The dirt path is widening and trees are getting thinner, as the Damian and the team of adventurers are walking through jungle to reach the town , his spear rapped behind his back with a rope he made. His clothes, still the same old jeans and shirt from Earth.
stained with dirt and blood. And With these clothes He stood out like a sore thumb among the leather armor and cloaks of his companions.
Then he saw it.
A town.
Not like a modern city of earth , but alive something different in its own way. Surrounded by sturdy stone walls topped with watchtowers, the settlement bustled with energy. The wooden gates were opened as the carts were rolling in and out, pulled by horned beasts that looked like oxen crossed with elk. Guards in chainmail and blue surcoats inspected travelers, their halberds gleaming in the afternoon sun.
Beyond the walls, Damian glimpsed, a tiled rooftops, narrow cobbled streets, and smoke rising from chimneys. Merchants called out to passersby, holding up wares from baskets and stalls. The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted meat, herbs, leather, and smoke. For a moment, Damian just stood there, struck dumb by the sight.
For the first time since his arrival in this world, he wasn't staring at endless wilderness. He was staring at a town.
"Welcome to Rivenstone," the young woman with the dented shield said with pride in her voice. "Our home base."
The guards at the gate gave Damian curious looks, their eyes lingering on his odd clothes, but they didn't stop him.because His companions vouched for him, and soon the group passed through the gates and entered the town properly.
Inside, the streets pulsed with life. Children darted past with wooden toys, their laughter mingling with the calls of vendors selling skewers of sizzling meat. Blacksmiths hammered at anvils, sparks flying. Adventurers in armor clanked past, some in groups, some alone, their weapons on display.
Damian's eyes drank it in, part wonder, part disbelief. So this is the other world. I think this world is in its medieval time period where people gather, trade, fight, live… He felt a pang of something deep in his chest. It was foreign, yet oddly comforting.
The adventurers led him to the largest building near the center of town: a tall, timber-and-stone hall with wide doors and the carved sign of crossed swords and a flame crest above them.
"The Adventurer's Guild," one of them explained. "It's where jobs are posted, where people register, where you can find anything from mercenaries to monster hunters. If you plan to survive here, this is the place to start."
The doors swung open, revealing a space that reminded Damian of every tavern scene he had ever seen in RPGs or fantasy films. The hall was noisy, crowded, alive. Wooden tables were packed with armored men and women drinking, boasting, or sharpening their blades. A giant quest board covered one wall, filled with parchment notices. Behind the long counter stood clerks in tidy uniforms, organizing lines of adventurers.
The adventurer team that had brought him in hurried forward to report their failed mission. When they explained how Damian had turned the tide against the wolves, a few heads turned in his direction.
"A stray beat a Redfang Alpha?" someone muttered.
"No way. Look at him, "he doesn't even have armor."
Damian ignored the stares, though he felt them burning against his back. He had no interest in showing off, not yet.
When the report was done, the group's leader turned to him. "You should get some proper gear. Clothes at least. Walking around like that… you'll draw too much attention."
She was right. Damian's shirt clung uncomfortably, stained with dirt and sweat, while his jeans, though tough by Earth standards were out of place here.
The market district stretched out across several streets, stalls and shops offering everything from fruits and cloth to weapons and potions. Damian followed the group until they split off, promising to meet him later.
At last, he stopped at a modest stall where bolts of cloth and finished outfits hung neatly. An older woman ran the shop, her eyes sharp as they flicked to his clothes.
"You're not from around here, are you?" she said bluntly.
Damian hesitated, then gave a half-smile. "Something like that. I need something… durable. Functional. Nothing too flashy."
She nodded knowingly, pulling out a dark tunic and a leather vest reinforced with stitching. "This will last longer than whatever strange fabric you're wearing. These trousers too. Try them."
Damian stepped behind a curtain, slipping out of his Earth clothes for the first time since arriving. The fabric of the new outfit was rougher, heavier, but sturdy. He tugged on the vest and adjusted the fit. When he stepped back out, the stall's polished metal plate caught his reflection.
It was jarring. He no longer looked like a lost man thrown into a fantasy world. He looked… like he belonged. A beginner adventurer, maybe, but someone ready to stand among them.
["Observation: Appearance adjusted. Local integration probability increased. Social risk factors reduced by 37%."]
Damian smirked faintly at the AI's words. "Guess I don't look like a tourist anymore."
He paid with a few silver coins given by the adventurers as thanks, folded his old jeans and shirt, and tucked them into his bag pack. A strange feeling welled up in him as he did like it that he was finally letting go of his old world, bit by bit.
As the sun began to set, the adventurers invited him to join them for a meal at the guild tavern.
"Hey," Damian would you like to eat dinner with us.
Damian hesitated at first, but the sound of laughter, the clinking of mugs, and the smell of warm food drew him in.
Yaa sure..
Then.Sitting with them, listening to their chatter and jokes, Damian felt something unfamiliar but welcome: belonging. He wasn't invisible here. He wasn't trapped in the monotony of late shifts and empty nights.
Here, in this new world, he had the power to create anything, and now, perhaps, a place to call home.