Chapter 16
Written by Bayzo Albion
I sat in the corner of the tavern, tucked away from the raucous noise and flickering light, seeking solace in the shadows where the clamor of knights and their clinking mugs felt distant. The mug in front of me was empty, its contents long since drained, but I kept turning it in my hands, the smooth wood a grounding anchor against the storm of thoughts swirling within.
The voice came back then, hot and spitting, its cadence sharp and venomous, a thing that had exhausted its softer persuasions: "You're a whining sap. If you were in a book, they'd compost you for plot rot—a half-finished stump of a character, too spineless to seize what's offered."
It knew where to strike, as it always had, its talons digging into the tender places—fear of failure, fear of exposure, the low hum of shame that clung to me like a second skin, no matter how many sliders I adjusted in this world's interface. My jaw tightened, the old panic flaring for a beat, that sharp, useless animal instinct that wanted to leap, burn, and mend nothing, a reflex born of earthly insecurities I thought I'd left behind.
Then something more stubborn rose inside me, not valor in the heroic sense—no grand gestures or shining armor—but the dull steel of habit, the small, resilient muscles you build by saying no when everything, even your own desires, begs you to say yes.
"I don't care if some narrator would prefer a flashier cut-out," I told the darkness, my voice low but firm, a quiet rebellion against the demon within. "I'll be boring if I must. I'll be flawed, slow, stumbling through this world like a fool if that's what it takes. But I won't be a footnote in someone else's want, reduced to a pawn of fleeting urges. I deserve a life I can explain at the end of it, not an epitaph written by lust or carved in regret."
It was getting harder to hold myself together, the seams of my resolve fraying under pressure. My mind buzzed like a swarm of hornets, each thought a sting; my body burned from the inside out, a furnace stoked by desires I couldn't fully tame. Every breath was a flare, igniting needs I'd tried to bury. I wanted a woman—wanted her with the desperation of an addict aching for his next fix, the imagined rhythm of lips, skin, heat, and breath flickering before my eyes like a fever dream, cruelly vivid and just out of reach, taunting me with possibilities this paradise dangled so freely.
But even at the brink of madness, teetering on the edge of surrender, I couldn't lose control.
I opened the interface, its holographic glow materializing before me like a lifeline, its familiar pulse a reminder of my agency in this world. I navigated to the settings with practiced ease, my fingers moving through the air as if tracing runes.
*Parameter: Willpower.*
I dragged the slider all the way to the maximum, feeling a subtle shift as the system recalibrated my essence, reinforcing my resolve like steel poured into a mold. The fire within didn't vanish—it never would, not entirely—but it dulled to a manageable ember, no longer threatening to consume me whole.
"Are you serious?" The demon's voice slid back into my head, quieter now, almost tender, almost kind, a serpent cloaked in silk. "Do you really think someone's going to punish you for wanting to feel good? This world has no consequences, no judges waiting in the shadows. No one's watching, no one's keeping score. Here, you can finally be yourself, unshackled by guilt. Why turn down the paradise that's already yours, laid at your feet like a banquet?"
"Fine," I muttered, pushing back from the table, the chair scraping against the floor as I stood, determination overriding temptation. "You want a little passion? You'll get it. Just shut up and let me do this my way."
I stepped out of the tavern, the heavy door thudding shut behind me, muffling the laughter and clinking mugs.
I had no money left—every coin spent on food, wine, and tips for the angelic waitress—but I felt lighter, sharper, as if the emptiness in my pockets were symbolic, stripping me down to something essential, a core of self unburdened by material weight.
I drew in a deep breath, the cool air scraping my throat clean, washing away the lingering haze of ale and desire. No more drinking, I resolved. Alcohol opened doors I didn't want open, loosening the chains that kept the demon at bay, making its voice louder, bolder, more seductive. I needed it quiet, leashed, under control.
As long as I still had the strength to hold it, to wield my will like a blade against its whispers.
