The bath was refreshing. It washed all the ick and grime clean. He still droned about the lack of soap provided, however. Which was strange. Because his experience so far indicated that this inn was nothing but exceptional in their service. His woolen shirt for example. Besides how it came at a reasonable price of one gold coin —which was a good bargain in itself— it arrived the moment he finished his bath!

 

Like literally the second he finished his bath. Well not literally, literally. But you got it. The moment he was done with his bath, he found that there was a brand new, fluffy, fuzzy, shirt waiting for him. The thing was placed —folded neatly on the table just outside his dressing room. He meant he just ordered the shirt after dinner. Which even with his intense scrubbing and copious water splashing couldn’t be more than thirty-forty minutes. So yeah. Wow.

 

So no soap? That was strange right?

 

Perhaps this world simply didn't have soap?

 

Possible. Because as a matter of fact, he did get offered a bath attendant. He knew, it was weird. But, based on how the old elf protracted rambling of their inn bath experience' superiority, of how they clean their guest better than some rival inn down the street, it seemed this world relied more on cleaning Skills. As Capital Skills. System-bestowed skills.

 

He refused it though. The attendant he meant. First, because it was creepy. And second because the chuckling eyes, that slow sultry whisper, obviously hinted those kinds of services. The one with ...amorous end. Also that final wispy 'Ah, youth,' muttered in a bare whisper? He must be so dense if he didn’t catch the drift.

 

For now, his passio— his interest was more or less directed in the Skill. Yes. The Skill. It boiled his blood, rushing, sloshing, wanting to know how the hell it functions.

 

Which judging from how things unfurled so far, there was only one answer. The most likely, in-the-face candidate; Magic.

 

Yes. Magic.

 

Needless to say, he was ...unfamiliar with Magic. The how to. Not the concept. He knew there was this thing called magic before even he came here, thank you very much. His childhood wasn't that sad he never heard things like a magic sword that somehow make you a sovereign ruler when you pull it out (weird). Or that look-obsessed witch who should be content having a whole kingdom under her heel instead of listening to a subjective assessment of a snob mirror. The point was, he was aware of magic and all its 'mystical fairytale' concept. What he wasn't was the how-to. His only experience with anything remotely resembling instructional of that reality-bending thing was being confused watching those TV's illusionists performing card tricks on a certain popular talent show.

 

Which he watched for ...research purposes. And definitely not because he got thrilled like the rest of the uncivilized masses when decent everyday Jane ultimately flopped in front of national television. No. That would be most unbecoming of him.

 

The other closer, arguably more familiar avenue would be games. Fantasy, MMORPG, sandbox, turn-based. He did spend quite an appreciable time on them.

 

So perhaps this world system’s magic was like that. A press of a button, a shout, then voila! The magic was done. It certainly seemed so. The system looked like a very barebone HUD that displayed next to no information because it added to the sense of mystery and wonder. Yeah... Maybe? He didn't know. It looked like that to him though. Almost looked like that to him. It certainly had its differences... the key one was that it was slapped in front of his eyes. His very being. As if the reality itself was a game.

 

No way, right?

 

Right?

 

Well, impending nervous breakdown aside, he did test the system out. Somewhat. How else he got that coin pouch? But that was more like hurried, in a moment test he did in the corner of the caravan when everyone wasn’t looking by grabbing the first item he found on the inventory window.

 

 

Oh let just test it again.

 

"Status,"

 

Holding his breath he spoke the command word. And just like before, a screen warped itself into existence. Floating.

 

 

"Wow.”

 

He remarked, amazed. Astounded. His breath held, his eyes dazzled, stare-gripped at the suspended square. Burning every word, the explanations, the oddities, the mysteries. He etched all of those into his memories.

 

Then gingerly. His breath still holding, he let his finger moved. Centimenter by centimeter. Closer and closer toward the screen. His eyes red, his anticipation blazed. Screaming-shouting his ever so reasonable trepidation as his finger touched —nay, poked the screen!

 

 

“Wha— ?”

 

 

 

“Seriously?”

 

He laughed. Giggling. Whoever made this must have an excellent taste of humor. They could choose literally any other sound effect. But no, they chose boop.

 

“Well,” he said, brushing his wet eyes. “What else?”

 

He poked the screen again. Touching, untouching. It bounced off with ever so slight resistance, careening the box as it was made from a cold solid-glass layer.

 

Then he began to try the ‘advanced stuff’; sweeping left and right, pinching in and out. Which worked. A trailing bubble appeared. Indicating where his finger just landed. He even tried the three-finger taps, it made the screen zoomed.

 

"Really like phones."

 

He also found that he could drag the screen around if he held the box's border. Which was good. Since it meant the screen wouldn’t impair his direct vision.

 

Satisfied, he decided to move to the next big thing. Which was cataloging. If he was going to survive, he must know what kind of item that his inventory somehow got. Like the pouch. If it only one, then —then he must immediately look for a job...

 

But what kind of job an otherworlder could find in a fantasy world?

 

“Well, let just get it over with.”

 

Moving his finger to the item menu. He touched the word [Inventory]. The word shone. Creating opaque, flashing white border. Indicating the word had been pressed. Then a second later, another layer of screen, popped. Superimposing the first one.

 

“Oh.”

 

He gulped. In front of him were pouches upon pouches of the same brown pouch. Filling his inventory window by large. Scrolling down and down, he guesstimated that it filled all but a few of the squares.

 

Other items he saw were only this gnarled-looking stick and a box stamped with Erlenmeyer flask featuring what seemed to him as a single right-facing bat-like wing.

 

“Wait!”

