At the far end, a pair of dancers swayed and spun on a small stage — their bodies glistening under strobe lights, clad only in shimmering bras and black lace that barely counted as clothing. Their movements were sharp, seductive, and mesmerizing — not just human but enhanced, every motion tracing energy patterns in the air.
Around them, a wild mix of beings filled the room — not just men, but creatures that defied description.
A hulking bear-headed warrior wearing a laser-cut vest clinked glasses with a goat-horned mercenary whose body glimmered with holographic tattoos. A slender woman with a mechanical arm poured a glowing red drink for a cowboy with a plasma revolver resting casually at his hip. At the next table, a group of imps were gambling with bones that screamed faintly when thrown.
A serpent-haired beauty laughed with a cyborg wolf, her silver eyes flashing like moonlight. A hulking ogre in a tailored tuxedo leaned against the bar, smoking something that emitted violet smoke shaped like screaming faces.
Everywhere Ethan looked, technology and sorcery coexisted, intertwined like lovers who'd long since forgotten where one ended and the other began. The air was thick with perfume, smoke, and the strange metallic scent of charged mana.
He didn't let his amazement show.
Ethan kept his face composed, his eyes cold and assessing as he made his way to the bar counter. Every instinct screamed to stay alert — this wasn't a place for the weak or the naive. He'd seen men like these before: the desperate, the greedy, the damned. Whether in the apocalypse or a fantasy realm, beasts wearing human skin were always the same.
A middle-aged man approached, wearing a classic bartender uniform — black vest, white shirt, crimson tie. His eyes, however, glowed faint gold.
"Welcome to Havenstead Bar, traveler," he said warmly, sliding a menu toward him. "You look like someone who's seen hell. Maybe you'll find a bit of paradise here."
Ethan accepted the menu, his gaze flicking across the room as he muttered, "That depends on what kind of paradise you're selling."
The bartender chuckled and drifted away, leaving him with the thick, leather-bound menu.
When Ethan opened it, his eyes widened.
Every page glittered with names that blended elegance and absurdity — Château Lafite, Flying Maotai, Tequila Ley, Henri IV Dudognon Heritage Cognac Grande Champagne, Diva Vodka… and then, Nebula Nectar, Stardust Ale, Draconian Draught, Galactic Grog, Moonshadow Martini, Meteorite Meat Pie, Starbeast Stew, Lunar Lamb Skewers…
He kept flipping through the pages, each name more surreal than the last.
"These are… million-dollar wines, cosmic drinks… and all this for a single Survival Coin?" he murmured, eyebrows knitting. "Just what kind of world am I standing in?"
Finally, on the last page, he noticed two strange drinks, their names written in glowing silver script:
Stamina Recovery Fruit Juice — Restores 15 SP within 5 minutes. 20 Survival Coins per glass.
Spirit Recovery Fruit Juice — Restores 15 MP within 5 minutes. 20 Survival Coins per glass.
Ethan leaned back in his chair, quietly analyzing the information. So this place recognizes both physical and magical energy. It's structured, systematic… almost like an RPG. Meaning the entire environment is governed by rules — and rules can be bent.
He tapped a finger on the counter, lips curling slightly. "Alright," he whispered, eyes narrowing toward the stage and the crowd. "Let's see what kind of secrets this fantasy nightmare is hiding."
Ethan sat at the dimly lit counter, the murmur of other patrons fading into a dull hum behind him. The tavern glowed in hues of violet and amber, lanterns powered by faint runic energy. The air smelled faintly of alcohol, smoke, and something else—nostalgia.
He had no interest in the alcohol or the food. In fact, he didn't have the luxury to be interested in such things. Survival didn't leave room for indulgence. His eyes wandered over the bottles neatly aligned behind the counter, glowing faintly under mana light, before settling on two vibrantly colored fruit juices.
Pointing at them, he said flatly, "Can I pack the fruit juice to go?"
The bartender—a handsome man with a neatly trimmed beard and eyes too calm for someone running a place in a world this dangerous—laughed lightly. "Of course not," he said. "You can only enjoy those here. However…" His smile tilted slightly. "If you're looking to take something home, alcohol can be packaged, provided you can pay. Drinks first, though. No credit tabs in this world."
Ethan slipped a few fingers into his coat and produced a coin shimmering faintly with runic light. "A glass of Stamina Recovery Fruit Juice," he said, placing down twenty Survival Coins without hesitation.
The bartender accepted the payment and disappeared into the back. A moment later, he returned with a tall glass filled with liquid the color of fresh jade. Wisps of green mist rose from it, carrying a refreshing citrus scent.
