Chapter 14

The next morning, as I sat down for breakfast, I decided to take a rather bold step. The storage stone was practically brimming with the spoils from my recent adventure, but one particular item had been tugging at the back of my mind since I'd harvested it: the strange, glowing organ from the beast I'd killed. I had no idea what it was or what it might do, but it pulsed faintly with an otherworldly blue light, practically daring me to try it.

As I pulled it out and set it on the stone stove, I couldn't shake the feeling that this was either going to be an absolute breakthrough or a colossal mistake. The organ looked like something out of a nightmare—soft, fleshy, and alien, the glowing blue hue making it seem alive even after I'd harvested it. I frowned, staring at it for a moment longer before a thought crept into my mind: What if I just ate it raw?

I mean, worst-case scenario? I'd spit it out. Best-case? Well, who knew? I'd never been one to shy away from a risk, especially in this world where it seemed like everything from magical runes to deadly monsters held secrets that could be game-changers. And besides, I could always cook it if raw turned out to be a mistake.

So, I cut a small piece from the organ—just a sliver, really—and hesitated for a moment. It felt wrong, like eating something that wasn't meant to be touched, let alone consumed. But before I could talk myself out of it, I popped it into my mouth.

At first, I regretted it instantly. The taste was… indescribable. It was like eating a mixture of rotten fish and something vaguely metallic, with a texture that felt like chewing rubber. My instinct was to spit it out, but just as I was about to, something shifted.

The taste—no, the experience—suddenly transformed. A surge of energy hit me like a freight train. My entire body felt like it had been plugged into an electric socket. The strange flavor disappeared, replaced by an overwhelming sense of vitality, like every cell in my body was waking up from a deep sleep. My heart pounded in my chest, but not from fear. It was as if I'd suddenly become hyper-aware of everything—my pulse, my breath, the faint sound of wind outside the shop.

But then, something else happened.

I glanced down at my skin and noticed that black, foul-smelling muck was oozing from my pores. It was like all the toxins and impurities in my body had decided to evacuate at once, and the smell— not good, the smell was horrendous. It was like a mixture of sulfur and rotting garbage, and I recoiled from the stench, feeling an overwhelming need to wash it off immediately.

Without thinking, I reached for the water rune I'd inscribed earlier and activated it. A burst of cool, cleansing water erupted from the rune, washing away the muck. I scrubbed at my skin furiously, desperate to rid myself of the filth that clung to me. The water felt like a blessing, and once the black goo was gone, I took a deep breath, feeling like I could finally think straight again.

But that wasn't the end of it.

As I cleaned myself off, I caught sight of my reflection in the small, cracked mirror I kept on the wall. I blinked. Then blinked again. Was that… me?

I looked younger. Not drastically, but definitely younger. The crow's feet around my eyes had softened, the small wrinkles that had been forming on my forehead were almost nonexistent, and my skin—well, it glowed. Not in the literal, magical sense, but there was a vitality to it that I hadn't seen in years. I ran a hand over my face, feeling the smoothness of my skin, the lack of any blemishes or imperfections. It was like my body had hit the reset button.

I stared at my reflection for a long moment before turning back to the glowing organ on the stove. There was still a lot left of it, and after what just happened, I couldn't help but wonder what more it could do.

Taking a deep breath, I sliced off another small piece and ate it, bracing for the same experience. And sure enough, the process repeated. Another wave of energy surged through me, though not as intense as the first. More black muck oozed from my skin, though this time it wasn't as thick, and the foul smell wasn't as overpowering. I used the water rune to wash it away again, feeling cleaner and more refreshed with each bite.

It was like shedding layers of grime that had built up over years, both physically and, strangely enough, mentally. I could feel my body rejuvenating, healing from the inside out. Any lingering aches and pains from past battles were gone. Even the small scar on my forearm from a previous fight had vanished, the skin smooth and unblemished as if I'd never been injured.

I kept going, taking small bites, each one bringing another rush of energy, another round of detox. Eventually, though, I reached a point where my body felt… clean. There was no more muck, no more impurities being forced out. Instead, I just felt strong. Stronger than I'd felt in years—maybe stronger than I'd ever felt, period. My muscles felt lean and powerful, my senses sharper than they'd been since I first arrived in this world. And there was a lightness in my mind, too. Like the fog of stress and anxiety that had been weighing me down had lifted.

