The Tavern

  John decides to aim for the tavern. There’s always a tavern.

  Sure enough, tucked near the square is a two-story building with a faded wooden sign swinging above the door. A mug carved into the wood reads:

  The Boar’s Tusk

  John sighs. “Finally! I'm starving.”

  He steps inside, and warmth immediately washes over him. The tavern is loud, filled with the rich scent of roasted meat and cheap ale. Firelight flickers along the stone hearth and every table is packed with villagers sharing meals.

  A heavyset man behind the bar eyes him immediately. His beard is wild, and his arms are thick as tree trunks.

  “Oi! New face.” The barkeep leans on the counter. “You lost, traveler?”

  John slides up to the bar, resting his elbows casually. “That obvious?”

  The man grins. “Aye. We don’t get many new faces out here.” He gestures toward John’s shirt. “I've never seen anything like that before.”

  John smirks. “Yeah. Limited edition.”

  The barkeep chuckles. “What’s your poison?”

  John freezes for a second. He has a look of indecision play across his face as the seconds tick by, the barkeep watching the battle play across John's face. He suddenly smiles and says.

  “Surprise me.”

  The barkeep raises an eyebrow but nods. Moments later, a wooden mug slams down in front of him. The liquid inside is dark, with a faint green tint. It smells vaguely like apples—and something stronger.

  John takes a careful sip. It burns, but not unpleasantly. His eyes close and he takes a deep content breath.

  As John sets the mug down, a soft voice cuts through the noise.

  “You don’t belong here.”

  He turns. At the far end of the bar, a woman sits alone. Platinum blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a calm, unbothered demeanor. She’s wrapped in a green cloak, but underneath, a white robe peeks out.

  John meets her gaze. “That obvious?”

  She takes a sip from her cup. “Painfully.”

  “Let me guess,” John leans forward. “I stand out like a troll at a tea party.”

  The woman chuckles lightly as she crosses the room to sit next to him. In a low voice that only John can hear she says. “That too. But I’ve seen enough adventurers to recognize one.”

  John blinks. “Adventurer?”

  She raises an eyebrow. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

  Before he can respond, the door swings open. A large man—easily six and a half feet tall—squeezes through the entrance. His beard is braided, and a heavy axe rests across his back.

  “Kaia,” the man booms, waving toward the woman. “I thought I’d find you here.”

  The woman—Kaia—nods toward John. “I was just making a new friend.”

  John looks up at the large man thinking he'd do well in the WWE, then getting irritated because it would always be WWF to him and that was clearly a stupid name change. Fuck some pandas.

  The large man plops down on the stool next to him, offering a hand. “Thorin Stonearsson. This one’s a handful, but she’s good company.”

  John shakes his hand, feeling the strength in Thorin’s grip.

  “John Bradford. New in town.”

  Thorin grins. “New, huh? Well, Bjornfell’s a good place to start. Especially if you’re looking for work.”

  Kaia tilts her head. “I’d wager you are.”

  John glances between the two of them. Alright… what's up with these two? Hopefully, they don't want a pool boy.

  John shudders and says " Maybe I am, I mean depending on the work I'm a married man I'll have you know and I am terrible at cleaning. Are you hiring"

  Thorin laughs. “Not us. But the woods outside town? Plenty of trouble lurking there.”

  Kaia’s eyes narrow slightly. “Enough to keep any adventurer busy.”

  John looks thoughtful and nods saying " I have a lot of questions and I need food can we get rooms and have a chat?"

  ***

  The room was small but comfortable enough. A single lantern flickered on the nightstand, casting soft shadows along the wooden walls. John sat on the edge of the bed, boots off, absently rolling one of the silver coins he’d looted from a wolf between his fingers.

  Kaia perched on the windowsill, gazing out at the quiet town of Bjornfell. Thorin sat cross-legged on the floor near the hearth, sharpening his axe with slow, deliberate strokes.

  “So,” John broke the silence. “Caelix wasn’t exactly a wealth of information. He just dropped me here and figured I’d... wing it. Care to fill me in on what I’ve gotten myself into?”

  Kaia’s expression softened, but there was a flicker of something—sorrow, maybe—in her eyes. She exchanged a glance with Thorin, who grunted but nodded for her to speak.

  “You’re not wrong to feel lost,” she began, folding her hands in her lap. “This world hasn’t been the same for a long time. Since before I can remember. The Grandfather’s absence changed everything.”

  John frowned. “Grandfather? What your gramps went to the store for milk and never came back?”

  Kaia and Thorin looked mortified at these words.

  “He was the greatest of the gods,” Kaia explained, her voice quiet. “The one who created this world and all of us within it. Long ago, he walked among mortals. Adventurers were his chosen, brought from other worlds to challenge the dangers that plagued ours. They were stronger—faster to grow than the rest of us. Some even became heroes of legend.”

