Peter woke to the dull ache of a sore back and stiff shoulders. It wasn't the worst sleep he'd ever had, but it definitely didn't qualify as good. The mattress was thin, the room chilly, and his clothes still smelled faintly of sweat and forest grime.
He sat up slowly and rubbed his eyes. Morning sunlight slipped through the shutters, cutting across the floor in pale strips. For a few seconds, he just sat there, trying to process everything. He was in another world. Monsters were real. Magic was real. And somehow, he was still here alive, but completely out of his depth.
With a quiet grunt, he stood and stretched. Every part of his body protested, but he was used to that now. At least he wasn't bleeding or running for his life.
Downstairs, the inn's common room was already busy. The scent of bread, herbs, and something roasting over a fire greeted him. Reia sat at a corner table near the window, already halfway through her meal. She gave him a small nod and gestured to the seat across from her.
"Good morning," she said. "Feeling any better?"
"Yeah. Thanks," Peter replied, sliding into the seat. "Still sore, but not dead. So, progress."
She pushed a plate toward him, some kind of stewed meat, roasted root vegetables, and a thick hunk of bread. "Eat. You'll need it."
Peter didn't hesitate. He dug in like a man starved, because in a way, he was. The food was simple but comforting, warm, heavy, and real.
"I was thinking," Reia said after a moment, "you're going to need clothes. And a weapon. Something practical. I know a place."
Peter paused mid-bite. "Yeah. I was hoping to figure that out. Not like I came here with a travel budget."
"I'll cover it," she said. "Basic gear, nothing fancy."
Peter swallowed and looked at her. "I mean it, I'll pay you back. I don't want to keep mooching off you."
She nodded. "I know."
They ate in silence for a few moments more, and then Peter glanced around the room. The walls were rough timber, the light from the windows golden with morning haze. "What's this town called, anyway? You never said."
Reia tilted her head. "Enrain. It's a border town. One of the last safe places before the edge of the forest."
"Enrain," Peter repeated quietly. He let the name settle. A real place. One step into a world he was still trying to understand.
After breakfast, Reia led Peter out of the inn and into the streets of Enrain. The town was already waking up. Vendors were setting up their stalls, townsfolk moved with purpose, and the air carried the scent of baked bread, smoke, and livestock. The main road was more dirt than stone, packed from years of foot traffic, with uneven edges where wagon wheels had worn deep grooves into the ground.
Peter squinted up at the buildings. Most were made of timber and rough-cut stone, two stories at most, with wooden signs swaying gently in the morning breeze. Everything had a weathered look, like it had survived more than its fair share of storms.
They reached the market square, where the bustle grew louder. Wooden stalls stood in haphazard rows, their awnings patched with cloth. There weren't many luxuries here, just necessities. Dried herbs, bundled firewood, rough tools, cuts of meat, and monster parts.
Reia stopped at one stall and dropped a bundle onto the counter. The merchant, an older man with grey whiskers and sharp eyes, unwrapped it and nodded.
"Good haul. Claws and fangs still intact," he muttered. He counted out a few silver and copper coins and handed them over without further comment.
Peter watched with interest. "So monster parts are valuable?"
Reia nodded. "To the right people. Alchemists, tanners, mages. Even the Guild buys them sometimes."
They moved on, passing through the edges of the square toward a squat shop with a crooked sign reading "Ardeos's Outfitting." Inside, they found plain clothes, well-worn gear, and a few chipped weapons. Reia negotiated for a set of basic travel clothes, leather armor, and a short iron sword.
Peter hesitated. "You're paying for all this?"
Reia looked at him flatly. "I told you. You're with me. And you'll pay me back when you can."
Peter nodded slowly. "I will. I promise."
Once the gear was packed and Peter had changed into clean clothes, they stepped back out into the sun. He adjusted his cloak and belt, the new sword strapped awkwardly at his side. He didn't feel ready, but he didn't feel helpless either.
"What now?" he asked.
"Now we get to the hard part," Reia said with a half-smile. "Training."
The sun was already climbing high when they reached a stretch of open land just beyond Enrain's outskirts. It was quiet here, with only the sound of wind rustling the grass and the occasional chirp of distant birds. The trees thinned into open hills, giving them plenty of space to move. It was the perfect place to suffer in peace.
Reia handed Peter a wooden training sword.
"First rule," she said. "You're not touching the iron one until I say you're ready."
Peter frowned. "It's just a sword. How hard can it be?"
Reia pointed toward a small incline. "Run up and down that hill. Ten times."
"What? I thought this was sword training," he groaned.
"It is. After you build some stamina. That body of yours won't last five minutes in a real fight."
Peter sighed and began running. The hill wasn't steep, but by the third trip, his legs were burning. By the sixth, he was soaked in sweat and breathing hard. Reia watched from the top, arms folded, eyes unreadable.
It didn't make sense. Back in the forest, after killing those monsters, he had felt sharper, faster, even stronger. His stamina had been near limitless. But now, just running up a hill left him wrecked. What changed?