I sat back, staring at the last bite of the organ on my plate. I wasn't going to eat it—not yet. There was no need to push things further. For now, I'd done enough.

I looked down at my hands, flexing my fingers experimentally, marveling at the way they felt—alive, powerful. I felt like I could run a marathon, fight a monster, or lift a mountain. The energy coursing through me was intoxicating, but it wasn't overwhelming. It felt balanced, like I was finally in sync with my own body.

But the real question was: what exactly had I just eaten? Was this something I could use again? Could I store the effects for later? I made a mental note to research the organ more. If this kind of energy boost was repeatable, I might have stumbled onto something incredibly valuable. Maybe that was why the beast had been so powerful in the first place—whatever magic it possessed had been stored in this strange organ.

As the day wore on, I found myself almost laughing at the absurdity of it all. Here I was, feeling like a superhuman, after eating some bizarre, glowing organ that had nearly made me gag at first bite. And yet, I couldn't deny the results. I was healthier, stronger, younger, and every inch of my body felt like it was working at peak efficiency.

For a few more days, I kept up my usual routine—fixing junk, selling repaired goods, and occasionally indulging in the strange blue-glowing organ from the creature I'd killed. The effects of that thing were undeniable, but it was starting to get to me. Each time I took a bite, I felt stronger, faster, healthier—hell, I even looked better. My skin had cleared up, the bags under my eyes had disappeared, and I was convinced I'd shaved a few years off my appearance. But it wasn't just physical. Mentally, I was sharper than ever. I could feel it, that edge, like my brain was firing on all cylinders.

Still, despite all that, something was bothering me—itching at the back of my mind. The next step. What was I really doing here, beyond patching up broken pottery and old leather boots for a handful of coins? Sure, I was improving myself, but what was the long game? I knew I couldn't just stay here forever, playing craftsman while the world outside moved along without me.

The library had been useful, sure, but there were gaps—intentional gaps. It was almost as if they didn't want people to know too much. Conveniently vague when it came to the land beyond the city walls, or even the city itself. It was clear that the rulers knew more than they let on, that much was obvious. But why was everything so hush-hush? The thought of it gnawed at me, especially now that I was stronger, fitter, and had a head full of ideas. Maybe it was time to take a risk, to move up in the world.

After finishing my work for the morning, I closed the shop as normal. Half a day was enough for my little business—besides, I had other plans. Plans that involved taking my "rich guy" disguise to the next level.

I headed back to the junk clothes shop where I'd found that torn-up tunic the last time. The one that, with some carefully applied rune work, I'd repaired and turned into something that could pass for upper-class attire. It had worked so well, I figured why stop at just one outfit?

As soon as I stepped inside the shop, the woman behind the counter—an older lady with a face like a dried-up lemon—recognized me immediately. She crossed her arms and looked at me with the same bemused expression she had the first time I'd come in.

"Back again, are you?" she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Still wasting your money on ripped rags? Thought you'd learned your lesson the first time."

I grinned, because frankly, I couldn't be bothered to correct her. Let her think I was a fool. What mattered was that I knew exactly what I was doing.

"Yeah, I must have a thing for ruined clothes," I replied, trying to sound nonchalant. "Got any more of those high-society throwaways? The ones that've seen better days?"

The woman snorted but didn't argue. She led me to the back of the shop, where more heaps of discarded finery lay. Torn silk tunics, shredded cloaks, boots that looked like they'd been through a war, and belts missing their buckles. Perfect.

After haggling with her for a bit—because, let's be honest, I wasn't about to let her overcharge me again—I left the shop with an armful of tattered high-end garments. The woman shook her head as I walked out, probably convinced I was the town's biggest idiot. But I didn't care. I knew what I was going to do with them.

Back at my shop, I spread the clothes out on the workbench and got to work. I'd gotten a lot better at rune crafting over the last few weeks, and this time, I wasn't just going to repair the clothes. I was going to enhance them, make them better than they'd ever been.

First, I took the torn tunics and cloaks and used the repair runes I'd inscribed on a wooden board. Carefully, I placed each garment on the board, running my hands over the fabric as I envisioned them being restored to their original state. The runes glowed softly as they activated, the blue light spreading through the fabric like a living thing. Slowly, the tears mended themselves, the frayed edges smoothing out until the tunic looked as if it had never been worn.

