Alton approached the receptionist counter. The woman behind it—the chief's wife, he realized—offered him a warm, professional smile.
"We have rooms available," she said. "You can order anything on the menu. What will it be?"
"One room, please," Alton replied. "And whatever passes for a good hot meal."
"Of course. Second floor, farthest room on the right. That'll be payment first, if you don't mind."
Alton nodded. "Right. What currency do you use here?"
"We mostly accept Glac—the local coin. But we're flexible if the trade is fair."
He thought for a moment, then reached into his storage and pulled out several sharp mountain rabbit claws, teeth, and a few pristine white pelts. He laid them carefully on the counter.
"Will these do?"
The woman's eyes widened in surprise. She picked up one of the pelts, running her fingers over the thick, soft fur. "Goodness… this is more than enough. You could stay here for weeks with this kind of quality."
At that moment, the chief and Rose stepped back into the inn. Their eyes immediately locked onto the monster materials on the counter.
"Kid," the chief said, voice heavy with shock, "where in the frozen wastes did you get all of that?"
Alton shrugged with a small, tired smile. "Here and there. Some things I ran into on the way."
The chief exchanged a glance with his wife, then shook his head. "We can't take all of it. The pelts alone are more than enough for your stay."
Alton raised a hand. "Please, keep them. It's my thanks for letting me in and for healing my injury. I won't take no for an answer."
The chief opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. After a beat, he sighed and nodded. "Fine. You've got spirit, I'll give you that." He turned to his wife. "Get the boy a proper warm meal. The best we have."
The woman beamed. "Of course! You don't even have to tell me twice. Go on up to your room and rest. I'll bring dinner when it's ready."
"Thanks," Alton said. "I'll head upstairs then."
The room was surprisingly clean and cozy for what felt like a medieval-style inn. Thick wooden beams, simple but sturdy furniture, and a large window overlooking the endless white outside. Alton set his heavy bear-fur coat aside and sat on the edge of the bed. The blizzard outside still raged, though it seemed to have lost some of its earlier fury. The snow fell more gently now.
While he waited for dinner, he pulled out the book he had found in the dungeon—The Art of Magic—and opened it to the first page.
"Magic is not merely power," it read. "It is will and clarity of mind. Before you can shape the world, you must first master yourself. Calmness is the foundation of all true spellcraft…"
The words resonated more than he expected. He kept reading until a soft knock on the door startled him.
When he opened it, Rose stood there, cheeks slightly flushed from the warmth of the inn.
"Mom says dinner is ready," she said softly.
"Thank you. I'll come down in a moment."
She hesitated, then added, "You said your name was Alton, right? I'm Rose. It's… nice to meet you."
Alton offered a small, genuine smile. "Nice to meet you too, Rose."
He set the book down and followed her downstairs. The meal was hearty—thick stew, warm bread, and roasted meat—and far better than anything he had eaten since arriving in this world. After finishing, he returned to his room, flopped onto the bed for a while, then picked the book back up.
The night deepened quickly. Eventually, Alton set the book aside, crawled under the thick blankets, and closed his eyes. The distant howl of the blizzard outside felt strangely comforting now.
For the first time in this new world, he fell asleep with a full stomach and a roof over his head.