Chương 110: Getting used to living on Eteria

After that, we agreed to split up for the rest of the day and meet again tomorrow. Honestly, I wasn't about to complain. As much as I enjoyed our increasingly dysfunctional but strangely effective little group, I desperately needed some time to myself. Mainly because my body had finally decided to file a formal grievance regarding last night's drinking. Turns out blacking out from alcohol had side effects. A shocking discovery.

Past Me had apparently looked at the drink and confidently declared, "That sounds like Tomorrow Me's problem." Well. Tomorrow Me had arrived. And he was unimpressed. I rubbed my temples as I wandered through the city streets. Thankfully, the headache that had earlier felt like a team of goblins conducting demolition work inside my skull had faded considerably. Now it resembled an annoyed supervisor standing in the corner with crossed arms. Still judgmental. Less murderous.

The city had settled into its evening rhythm. Warm lanterns illuminated storefronts. The last traces of sunlight had disappeared beyond the horizon, replaced by soft amber glows spilling from windows and hanging signs. People moved through the streets at a more relaxed pace. Conversations drifted through the air. Laughter occasionally broke through the gentle hum of the crowd. The smell of cooked food lingered temptingly from nearby establishments.

Even in a world filled with monsters and dungeon floors, people still needed dinner. Still complained about prices. Still looked for somewhere comfortable to sleep. Fantasy worlds really had an unfortunate amount of budgeting involved. Eventually, I found an inn that looked respectable enough. Not luxurious. Not suspiciously cheap. That middle ground was important. If an inn charged too much, your wallet cried.

If it charged too little, there was a decent chance your roommate had six legs and paid rent by hissing at strangers. The wooden sign hanging above the entrance creaked softly as I stepped inside. The atmosphere immediately felt welcoming. Clean floors. Warm lighting. The comforting aroma of home-cooked meals. The innkeeper informed me that a room cost one gold coin and included one complimentary meal. I nearly accepted before he finished the sentence.

Free food had a remarkable ability to improve my opinion of absolutely anything.

"Oh, this establishment offers shelter, edible meals, and won't financially execute me?" I muttered.

"Five stars already." With a silent apology to my rapidly shrinking funds, I handed over a gold coin. My wallet had been through a lot lately. It deserved thoughts and prayers. I was guided upstairs to my room. It wasn't extravagant. No marble floors. No enchanted chandeliers. No servants dramatically fluffing pillows while orchestral music played in the background. Just a modest room with everything I actually needed. A sturdy wooden bed. A small table beside the window. A wash basin.

A chair tucked neatly into the corner. Simple. Comfortable. Practical. Honestly, after surviving monsters and repeatedly discovering new ways life could inconvenience me, this felt luxurious. The complimentary meal arrived not long afterward. Nothing overly elaborate. Just honest food. Fresh bread. A hearty bowl of stew filled with vegetables and tender chunks of meat. Clean drinking water. This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

Food that hadn't previously attempted to kill me. I appreciated the novelty. I ate until the bowl was empty. Then sat back with the satisfied realization that a full stomach solved at least forty percent of my problems. Possibly fifty. Science hadn't finalized the numbers yet. I rested a hand against my stomach.

"Would I betray entire nations for this stew?" I wondered aloud. I considered it carefully.

"... No." I narrowed my eyes at the empty bowl.

"But I'd absolutely inconvenience acquaintances." Reasonable standards. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with me. Not the dramatic collapse of a tragic hero. Just ordinary fatigue. The kind that built quietly over time. Stress. Adrenaline. Near-death experiences. Questionable alcohol decisions. The accumulated nonsense of simply existing. The mattress dipped beneath my weight. I froze. Then blinked.

"... Oh." The bed was good. Alarmingly good. Soft enough to welcome you without swallowing you whole. Supportive without feeling stiff. The kind of bed capable of convincing hardworking people to abandon ambition and dedicate themselves to competitive sleeping. I settled further into the mattress.

"This is dangerous." I stared thoughtfully at the ceiling.

"No wonder cats act like they've unlocked the secrets of enlightenment." Within minutes, sleep claimed me. No tossing. No endless thoughts. No system notifications. No monsters. No worries. Just rest. The next thing I knew, warmth touched my face. I blinked awake. Morning sunlight streamed through the window. Golden rays spilled across the wooden floor, painting the room in soft amber light. Tiny dust particles drifted lazily through the beams. Outside, the city had begun another day.

Faint sounds drifted upward from below. Distant conversations. Footsteps moving through the streets. The comforting reminder that life kept moving forward. I stretched beneath the blankets. Then stretched again. Every muscle loosened. The lingering effects of alcohol had disappeared completely. Yesterday's exhaustion had vanished. Even the tension I'd unconsciously carried around since arriving in this world felt lighter. For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt genuinely rested. Refreshed. Recharged.

Like somebody had finally plugged my brain into an outlet after I'd spent days operating on emergency power-saving mode and misplaced optimism. I slowly sat up and let out a satisfied breath.

"... Okay." A grin spread across my face.

"I feel alive again." Honestly, considering some of my recent life choices, that was a much bigger achievement than it had any right to be. I grabbed a towel and headed downstairs toward the inn's bathhouse. At some point, I'd crossed an invisible line. Back when I first arrived in this world, the thought of communal bathing would've triggered an immediate system alert. WARNING. SOCIAL NIGHTMARE DETECTED. RECOMMENDED ACTION: RUN. Now?