But I didn't stop there.

Once the clothes were repaired, I added protection runes to the inside linings. Nothing too flashy—just enough to keep me safe from any would-be attackers. After all, in this city, looking rich could make you a target, and I wasn't about to walk around without some hidden defenses. These runes would repel minor physical attacks, deflect blades, and even offer some resistance to fire. Runes of subtle protection, unseen but powerful.

When I was done, the clothes looked pristine—better than they'd ever been when they were new. I tried on the tunic first, followed by a long cloak that had originally been slashed in half. Now, it hung perfectly from my shoulders, the dark fabric flowing with every movement. I added the boots I'd repaired earlier, and when I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.

Gone was the scruffy craftsman who'd been scraping by on fixing junk. Now, I looked like someone important—someone who belonged in the upper levels of the city. And more importantly, I looked like someone who could walk into those high-end shops and not get tossed out.

The next morning, I woke up before dawn. I could hear the city stirring as delivery carts rolled through the streets, and the early risers were already opening their shops. I dressed slowly, savoring the feeling of the new clothes. They were comfortable, yes, but there was something more to it—an unspoken power that came with looking the part. People would see what I wanted them to see.

By the time I stepped outside, the city was coming to life. The scent of fresh bread wafted through the air from the nearby bakery stalls, and deliverymen were busy hauling crates of goods. The soft glow of magical lanterns still illuminated the streets, casting long shadows across the cobblestone pathways. The sun was barely above the horizon, but the city never truly slept, and the early hours were filled with a quiet buzz of activity.

I made my way through the lower levels, my footsteps echoing in the narrow alleyways. As I passed through the marketplace, I noticed the way people looked at me now—curiosity mixed with respect. Even the women, who were typically guarded and reserved, gave me sidelong glances as I walked by. It was strange, how much difference a set of clothes could make. I wasn't just another face in the crowd anymore. I was someone.

I decided to spend the entire day wandering around the upper levels of the city, getting a real feel for how things worked up there. The last time I ventured into this part of town, I'd been so focused on armor that I didn't take the time to explore. But today, I had time—time to observe, to interact, and to see just how far this new appearance could get me.

As I made my way through the bustling streets, the differences between this upper level and the lower city became even clearer. Here, everything seemed polished, clean, and orderly. Shops were larger, more luxurious, their wares proudly displayed in ornate windows. People walked with purpose, their clothes finer, their posture straighter. I blended in perfectly, thanks to my carefully repaired rich clothing. The protective runes I'd hidden within the fabric weren't just for show, but the truth was, I didn't need them up here. My new appearance gave me a different kind of shield.

The first shop I entered was an upscale jewelry store, filled with glistening gems and intricately carved metals. As I stepped inside, I felt the eyes of the shopkeeper and his assistants turn toward me, curious but respectful. They saw the tunic, the cloak, the way I carried myself. I wasn't some commoner they could dismiss. I was someone they needed to impress.

One of the shop assistants, a young woman with long dark hair pinned up in delicate twists, approached me with a practiced smile. She was beautiful, no doubt about that, but it was the way she carried herself that caught my attention—elegant, poised, but with an underlying sharpness. This wasn't some naïve girl; she knew exactly how to handle wealthy customers. I'd seen this before in the women I'd talked about in my podcasts—women who knew how to play the game, who could read a man's status and adjust their approach accordingly.

"Good morning, sir. Is there something you're looking for in particular?" she asked, her voice smooth and professional, with just the right amount of warmth.

I gave her a small smile, playing along. "Just browsing for now. I like to take my time before making decisions."

She nodded, her eyes flicking over me with an appraising glance. I could see it—the quick calculation she was making. In her mind, I was someone important, or at least wealthy enough to deserve attention. And it was fascinating to watch her adjust her behavior accordingly.

As she led me around the shop, explaining the different pieces, I found myself thinking about the principles I'd always preached in my podcasts. The idea that women naturally gravitate toward the top percentage of men—it wasn't just a theory. I could feel it in real-time, right here. The way she looked at me, the subtle shifts in her tone, the way her posture changed as she spoke—it all screamed that she saw me as someone worth her time, someone who might be able to elevate her in some way.

