I’d seen in the hallway. It hovered over the bar, displaying an organized grid of items.

Inventory:

* Rusty Rapier (Equipped)

* Traveler’s Tunic and Leather Armor (Equipped)

* Common Boots (Equipped)

* 5 Copper Coins

“What the…?” I muttered, leaning back slightly as the screen hovered in front of me.

A soft chime sounded, followed by a small popup in the corner of the screen:

Inventory Explained!

* Your inventory automatically stores items and currency you acquire.

* To access it, simply think about opening your inventory.

* To use an item or currency, focus on selecting it, and it will materialize in your hand.

“Materialize in my hand?” I repeated under my breath. “What is this, bloody Skyrim?”

The bartender cleared his throat loudly, dragging my attention back to him. “Look, lass, I’ve got other customers. You paying or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, one second,” I said quickly, staring at the screen. My gaze locked onto the 5 Copper Coins, and I focused on selecting them, as the popup suggested.

To my surprise—and mild horror—a single coin appeared in my hand with a soft ping, as if it had been sitting there all along.

“Holy shit,” I whispered, turning it over in my fingers. It was solid, warm, and very, very real.

“You done gawking, or do you want your ale?” the bartender asked impatiently.

“Right. Sorry,” I said, sliding the coin across the counter.

He grabbed it, biting down on its edge before nodding and turning to fill a mug.

As the frothy ale was placed in front of me, I took a shaky breath, my mind racing. The inventory screen had vanished the moment the coin materialized, but the memory of it lingered.

I’d read enough fantasy novels and played enough games to recognize the mechanics, but seeing them in real life—feeling them—was something else entirely.

“This is insane,” I muttered, lifting the mug and taking a hesitant sip.

The ale was bitter, heavier than anything I was used to, but it wasn’t bad. It grounded me, the familiar sensation of drinking giving me a moment of clarity amidst the chaos in my head.

The ale sloshed in my mug as I weaved through the crowded tavern, doing my best to avoid bumping into anyone. The place was alive with noise—laughter, shouted arguments, the scrape of chairs against the floor. Every sound seemed to bounce off the wooden walls, filling the room with a chaotic energy that was equal parts exhilarating and overwhelming.

I picked a table tucked into a corner near the hearth, grateful for the relative quiet. Setting the mug down, I let out a shaky breath, my mind still racing from everything that had happened.

The screen. The coins. The stats.

What the hell was going on?

I leaned back in my chair, staring into the flickering flames of the hearth as I tried to piece it all together. The screen had felt so…natural, like it belonged here, but no one else in the tavern had reacted to it.

That meant one of two things: either they couldn’t see it, or this kind of thing was so common here that it wasn’t worth noticing.

Maybe they’re all used to this, I thought, glancing around the room. But no one looked at me, not even with my pointy ears and clearly out-of-place demeanor. They were too busy drinking, arguing, and trying to win at life in their own way.

I sighed, taking a sip of the ale. It was bitter and heavy, but not terrible.

I didn’t have long to mull over my situation. A loud crash shattered the relative calm, followed by the unmistakable sound of a chair being thrown across the room.

Heads turned toward the commotion, mine included.

Near the center of the tavern, two men were squared off, their postures tense and aggressive. One was burly, with arms like tree trunks and a face that looked like it had been punched a few too many times. The other was leaner, with a wild look in his eyes and a dagger in his hand.

“Say it again,” Dagger Guy snarled, his voice low and venomous. “Say it to my face.”

“I’ll say it twice if you want,” the burly man shot back, slamming his mug on the table. “You’re a cheating, lying bastard, and everyone here knows it.”

The room collectively inhaled.

Before I could even process what was happening, Dagger Guy lunged. The blade flashed in the firelight, and a sickening thunk followed as it sank into the burly man’s shoulder.

He cried out, stumbling back and knocking over a table as blood began to seep through his tunic.

The tavern exploded into chaos.

People scrambled to get out of the way, chairs and mugs crashing to the floor as the fight escalated. The bartender shouted something about keeping the peace, but no one was listening.

I should’ve stayed put. I knew I should’ve stayed put. But something about the scene sent a jolt of adrenaline through me.

Before I realized what I was doing, I was on my feet, the rapier at my side practically begging to be drawn.

“Hey!” I shouted, pushing through the crowd toward the fight.

Dagger Guy turned, his eyes narrowing as they locked onto me. He looked me up and down, sneering at the sight of the rapier.

“And who the hell are you?” he spat, yanking the blade free from his victim’s shoulder.

“Someone who doesn’t want this to get worse,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt.

