CHAPTER 4: Silver, Dungeons, and the Sovereign’s PermitOakhaven was a masterpiece of stone, ambition, and mortal arrogance.

  As the Earl’s convoy approached the city limits, the high white walls rose from the sprawling pins like the teeth of a sleeping, ancient giant. My enhanced senses picked up the faint, rhythmic hum of protective mana embedded deep within the masonry. It was a fascinating piece of engineering. To the ordinary traveler, or even a seasoned mage, it was an impenetrable fortress of light and solid rock, a bastion of safety against the wild beasts of the world. To me, it was a beautifully fwed, clumsy attempt at stability. I could see the microscopic imperfections in the stone, the points where the mana struggled to circute, fighting against the natural entropy of the universe.

  Still, for a structure built entirely by mortals without any divine intervention, the city had its charm. It looked exactly like the perfect, bustling hub I needed—a solid starting point for my long, well-deserved vacation in this new reality.

  Passing through the massive iron-bound gates, the vibrant, chaotic atmosphere of human civilization hit me immediately. The air was thick, saturated with the scent of roasted meats, fresh bread, coal smoke from the artisan district, and the lingering, sharp ozone scent of active magic.

  The city guard, dressed in heavy, polished steel breastptes and carrying halberds, kept a watchful eye on the morning crowd. They moved with practiced discipline, checking merchant carts and travelers. But as our carriages rattled past the checkpoints, their routine faltered. Without fail, their gazes bypassed the opulent banners of Earl Valerius and locked straight onto me.

  I wasn't doing anything threatening. I was just walking alongside the carriage with my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my bck coat, moving with the rexed, easygoing stride of a guy who had absolutely nothing to hide. I even threw a casual, friendly nod to a passing guard. Yet, their instincts were going crazy. Their subconscious minds were screaming that a predator had just strolled through their gates, even if their conscious minds couldn't comprehend why a smiling teenager was triggering their fight-or-flight response.

  “We’ve finally arrived,” Valerius said, leaning heavily out of his carriage window as we reached the central, cobblestone pza. The journey through the Bck Tract had taught him a lot. The arrogant Earl, who had initially treated me like a stray dog, finally understood that the world was slightly bigger and far more dangerous than his political ego.

  “My manor is located in the upper district, past the silver gates, Dave,” Valerius continued, his tone stripped of its usual condescension. “You are welcome there at any hour of the day or night.”

  “Thanks for the ride, Valerius,” I replied with a friendly, wide smile, giving him a casual wave. “I won't bother you for now. I need to stretch my legs, look around the city, and find a nice corner to crash for a few days. But I’ll keep an eye out for you. Take care of yourself!”

  Valerius visibly rexed, letting out a breath he seemed to have been holding since we entered the city. He reached into his ornate doublet and tossed me a heavy, bulging leather purse.

  “A bonus for handling the Chimeras,” the Earl said. “Good luck in Oakhaven, Dave.”

  I caught the gold mid-air. The satisfying clink of heavy coins resonated in my palm. I tucked it into my coat without bothering to count it. I was in a brand-new city, my wallet was full, and my physical vessel boasted stats that completely broke the fundamental ws of nature. The sandbox was open. It was time to find a good base of operations.

  I left the Earl’s retinue behind and merged with the crowd. Walking through the streets of Oakhaven was entertaining. I passed by open-air markets where merchants haggled over glowing mana-crystals and exotic spices. At one corner, I stopped for a moment to watch a street performer—a low-level mage—juggling balls of fire to entertain a group of children. The combustion was horribly inefficient, wasting nearly forty percent of its thermal energy into the surrounding air, but the kids were ughing, and the mage was smiling. I tossed a silver coin into his hat as I walked by.

  I ignored the stiff, snobbish inns located in the pristine center of the city. I didn't want to spend my time surrounded by nobles arguing over tax policies. I wanted the real, unfiltered experience. I headed toward the traveler's district, where the architecture shifted from white marble to sturdy timber and dark stone.

  My sapphire eyes quickly picked out exactly what I was looking for. Situated at the corner of a busy intersection was a rge, bustling, multi-story building. A masterfully carved wooden sign hung above the heavy oak doors, depicting a mythical beast: The Golden Griffin.