Now I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked into a room full of unfamiliar men with the emotional response of someone waiting in line at the grocery store. Human beings adapted way too quickly. It was disturbing. Steam greeted me as soon as I stepped inside. The bathhouse was already occupied. Several male players moved through their morning routines. Some sat at the washing stations, scrubbing themselves while discussing dungeon strategies.

Others relaxed in the heated baths, speaking casually about equipment upgrades and marketplace prices. A few simply soaked in silence with expressions that suggested enlightenment had been discovered somewhere between hot water and minding your own business. Nobody paid attention to anyone else. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement among all men participating in communal baths. Eyes up. Respect personal space. Pretend everyone below the neck transformed into abstract art.

Society functioned because of rules like these. I made my way toward one of the washing stations. The routine had become surprisingly familiar. Wash thoroughly. Rinse properly. Avoid making prolonged eye contact. Don't accidentally start conversations while naked because there were situations where small talk became an act of violence. Honestly, it wasn't bad. The hot water cascaded over my shoulders. Heat seeped into muscles. The lingering stiffness from yesterday gradually loosened. Stress melted away.

I leaned back slightly.

"... Alright." I sighed.

"I hate admitting this." The warmth settled deep into my back.

"This is actually fantastic." Comfort had once again defeated principles. Human beings really were traitors to their own convictions. Give me another month and I'd probably be rating bathhouses like food critics.

"Excellent temperature. Wonderful steam density. Outstanding commitment to public nudity." I finished washing up before soaking briefly in the bath itself. The heat embraced my body. Every ache from monster fights and poor life choices eased away. My thoughts slowed. For a few precious minutes, there was no pressure. No dungeon. No life-threatening scenarios. Just hot water. Then again, maybe this was how ancient philosophers unlocked wisdom.

Perhaps Socrates had simply sat in a bath one day and thought, "You know what? Maybe I should start asking people annoying questions." Eventually, I climbed out. I dried myself off, changed into fresh clothes, and left the bathhouse feeling significantly more human than I had an hour ago. The morning air greeted me outside. Cool. Refreshing. Balanced. I stepped onto the streets of Inizio. The city had fully awakened. Stone-paved roads stretched through the bustling districts.

Timber-framed buildings rose on both sides of the streets, their upper floors extending outward above the lower levels. Wooden signs swayed gently overhead. Flower boxes decorated windows. Bright banners fluttered between structures. People filled the roads. Merchants arranged their goods beneath colorful canopies. Customers browsed stalls selling fresh produce, baked goods, and handcrafted items. Children darted through crowds while their exhausted parents attempted negotiations with destiny itself.

The scent of bread drifted through the air. Roasted meat. Fresh tea. Sweet pastries. Every smell conspired to remind me that breakfast was a beautiful thing. I walked through the busy streets while taking everything in. It still amazed me sometimes. Medieval architecture. Fantasy clothing. People carrying swords and staffs like it was perfectly normal. Back on Earth, if someone entered a coffee shop carrying a battle axe, people called the police. Here, someone would probably compliment the craftsmanship.

Different worlds. Different standards. Eventually, the familiar sound of flowing water reached my ears. The city fountain came into view. Clear water cascaded gracefully from its sculpted tiers into the broad basin below. Morning sunlight reflected against its surface, scattering shimmering patterns across the surrounding plaza. People moved through the area. Some sat near the fountain's edge. Others chatted nearby before continuing on with their day. Then I spotted them.

Honestly, spotting Dimitri wasn't difficult. The man had the subtlety of a marching band performing in a library. Towering over nearby pedestrians, the giant Russian immediately noticed me approaching. His entire face brightened. Then one enormous arm lifted into the air.

"My excellent brother!" Dimitri called enthusiastically. He waved at me with enough energy to direct air traffic. I laughed and raised my own hand.

"Morning, big guy." I waved back. Fiona stood nearby wearing her usual cheerful expression. Aiko remained beside the group with her hands gently clasped together in front of her. Meanwhile, June somehow managed to stand beside a decorative fountain while looking like she personally owned the city. Elegant posture. Perfect composure. Arms crossed neatly beneath her chest. The expression of someone evaluating whether reality itself met her standards. As soon as I approached, her eyes settled on me.

"You've taken your sweet time," June remarked. Her thick British accent wrapped neatly around every syllable. The disappointment in her voice wasn't dramatic. It was refined. Like an aristocrat politely informing you that your existence had become mildly inconvenient. I scratched the back of my head.

"Yeah, that's my fault." Then I looked at her.

"... Although, knowing you, I'm honestly shocked you arrived ahead of schedule." I blinked thoughtfully.

"I had this entire scenario prepared where we'd be standing around wondering if we'd accidentally offended royalty and needed to request permission to enter your presence." I gestured toward her.

"So seeing you here early feels weird." I paused.

"Like spotting a cat volunteer at a dog obedience school." June's eyebrows drew together immediately. A tiny crease formed between them. She simply stared at me. Silent. Unamused. The terrifying thing about June wasn't when she insulted me. It was when she chose not to. Because silence meant one of two possibilities. Either she had decided I wasn't worth correcting. Or she was calmly waiting for an opportunity to destroy me with interest. Honestly? I wasn't sure which option frightened me more.