Chapter 27
Written by Bayzo Albion
I paused, summoning the interface with a thought.
"What happens if I drown in pleasures?"
> System: There's a chance you'll vanish into oblivion.
"So death is endless bliss?"
> System: Oblivion is eternal rest. No pain. No joy. Just... nothing.
I pondered that. Peace was a temptation as potent as indulgence, but it was lifeless. And I was still very much alive.
"Well... what will be, will be," I muttered, resuming my stride.
I kept acquiring useful—and not-so-useful—items, mentally checking off a list. My storage grew heavier, but my spirit lightened with each addition. When my coin purse finally ran dry, I regarded it with a wistful sigh before tucking it away.
My fingers brushed the hilt at my belt, feeling its familiar weight, its unspoken hunger.
*Time to hunt again.*
At the gates, the guards were deep in animated discussion, debating what seemed like a matter of utmost importance—the size of their manhoods. But in a bizarre twist, unlike men from my old world, they boasted about who had the smallest.
"Yeah, I've fooled so many ladies with my tiny little trunk!" the one in golden armor declared smugly, puffing out his chest. "The key is to get her good and tipsy, then start the sacred process nice and slow. She won't even realize her precious energy is already in your grasp."
"Amateur, do you even understand how it works?" the silver-armored guard snorted, shaking his head. "Every woman has her own unique reservoir of life force. And trust me, they're not eager to waste it on some random mutt. Their energy is an investment. Want access? Learn to build trust. Not just pour wine and stall for time."
A third guard, clad in worn leather armor, jumped in abruptly: "Hey, is it true our ruler measures up to Gandalf?"
The others froze, exchanging glances as if he'd uttered heresy.
"What are you on about?"
"Well, you've seen how he spends his resources? He's got such a massive trunk... I'd say tragically huge. Imagine the strain! Does he even enjoy the sacred union anymore? Or is it just duty... like paying taxes?"
A philosophical silence descended.
"If you've got one that big," the golden one mused, scratching his chin, "pleasure becomes secondary. It's not you doing it—it's doing you."
"Better stop joking about him," the silver one grumbled, shooting a quick look my way. "Or he'll rewrite us all... into obituaries."
"What's the chatter about?" I asked, approaching the trio with a grin.
They whipped around, stiffening like kids caught with their pants down.
"Oh, about you, our esteemed sir!" the leather-clad one replied with a smirk.
"Am I that famous already?"
"You bet!" the youngest burst out. "Every day you're pulling off something epic. No info channel skips mentioning you!"
Ding, ding, ding!
A chime rang out, digital and bell-like.
"Ooh! Fresh upload with you in it!" the leather guard exclaimed, pulling a magical slate from his belt. He swiped through screens with practiced ease, tapped something, and whistled. "Elf this time? In the bath? You're not just a hero—you're a director... heh heh heh."
The three huddled around the device, squatting like eager children at storytime.
"Switch to x-ray mode—let's see how much energy you pumped in!"
"Hold on, loading..."
"Turn up the volume, can't hear the moans!"
"I'm on it! Let me watch!"
I rolled my eyes and checked my inventory mentally.
*What kind of world have you created?* my inner demon chuckled, stretching its wings lazily in my mind.
*And you wanted it populated by boring NPCs?* I shot back, picturing hordes of identical, dull faces.
*Ho ho ho... You've thought this through pretty well,* it grumbled approvingly. And for the first time in ages, I detected a hint of... respect in its tone.
Slipping past the guards with careful steps, I left the village behind, doing my best to blend into the shadows and avoid drawing any unwanted eyes. My time there had been fruitful—I'd gathered a decent haul of valuable resources: shimmering magical crystals that caught the light like captured stars in my pocket.
All of it was destined for my old, reliable companion: the humble wooden sword. It might seem absurd, almost foolish, to pour upgrades into a simple stick when a solid iron blade had practically been thrust into my hands at the shop. But intuition whispered otherwise: *Start small. Perfect the basics, and you'll grasp the essence of true progression.*
In my mind's eye, the path unfolded like a grand evolution: wooden to iron, iron to silver, silver to gold—and who knew what lay beyond? Mithril, perhaps, or something ethereal, forged from the stuff of dreams. Each tier wasn't just a weapon; it was a lesson, a rung on the ladder of my growing mastery, building not only the blade but the wielder.
