"Red Hawks are not too much trouble alone," Selene continued, walking at his side as though she hadn't just watched him get mauled into toughness. "However, they can fly through the holes in the walls down there, allowing them to surround and overwhelm their target."

  Austin pictured it immediately: narrow corridors, broken stone, sudden wings—something cutting through the darkness from three angles at once.

  He grimaced. "So… swarming fliers."

  "Exactly," Selene said with a small nod.

  Then she let out a dramatic sigh so heavy it was practically theatrical. "Those monsters show up on the fourth floor in my homeland." She pressed a hand to her forehead like a woman burdened by tragedy. "The amount of dresses those hawks have ruined is not okay."

  Austin snorted despite himself. "Tragic. Absolutely tragic."

  She shook her head in mock frustration, curls shifting, and then—slowly—she turned to him.

  Her grin sharpened, like a blade being drawn halfway from its sheath.

  "However…" Selene purred, her fingers brushing along his arm in a slow glide that made every nerve in him light up, "if they want to peck my clothes away while you are with me… I suppose I might have to allow it."

  She batted her eyelashes, deliberately, like she was firing arrows.

  Austin nearly tripped over his own feet.

  He caught himself at the last second, the motion making his sore muscles complain. His face warmed instantly. He forced a grin anyway, clinging to it like a shield. "We can't have that now," he said, trying for cool and landing somewhere near barely functional. "I need to protect my healer."

  Selene's lips pursed into the cutest pout he'd ever seen—an expression so unfairly charming it felt like a debuff.

  "Awww," she teased, voice dripping sweet trouble. "And ruin all the fun?"

  ***

  They kept walking, and if the dungeon had been teeth and blood and survival, Selene was an entirely different kind of danger—silk, warmth, and the kind of confidence that didn't ask permission.

  She moved through the night like it belonged to her.

  She teased him with the casual ease of someone raised in luxury, trained in etiquette, and fully aware that charm was a weapon as sharp as any blade. Austin tried to keep pace—tried to throw back a smirk, a clever line, anything to prove he wasn't completely outmatched.

  But every time he thought he'd found his footing, Selene stepped closer.

  A brush of fingertips against his knuckles.

  A soft laugh right by his ear.

  A whisper that was just suggestive enough to make his mind stumble and his body react like an idiot.

  "You're still walking a little stiff," she murmured at one point, eyes flicking down toward his legs with innocent concern that was absolutely not innocent. "Do you need me to… heal you again?"

  Austin nearly choked. "My legs are fine."

  "Mmm," Selene hummed, pretending to consider that. "Then perhaps your willpower is what needs attention."

  She leaned in like she was sharing a secret meant only for him. The warmth of her breath slid across his skin, and Austin's throat went dry. His heart kept trying to leap ahead of his body like it was racing him.

  Her boldness almost overwhelmed him.

  Almost.

  Because the worst part was—he liked it. The teasing made his nerves sing. It made the night sharper, more vivid. It made him forget the ache of phantom bites and the exhaustion sitting heavy behind his eyes.

  It excited him in a way he couldn't pretend was purely about stats or factions or practical dungeon partnership.

  It was her.

  After a while, the buildings around them began to change.

  Not abruptly—no glowing sign declaring WELCOME TO RICH PEOPLE LAND—but the shift was undeniable. The streets widened, the cobblestones smoother, cleaner, like they'd been scrubbed by hand every morning. Decorative lamps stood at regular intervals, casting soft golden light that didn't flicker like the cheaper lanterns in the lower districts. Even the air smelled different—less smoke and sweat, more trimmed hedges and faint floral perfume drifting from hidden gardens.

  Austin's eyes kept moving, cataloging it all the way he did in the dungeon.

  More guards, too.

  A lot more.

  Some stood perfectly still, rigid as statues with halberds planted like they'd been bolted to the ground. Others walked in pairs, boots hitting stone in steady rhythm, eyes cutting across alleys and rooftops and shadows like they were hunting for a threat that didn't dare show itself.