He made it to the bottom of the hill one last time and collapsed onto his knees.
"Take this," Reia said, tossing him a canteen. "Drink, then get over to that flat patch of dirt."
Peter drank, wheezing. "What now?"
"Now you swing that sword. Fifty times. Don't flail. Focus on your grip and your form."
His arms were heavy, his balance shaky. Reia corrected his stance every few swings. Don't lean. Keep your core tight. Reset. Start again. It was endless.
Every time he looked like he was going to collapse, she would cast a light healing spell, just enough to dull the pain before pushing him harder.
By the end of the day, Peter lay flat on his back in the dirt.
"You're evil," he mumbled, staring at the sky.
Reia sat nearby, tossing him a fresh waterskin. "You'll thank me when you don't die the first time something swings back."
Despite the pain, Peter felt something strange. Satisfaction. His body ached, but it was the kind of ache that told him he had done something worthwhile.
The next day was worse. The day after that, even worse still. Reia kept the pace brutal. When he wasn't running or swinging, she drilled him on survival, monster behavior, terrain awareness, and how to stay calm in a fight. It was like medieval boot camp.
But slowly, things began to change. His footwork improved. His form became more controlled. His strikes, while far from perfect, carried weight and intent. More than anything, he noticed he could feel the black fire in his core more clearly. When he focused, it responded, faint, but there.
A full week passed before he realized it. And on the seventh morning, Reia handed him his iron sword.
"You've earned this," she said simply.
Peter took it carefully, letting the weight settle in his palm. It felt heavier than the training sword, but his grip didn't shake. It felt real now.
"Thanks," he said, a flicker of pride in his voice.
Reia smiled faintly. "You're not completely hopeless after all."
That evening, back at the inn, she packed her things with quiet efficiency.
"I need to return to my village for a few days," she told him. "Check in with my father, bring supplies."
Peter nodded, though he couldn't quite hide the unease on his face.
"You'll come back though, right?"
"Of course. I told you we're a team, didn't I?"
She handed him a folded slip of parchment. "Take this to Orban at the Adventurer's Guild. He's the Assistant Guildmaster. I've already spoken to him about you. But don't go tomorrow, rest. Head there the day after."
Peter took the note, folding it into his pocket. "Alright. I'll hold down the fort."
"Good. And don't get lazy while I'm gone."
The next morning, he walked her to the gate. She checked over her shoulder a few times as she disappeared down the road, until the slope of the hill hid her from view.
Peter stood there for a while, then headed back toward town.
For the first time since he arrived in this world, he had a moment to breathe. A day to explore.
He wandered through Enrain's narrow streets, paying closer attention than he had before. The town wasn't wealthy, but it was alive. Buildings were made mostly of wood and stone, with thatched roofs or wooden shingles. People bustled between workshops and market stalls. Vendors hawked dried meat, pottery, tools, and even monster parts, fangs, hides, and bones. Adventurers could sell what they hunted here, though prices varied based on rarity and demand.
Weapons and armor were basic. Most were made of iron or reinforced leather. Full suits of heavy plate were basically nonexistent, too costly for most to afford. Peter learned that steel was rare and often reserved for only the richest of knights and noblemen. The average soldier wore leather or a simple mail shirt.
He visited a few merchant stalls and struck up brief conversations, trying not to sound too clueless. The currency here was straightforward: ten copper coins to a silver, ten silver to a gold. Platinum coins existed, but they were uncommon, used mostly by nobles or high-ranking merchants.
Staying at the inn cost several coppers a day, which included a single meal. According to a merchant, a peasant laborer might earn a single silver a day if lucky. Adventurers earned more, but only if they survived.
The Adventurer's Guild, he learned, was formed in part to manage the threats posed by dungeons. They claimed that Dungeons were concentrations of magic, constantly spawning monsters and drawing in magical items. When a dungeon became too unstable or bloated, it would overflow, sending monsters into the surrounding countryside. Adventurers were the front line against that kind of disaster.
As he walked the town, Peter felt a strange mixture of awe and discomfort. This world was behind Earth in terms of technology, but it was also rich in its own way. Magic. Tradition. Struggles he couldn't yet understand.
That evening, he returned to the inn, sore and dusty from a day of walking and quiet observation. He sat at the edge of his bed, staring out the small window at the fading sunset. He looked down at his hands which had become calloused from his hard training. He gripped tightly, remembering the feeling of the flames that poured out from his body. It was truly surreal, like nothing he had ever felt before.
Those flames were powerful, but he felt that there was still much more room for growth, for his flames to develop into something even more powerful. As he sat in silence, thinking of what had happened so far, his thoughts drifted back to Earth, to his daughter.
"There isn't anything I can do for you anymore, I don't know if I can ever return."
A part of him no longer felt as lost as when he first arrived. Although his journey in this world had only just begun, he had at least found a small place in it.
Tomorrow, he would go to the Adventurer's Guild.