Say hello

“Hello there—”

“Did you follow me?” she walks right up to you and presses her elbow into your chest as she grabs hold of the neckline of your tunic. You see her other hand reach down to her waist and pat around for something. Her eyes follow, and frustration flashes over her face before she returns her gaze to you. The hand that tried to find something at her waist moves into your pockets, and comes out with the slip of paper with directions on it. “How did you know I work here? Only the old man’s supposed to know.”

You raise your hands up in mock defeat. “I had no idea you worked here. This inn was recommended to me by the bartender at the Full Tankard. Before I met you. Check with him if you don’t believe me.”

“Maybe I will!” she says, shaking you back and forth a couple of times.

“Please do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to go to my room for the night.”

She stares daggers at you for another three or four seconds before releasing her grip and walking by you to go down the stairs. Her cleaning supplies lay forgotten at the end of the hall as you enter your room.

The room is very small. The room’s only two furnishings take up the majority of the space: a wooden bed frame housing a tattered and thin mattress sits under the boarded-up window, and a cheap old desk is placed at your left by the door. The bed has a single, thin blanket resting on it, and no pillow. Sitting on the desk is something resembling a candlestick, but with a crystal sitting in it instead of a length of wax. Idly curious, you touch the crystal to see if it will light up, but nothing happens. You remember the people on the street having to say something, but you’re also sure that the innkeeper didn’t make a sound when he lit his lantern. Finding out exactly how magic works in this world is going to be a priority moving forward. It seems like common knowledge to everyone, so asking about it without looking crazy is going to be tough.

You give up on the crystal for now and go sit on the bed. It feels as uncomfortable as you expected, but you lock away your complaining thoughts for now. You’ll be sore in the morning, but for now, you have to get some sleep. Wrapped up in the thin blanket and resting your head on your arm, you close your eyes until sleep takes you.

However, it doesn’t take you for quite some time, so you get to thinking about your situation instead. You are Evan Reynolds, a healthy, young, human male, who died on Earth and was reincarnated in a fantasy world, though it seems more like you were transported here instead of reincarnated, because you look and feel exactly like you did right before you died. The Voice said something about “the Law of Second Chances,” about how it would increase your “maximum power threshold” and “rate of development.” That pretty clearly states that you can become stronger than everyone else, and quickly, right? If that’s the case, then you should be able to accomplish just about anything you want to do.

And what do I want to do? you think. Have a harem of sexy fantasy women? Obviously, but what else? Then you remember the goddess you met in the Space Between Spaces, the goddess who promised to have her archangel basically sentence you to ****. Ithwen. She was obviously repressing her own lust when I met her. She was practically melting in my hands, even after she spouted all that stuff about purity. Someday, I’d like to show her how good it feels to be honest with herself. For now, though, I should expect the Holy Inquisition to be on my ass as soon as tomorrow… Ugh. This really isn’t fair. Demon Lords are supposed to be powerful, endgame bosses, but I’m still just a normal guy.

Knocking on your door breaks you out of your thoughts. They’re light taps, and not the banging of someone coming for your head, so you leisurely crawl off the bed and move to the door. Opening it, you see the dimly lit silhouette of a cloaked individual standing in the hallway. Under the hood, you can just barely make out a face that reminds you of the elven bartender, only more feminine.