> Interface: Are you sure you want to upgrade the Wooden Sword?
> Cost: 10 magical stones + 10 crystals
I hesitated for a split second. Resources weren't infinite, after all... but curiosity burned brighter than caution.
Confirm.
> Interface: Wooden Sword successfully upgraded!
> +11 to sharpness
> +10 to durability
> 0 magical properties
"Yeah..." I breathed out, feeling the sword shift in my grip as if it had become an extension of my arm. It pulsed with new life—flexible yet unyielding, a whisper of lethality humming through the wood like a heartbeat.
A spark ignited in my chest, that familiar rush of excitement, the kind that hits when you boot up a fresh game and the world stretches out before you, an untouched canvas brimming with secrets and potential. The air felt crisper, the path ahead more inviting, as if the upgrade had sharpened not just the sword, but my senses too.
I trudged along the forest trail, the rustle of leaves parting like a curtain before me. Out of nowhere, a memory surfaced—her.
"Baroness? You around?" I called, glancing over my shoulder. "Show yourself; I can't see you!"
Silence answered, broken only by the whisper of wind through the branches and the distant trill of birds. The forest carried on, indifferent, as if my words had dissolved into the ether.
I shrugged it off.
"Fine by me," I muttered with a wry grin. "No unsolicited commentary, then."
And with that, I pressed deeper into the woods, toward the unknown, wooden sword in hand but ambitions fit for an empire.
Two hours of weaving through the underbrush yielded nothing—no monsters, no wild beasts. The forest felt eerily empty, yet that very stillness wrapped it in an aura of mystery, like a puzzle waiting to be solved.
A few more hours ticked by, and inspiration struck: *Why not build a house here?*
In this pristine, untamed wilderness, amid towering trees cloaked in moss and jagged rocks thrusting from the earth, a personal sanctuary would fit seamlessly—as if the landscape had been incomplete without it. A anchor point on the map, marking the dawn of a new chapter in this strange life.
I switched to scouting mode, turning the search into a dual-purpose endeavor: exploration fused with training. For the next five hours, I dashed through the forest at a steady 12-15 km/h pace, my breath steady and rhythmic, muscles burning with that satisfying ache of effort. I leaped over gnarled roots, skirted shimmering ponds where the water reflected the sky like a mirror, and crested gentle hills that offered fleeting glimpses of the endless green expanse. All the while, my eyes scanned for the perfect spot—a place to root myself, to build something lasting.
And then, fortune smiled.
Nestled between ancient pines, I spotted a massive rock formation rising from the ground like a sentinel. At its base gaped a wide, shadowy cave. Peering inside, I froze in awe. This was it—the haven I'd envisioned.
The walls were smooth, almost polished, as if some ancient force or forgotten inhabitant had shaped them into a ready-made abode. No damp chill clung to the air, no foul stench assaulted my nose—just the clean, earthy scent of stone mingled with the fresh whisper of the forest outside. It felt like nature itself had prepared this gift, patient and deliberate, awaiting my arrival.
Perfect.
The cave was a treasure trove of natural defenses. Its deep, stony maw offered unyielding shelter from the elements: howling winds would shatter against the protruding ledges, rain would slide harmlessly off the overhang, and in the sweltering summers, a perpetual coolness would linger like a balm. Flanking the entrance were natural stone outcrops, resembling the bastions of a fortress—rugged and imposing, as if the earth had woven protection into its very design.
I ventured deeper, ears straining for any sign of life. Nothing but the muffled echo of my footsteps reverberated back, a solitary rhythm in the quiet vastness.
Then I noticed another boon: the ceiling was blanketed in a carpet of dimly glowing moss. Its soft, subdued luminescence bathed the interior in a gentle, even light, like a built-in chandelier crafted by the wild. It was enough to navigate comfortably even as dusk fell, solving the immediate riddle of illumination without a single torch or spell.
Now came the thrilling part—construction.
But first, the groundwork: clearing the space.