2 First Tavern

"I can make work of this..."

Reid began his journey by looting the battlefield, his eyes scanning the bodies of fallen warriors for anything useful. He wasn't sentimental about the dead; they were just an unfortunate consequence of the brutal world he'd been thrust into. His fingers deftly searched through the pockets and pouches of the corpses, feeling for anything of value. Eventually, he found a decent tunic and trousers that weren't too bloodstained, along with a cloak that still provided warmth. A knapsack lay nearby, half-buried under a slain soldier. It was in good condition, and Reid took it without hesitation.

As he continued his search, he came across a few small trinkets—gemstones, rings, and coins that glittered faintly in the light. He had no idea what kind of currency this era used, but precious gems had value in almost any time or place. He slipped them into the knapsack, noting that the weight felt comforting on his back.

When he finished looting, Reid stared down at his short sword, still stained with the blood of Foehammer. He weighed it in his hand, considering whether to keep it. In the end, he decided to swap it out for a pair of daggers he had found on one of the bodies. The short sword was effective but too conspicuous. Daggers, on the other hand, were easier to conceal and just as deadly in close combat.

"This isn't my world," Reid reminded himself, his tone grim. He wasn't from around here, and that meant he couldn't afford to act like he was. Every decision had to be made with caution, and every action measured. He couldn't rely on the knowledge he had from the 21st century—this was a different time, with its own rules, and he'd need to adapt quickly if he wanted to survive.

Reid's thoughts drifted to the local language. He knew that communication would be vital, and while his accelerated learning ability gave him an edge, he was under no illusion that mastering a new language would be quick or easy. "A week might be optimistic," he mused, "but I won't know until I try."

With that in mind, Reid picked a random direction and started walking. The forest surrounding the battlefield loomed dark and foreboding, but he pushed forward, his mind already working on the challenges ahead. The sooner he could find a village or town, the sooner he could begin learning the language and blending in. Until then, every step was a step into the unknown.

"Keep moving, keep learning, and above all, stay alive," he told himself as he ventured deeper into the unknown world. "Who knew? This might be my big break."

Four hours of steady walking brought Reid to the outskirts of a town. The path he had taken wound through dense forests and over rugged terrain, but now it opened up to reveal the signs of civilization—a town nestled within the rolling hills.

Reid paused to take in the sight. The town was modest, larger than a village but far from a bustling city. A wooden palisade surrounded it, and from his vantage point, he could see smoke rising from chimneys and hear the distant hum of activity. This place was clearly more populated than a village, and with that came the promise of taverns, inns, and perhaps even a market. All the necessities he'd need to start his new life here—or at least to get his bearings.

He glanced up at the sky, noting the position of the sun. It was nearly noon, the sun directly overhead, casting short shadows on the ground. "Perfect timing," Reid muttered to himself. He was getting hungry, and a town of this size was likely to have food for sale, even if the currency might be different.

Careful not to attract unwanted attention, Reid approached the town cautiously. He spotted a couple of guards posted at the main entrance, their armor simple but functional, and their weapons at the ready. The last thing he wanted was to be questioned by these guards. Without knowing the local language, he risked being discovered as an outsider, or worse, mistaken for a threat.

"I don't know what the culture's like here, so I might as well play it safe," he thought, keeping to the shadows as he slipped along the town's outer wall. He found a less guarded section near the edge of a small grove and waited for the right moment. When the coast was clear, he vaulted over the wall with the practiced ease of someone used to slip past unnoticed.

Once inside, Reid stuck to the alleys and side streets, avoiding the busier main roads. The town was alive with activity, but most of the people he saw were focused on their tasks, too busy to notice a newcomer skulking through the back streets. He could hear the clang of a blacksmith's hammer, the chatter of merchants haggling over prices, and the laughter of children playing in the distance.

Reid's goal was simple: find a tavern or inn where he could gather study materials without drawing attention to himself. He needed to learn the local language, understand the currency, and figure out how this world operated—all without revealing that he wasn't from here.

Blending in was key, and Reid was nothing if not adaptable.

Reid's first tavern experience wasn't anything great, not exactly exceeding his expectations.

Finding a tavern was the easy part. It was one of the larger buildings in the town, its wooden sign creaking gently in the breeze as it swayed above the door. The symbol etched into the wood—a tankard of ale—was universally recognizable, even if the language was not. The moment Reid stepped inside, the warm, slightly musty air enveloped him, carrying with it the scents of roasting meat, stale ale, and the unmistakable odor of unwashed bodies.