Ethan lifted the glass, swirling it once before taking a sip. A crisp sweetness spread across his tongue, followed by a gentle sourness that tingled at the edges of his mouth. The flavor was alive—vibrant, full of magic. He drank it all in one gulp.
Warmth surged through his veins like a gentle current, washing away fatigue and dull aches. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the flow of vitality returning to every limb. When he opened them again, they were sharper, clearer.
He studied the bartender silently before asking, "Are you human?"
The bartender froze for a fraction of a second, then chuckled, setting down the glass he'd been polishing. "Of course I'm human," he said smoothly. "As much as you are—or perhaps, a little less."
Ethan leaned back slightly, his gaze piercing. "Let me rephrase that," he said slowly. "Are you human… of this world?"
This time, the bartender's eyes narrowed ever so slightly, though the calm smile didn't fade. "Your mind's sharper than most men your age," he said, tone low. "No. I'm not a native of your world."
Ethan's curiosity flared. "Then what world are you from?"
A pause. The bartender's expression softened into something bittersweet. "System restriction," he said finally. "No comment."
Ethan exhaled through his nose. "Figures," he muttered. "Even here, the system keeps secrets close."
His eyes flicked up again. "The Magical System of Gods and Demons… have you seen it?"
For the first time, the bartender's smile faltered. His voice grew heavier. "Seen it?" he echoed. "No. In the face of such existence, you, me, and every living being in this tavern…" He gestured with a sweep of his hand toward the strange mix of humanoids, cyborgs, and creatures in sci-fi armor. "…we're nothing but ants. How can ants see the will of gods?"
Ethan tapped a finger on the counter thoughtfully. His sharp eyes darted around, studying the other patrons—each stranger than the next, yet bound by the same invisible system that governed this world. "Fair point," he said. "But even ants can learn the shape of a boot before it crushes them."
That drew a faint chuckle from the bartender. "You really do have an interesting way of thinking, young man."
Ethan tilted his head slightly. "Why did you come to our world, then? Someone like you doesn't just… run a tavern for fun. Your strength isn't weak. I can feel it."
It wasn't just a guess. His spirit—now sharper and more attuned after recent battles—picked up a distinct aura radiating from the man. A calm ocean, yet beneath the surface lurked something monstrous, something ancient and dangerous.
The bartender's eyes turned distant, and for a moment, he seemed to look far beyond the walls of the tavern. "Back in my world," he began softly, "life was a hundred times harsher than this. Enemies lurked in every shadow. Even with power like mine, I fought every day just to eat. To live. To not become someone's slave—or worse, someone's meal."
He smiled faintly, the expression laced with both pride and weariness. "Becoming part of the system… what you might call an NPC, was my salvation. It stripped away my freedom, yes, but also my fear. Now, I live without hunger, without the terror of dying nameless in the dark. For me, that's more than enough."
Ethan was silent. For the first time, he saw not a barkeep but a survivor. A powerful being who had traded freedom for peace—a choice Ethan himself might one day face.
He finally spoke, voice low. "Even someone like you would rather serve than fight. That says a lot about how cruel your world must've been."
The bartender met his gaze, and for a fleeting instant, the faint aura of something knowing flickered behind his eyes. "You'll understand one day," he said.
Ethan's attention drifted toward the glowing crystal ball in the center of the square. Inside it burned a fiery number—counting down slowly. "That number. The one burning in the crystal ball. What does it mean?"
The bartender smirked, extending an open palm. "Information has a price. Five Survival Coins. System rule."
Without hesitation, Ethan pulled five coins from his pocket and placed them on the counter. The sound of metal on wood echoed softly.
"The number," the bartender began, voice taking on a more solemn tone, "marks the end of the time limit. Now that you've discovered the novice village, the system's restrictions on the zombies trapped in Havenstead City's and other Novice Villages will vanish in twenty-four hours."
Ethan's expression darkened.
The bartender continued, "When that happens, they'll roam freely across the world, driven by instinct alone. Their evolution restraints will be lifted as well. Within days, they'll grow faster, stronger, deadlier. Hunting them will become ten times harder than before—and the danger will rise with every passing sunrise."
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming faintly with amusement. "Let me give you a little clue for free," he whispered. "You don't actually believe only humans turned into zombies… do you?"
Ethan's pupils shrank. Images flashed through his mind—beasts, birds, maybe even other races infected by that same plague. He realized the true horror of what awaited outside these safe walls.
The bartender's words echoed in Ethan's ears long after they stopped. A chill ran down his spine, cold enough to seep into his bones. For a brief moment, he forgot to breathe.
His mind raced. If even the zombies had restrictions on their evolution… then what would they become once those were lifted?