The moon hung high above the mountains, a radiant silver coin etched against the ink-stained sky. Its light bathed the stone-built village in a ghostly glow, washing over tiled rooftops and winding cobblestone paths like a silent blessing. Nestled in the folds of emerald hills, this forgotten village slumbered beneath the gaze of the stars, half-dreaming, half-remembered.
Lanterns flickered gently at the corners of old stone houses, their warm amber glow casting long shadows across the narrow alleys. The scent of woodsmoke lingered in the cool night air, mingling with the distant murmur of crickets and the occasional hoot of an owl from the darkened forest beyond.
This village, located in the outskirts of the Land of Fire, was mostly silent now. Most of the villagers had gone to sleep after a hard day's work, leaving behind only the stillness of the night. But amid this silence, there was one exception—a tavern located at the entrance of the village, where drunken voices occasionally broke the tranquility.
The tavern stood out among the otherwise dilapidated homes. It was larger than the surrounding structures and built with finer wood, its moderate decorations giving it a more refined appearance. Inside, the villagers who had come to drink away their exhaustion were shouting, laughing, and letting go of their worries.
On the second floor of the tavern, there were six rooms—simple accommodations for the rare travelers who passed through. In one of these rooms, a bearded man sat on the windowsill, reading a book. The soft glow of the moonlight filtered through the window, illuminating the pages.
A sudden knock on the door broke his focus.
Tony sighed and stood up, annoyed. When he opened the door, he found Eric standing there with his usual lazy expression, his eyes still half-lidded with sleep.
"Hey, let's go. It's already eleven. After that, we won't find any food," Eric muttered, already turning around to head down the stairs.
Tony glanced at his watch—10:50 PM.
"Damn, he's right," he muttered to himself, slipping on his jacket before following Eric downstairs.
The tavern was noisy, alive with the boisterous energy of inebriated patrons. Laughter, drunken bragging, and the clinking of mugs created a chaotic yet oddly comforting atmosphere.
Yet in one corner of the tavern, a table remained strangely quiet. Despite the clamor surrounding them, the two men sitting there barely spoke. Not that anyone noticed—most of the villagers were too drunk to remember their own names, let alone pay attention to others.
Eric sipped from a crude wooden cup, the bitterness of the local brew barely registering on his tongue. He glanced at Tony, who was staring into his own drink.
"So," Eric said, breaking the silence, "how do you feel about this world, Tony?"
Tony didn't answer right away. He stared at the surface of the bitter wine, the taste of which he had slowly come to tolerate—maybe even enjoy.
What did he think of this world?
When he'd first imagined ending up in another world, he'd pictured a futuristic empire stretching across galaxies, or maybe a magical land filled with mystical creatures and ancient prophecies. He had expected towering cities, high-tech marvels, or arcane mysteries.
In a way, this world hadn't disappointed. People here could breathe fire, teleport across distances, and even bring the dead back to life. It was undoubtedly a magical world—though here, they called it ninjutsu.
But what Tony hadn't expected was the sheer cruelty lurking beneath its surface.
This world was beautiful. Verdant forests, clear rivers, majestic mountains—it was nature at its finest, untouched by industrial decay. But its people... they were ugly.
Here, power reigned supreme. Without rules, without consequences, people did as they pleased. The strong trampled the weak. Life was as cheap as a loaf of bread. Killing was as ordinary as eating or drinking.
On Earth, atrocities had existed too—but Tony had only read about them, seen them through screens. In this world, he had seen it—felt it—firsthand.
In just ten days, he had witnessed what humans were capable of when unrestrained. Children here were trained to fight from the age of six, and they called it heroic.
Tony exhaled sharply and took another sip.
"This world is hell with pretty trees," he muttered, half to himself.
Eric didn't comment, but his eyes flicked toward Tony with faint amusement.
What really annoyed Tony to no end was the lack of technology. No internet, no satellites, no computers, no ac, not even a eclectic fan. Everything was cumbersome and outdated. The only marvels here were born from chakra, not circuitry.
He missed Earth—desperately. All the initial excitement he'd felt when he first arrived had long since cooled. Now, he only wanted to go home.
But he couldn't. Not yet.
There were things to do here. Things that mattered.
This world, as broken as it was, had value. It had secrets, resources, and power. It was useful. And Tony Stark never let go of something useful.
And more importantly, he successfully extracted chakra yesterday, from that moment, he felt that this world is not so bad.
He leaned back in his chair, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his tired face.
"Yeah... it's a nightmare," he muttered. "But it's a lucid dream that we can change it our liking."
Eric raised his mug in silent agreement, the corners of his mouth twitching into something close to a smirk.
Outside, the moon watched on—silent, serene, and unblinking.