  Occasionally an adventurer passed through—quiet, purposeful—but none lingered. Nobody laughed too loudly here. Nobody stumbled drunk. Nobody loitered. It felt like the whole district had an invisible pressure pressing down on it, a silent expectation: Behave.

  "Good to know we're well protected," Austin muttered, gaze tracking a patrol as it turned a corner.

  Selene glanced over, amused. "Yes. It is a lot of guards. The nobles do not take security lightly."

  "I can tell," Austin said, and meant it. This wasn't "guarding a gate." This was a machine. A network.

  Selene tightened her grip on his hand and tugged him forward with more eagerness than grace, almost bouncing on the balls of her feet like she was excited to show him something.

  "This way, Austin," she said.

  Then, in a lighter tone that didn't quite hide the calculation beneath it, she added, "Normally I stay at the academy… but today…" Her eyes flicked to him. "I have a feeling staying at the manor is the better option."

  Austin's mind immediately pictured what he couldn't see—faction soldiers, members, maybe even academy staff combing streets and corridors looking for a missing noble heir.

  Yeah, he thought, that tracks.

  They rounded one last bend.

  And the manor appeared.

  Austin slowed without meaning to.

  Even in the darkness, it dominated the street like a mountain. The silhouette wasn't just "big." It was excessive. A massive mansion that towered over everything nearby, its roofline cutting into the night sky. Light glowed in tall windows—so many windows it made the building look like it was full of eyes watching the city.

  Guards stood at the outer gate. Guards behind the gate. Guards near the front doors. Guards along the walls. Guards on balconies.

  Guards everywhere.

  The walkway leading to the entrance was polished marble that caught the lamplight and turned it into a pale glow, like the ground itself was lit from within. Tall pillars flanked the front like something ripped straight out of an ancient palace—grand, theatrical, intimidating.

  Austin squinted up at the mansion, trying to take it all in. Judging by the stacked rows of windows alone, it had to be at least three stories. Four, maybe. Possibly more hidden in the roofline.

  I guess nobles really like their glass windows, he thought, because the thing practically sparkled.

  Then another thought hit him.

  For how obsessed they are with security, having a bunch of glass everywhere doesn't seem smart.

  Unless…

  Magic windows. Reinforced. Warded. Shatterproof. Explode-proof. Soundproof. Something-proof.

  Magic makes everything better, he thought.

  He paused, then grimaced internally.

  Except the plumbing in this world. That part definitely needs work.

  They weren't even at the gate yet when a guard spotted Selene.

  His posture snapped straight, and then his voice cracked with panic as he shouted, "Lady Elandros!"

  The shout echoed off stone.

  "Where have you been?" the guard demanded, rushing forward a step as if he wanted to grab her and physically drag her inside. "The entire faction is out looking for you!"

  Selene didn't even flinch.

  She casually stroked Austin's arm as if the guard had merely said, Good evening, Lady.

  "I figured as much," she sighed, utterly unfazed.

  The guard pinched the bridge of his nose like he was fighting off a headache. "Still as reckless as ever, aren't you, Lady Elandros?" His eyes flicked to the manor behind him like he could already imagine the fallout. "Your mother is inside worried sick, and the faction mast— I mean, your father— is at the academy looking for you."

  Selene let out a triumphant laugh, bright and unapologetic, and nudged Austin with her shoulder. "Ha! I knew it was a good choice to stay here tonight. It will be much easier to talk to my mother first before my father throws a fit about my decisions."

  Austin blinked.

  Talk to mother first.

  That sounded like a strategic maneuver learned through years of domestic warfare.

  The guard's gaze shifted.

  Finally noticing Austin.

  His expression hardened instantly, suspicion and contempt sharpening his features like he'd just tasted something sour.

  "Who is this man you're with?" he demanded.

  Austin's spine stiffened. Old instincts kicked in—back straight, shoulders ready, eyes calm.

