An Unpleasant Feeling

The moment Kael pushed through the heavy oak doors of the Gilded Gryphon, a physical wall of sound and smell hit him. The place reeked of stale ale, old sweat, roasting meat, and the sharp tang of sawdust. It was a cavernous hall, lit by smoky torches that cast a flickering, greasy yellow light through the haze of pipe smoke.

His eyes, accustomed to the gloom, swept the room. This wasn't just a bar; it was an ecosystem of predators. Grizzled veterans with scarred faces nursed their drinks in the shadows. Fresh-faced kids, barely old enough to grow beards, excitedly showed off shiny new gear.

His gaze fell on a massive wooden board that dominated one wall, plastered with pieces of parchment. He moved closer, scanning the requests.

Rat Extermination in Duskvale’s Cellar. Reward: 2 Silver.

Escort Merchant Caravan to Stonebridge. Dangers: Goblins, Bandits. Reward: 2 Silver per head.

Wyvern Sighting in the Northern Pass. Proof of Kill Required. Reward: Negotiable.

So, it ranges from pest control to suicide, Kael thought wryly.

Sounds about right.

At the far end of the hall, behind a wide, scarred counter, sat a woman who looked as sturdy as the oak it was made from. A plaque identified her as Greta. She had sharp, intelligent eyes that could curdle milk with a single glare. Kael navigated the room, feeling uncomfortably thin and breakable, and stopped before her.

“Name?” she grunted, her eyes fixed on a heavy ledger.

“Kael”.

“Family name?”.

He hesitated. Ardyn. The name belonged to a ghost from another universe. It felt wrong in his mouth, a lie. “Just Kael”.

That made her look up. Her gaze traveled slowly over his thin frame and threadbare clothes, noting his complete lack of any weapon or gear. She snorted, a sound of pure, undisguised derision.

“No skills, no weapons, no armor. Just yourself,” she said, her voice dripping with scorn. “What do you plan on fighting with? Unpleasant feelings?”.

A familiar flash of anger rose in his chest, but years of dealing with condescending bosses had honed a sharp tongue he’d long since suppressed. Now, with nothing left to lose, it surfaced.

“I was hoping to start with rats,” Kael retorted smoothly, meeting her gaze. “And eventually work my way up to witty insults”.

A flicker of surprise crossed Greta’s face. A corner of her mouth twitched. She slammed a circular copper plate onto the counter. “Copper-rank. Lowest of the low,” she declared. “You take D-class quests only. Ten percent guild fee on all earnings. Lose your plate, it’s a silver to replace. Die, and we use your fee to pay someone to clean up the mess. Are we clear?”.

“Crystal,” Kael said, picking up the cool metal disc.

He was turning away when a heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder like an iron vice.

“Well, well. Look what the gutter coughed up,” a foul voice rumbled. Kael turned to face a mountain of a man flanked by two sneering cronies. “Fresh meat,” the man, Brolin, sneered, dangling his own silver adventurer plate. “Think you can just waltz in here and take jobs from real adventurers?”.

“I’m just looking for work,” Kael said, keeping his hands visible. “I’ll stay out of your way”.

“Not good enough,” Brolin shoved him hard, sending him stumbling back. The loud conversations in the hall quieted. This was a show. A dominance ritual. And he was the star.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” he said again, his voice flat.

“Too bad,” Brolin grinned. “Because you just found it”.

The first punch was a blur. The man’s steel gauntlet slammed into Kael’s gut with a sickening thud. The air exploded from his lungs as white-hot agony lanced through him. He collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach, his vision swimming with black spots.

This is how I die, a familiar wave of despair washed over him. Not from a ten-story fall, but from a random beating in a fantasy bar. The irony is staggering.

Brolin loomed over him, raising his gauntleted fist for another, likely more decisive, blow. Kael’s mind, oddly detached, started racing.

Physical laws. Cause and effect… But this world has dragons. This world has mana. What if the rules here are… negotiable?.

In that split second of utter desperation, as the fist began to descend, a thought, clear as a crystal bell, cut through the pain. He looked at the floorboard where Brolin was planting his foot to deliver the blow. He didn't think of a spell or an incantation. He just… imagined it. He focused on that patch of wood and imposed a new property on it with the sheer force of his will.

The concept of ‘friction’ on that one spot… is gone.

As Brolin lunged, his heavy boot came down and found no purchase. He slipped. Wildly. Utterly. His arms pinwheeled as his eyes went wide with shock, as if the laws of physics had personally betrayed him. He crashed to the floor with a deafening, undignified CLANG of armor.

Absolute silence fell over the Gilded Gryphon. As the hall stared, a violent, splitting pain shot through Kael’s head, as if his brain were splintering into a thousand pieces. A hot, wet trickle ran from his nose. He touched it with a trembling finger, his eyes widening at the sight of his own blood.

What… what was that? He hadn't summoned ice or created oil. He had changed a fundamental property of the world with a single, desperate thought.

Brolin scrambled to his feet, his face a purple mixture of fury and humiliation. “What did you do, you little freak?” he roared, drawing a short, ugly sword.

Greta’s voice cut through the tension like a razor whip. “That’s enough, Brolin”. She was standing now, her arms crossed, her expression lethal. “You started it. You lost it. Now sit your ass down before I bar you for a month. Again”.

Brolin hesitated, then spat on the floor and stomped back to his table with a final, venomous glare that promised retribution. The buzz of conversation slowly returned, but now it was laced with whispers. People were casting furtive, curious glances at Kael. He was no longer just fresh meat. He was a freak. An unknown quantity.

Kael forced his trembling legs to push him upright, his stomach a knot of searing pain and his head throbbing with a strange new ache. He met Greta’s gaze across the room. Her expression was no longer dismissive. It was sharp, calculating, and intensely curious.

Ignoring the stares, he walked toward the quest board. His hands were shaking. He had no idea what he had just done, or what price it would cost him. But for the first time since waking up in this impossible world, he wasn't just a victim.

He had a weapon. A strange, incomprehensible weapon born from his own mind. And he had absolutely no idea how to use it.