The inn smelled faintly of woodsmoke and ale. Ronan sat on the edge of the bed, peeling away his tattered shirt to inspect the wounds across his body. Deep scratches scored his arms, and purple bruises blossomed along his ribs. The wolf fight had left him aching in places he hadn't even realized could ache.
He hissed when his fingers brushed a cut along his side. "Damn it… I can't keep this up."
In Eternum Online, a wound was just a flashing red bar that disappeared after chugging a potion. But here, the pain lingered. The bruises throbbed with every breath. And though Lyra's herbs dulled the sting, they didn't erase it.
He glanced at the rusty sword leaning against the wall. The blade was chipped, the hilt wrapped in fraying leather. In the game, it had been nothing more than a placeholder item. A weapon you threw away the moment you got your first real drop.
But here… each swing felt like lifting a slab of iron. His arms ached from the strain, his shoulders screamed from the recoil of every blocked bite.
If wolves are this bad… what about the real dungeons?
A dark thought whispered at the back of his mind: Use the Save Point. Reset his health. Reset his body. Wipe away the pain.
But he clenched his fists and shoved the thought aside. Ten years. Ten years for a reset. That was too steep a price.
He wasn't afraid of death. But he was afraid of wasting his life before he understood the rules of this world.
There was a knock at the door.
"Ronan?"
Lyra's voice drifted in. He quickly pulled his shirt back on. "What is it?"
The door creaked open. She stepped inside, carrying a small tray of bread and stew. "You didn't come down to eat."
"I wasn't hungry."
She set the tray on the table, frowning. "Your wounds… they're worse than you let on, aren't they?"
Ronan avoided her gaze. "…I've dealt with worse."
She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she said softly: "Even the strongest warriors need rest. You shouldn't carry everything alone."
Her words lingered in the silence. Ronan looked away, his chest tightening in a way that had nothing to do with his wounds.
"…Thanks," he muttered.
When she left, he sat staring at the tray of food. His hands trembled as he picked up the spoon.
This world isn't a game. It never was. If I keep treating it like one… I'll break before I even reach level two.