  John leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And now?”

  Kaia shook her head. “He vanished. One day, he simply... left. No explanation. No farewell. And with him, the adventurers disappeared too. That was over twenty years ago.”

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  John sat up straighter. “Twenty years?” He glanced at Kaia, taking in her youthful appearance. “You don't look old enough to remember anything that long ago.”

  “I was a child when it happened,” Kaia said softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I remember the day well. My village held a festival every spring to honor the Grandfather. But that year, no one heard his voice during the ceremony. The temple priests called it a test of faith. By the next spring, the monsters started appearing in greater numbers. Crops failed. Towns grew quieter. And little by little... the world began to crumble.”

  Thorin grunted, still working on his axe. “The races pulled back to their own lands. Dwarves to their mountains. Elves to their forests. The bonds we once had unraveled. Without adventurers, there was no one left to hold back the darkness.”

  John let out a slow breath. “So let me get this straight—no adventurers, more monsters, and everyone’s just... keeping to themselves?”

  Kaia nodded. “That’s the world now. Towns like Bjornfell survive because the people here are tough. But we’re losing ground.”

  John twirled the coin between his fingers, letting the weight of it sink in. “And then I show up out of nowhere, dropped here by chuckles.”

  “You’re the first adventurer we’ve seen since the Grandfather left,” Kaia said, her gaze locking with his. “I don’t think that’s a coincidence.”

  John exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck. “Great. So no pressure, right?”

  A small smile tugged at Kaia’s lips. “If you are an adventurer, then maybe the world isn’t done fighting back.”

  Thorin set his axe aside, folding his arms. “But if you’re going to survive, you’ll need to get strong. This isn’t a game. There’s no room for mistakes.”

  John gave a dry laugh. “Trust me. I know. I have a family to get home to”

  Kaia’s expression softened. “We’ll help you, John. Whatever brought you here… maybe there’s a reason.”

  John met her gaze and nodded. “What can you tell me about this tournament Giggles mentioned?”

  Kaia with a serious look on her face says “It's called the Tournament of Ascension. It’s... complicated. And dangerous.”

  Thorin leaned forward, his voice low and serious. “The world's strongest warriors come together to fight for a chance to win a wish.”

  “So I’ve gathered,” John said, rubbing his chin. “Is there an entry fee? How do I get in?”

  Kaia nodded. “You need four Seals of Triumph to enter,” she explained. “They can be earned by slaying powerful creatures, clearing ancient dungeons, or dueling champions who already hold them. It’s not just a contest of strength—it’s proof you belong.”

  “And it’s not just about the seals,” Thorin added, his tone grave. “The gods watch this tournament closely. Winning could earn their favor... or their ire.”

  John tapped his fingers on the table, his brow furrowed as he absorbed the weight of their words. “And the wish?” he asked after a moment. “Is that real, or just some tavern myth?”

  “It’s real,” Kaia said softly. “The winner is granted one wish. Anything.”

  John’s expression hardened, determination flickering in his eyes. “That’s my ticket home.”

  Kaia offered a soft, sympathetic smile, but Thorin’s face grew serious. “Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Thorin warned. “Even with four seals, you’ll be up against the best fighters and mages in the land.”

  “Guess it’s time to change that,” John said, his voice steady and resolute.

  He downs the last of his ale, eyes burning with new resolve.

  John flopped onto the bed, stretching his arms behind his head. "Well, sounds like I’ve got my work cut out for me. Cue the 80s-style musical montage—time to train, level up, and save the world."

  Kaia blinked. "A... musical montage?"

  Thorin frowned. "Is that some sort of magic ritual?"

  John grinned. "Oh, absolutely. It’s ancient and powerful. Picture it—me running through the forest, wrestling wolves, maybe doing some push-ups by a waterfall while Eye of the Tiger plays in the background."

  Kaia tilted her head. "Eye of... what?"

  “Tiger. It’s a song. Real inspirational stuff. You had to be there.” John smirked, sitting up. “Man, you guys are missing out. The 80s were something special.”

  Thorin scratched his beard. "Is this '80s' another kingdom?"

  "Nah, it’s an era—back in my world. Big hair, synthesizers, and more action movie montages than you could handle. I mean, Rocky? Karate Kid? That stuff could teach you more about life than any book."

  Kaia’s brow furrowed further. "Rocky... sounds like a warrior?"

  John chuckled. "Sort of. More like a scrappy underdog who punches his way through life. Classic hero’s journey. You’d like him."

  "And the... kid of karate?" Thorin asked, sounding genuinely confused.

  John leaned forward, hands animated as he spoke. "Oh, that’s about a kid who learns to fight from an old guy who makes him wax cars and paint fences until—boom!—he’s winning tournaments with crane kicks."