  Selene, however, looked delighted.

  "Oh, you mean this man?" she said, voice turning teasingly sweet. She slid her hand up Austin's arm and leaned closer, like she was presenting him as a prize. "Just my handsome master."

  Austin's brain stalled.

  Handsome master?

  In front of a guard?

  At a noble manor gate?

  Before he could even process the words, Selene released his arm, grabbed the front of his shirt, and tugged him down just enough to plant a soft kiss on his cheek.

  Warm lips. Feather-light contact.

  Austin's soul briefly left his body.

  His face went incandescent. His heart attempted to escape through his ribs. For a half second, he forgot how breathing worked.

  Selene stepped back, eyes sparkling with wicked satisfaction, then slipped through the gate like she hadn't just detonated Austin's entire nervous system. But not before she glanced over her shoulder and gave him one last smirk—slow, seductive, and absolutely fatal.

  The guard stood frozen, jaw hanging open like a broken hinge.

  Then his eyes narrowed.

  The shock drained away and was replaced by pure, unfiltered contempt directed straight at Austin—like Austin had personally insulted every oath he'd ever sworn.

  Austin managed a weak wave. "Uh… good evening?"

  The guard didn't wave back.

  Austin smiled anyway—because what else could he do?—then turned and started walking away down the quiet, moonlit street.

  Behind him, he heard the gate swing wider. Another guard hurried to open the massive mansion door for Selene as she slipped inside, swallowed by warmth and light and wealth.

  Austin glanced back once, the manor looming like a fortress, and exhaled slowly.

  I was never the most knowledgeable when it came to politics back on Earth, he thought, rubbing the spot on his cheek that still felt warm.

  So all this faction stuff is… definitely confusing.

  He kept walking, boots tapping softly on pristine stone, the night air cool against his overheated face. And as the noble district's lights faded behind him, Austin muttered to himself under his breath the whole way back toward the Wooden Lodge Inn—trying to make sense of factions, nobles, and the fact that a girl like Selene Elandros had just kissed him at a gate guarded by men who looked like they'd kill for her.

  And somehow… he had a feeling the real trouble was only beginning.

  ***

  When Austin reached the Wooden Lodge Inn, it felt like he'd walked into a different world.

  The front door creaked softly as he pushed it open, and the sound seemed too loud in the hush. No warm lantern glow spilling over the counter. No clink of dishes. No faint laughter from downstairs guests drunk on cheap ale and bravery. Not even Tessa's usual humming drifting from the back like a stubborn little heartbeat keeping the place alive.

  Just silence.

  The inn's air was cooler at night, holding the faint scent of old wood and dried herbs and whatever stew had been served hours ago. Austin stood there for a moment, listening—half expecting some hidden threat to spring from the shadows, because the dungeon had rewired him into treating quiet as suspicious.

  But there was nothing.

  No danger.

  Just… sleep.

  "I guess it is pretty late," Austin whispered to himself, voice sounding strangely small in the empty room. "Everyone's probably asleep by now."

  His boots thudded dully on the floor as he crossed the lobby. The usual warmth of the inn—its lived-in mess, its noise, its comforting chaos—was gone, and that made the emptiness feel sharper. Like the place had closed its eyes and left him alone with his thoughts.

  He climbed the stairs slowly, each step tugging at muscles that felt bruised from the inside out. His body wasn't injured anymore—Selene had made sure of that—but it carried the memory of injury like a stain. His legs still felt like they'd been chewed, his nerves still buzzing with phantom bites and the lingering echo of poison that had pulsed through his blood all day.

  By the time he reached his room, he was moving on pure stubbornness.

  He slipped inside and closed the door behind him with a soft click.

  The sound was final. Sealing. Like he'd shut the world out.

  For a second he just stood there in the dimness, breathing. The room smelled faintly of straw bedding and soap, with a thin thread of old sweat that probably belonged to him now. Then he started peeling off his armor piece by piece.