I had nowhere to go, the weight of the day settling on me like a sack of bricks, heavy but not crushing. My legs carried me through the dim streets, the cobblestones cool under my boots, until I found a quiet, forgotten alley—narrow, shadowed, and blessedly empty, a haven from the village's relentless vibrancy. Between two old barrels, their wood weathered and fragrant with aged wine, I dropped down and stretched out on the cool stone floor, the roughness grounding me in its simplicity.
My eyes closed on their own, heavy with exhaustion; I didn't even notice the moment they gave up, surrendering to the pull of rest. Sleep came almost instantly—warm and heavy, wrapping around me like the embrace of a woman I'd never lost, a lover from a life I could no longer recall. My body melted into stillness, tension draining away like water through sand. No dreams disturbed me. No thoughts intruded. Just a soft, floating calm, as if the whole world had pressed the pause button and left me to rest in its gentle silence.
But nothing lasts forever, not even in paradise.
> System: "Auto-Shelter engaged
I woke to the gold light of morning pouring through an open window, its rays warm and insistent, stirring me from my reverie. I wasn't on cold stone anymore but on a soft mattress, warm and yielding beneath my back, its comfort a stark contrast to the alley's austerity.
And then I saw it, dangling before my face like a forbidden fruit.
A pair of white underwear, delicate and weightless, shimmering faintly in the sunlight, so thin it might've been spun from air itself. The fabric caught the light in prismatic gleams, and a scent drifted from it—sweet, like peaches and honey, so thick it felt almost drinkable, a heady elixir that stirred senses I'd fought to subdue.
My body reacted before my mind could catch up, a sharp, treacherous rush of heat coursing through me, my pulse quickening, muscles tensing as instinct surged forward, urging me to reach out. The demon's voice stirred faintly, a whisper of encouragement, but I held it at bay, my willpower slider still humming at maximum.
Then my gaze lifted, reaching her face, and everything in me stopped, the fire doused by a sudden wave of clarity.
Her body was that of a grown woman—graceful, confidently proportioned—and her face, though gentle, belonged to someone at least twenty. The dissonance was innocence, not youth. Too soft, too gentle, too innocent, with wide eyes and a guileless smile that spoke of youth unmarred by the world's shadows.
It was like seeing two people stitched together: desire and purity, side by side in a jarring contradiction that hit me like a bucket of cold water, quenching the heat before it could consume me.
I froze, the rush of blood still burning in my veins but fading, cooling under the weight of awareness, my mind reasserting control.
"Sorry," I muttered, forcing a crooked smile to mask the turmoil within. "But I'm not looking to spend the rest of eternity in a paradise prison, chained to fleeting impulses."
She blinked at me, confusion clouding her delicate features. "What are you talking about, Northman?"
"Probably the ale," I lied, rubbing my temples with exaggerated weariness, as if the remnants of last night's indulgence were to blame. "Guess I'm still drunk, rambling nonsense."
"In the Middle Ages, girls married at thirteen or fourteen, and no one screamed about morality," my inner demon sneered, slipping into the moment without invitation, its voice dripping with derision. "You're clinging to outdated scruples in a world that doesn't care. Loosen up, hero."
"Oh, you bastard!" I barked silently, clenching my jaw to keep the words from spilling out. "I thought you'd vanish once I sobered up! Why are you still squatting in my head? Get out! Go haunt someone else, you useless parasite, and leave me to my choices!"
The girl's eyes widened, her delicate frame tensing as she took a cautious step back, her gaze flickering with wariness. "Are you… a spirit summoner?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion. "Do you always talk to ghosts, muttering to the air like that?"
"Some secrets are better left unexplained," I said quickly, forcing a crooked grin to cover my embarrassment, my heart still racing from the internal battle. Then I tilted my head, steering the conversation to safer ground. "By the way, why are you dressed like that? Everyone else here looks ready to join a convent, draped in robes and modesty."