  I pushed the heavy doors open, stepping out of the bright midday sun and into a pleasantly dim, lively atmosphere. The tavern was filled with a loud, comforting hum of activity. It was incredibly spacious, the air thick with the mouth-watering smell of roasted boar, garlic, and freshly tapped ale. The massive hearth in the center radiated a gentle warmth.

  This wasn't a pce for soft merchants. The tables were occupied by travelers, mercenaries, and adventurers of all kinds. I saw heavily scarred men in worn leather armor arm-wrestling for coppers, mages in dark travel cloaks quietly discussing maps in the corners, and scouts maintaining their gear. This was the real heart of the city.

  I walked straight past the crowded tables and headed for the long, polished oak bar.

  Behind the counter stood a young woman who immediately drew the eye. She had sharp, bright blue eyes and long, naturally wavy blonde hair that framed a face that was both beautiful and fiercely intelligent. She wore a rustic, off-the-shoulder linen shirt under a sturdy, finely crafted leather corset. The outfit fit the medieval fantasy tavern vibe perfectly, but there was nothing fragile about her. The quick, authoritative way she barked orders at the waitresses and managed the flow of drinks made it absolutely clear she was the undisputed boss of this establishment.

  “What are you drinking, traveler?” she asked, casually wiping down a wooden mug with a cloth. She looked me up and down, a sudden flicker of intense recognition in her eyes. She wasn't looking at my clothes. She was looking at my posture, my bance. She instantly sensed I wasn't just another naive greenhorn looking to py hero.

  “Dave. Nice to meet you,” I replied, leaning comfortably against the bar with a warm smile. “I’m looking for some good hot food, a quiet room for a few nights, and someone who can point me toward some actual, interesting entertainment in this city. Are you the owner?”

  “Elena,” she introduced herself, returning the smile with a confident smirk. “And yes, the Golden Griffin is my territory. I can definitely get you a room, Dave. But as for entertainment... well, that highly depends on whether you're looking for cheap trouble, or serious gold.”

  “I have enough gold,” I chuckled, tapping the heavy purse in my coat. “I’m more interested in a challenge that won't bore me to death.”

  Before Elena could answer, I felt a massive, deliberate force sm into my shoulder.

  “Out of the way, pretty boy. You’re blocking the bar,” a low, gravelly voice snarled right next to my ear.

  I didn't lose my bance. I didn't even shift my weight. I just slowly turned my head.

  Standing there was a literal mountain of a man. His face was a roadmap of ugly, jagged scars, and a massive, chipped broadsword was strapped to his broad back. A silver adventurer’s badge gleamed proudly on his stained chest piece. He was heavily intoxicated, reeked of cheap booze and old sweat, and was clearly looking for an excuse to start a brawl to entertain his equally drunk buddies sitting at a nearby table.

  My friendly, rexed smile vanished in an instant.

  In a fraction of a second, my mind shifted away from my casual vacation persona and dropped straight into a state of pure, cold analysis. I stopped seeing a drunk brute. I saw a fragile collection of bones, muscles, and fatal fws. I saw his vectors of movement, the exact pressure points of his nervous system, and the horrible distribution of his mass.

  The brute sneered, mistaking my silence for fear. He reached out with a massive, calloused hand, intending to grab me by the colr of my coat and violently hurl me across the tavern floor. The movement was pathetically slow, utterly unrefined, and predictable from a mile away.

  I didn't even bother taking my left hand out of my pocket.

  In a blur of motion that a normal human eye had absolutely no right to track, I brought my right hand up. I didn't punch him. I simply blocked his descending arm and gently caught him by the wrist.

  The giant froze mid-motion. He grunted, trying to push his weight forward, but it felt to him as if his arm had just been locked into a solid, immovable titanium vise. His arrogant smirk completely evaporated, instantly repced by sheer, unadulterated shock. He pushed harder, the veins bulging on his thick neck, but I stood there completely motionless, expending zero effort.

  “Your posture is absolutely terrible,” I stated, my voice dropping to an icy, quiet tone that was entirely devoid of any human emotion. “You’re relying entirely on your shoulder muscles to generate the push, but your center of gravity is completely destabilized by the alcohol in your bloodstream. Your skeletal foundation is completely unsupported.”

  I looked directly into his bloodshot eyes. The tavern around us began to quiet down as people noticed the bizarre scene: a massive veteran struggling hopelessly against a calm teenager.