He laughed, a harsh, grating sound that made my skin crawl. “Oh, it’s already worse, elf girl. You’re just too stupid to know it.”

I barely had time to process the insult before he lunged at me, the dagger aimed straight for my chest.

My body moved on instinct.

I sidestepped the attack, my movements quicker and more fluid than I expected. The rapier was in my hand before I even realized I’d drawn it, the blade catching the firelight as I brought it up to parry.

The sound of steel meeting steel rang out, sharp and jarring.

“Not bad,” Dagger Guy said, circling me like a predator sizing up its prey. “But you’re out of your depth, sweetheart.”

“Yeah, well,” I shot back, “you’re out of time.”

It wasn’t the best comeback, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it. He lunged again, his movements fast and unpredictable.

I blocked the first strike, then the second, the rapier feeling like an extension of my arm. My mind was racing, trying to remember everything I’d learned about fencing. The footwork, the angles, the timing—it all came flooding back in a rush of muscle memory.

But this wasn’t a friendly match at the club. This was real.

The dagger scraped past my arm, the blade slicing through the leather armor but barely grazing my skin. The sting was enough to make me wince, but I pushed through, stepping into his guard and driving the hilt of the rapier into his ribs.

He stumbled back, coughing, but he didn’t go down.

The crowd had formed a loose circle around us now, their shouts and jeers blending into a cacophony that made it hard to think.

“Come on, then,” Dagger Guy taunted, blood dripping from his split lip. “Show me what you’ve got.”

I didn’t wait for him to attack again.

This time, I lunged first, the tip of the rapier aimed for his dagger arm. He dodged, but not fast enough—I caught him just above the wrist, and the dagger clattered to the floor.

Before he could recover, I brought the blade up to his throat, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps.

“It’s over,” I said, my voice firm despite the pounding in my chest.

For a moment, he just stared at me, his wild eyes narrowing. Then he raised his hands slowly, a twisted grin spreading across his face.

“Well played,” he said.

The tension in the room broke as a pair of burly men—likely the tavern’s unofficial bouncers—stepped forward to haul him away.

I lowered the rapier, my hand trembling as the adrenaline began to wear off.

The burly man he’d stabbed was being helped into a chair, his wound already being tended to by someone who looked like they knew what they were doing.

I exhaled, turning back toward my table.

As I sheathed the rapier, I couldn’t help but notice the way people were looking at me now. Not with suspicion, but with a strange mix of curiosity and respect.

“Guess I made an impression,” I muttered, sinking back into my chair.

And just like that, the tavern slowly returned to its usual chaos.

I sat back in my chair, still gripping the mug of ale as if it could ground me in the middle of all this madness. My breath was shallow, my hands trembling from the rush of adrenaline that hadn’t quite faded yet.

Around me, the tavern slowly returned to its usual rhythm. Conversations picked up again, laughter and clinking mugs filling the air like nothing had happened. A few people threw glances my way—some curious, others impressed—but no one said anything.

I didn’t want to think about what had just happened, but my mind wouldn’t stop replaying it. The weight of the rapier in my hand, the sharp clash of steel, the way my body had moved without me even thinking.

I didn’t just defend myself. I won.

The thought brought a strange mix of pride and unease. I’d fought someone—and it hadn’t been a fairytale duel or a choreographed sparring match. It had been raw, messy, and terrifyingly real.

“Is this what it’s going to be like here?” I muttered under my breath, staring into the amber liquid in my mug.

The familiar chime broke through my thoughts, sharp and clear like a bell.

I froze.

Another translucent screen appeared in front of me, this one smaller than before. The text glowed faintly, its soft light casting strange shadows on the table.

Congratulations, Adventurer!

You have gained 10 EXP!

“What?” I whispered, leaning forward.

The screen shimmered, and a new line of text appeared beneath the first:

Actions Taken:

* Combat Victory: 5 EXP

* Successful Defense: 3 EXP

* Strategic Action (Disarm): 2 EXP

The words blurred together as my brain struggled to process what I was seeing.

EXP? Combat Victory?

It was like being in a video game, but the stakes weren’t virtual. I could still feel the sting on my arm where the dagger had nicked me, the faint throb of my heartbeat pounding in my ears.

Before I could overthink it, another popup appeared:

Your Progress:

* Current EXP: 10

* Next Level: 30 EXP Required

I blinked, leaning back in my chair as the screen dissolved into nothingness.

For a moment, I just sat there, staring at the empty air where the words had been. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut: whatever was happening to me—this world, this system—I wasn’t just in it. I was part of it.

I clenched my fists, the rapier resting against my leg as I tried to steady my breathing.

“Alright,” I muttered. “Game on.”