A Month of Growth

Lennox awoke to the soft golden light filtering through his curtains, the familiar scent of aged wood, and faint traces of Emberbrew Ale lingering in the air.

He blinked lazily, his body feeling far different from when he had first arrived in this world a month ago. His limbs no longer felt frail, and there was a subtle but undeniable strength coiling within his muscles, a result of both the steady consumption of magical drinks and the slow but constant improvements to his physique.

He let out a deep breath, running a hand through his tousled hair as he lay there for a moment, staring at the wooden ceiling of his refurbished quarters.

Thirty days. A full month had passed since he found himself in Aetheris, taking over the body of the previous Lennox and inheriting the Mystic Tavern. At first, everything had been overwhelming—the strange world, the powerful adventurers, the looming threats of the unknown. But now, he had settled into a rhythm.

As he pushed himself up and stretched, a familiar chime echoed in his mind.

[System Notification: You have entered Month Two in Aetheris. Your progress is steady, but do not grow complacent. You have 11 months remaining to complete your Quest and upgrade the tavern to Level 2.]

Lennox smirked wryly. Even now, the system kept reminding him to push forward. Not that he needed the encouragement—he was more determined than ever.

His morning routine had become second nature to him now. Freshening up, having breakfast, then settling down at his mahogany desk to read and absorb as much knowledge about this world as possible. The more he learned, the more he realized just how vast and dangerous Aetheris was.

Power was everything here. Whether one wielded magic, chi, or supernatural abilities, strength dictated one's survival. And that realization had ignited something deep within him—a burning desire to step beyond mere knowledge and start carving his own path of strength.

His gaze drifted to the bookshelf and the heavy tomes stacked neatly on the desk across the room. Over the past month, he had consumed more knowledge than he ever had in his previous life. Politics, geography, mystical paths of power—everything he could get his hands on. Every morning, he would spend hours flipping through books, each revelation feeding his growing hunger for more.

But reading about power was one thing. Attaining it was another.

With a sigh, he rose to his feet and stretched once more before making his way downstairs.

Lennox had also been running the tavern for an entire month now, and to his satisfaction, it had grown steadily. In the beginning, only a few customers had visited—One-Eyed George and the adventuring party led by Roland Darnel being his first regulars. But as word spread, more adventurers and travelers found their way through his doors.

Unlike other taverns in Greywater, the Mystic Tavern offered something no other establishment could—magical drinks that strengthened the body, enhanced focus, and even granted temporary boosts in combat ability. At first, many doubted the claims, but once they had a taste, there was no going back.

Most patrons stuck to Emberbrew Ale, the cheapest drink at 50 silver per mug. But there were always those with more gold to spare who indulged in the pricier selection: Eluna's Nectar, Twilight Mirage, Infernal Emberwine, and Glacier's Kiss—each priced at one gold coin.

And then there was the hooded stranger.

A few days ago, a mysterious customer had entered the tavern, sat in the corner, and without a word, pointed at the Celestial Dew, a rare Rank Two drink. The system had priced it at one Rank-One magic beast core, an absurd amount equivalent to almost a dozen gold coins, yet the man had simply placed a magic crystal on the counter—a currency Lennox had not yet encountered.

The system had accepted the transaction, and the stranger left after drinking without a single word. That incident alone had proven that the tavern's reputation was beginning to reach powerful figures.

Now, after a month of steady business, Lennox had accumulated 2,700 gold coins in total sales—just barely over 10% of the 20,000 gold required for the tavern's second upgrade. Of course, the system had taken its usual 75% cut, leaving him with a personal profit of 675 gold coins.

Still, it was a significant amount. With that money, he had been able to afford a comfortable life, treating himself to a mug of Emberbrew Ale every now and then. The effects of the drink had been subtle at first, and now, he could feel the difference. His body was sturdier, his reflexes sharper, and his mind clearer than ever.

Lennox stepped behind the bar counter, casually opening the cash cabinet to check his balance. The neatly stacked gold coins gleamed under the soft glow of the tavern lanterns, a sight that never failed to bring a sense of satisfaction.

Roughly 600 gold coins remained—his hard-earned profit over the past month. Most of his earnings had been set aside for future investments, particularly the magic beast cores he would eventually need to upgrade the tavern.

Of course, not all of it had been untouched. He had spent around 75 gold coins over the month—mostly on his daily four mugs of Emberbrew Ale and minor expenses. The ale had proven invaluable, steadily strengthening his body and sharpening his mind. The small indulgence felt justified, considering the benefits it provided.

He exhaled, rolling a coin between his fingers before tossing it back into the cabinet with a soft clink. Progress was slow, but steady.

As he counted the remaining coins, a familiar presence entered the room.

Garrick.

The towering warrior strode in with his usual quiet efficiency, carrying a heavy sack slung effortlessly over one broad shoulder. His imposing frame cast long shadows across the wooden floor, and as always, his presence felt as steady and unshakable as the very foundation of the tavern itself.

Over the past month, Garrick had proven to be more than just an ally—he was a cornerstone of reliability. Whether it was handling supply runs, ensuring the tavern's security, or even preparing meals, the warrior executed every task with the same unwavering diligence. He never asked unnecessary questions, never sought praise—he simply got things done.

Lennox had come to appreciate this about him. In a world where people often sought recognition for the smallest contributions, Garrick moved with a sense of purpose that required no validation.

The warrior set the sack down with practiced ease, dusting off his hands before giving Lennox a brief nod.

"Everything's stocked?" Lennox asked, his voice light but expectant.

"Aye," came Garrick's simple, steady reply.

Lennox leaned against the counter, smirking. "I don't know how I got lucky summoning you, but you make my life ridiculously easy."

Garrick didn't respond immediately, simply adjusting the straps of his tunic. But just before he turned to head toward the kitchen, Lennox swore he saw a flicker of amusement in the man's eyes. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by the warrior's usual stoic expression.

Then, without another word, Garrick picked up the heavy sack and made his way toward the kitchen. Within moments, the sound of chopping, sizzling, and the steady clatter of cooking utensils filled the air, accompanied by the unmistakable, mouthwatering scent of searing wild meat.

Lennox inhaled deeply, the rich aroma of what should be charred venison infused with aromatic spices filling his lungs. As always, Garrick had hunted fresh meat from the wilderness instead of relying solely on market-bought supplies. It had become their unspoken routine—Garrick would handle breakfast, and Lennox would simply enjoy it.