  Kaia exchanged another glance with Thorin, who shrugged.

  "I feel like you’re making this up," she said carefully.

  John held up a hand. "Swear on my classic VHS collection, it’s all true."

  Kaia’s eyes flicked to the ridiculous smile he was still wearing. "I have no idea what you are saying."

  John laughed, lying back on the bed. "You know, I thought getting isekai’d would be all epic swords and prophecy. Instead, I’m stuck explaining 80s movies to confused adventurers."

  "Is-isekai’d?" Kaia repeated, testing the word.

  "Pulled into another world," John clarified. "Standard trope. Pretty sure this is the part where I get a magic sword or learn ancient techniques from a wise master."

  Thorin snorted. "The closest thing to a master in Bjornfell is Old Sven, and he mostly teaches people how to drink and throw axes."

  John grinned. "Sounds like my kind of mentor."

  Kaia just shook her head, half amused, half bewildered. "I think this training montage of yours might take longer than you think, John."

  "If its one thing I'm good at in RPGs is leveling and grinding," John replied, cracking his knuckles. "Bring on the wolves. Let’s see if this rogue can learn some new tricks."

  ***

  John stood over the small wooden washbasin, cupping water in his hands and splashing it over his face. The coolness shocked him awake, cutting through the haze that had settled in his head. He dragged his hand through his damp hair, leaning on the edge of the basin, staring at the rough reflection staring back at him in the water.

  "Well," he muttered, "At least I'm not an orc or some shit. In fact I've never looked better"

  His eyes followed the outline of his arms – leaner, more defined than they'd ever been. His biceps had that damn vein bulging he'd always wanted, and his chest… well, he wasn’t Thorin-level built, but it looked respectable. The slight softness around his middle that had been his constant companion for the past decade was gone, replaced by a flatness that still seemed foreign.

  He patted his stomach, frowning playfully. "Dragged into a fantasy world with magic and monsters… and still no abs. Figures."

  Turning away from the basin, John peeled off his Hawaiian shirt, now classified as armor somehow. He held it at arm’s length. It didn’t feel like armor, but the slight sheen along the seams hinted at something more. His jeans hadn’t fared much differently—[Sturdy Legwear]. They looked like normal denim but had resisted rips and scrapes that should’ve left him with nothing but rags.

  His boots, scuffed but intact, sat by the bed, now labeled [Well-Worn Work Boots – Reinforced Sole].

  John exhaled through his nose and sat on the edge of the bed. With a thought, he called up his character sheet. A translucent window flickered into existence in front of him, hovering silently.

  ---

  John Bradford – Level 2 (Rogue)

  Race: Adventurer

  Strength: 10

  Dexterity: 14

  Intelligence: 11

  Constitution: 12

  Skills: [Stealth I], [Lockpicking I], [Dagger Proficiency]

  Equipment Bonuses Applied

  He shook his head, a half-laugh escaping. "I’m really doing this."

  John dismissed the sheet with a wave, watching it fade. This was the kind of thing he used to dream about—reading books, playing games late at night, wondering what it would be like to live in those worlds. Now that he was here, the novelty hadn’t completely worn off, but reality was starting to creep in.

  He pulled his boots toward him and ran his thumb along the leather. The day’s dust was still there, along with a few scratches from their scuffle outside Bjornfell. Thorin and Kaia had gone to bed hours ago after their debrief by the fire. John had tried to play it cool in front of them, leaning on jokes and sarcasm like a crutch.

  But now, alone in the quiet, his thoughts drifted to the people he left behind.

  Sarah

  His wife’s face flashed in his mind—her warm smile that had softened over the years but never lost its kindness. She’d kissed him goodbye that morning. He hadn’t even looked up from his phone.

  Sander.

  His son, all grown now, probably wondering why Dad wasn’t picking up his calls.

  Rosie.

  His little girl is just five years old. He remembered her giggle as played games. She had wrapped herself around his leg that morning, demanding a piggyback ride. He had laughed and promised one later.

  John’s throat tightened.

  He rubbed his eyes, letting out a long breath. "I’ll find a way back. I have to."

  The gods of this world—at least one of them—had promised a chance. A tournament. A wish.

  It wasn’t much, but it was something.

  John lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling beams. His body felt different, but the weight on his chest hadn’t lifted. This world wasn’t just some grand adventure. As much as he had thought about how cool it would be some be in a LitRPG novel and be some OP main character that doing crazy shit. He never thought about what his family would be going through. Did they think he was killed or ran off? His daughter thought the world of him, she would be devastated.

  This world needed a hero. John was nobody's hero. He was a rogue and to see his family again he would steal, cheat, and murder to get back home. He would not play by the rules. He will find out the rules and break them.