  The thing about this new world—one of the many little "wait, seriously?" moments—was that Austin couldn't just take a normal shower.

  No hot water knob. No steam. No standing under a blissful stream while the day rinsed off in sheets.

  Here, "bathing" meant bucketing yourself clean like some medieval peasant who'd committed the crime of being born before plumbing existed.

  He stared at the bucket in the corner of his room like it was personally insulting him.

  Next to it sat the cheap bar of soap he'd used earlier, still damp, still faintly slick. He was supposed to leave it by the front door when he finished—Tessa had told him that was the system here, because apparently soap was a community resource like it was some kind of rare dungeon drop.

  He'd forgotten.

  Of course he'd forgotten. His brain had been too busy replaying rabbicorn teeth like a horror montage and trying not to short-circuit every time Selene breathed near him.

  Austin dragged a hand down his face, then sniffed his sleeve and immediately regretted it.

  He smelled like sweat, old armor, and dungeon—damp stone and blood and that faint metallic tang that clung to everything underground. Selene's healing had erased the wounds, sure, but it hadn't erased the fact that he'd spent hours getting mauled and patched back together like a training dummy.

  He didn't realize how much he missed showers until they were gone.

  Back on Earth, a shower had been nothing. A background activity. Something you did half-asleep while thinking about breakfast.

  Now it felt like a luxury product from a different universe.

  He glanced at the bucket again and imagined the cold water slapping his skin.

  "Man…" he muttered, voice low. "This is tragic."

  For a brief moment, his mind wandered—because it always did when he was tired and irritated—and he wondered how the nobles handled it.

  Because Selene smelled freaking good.

  Not just "clean." Not "soap and laundry."

  She smelled like expensive cleanliness. Like warm perfume and fresh fabric and some kind of subtle floral note that made his brain register wealth before it even registered flower.

  How?

  Did nobles get actual baths? Private tubs? Heated water? Magic showers? Servants who carried endless buckets until you were clean enough to sparkle?

  Or maybe there was a spell. A skill. A convenient little System ability that just deleted grime from your skin.

  Austin exhaled hard, staring at the ceiling like it might offer answers.

  What he really needed was a clean skill.

  Or, honestly, a fire skill.

  Because if he could at least heat the cold-ass water, bucketing himself wouldn't feel like punishment. It would feel… slightly less like he was being forced to roleplay hygiene on hard mode.

  He glanced toward the bucket again, then at the soap.

  He sighed.

  Metal scraped softly as he unbuckled straps. Leather creaked. The weight came off in slow increments, and with each piece he set down, his shoulders loosened like he'd been carrying the whole day physically, not just mentally.

  Greaves first.

  He lowered the metal to the floor and caught himself staring at the dull sheen in the lamplight.

  There were faint dents and scuffs—little half-moon imprints where rabbicorn teeth had tried, again and again, to turn him into a snack. It wasn't deep damage. Nothing dramatic.

  But it made his skin crawl anyway.

  "Damn rabbicorns," he muttered under his breath, like saying it out loud might banish the sensation.

  He stripped off the rest—gauntlets, chest piece, straps—until he was standing there feeling oddly exposed in simple clothes. Lighter. Smaller. Human again.

  Then the exhaustion caught up in one violent rush.

  Austin stumbled to the bed and fell onto it like gravity had been waiting all day for permission. The mattress dipped under him, and he hugged the pillow against his chest like it was an anchor. His body felt heavy in a way that went beyond fatigue, as if every limb had been filled with wet sand.

  He let out a long breath, the kind that sounded like he was emptying something out of himself. Tension. Pain. Adrenaline. All of it.

  He had never been this drained in his entire time in this world.

  His eyelids fluttered. The room blurred. His thoughts started slipping into that soft, warm nothingness that sleep promised—

  Until a tiny icon blinked in the corner of his vision.

  Austin frowned, eyes struggling to focus.

  "Huh?" he whispered, blinking hard like that would make it go away.