Eric took a deep breath and casually picked up a sausage from the campfire.
A few bites later, his health bar was fully restored.
Bones that had been snapped back into place fused together as if by magic. Wounds knitted shut, and his ghostly pale complexion gradually returned to a healthy pink.
Eric instantly felt the tension melt away.
Only then did he notice the newly unlocked Title System.
Right now, there was only one lonely entry sitting in the interface: "Ghoul-Slayer."
He focused on it and noticed an option labeled "Equip."
[Once equipped, certain perceptive individuals or unique beings will be able to recognize your accomplishments at a glance. Your deeds will also spread more quickly.—Undeniable proof of your achievements.]
So... it's literally just a title. No stat bonuses, no abilities—nothing fancy.
Oh well. Not useless, at least.
Without overthinking it, Eric tapped "Equip" and turned his gaze to the mangled corpse of the ghoul.
Now that the evil spirit clinging to it had dispersed, it was just a twisted, desiccated husk.
Still… that thing was clearly an elite-type monster. Surely it dropped something worthwhile?
Time for everyone's favorite part—loot check.
He flipped the corpse over.
In the moonlight, several shiny objects sparkled back at him.
From the looks of it, this guy had once been a wealthy noble. Even in undeath, he was still draped in ornate jewelry and burial trinkets.
"The evil has been banished. May you rest in peace."
Eric murmured respectfully—mostly out of habit—before casually looting everything of value and tossing it into his inventory.
His first real haul since arriving in this world.
The jewelry looked high-quality and might fetch a decent price.
For now, he stuffed it all into his bag. Once the sun rose, he'd lay them out to soak up some sunlight—just in case there were lingering curses.
That was something he vaguely remembered from the source material. Probably worth a try.
Once the looting was done, he turned his attention to the ancient sword lying on the ground nearby.
As he picked it up, a description popped into view:
[Ancient Tomb Sword · Attack +4]
...That was it. No special traits, no abilities. Just that.
"Seriously? That's all?"
An elite mob drops a weapon with the same attack power as a stick?
Granted, when the ghoul had been swinging it, the blade definitely packed more punch—and came with a nasty withering effect too.
So what happened? Cleaned-up version = downgraded version?
Eric could only assume the ghoul's power came from a built-in curse, not the sword itself.
Disappointing, but hey—it was still a real metal sword. Better than nothing.
He shrugged and added it to his backpack. Might make a cool souvenir.
All things considered, it wasn't a bad night.
After tidying up and putting out the campfire, Eric hit the road again, guided by moonlight.
If ghouls were just hanging around near the main road, this was definitely not a place to linger.
On the other hand… maybe he'd made too much noise chopping trees. Or maybe that bright, cheery fire of his was basically a beacon for any lurking horrors.
A lone figure dashed down the moonlit road, agile and swift.
Time passed. The moon dipped, the sun climbed, and warm morning light bathed the land.
Eric eventually slowed to a stop, jogging up a small dirt hill.
At the top, he squinted into the distance—and there it was.
A town on the horizon.
Even though he'd never been there, the name surfaced instantly in his mind:
A flicker of emotion stirred in his voice.
At long last, other humans.
Eric hopped down the hill, pulled the jewelry from his bag, and laid it out in the sunlight.
After a few minutes, faint black wisps rose from the trinkets.
As the cursed energy evaporated, the dull jewels regained their luster.
Satisfied, he packed them away and moved on.
There's a saying: "The mountain looks close, but the journey kills the horse."
Eric didn't reach the town gates until what he now considered "late breakfast" time.
His first human encounter in this world began with a question.
A guard peered at him through a small window in the heavy wooden gate.
"Just an ordinary adventurer," Eric replied smoothly.
The man eyed him up and down, particularly curious about Eric's outfit—probably because it didn't match the local fashion at all.
"Strange clothes, but... we don't turn away adventurers around here."
The window shut with a dull thud.
Eric opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could say anything, the gates creaked open.
"Welcome, adventurer."
He gave the guard a polite nod and happened to glance at the man's status bar.
Same as his. A proper human.
"By the way," Eric asked, "do you know where I can find the Prancing Pony? I heard it's pretty decent."
"Straight ahead." The guard pointed down the road.
The walk wasn't long—at least compared to the trek he'd just made.
Soon enough, a building with a large hanging sign came into view. Carved into the wooden placard was a stylized image of a leaping horse.
The Prancing Pony, run for generations by the Butterbur family.
The place was lively even in the late morning, with patrons milling about inside.
Ignoring a few curious glances, Eric walked straight to the bar.
"Welcome! What can I get you?" the barkeep greeted him.
"A place to rest. Some food, too."
Then Eric looked down at himself.
His outfit was... not blending in. At all.
"And if possible... a change of clothes?"
The barkeep hesitated. That wasn't really part of the usual service.
Still, there was something about this customer—something that felt... out of the ordinary.
After a moment's pause, the barkeep cautiously replied:
"Well... I could arrange something, but it depends on what you're willing to pay. That's not a standard service, you understand…"
Eric placed an old-looking coin on the bar. Its sharp, metallic ring turned a few heads.
The barkeep picked it up, squinting in surprise.
"I... I'm not sure what this is worth, sir. Please wait—I'll fetch the owner."
Moments later, a middle-aged man hurried over.
He gave Eric a once-over, then turned his attention to the coin.
One glance, and his eyes lit up.
"Beautiful. Truly beautiful."
The innkeeper whispered, "It's only a silver coin, but look at that detail. This craftsmanship hasn't been seen in decades… Sir, are you sure you want to part with this?"
The coin's material wasn't rare—but its age, design, and historical significance gave it serious collector value.
The innkeeper grinned.
"You'll have our finest room, our best food and drink, and clothes made from the highest-quality fabric in Bree. I'll make sure everything is perfect."
He took some quick measurements and asked Eric about clothing preferences before heading out.
Soon, the barkeep returned with a large tray of house specials: roasted meats, hearty stew, fresh fruits, and a tall mug of frothy Galloping Horse Ale.
Delicious. Rich barley flavor with just a hint of sweetness.
He devoured everything in record time. His hunger meter jumped to maximum.
One full beer later, he was pleasantly buzzed—just enough for a minor "Tipsy" status effect: slight dizziness, no regrets.
Still under the effects of the buff, Eric made his way to the room, shut the door, and collapsed onto the impossibly soft bed.
He wasn't physically tired—this world's rules meant food kept his energy topped up—but some things were instinctual.
Lying down just felt better than standing around.
A gentle rapping on the door broke the silence.
"Sorry to disturb, sir. It's the barkeep. I've brought your clothes."
Eric opened the door and took the bundle.
"Please try them on and let me know if anything needs altering. We can get you a replacement if needed."
With a polite nod, the barkeep left.
Eric closed the door and changed.
When he finally looked in the mirror, he had to admit—
Aside from his softer facial features and jet-black hair, he looked just like a local.
The picture of a proper citizen.
A real-worlder, gone native.