I had always known it intellectually, had spoken about it countless times, but now I felt it in a more visceral way. This was what it was like to be on the other side, to be in that top percentage of men. Of course, it wasn't just about looks, though I had to admit that my youthful, clean appearance certainly helped. No, it was more about status—or at least the appearance of it. Up here, I was playing the part of someone who belonged, and people responded accordingly.

Flirting came easily, almost naturally, as if the transformation in my appearance had brought with it a newfound confidence. I commented on how the gems caught the light just right, made a few offhand jokes about my "terrible" sense of style, and watched as the young assistant laughed and smiled, leaning just a little closer each time. Her male relative—probably the shopkeeper—stood behind the counter, watching us carefully. But he didn't intervene. Why would he? To him, I was just another rich customer, maybe even a potential benefactor.

As I moved from shop to shop, the pattern repeated itself. Women—whether they were shop assistants, servers in the nearby cafes, or even just passersby—looked at me differently now. I wasn't invisible anymore. I could feel their eyes on me, and every now and then, I'd catch a smile or a lingering glance. It was flattering, sure, but it was also instructive. I was seeing, firsthand, the truth behind what I'd always talked about: women are drawn to status. They can sense it, feel it, and when a man looks like he has it, they pay attention.

By the time I stopped for lunch, I was starting to get used to this new dynamic. I found a small cafe near one of the fancier squares, its tables draped in fine linens and its menu written in elegant Latin script. I ordered something simple—a glass of wine and some bread—and settled in to watch the people passing by.

As I sat there, sipping my wine, I couldn't help but think about the power dynamics I'd observed throughout the day. It was fascinating, really. In the lower city, life was rough, straightforward. People worked hard, spoke plainly, and the interactions were based on what you could do, not how you looked. But up here? Everything was a game. A subtle dance of appearances, of status, of wealth. People didn't say what they meant; they hinted at it, suggested it, played coy until they had the upper hand.

And the women? They were at the center of it all. They understood the game better than anyone, knew how to leverage their beauty, their charm, their connections. In some ways, it was refreshing to see. There was no pretense of equality here—no one pretending that life was anything other than a competition, a struggle for power, for influence, for survival at the highest level.

But it was also dangerous. Because once you started playing the game, there was no going back. I could see how easy it would be to get sucked into it, to start believing that the clothes, the money, the attention were the only things that mattered. That as long as you looked the part, you could control everything around you.

And maybe, just maybe, I could get used to that.

As the day wore on, I continued exploring, interacting with more shopkeepers, assistants, and patrons. Every conversation was an opportunity to learn, to observe. The men were mostly concerned with trade, with wealth, with maintaining their status. The women, on the other hand, were more subtle, more calculated. They played their roles perfectly, always keeping one eye on the social ladder, always looking for the next rung.

At one point, I found myself in a particularly upscale shop, examining a set of finely crafted gloves. The young woman assisting me—another sharp, clever type—was clearly interested in more than just selling me a pair of gloves. She dropped hints about the city's social circles, mentioned a few upcoming events that "someone like me" might enjoy, and even suggested that I could meet some "important people" if I knew the right places to be.

I couldn't help but smile at the irony. Here I was, an outsider in every sense of the word, and yet, because I looked the part, I was being invited into the inner circles of power and influence. It was almost too easy.

By the time the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the city, I had a much clearer picture of how things worked up here. The upper levels were all about appearances—about wealth, status, and the constant, unspoken competition to stay on top. The men were protective of their positions, and the women… well, they were experts at navigating that world, always looking for an advantage.

As I made my way back down to the lower city, I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. I had played the game today, and I had played it well. But I also knew that this was just the beginning. The real challenge would be figuring out how to use what I'd learned, how to turn this new understanding of the city's social dynamics into something tangible.

And with each passing day, I was getting better at it. I could get used to this.

Back in the comfort of my shop, I slipped out of the rich clothing that had allowed me to blend seamlessly into the upper echelons of society. While it felt nice to be treated like someone important—someone who belonged—it wasn't who I was. Not yet, anyway. Here in my simple work clothes, I could at least breathe. I'd gotten used to being a craftsman in this world, and it had its advantages, like staying unnoticed, moving quietly under the radar.