 

He’d seen that symbol —could it be? He grabbed the brown pouch, untying it. From inside it heap and heap of gold coins flood. Then, he grabbed another pouch. It spluttered the same golds.

 

Golds. Golds. Golds

 

All of the brown pouches filled with gold.

 

Then returning the coins and the pouch inside. With a trembling hand. He pulled the box.

 

Unlatching the lock.

 

“Ah.”

 

In front of him were erlenmeyer flask, one of 250 ml, two of 100 ml. Then he also saw a measuring cylinder each for 10 and 100 ml. A couple of mortar and stamper, a portable battery-powered balance, glass rod, a decanter, three differently sized beaker glass, filter papers, two separatory funnels, and was that a magnetic stirrer?

 

“I see.”

 

It was [Chronicle]!

 

He meant the telltales were there. That gold-filled pouches. What was he thinking?

 

He needed to be hit in the head very hard to not recognized the trademark signature of their realistic logistics. The stupid, stupid pointless thing the developer obsessed about.

 

Like one on beta —which he only played because he got invited by the way— the whole inventory system was this big backpack which you must rummage before taking the item you want.

 

Which of course, angered the players. Like angered, went for blood level.

 

 

So that was out. But others didn’t. Like the damn stacked pouch system.

 

Not all game aspects should be abolished in name of realism! And especially not the super-convenient, bank-like account transfer. In [Chronicle] all carried coins have weight like everything else. And it could only be carried by stacking those inside a pouch with one pouch containing one hundred coins.

 

Well of course, there was this banking system, but it wasn't an instant, convenient stuff, that any gamers used to. No, no that would be too easy. What they got instead was this realistic craziness in which the player had to wait for one to two hours to transfer money between banks in different towns. Why? Well, it was because of their method of authorization. The [Message] spell. The magical statement must be recorded, witnessed, double-checked, then authorized by both the tellers and the branch manager for it to go through.

 

And with how teleportation was a thing, most players like him just gave up and filled half of their inventory slot with golds.

 

"How it gets here though?"

 

He meant he was thankful he got transported with this much money. He didn’t think he could survive otherwise.

 

 

Well, it was certainly a conundrum to ponder. But the system, the menu screen were different. For example on [Chronicle], the title system was mostly decorative. Just the way for the players to brag that they had finished a difficult questline.

 

The status was also numerical, the standard strength, agility, intelligence, dexterity, vitality modifiers. And also there was no such thing as a stage. And this was the first time he ever saw WP.

 

....

 

....

 

Well...

 

He didn't know.

 

It was a clue nonetheless. A clue that there were some similarities between this world and [Chronicle]. He just needed to figure what it was.

 

That was a long-term thing though. A non-negotiable; trying to get home. For now, however, he was more concerned with one glaring question: what should he do with his life?

 

He sighed. Why did this happen to him? He just want—wanted to relax for the weekend. Fine, he would just... enjoy the ride? Went along? With this much money, he could just treat the whole thing like an extended vacation. Probably with a side of uninformed, non-consensual job relocation.

 

Yeah.

 

"Skill." he pressed that 'Skill' button. Perhaps this would distract his mind?

 

 

He cringed. That—that what he got by spending half of his time playing MMORPG. Half of his skill was stupid, stupid Evocation. Not to disparage fireball to the face —the melting visuals were always a big wow.

 

But practically. Prac-ti-cal-ly. Did he want to spend his day dungeon diving? He meant that what his skill set telling him to do right? What else was he going to do with a freaking lightning blast? Became a human power plant that provided safe clean energy so the world reached environmentalists' version of utopia? Wait... That was interesting... NO! NO! Bad Euca! No getting yourself becoming a low-wage worker!

 

Still, what he ought to do? He didn't want to become an adventurer. Didn't those daredevils never miss, he didn't know... INDOOR PLUMBING?!

 

Chewy jerky, teeth-cracking bread, stale room-temperature water. That stuff was...tolerable. But having to have relieved himself in a not-toilet? Well...

 

Right! His second skillset: Alchemist!

 

He meant that what the beginner box told him to do right? Become an alchemist! Though it’d be better if he could get the higher-grade stuff instead of the basic chemistry kit that the developers based on. No, not the end-game thing like elemental converter, aspect analyzer, or the universal solvent. Just a centrifuge and maybe a freeze dryer.

 

Well, how about the skill?

 

Let see. [Create Distilled Water], standard level five stuff. [Internal Clock], oh so that why he got a detailed reading on times! It used to be more hourglass icons in the game and now it was embedded inside his mind? Interesting. And [Lesser Temperature Read], well he didn’t get a thermometer, so that useful.

 

All right, he'd become an alchemist. Sound simple enough. Concocting potions, expensive potions. Which would enable him to obtain a good amount of funds to facilitate his research of 'how to get home' (bonus point by getting himself a job that didn't involve getting bitten off by monsters! That was a plus!).

 

Relieved for having something resembling an outline of a plan, he closed the screen. Just one more thing to do and then he'd sleep.

Walking out of the room and down the stair, he headed toward the front desk. Car— Carol? well, the woman who delivered his supper to his room, was there, standing behind the front desk.

"Excuse me."

"Oh hello sir, are you enjoying your stay?" the brown-haired woman replied, smiling. "Is there anything I could help you with?"

"Yes," he said, pointing to his woolen top. "I'd like to order three more sets of clothes like this one before tomorrow noon."

"Certainly sir. But with such a short time, I'm afraid it'd not be fitted. Would that be fine?"

"Ah. That's okay. Just make it around my size."

"Very good sir, anything else?"

"No, that's all for now. Oh yes, just charge it to my deposit."