  “If I press my thumb down even one single millimeter right here...” I shifted my finger slightly against the delicate joint of his wrist.

  The brute let out a sharp, breathless hiss of agonizing pain, his knees buckling slightly.

  “...your wrist will simply cease to exist,” I finished, my tone perfectly conversational.

  The Golden Griffin went dead silent. The giant's friends jumped up from their wooden seats, their hands instinctively flying to the hilts of their swords, but absolutely no one dared to draw a weapon. The air around me had grown impossibly heavy with a pure, cold pressure. It wasn't magic. It was the terrifying, suffocating aura of an apex predator patiently expining to a prey animal why it was about to die. Their instincts screamed at them to stay exactly where they were.

  I held him there for one more second, letting the reality of the food chain sink into his alcohol-soaked brain. Then, I let go.

  The man stumbled backward frantically, tripping over a heavy wooden barstool. He colpsed onto the floor in a heap, desperately massaging his throbbing arm and staring up at me with pure, primal terror. He didn't say a single word. He didn't try to save face. He just scrambled backward like a frightened crab, picked himself up, and practically ran toward the tavern doors, his friends quickly following suit.

  A second ter, the crushing, terrifying pressure in the room vanished as if it had never been there.

  My cold, dead stare dropped, and the warm, rexed smile immediately returned to my face. The lighting in the tavern seemed to brighten. I turned back to the bar, brushing a speck of imaginary dust off my shoulder, acting as if the whole thing had been nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

  “Sorry for the mess,” I said, scratching the back of my head sheepishly. “Now, how much did you say that room was?”

  Elena was staring at me, her jaw slightly sck, her bright blue eyes wide open. She was a seasoned tavern owner; she had seen hundreds of brutal brawls, magical duels, and drunken knife fights. But she had never, in her entire life, seen someone physically and mentally break a Silver-ranked veteran in three seconds, without even taking their other hand out of their pocket, and without losing a single breath.

  “You...” she started, blinking rapidly to break her stupor. Slowly, a wide, utterly fascinated smile spread across her face. “The room is on the house, Dave. At least for the first two nights. It’s been a very long time since someone took out the trash from my tavern with such efficiency.”

  “I appreciate the hospitality,” I said with a wink.

  “You asked about entertainment,” she added, leaning heavily against the polished oak bar, her interest in me now fully piqued. She nodded toward a massive, cork-lined notice board occupying a dark corner of the room. “The ordinary, boring jobs—escorts, goblin clearing, herb gathering—go to the Guild. But the best ones... the most suicidal, insane bounties that the Guild officially rejected as 'impossible' so they wouldn't have to pay out death compensations... those end up on my board.”

  I walked over to the board. It was covered in dozens of yellowed papers, but pinned right at the very top, secured with thick iron nails, were two distinct, blood-red parchments. They radiated a faint aura of danger.

  “The Basilisk in the Shifting Caves, and the Wyvern of the Southern Peaks,” I read aloud, casually reaching up and tearing both notices off the board in one smooth motion. I turned back to her, waving the papers. “Sounds like a perfect way to spend a sunny afternoon.”

  Elena scoffed, shaking her head, though there was genuine awe and a hint of concern in her eyes.

  “Dave, are you crazy? Do you even know what those are?” she asked, crossing her arms. “The Wyvern melted an entire squad of fully armored Silver-rank knights st week. Left nothing but puddles of sg. And the Basilisk? It turned an entire underground cave system into a graveyard of hyper-realistic stone statues. Even fully qualified, Gold-ranked parties refuse to touch those bounties. It’s pure suicide to go out there alone without an army.”

  “Rex, Elena,” I said, turning toward the exit and adjusting the colr of my dark coat. Her warnings were sweet, but completely unnecessary. To a mortal, those monsters were natural disasters. To me, they were just overgrown lizards waiting to be farmed for materials.

  “I have absolutely no intention of dying in the first week of my vacation,” I called back to her over my shoulder. “Have a hot bath and that dinner ready for me tonight. I’ll be back before sunset with some interesting souvenirs.”

  I pushed the heavy oak doors open and stepped back out into the bustling streets of Oakhaven. The sun was shining, the air was crisp, and my blood was finally pumping. My new life in this world was finally picking up the pace, and I intended to enjoy every single second of it.