In my past life on Earth, being "important" had been easy. My name, my reputation as a controversial psychologist, had done all the heavy lifting. People either loved or hated me, but they knew who I was. Here? The dynamics were more... dangerous. Reputation alone wouldn't protect me from the sharper edges of society. No, if I wanted to play in the upper levels, I'd need more than wit and charm. I'd need wealth, real wealth, the kind measured in gold and silver—not the copper coins that I was currently dealing with.

The realization hit me that if I wanted to move up in this world, I couldn't just look the part. I'd need to be rich, or at least seem convincingly close to it. And rich people didn't run shops like mine in the lower city. They flaunted their success on the higher terraces, with bigger, grander stores. If I was going to go head-to-head with the elite, I'd need to move my shop to the upper level. But that required serious money. Not copper. Gold. Silver. The currency of power.

But I wasn't rich. Not yet. What I did have, though, was potential—a fact I reminded myself as I looked around at the various items and tools scattered across my workbench. No one in this city, from what I'd seen, could work with runes the way I could. Runeweaving was my trump card, my edge. Take my inventory stone, for instance. It was frozen in time, a masterpiece of rune engineering. I'd seen inventory devices in the upper levels—they existed, sure—but they were ridiculously expensive, the kind of thing only a few could afford. These people weren't dealing in copper like I was. Their transactions were in gold and silver, the true currency of the upper levels.

If I could find a way to sell my creations, to slip them into the right hands without drawing too much attention, I'd have my ticket into their world. But I couldn't go in guns blazing, making too big a splash. That would attract all the wrong kinds of eyes—eyes that might wonder how someone like me, someone new and relatively unknown, was rising so fast.

I leaned back, my mind racing, as I remembered a conversation with one of the shop assistants earlier. She had mentioned something about an auction house, a place where people—wealthy people—brought items to sell, discreetly, for high prices. It wasn't just a market for the rich; it was their playground, where they could buy and sell with a degree of privacy. Perfect. It would be a way for me to sell my most valuable creations without drawing too much direct attention to myself.

I grinned. This could work. I'd look the part, bring a few high-quality items, and blend right in.

But first, I needed to make some things that would sell. I couldn't bring my personal inventory stone—that was far too valuable. Instead, I'd make some simpler inventory devices, the kind I'd seen in the upper city. Nothing too extravagant, but functional, impressive, and certainly better than most of what was on the market. I could design them in the shape of bags—simple, practical. They wouldn't hold as much as mine, but that was the point. It had to seem believable. If I showed up with a bag that could hold a mountain, questions would be asked.

I got to work, crafting with a precision that had become second nature. Using the same rune sequences I'd developed, I etched them into the leather bags, shaping the enchantments to control time and space within. By the time I was finished, I had a handful of them—beautiful, efficient, and marketable. They could fetch a good price.

Next, I turned to the real masterpiece I wanted to bring. The monster I'd killed out in the wilderness had left me with valuable materials—scales, hide, and bone that I knew could be enhanced with the right runes. I spread out the massive beast's scales across my workbench and began infusing them with defensive enchantments, layering protection upon protection. Each scale became a piece of armor, and as I worked, the once ordinary material transformed into something far stronger—capable of withstanding both physical attacks and low-level magic.

It was exhausting, but when I finally stepped back, I admired what I'd created: a full set of armor, intricately detailed and humming with latent power. The scales gleamed faintly under the dim light of my shop, their surfaces now reinforced with runes that were nearly invisible unless you knew where to look. It was a thing of beauty. This armor wasn't just protective—it was a status symbol. Anyone wearing it would look the part of a warrior elite. That, I was sure, would turn heads at the auction.

I packed everything away into my inventory stone, leaning back against the workbench with a satisfied grin. Tomorrow, I'd head to that auction house. I'd walk in looking like one of them, sell my wares at high prices, and walk out with a lot more gold than I had now. But more than the money, it would be a step up. A step into their world.

As I closed up shop for the night, I couldn't help but feel a thrill of anticipation. Tomorrow could be big. Potentially life-changing, if I played my cards right. And while I knew I wasn't invincible, I felt a surge of confidence I hadn't felt since coming to this world. Everything I'd done up to this point had been leading to this.