Reid slipped into a corner of the room, choosing a table that afforded him a good view of the entrance and the rest of the tavern's patrons. The place was lively but not overly crowded, filled with townsfolk sharing drinks and conversations in a language that was complete gibberish to Reid. The layout was typical of taverns he had seen in history books and fantasy novels, with rough-hewn wooden tables and benches, a roaring fire in the hearth, and a barmaid weaving through the crowd with practiced ease.

As he observed the other patrons, Reid quickly deduced that the local currency was something entirely unexpected—strips of metal, not the coins he had anticipated. The patrons exchanged brass, silver, and gold strips, each about an inch long and as thin as a toothpick. It was a curious form of currency, one that didn't quite fit with the medieval aesthetic he had expected.

The discovery only deepened the mystery of his current situation. "Maybe this isn't just time travel," he mused, still trying to reconcile the strange mix of familiarity and alienness in this world. "Yep, I am almost sold on the isekai idea… Now, I only need to see some elves and dwarves."

When a barmaid approached, speaking to him in the local tongue, Reid could only nod and give a polite smile. He hadn't learned a single word of this language yet, and the woman's rapid speech was nothing more than noise to him. But he couldn't just sit there looking clueless. Improvisation was key.

Reid glanced around and spotted a man in another corner, hunched over a plate of food. The man was tearing into a piece of fish with his bare hands, the juices dripping down his chin as he devoured his meal with gusto. It looked simple enough, and more importantly, it looked filling. Without missing a beat, Reid pointed at the man's plate, indicating to the barmaid that he wanted the same.

The barmaid raised an eyebrow, clearly not understanding why this stranger was pointing across the room, but she nodded and waited for payment. Reid fished into his knapsack and pulled out an opal necklace he had looted earlier. The necklace was a simple thing, but the stone had a captivating sheen, something that might catch a merchant's eye.

He handed the necklace to the barmaid, hoping it would cover the cost of the meal without any misunderstandings. The barmaid took the necklace, her eyes widening slightly as she examined it. Reid couldn't help but wonder if she'd misinterpret the gesture—after all, offering jewelry could be seen as something more personal in some cultures.

But the barmaid just gave him a small nod, accepting the necklace as payment. She tucked it away and hurried off to fulfill his order. Reid let out a quiet sigh of relief. So far, his gamble seemed to be paying off.

Basically, Reid's strategy was to pretend to be mute.

And it worked.

The simple act of nodding and smiling, combined with his silent demeanor, seemed to do the trick. The townsfolk were quick to assume that he was either incapable of speech or simply chose not to talk. Either way, it spared him the awkwardness of fumbling through conversations in a language he didn't understand. It was a relief, allowing him to blend in without drawing unnecessary attention.

It seemed his payment had covered more than just the meal. The barmaid returned shortly after, gesturing for him to follow her. She led him upstairs to a small, modest room with a single bed, a table, and a chair. The accommodations were simple but clean, and Reid was grateful for the privacy. The barmaid even indicated that he could stay for several days, all covered by the value of the opal necklace. He nodded his thanks, grateful for the unexpected bonus.

Reid soon realized that he had been perceived as a valued customer. The barmaid was attentive, checking in on him regularly and ensuring he had everything he needed. It was clear that his fair skin, relatively clean clothes, and the jewelry he had used as payment marked him as someone of higher status, or at least someone who could afford to be treated well. He couldn't help but smirk at the irony—everything he wore had been looted from corpses, yet here he was, passing as a man of means.

On one occasion, as he sat by the window, gazing out at the town below, he caught the barmaid throwing him a flirtatious glance. She lingered at the door for a moment longer than necessary, her eyes hinting at an invitation. Reid returned a polite smile but made no move to encourage her. He had no plans for getting laid anytime soon, and there were several reasons for that.

Hygiene, for one. The lingering scent of unwashed bodies and the general lack of cleanliness in this world was enough to turn him off any romantic notions. Then there was the bed—narrow, lumpy, and probably crawling with fleas. The very thought made his skin crawl.

But there was more to it than just the physical discomfort.

Reid valued his purity, not in a naive or prudish sense, but as part of his personal code. He was someone who took his own strength seriously, and that included his ability to control his desires. With his power, he could stave off his libido with just a thought.

There was a reason why he called his mutant powers 'Self-Mastery' after all.

That aside, he should make headway on adapting to this world fast.