Above the sea of stars, Morin appeared, then lay down in the void.
When he returned to system space, only Morin himself could be collected. He had already put away the Abyssal Blade mech before leaving the world of Pacific Rim.
Ever since obtaining the [Magician] profession, Morin had never felt like this-like his body had been hollowed out.
The Abyssal Blade was a hundred-meter-tall mech. Repairing it consumed an absurd amount of mana, so much that it completely drained him.
Showing off felt good for a moment. Running out of mana was a one-way trip to the crematorium.
Fortunately, system space was saturated with magic.
Morin absorbed the surrounding energy and recovered quickly.
System space-branded mana potions. Everyone said they worked.
A moment later, Morin stood up.
"That felt good." He stretched, feeling full again, like he'd come back to life.
Then he reached for the next world.
The stars shifted, as if stirred by a massive hand.
One star fell, landing before him.
Starlight bloomed and swallowed Morin whole.
[World Selected - The World of Pirates of the Caribbean]
[Please choose a new profession]
[Please choose a travel destination]
[Please choose a time period]
Morin: "..."
In the last world, he'd been piloting a mech and fighting Kaiju with cutting-edge technology.
Now he was being sent back to a medieval, low-fantasy era.
The gap was large.
Morin sighed and looked at the profession options anyway.
He still had a few emergency world transfers left, but those weren't for casual use.
"Pirate. Navy... Bar Owner?"
Why was that an option?
The first two made sense.
But bar owner?
Was it because pirates liked to drink?
Strange as it was, Morin chose it without hesitation.
The moment he saw it, he already had plans. Plans to make money. A lot of money.
Pirates were criminals. No future there.
The navy was dull. Even at the top, the pay ceiling was obvious.
But a bar owner?
If he opened bars across the world...
That sounded like a life worth living.
"Time period... one month before Pirates of the Caribbean 1."
After deciding, Morin selected the destination-the seaside town where Jack Sparrow, Will Turner, and Elizabeth Swann first appeared.
In the blink of an eye, he was standing in an alley.
A seaside town naturally smelled of salt and wind.
But that wasn't the worst part.
The alley itself reeked. Human waste, left wherever people pleased. Standard practice in Europe during this era.
Morin immediately dulled his sense of smell and walked out.
He checked his storage space.
Stamped documents. And money.
The system had thoughtfully converted his starter funds to gold pounds.
Morin counted them.
One thousand coins.
Which raised a question.
What was the exchange rate between gold coins of this era and system experience points?
While thinking, he opened the bar owner profession panel.
[Bar Owner - Beginner (0/10)]
[Beginner Winemaking Knowledge] (Nothing to explain.)
[Beginner Beer-Man Constitution] (Why "beer-man"? Good question. Probably because it sounds better. Try other drinks.)
Simple.
Almost pitifully so.
Morin stared at it.
Beer-man...
That reminded him of Gragas from League of Legends.
Drink a few beers and your hits go everywhere.
Did this constitution mean alcohol had special effects?
He considered it, then set it aside.
Business came first.
This time, the first thing he needed wasn't a phone.
Ignoring the stares around him, Morin grabbed someone, asked for directions to the bar, and headed straight there.
People weren't staring because he was handsome.
In this era, Morin was simply abnormal.
Asian features. Modern clothes. Short hair with a neat three-seven split.
From head to toe, he looked out of place.
Morin didn't care.
There were very few things in this world that could threaten him.
A little recklessness was fine.
Soon, he reached the town's only bar.
He pushed the door open.
And frowned.
The lighting was terrible. Even during the day, oil lamps were lit. Electric lights wouldn't exist until 1879, and this was the mid-18th century.
The dim interior assaulted him with smells-sweat, urine, cheap alcohol.
Morin shut off his sense of smell entirely.
He couldn't stand it.
"Who owns this place?" he asked.
His voice wasn't loud, but everyone heard it clearly.
"I-I do!" someone answered.
"Your bar is decent," Morin said calmly. "Now it's mine."
"How much do you want for it?"
"...Hahahahaha!"
The room went quiet for a beat.
Then laughter exploded.
Mockery followed.
Morin ignored them.
He released a trace of aura.
Aura was a strange thing.
Butchers, soldiers, assassins, homeroom teachers-many professions could develop it.
All it took was narrowed eyes and a darkened expression.
For Morin, who had intimidated Kaiju and detonated nuclear bombs in another world, the effect was overwhelming.
He reined it in carefully.
But now was the right moment.
Arguing with drunks wasn't worth it.
In an instant, it felt like iron hands closed around their throats.
The laughter died.
Voices stuck halfway out, halfway swallowed.
Instincts screamed danger.
The man who'd claimed ownership received a little extra pressure and collapsed.
"You irrelevant people can leave," Morin said. "The bar is closed for now."
The silent drunks shuffled toward the exit.
They avoided him, taking the longest possible path.
They didn't know why.
He was just terrifying.
Witchcraft. It had to be witchcraft.
The thought sped them up.
In this era, witchcraft meant evil. Demons. Death.
After everyone left, Morin adjusted his aura again and withdrew it.
"I'm not a devil," he said calmly.
Then, smiling gently, he asked, "Now, let me ask again. How much do you want for the bar?"
"Demon! Devil! He said he's a devil!"
The former bar owner shouted as he ran, clutching a small bag of gold coins.
He almost threw it away.
Then pulled it back.
Inside the bar, Morin looked around.
"...."
He'd clearly said he wasn't a devil.
Apparently, only one word had registered.
Still, the man had taken the gold without hesitation.
Morin shook his head.
He didn't bother chasing him down to stop the rumors.
Instead, he surveyed the bar and began planning renovations.
He was also waiting.
With his appearance and demeanor, demon rumors were inevitable. He didn't bother clarifying.
The authorities would come soon enough.
He'd show them the system-issued documents, and the problem would solve itself.
As for why he hadn't shown them earlier-
Did people really think literacy was common in this era?
Morin wasn't that naive.
"Hm..."
After a quick inspection, he sighed.
Renovation was mandatory.
But how?
Too modern, and he'd disrupt the era's technology.
Too authentic, and he'd lose his sanity.
"Add floors. Improve lighting..."
"But I'm not an architect."
As he thought, his ears twitched.
Morin turned toward the door.
"You're fast," he said, walking over.
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