Kyle was only a little disappointed by what he saw. Thatched, wooden huts, with a stone watchtower in the town square. People in suitably medieval clothing walking around, most hauling wood onto a large wagon. Another wagon was unloading foodstuffs and cloth.

  Kyle watched as a few men in platemail wearing purple leggings and capes watched over the transaction.

  I thought purple was rare? Maybe it’s actually a common dye in this world, he thought. Must be a logging outpost. At least they have long-distance trade.

  A few children played in the streets. It was a decently large village, with about 30 structures, and a three-story tavern and caravan stop in the very center of the cobbled road that ran through the village.

  Kyle was a few hundred feet from the village proper when the villagers came to him. He noticed the soldiers stood out front, alongside a few grizzled-looking villagers holding large boar spears.

  Once he got closer, the leading soldier, one with a golden falcon decoration perched on his helmet, called out to him.

  “Well met there, traveler! Who are you and what brings you to the Woodsedge Pass?” Kyle quickly replied “I’m just passing through! I mean no harm!”

  They allowed him to come closer, and they gaped at his gleaming gunmetal gray armor.

  “Pardon my asking, you wouldn’t happen to be half-giant or troll, would you?” Kyle reached up and slowly unclasped his helmet. His dark tan skin felt sun for the first time in nearly a week, including the space combat, and his decently long black hair spilled out from under the helmet.

  They visibly relaxed upon the realization that he was just a human in thick armor. Wisely, Bariyon stayed silent and even suppressed the glow in his eyes.

  The leading soldier spoke again. “You can come in. Sorry for the hostility-your armor is rather intimidating, you must understand.” Kyle was glad these people were reasonable.

  The village was the same as it had appeared from the air. Bored-looking people, a few carts being loaded and unloaded with goods. He heard some grumbling about new wartime taxes, and others grumbled about the large meteor shower the previous night. General medieval peasant talk.

  Kyle didn’t even bother trying to enter the tavern. His armor was way too tall. Instead, he followed the lead soldier back to the wagon loading the lumber.

  The man turned to face him and started the conversation first. “What’s a man from Indor doing so far south?” Kyle assumed that Indor was some place with a similar demographic to his appearance. “Just exploring. I wanted to get away from it all, you know. Where are we in relation to the closest big city?” The man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I suppose the closest city would be Altrai, west of here following this road.” Kyle thanked the man and took one last look at the village.

  Welp. First civilization on this planet? Rather disappointing, to be honest.

  Kyle walked over to the tavern. Although the front door was much too small, he saw inside that the main bar room was tall enough to hold him. Walking around the side, he found a large double door that he could fit through. It seemed to have been added for inclusivity-it probably cost the owner little during the construction, but had allowed them to serve larger races later on.

  Kyle bent over a little and walked through the doors. Inside, it was nothing like a cliche fantasy bar or even a western saloon. It looked more like a diner that happened to serve alcohol.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The atmosphere wasn’t subdued, but it was still very quiet. Only the crunch of toasted bread or the clank of a spoon on a bowl could be heard. The patrons looked at him once, and simply looked back down at their food peacefully.

  His implants allowed him to make his Synthpaste taste like anything through modulation of the gustatory cortex. Despite that, he always endeavored to eat real food when possible. He felt that if the grey goop could taste like a five-course meal, why cook anything?

  Cooking was as human as sleeping, or having relations. One of the Orion League's tenets was the preservation of humanity in ways deeper than the physical.

  Kyle simply asked for a beer. While he didn’t drink, the drink might have held some flavor. The barkeep nodded and filled a wooden mug with some deep orange liquid. A sip later, Kyle was coughing just from the smell, even if he had turned every nerve in his mouth off in anticipation.

  With the burn of low-quality alcohol out of the equation, the barely noticeable flavor of the beer could actually be tasted.

  Kyle sighed, disappointed, and left out the double door again.

  Kyle could just tell that Bariyon was about to burst with all the random yap he was keeping in, so Kyle quickly walked away from the village and through the mountain pass.

  The evening winds and slowly darkening sky accompanied him out.

  “Well. Little has changed from my time, that I can see. Whatever happened to that ‘magi-lights in every home’ initiative? What a backwater town. Let’s get to this Altrai place quickly, hmm?” Kyle simply began to jog once again.

  He cut a striking figure moving across the plains. On this side of the mountains, the roads were in much better condition.

  He even saw a few wagons circled around a campfire some 30 miles in. How quaint, he thought. Most citizens of the league would give an arm and a leg to vacation here.

  Kyle jogged past them. He noticed the headman, a plainly dressed guy with a straw hat, looking at him like he was an idiot for jogging around late at night. The man shook his head ruefully and went back to watching for wolves or whatever.

  It took him about 2 and a half hours to reach the outer farmland that surrounded Altrai. He had seen a few fantasy ‘things’ on the trip. A horse-sized snake was the most interesting. It simply napped on a large rock far from the road in the distance. He could only see it because of his powerful built-in vision magnifiers.

  He had passed a few units of soldiers on horseback, and many wagons carrying various goods. Every single time, they had drawn their weapons on him, and he had to take his helmet back off and explain who he was.

  It was so annoying that he started to consider taking the armor off once he had some capital to buy a warehouse.

  If it was going to draw so much attention, it might be worth it. With his implants, he could still crush a man’s ribcage with a punch, and tear thin steel plating in half with his bare hands.

  He could deadlift a horse or a very small car, and his skin was actually a biological graphite-composite that could withstand anything less than a gunshot. It just looked and healed like real skin.

  That wasn’t even counting his myriad other advantages-his hugely powerful senses, his massively boosted cognitive speed, his tactical corneal AI implant, and dozens of other small but useful biotech.

  Including limited acid breath, and detonating the microreactor in his chest, powering his implants.

  Ok. That’s my goal-get money by doing adventuring or whatever, and buy a compound to start the Industrial Revolution from. Kyle had never been much of a planner, but it always helped to know the bigger idea.

  Bariyon had been mostly inactive due to the number of travelers Kyle had met, but chose that moment to speak up. “Do tell, young master Jessek, what is your long-term plan? It seems to me that whenever I wake up to check what’s occurred, nothing has happened. I will eventually need a place to perform my magic uninterrupted, you know.”

  Kyle then launched into a long-winded explanation of the Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, and the basics of gunpowder weaponry.

  As they approached the actual city gate, a 7-meter-tall edifice of gray stone, Bariyon chuckled. “This should be interesting. Don’t mess it up, boy!”