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The tavern's wooden doors creaked as I pushed them open, the smell of ale and roasted meat hitting me like a wall. It was dimly lit, with rough-hewn tables and benches filled with boisterous patrons.

My pajama pants and t-shirt definitely stood out amongst the leather jerkins and roughspun garments.

Ignoring the stares that felt like hot pokers on my back, I shuffled towards a dimly lit corner table, hoping to disappear into the shadows.

The tavern buzzed with life, a cacophony of clinking mugs, raucous laughter, and conversations about topics I didn't quite understand.

Rough-looking men with weather-beaten faces and calloused hands nursed their drinks, while women with bright smiles and even brighter dresses flitted between tables, refilling mugs and exchanging banter.

As I settled onto the hard bench, snippets of conversations began to filter through the background noise.

"-was a curse, some say the Witch's Cult was involved." a gruff voice muttered, followed by a nervous chuckle.

"-is utter nonsense, just a bad illness, nothing more." another countered, but his voice lacked conviction.

"-royal selection, can you believe it? Five candidates, each one more ambitious than the last!" a woman with a shrill voice declared, drawing nods and murmurs of agreement from her companions.

Slowly, a picture began to form.

The kingdom was in turmoil, the royal family wiped out by a mysterious illness, and now five contenders were vying for the vacant throne.

Each name was accompanied by whispers of alliances, betrayals, and hidden agendas.

Emilia, the half-elf, too naive but seeking equality.

Priscilla Barielle, arrogant and ruthless, but with powerful backers

Crusch Karsten, a skilled military leader, but cold and calculating

Anastasia Hoshin, a cunning businesswoman with a mysterious past

Why were none of them talking about the fifth?

The names swirled in my head, each a piece of a puzzle.

This royal was a powder keg ready to explode.

Well, It seemed I, in my ridiculous pajamas, was caught right in the middle of a regime change.

After about thirty minutes, a burly barmaid with arms thicker than my thighs approached my table, her face like thunder.

"You gonna order something, or just take up space?" she growled.

"Uh, actually..." I stammered, suddenly aware of the emptiness of my pockets. "Just enjoying the atmosphere."

Her lips curled into a sneer. "Atmosphere don't pay the bills. Out!"

With a rough shove, I was ejected back onto the cobblestone street. Great. No information, no money, and still wearing pajamas.

I needed a change of clothes, and fast.

Spotting a clothesline strung between two buildings, I quickly scanned the surroundings before snatching a set of clothes.

A fine tunic and trousers, much better than these damn pajamas.

As I slipped them on, a voice boomed behind me.

"Thief! You dare steal from me?"

Turning, I came face-to-face with a fuming nobleman, his hand gripping the hilt of a jeweled sword. Before I could even explain, the world dissolved into a whirlwind of pain as the blade sliced through me.

And then, I was back.

Sprawled on the ground, staring at the passing carriage.

But something was different.

I was no longer in pajamas. I was wearing the nobleman's fine clothes.

A strange sense of understanding washed over me.

My resets weren't just resetting time; they were resetting me to my best possible state.

that 'best possible state' thankfully included being pristine- no blood, no grime, no lingering evidence of my previous deaths.

The carriage continued its journey, the blonde noblewoman's gaze sweeping over me without a flicker of recognition.

This time, I wouldn't be caught off guard. This time, I wouldn't die.

This time, I wouldn't waste my opportunity. Knowledge was power, and I needed to learn everything I could about this world, this royal selection, and the forces at play.

First things first, I needed a plan. And perhaps, a drink.

Despite the reset, my throat felt parched, likely a phantom sensation from the many times I'd died from dehydration in that endless void.

First, I needed money.

I frowned, time to piss off the crowd and get killed again.

With a grimace, I grabbed the coin sack of a noble, and attached it to my hip. I ran, and grabbed another, I dumped the money into my pouch until it was full.

I notice that my clothing had a bunch of straps inside my cloak and tunic for more money I grabbed. So I filled 6 pouches and then strapped them to the cloak and inside my tunic.

By then I was surrounded by guards who were shouting at me, swords drawn.

When I didn't obey and just grinned at them, one of them lunged forward.

Surprisingly, getting cut by aluminum furnishings to death about 50 times does not let normal guards without magic cut you at all.

Or was it chi? Or both? Seriously I have no idea what the powers are here.

They kept attacking until they were panting with exertion.

I knocked the one with the sturdiest looking sword out with my fist that due to impact damage resistance hit as hard as I could without harming me.

Right on the chin, he fell.

I grabbed his sword and strapped it to the space on my belt it seemed to be meant for.

I grinned, but before I could walk off, I heard the words, "El Clarista!" and a blade of light cut me in two.

I was standing this time.

I had the sword of the guard I knocked out and my coin pouches were still here.

Success.

I went to the bar to listen more intensely.

I sat down at a more central table this life.

I waved to the bulky barmaid, "Get me some watered ale. Something fruity."

"Something fruity?" the barmaid echoed, her thick brows furrowing in suspicion. "We ain't got nothin' fancy like that here. Ale or nothin', take it or leave it."

"Ale it is then," I conceded, placing a few coins on the table with a flourish. Money talked, even in this rough establishment. "And perhaps some information, if you're willing to share."

Her eyes narrowed, assessing me. The fine clothes and the heavy coin pouch clearly sparked her interest. "Depends on the information you're after," she said cautiously.

"The royal selection," I stated, leaning forward. "Tell me about the candidates. Especially the fifth one. No one seems to be talking about them."

A flicker of surprise crossed her face.

"The fifth one?" the barmaid echoed, her brow furrowing in confusion. "Ain't no fifth one yet, none'n heard a peep about it sides they exist. Heard dat reinhard'n noble fellow be lookin for one'er but nobody knows. just the four noble ladies vying for the crown so far. that Emilia, that Priscilla, that Crusch, and that Hoshin woman. Everyone knows that."

"Is that so?" I replied, schooling my features into a neutral expression. Four candidates and a fifth to be found.

"Tell me more about these four then," I continued, taking another swig of the ale. "Their strengths, weaknesses, anything you've heard."

She frowned. "Nonnuf coin for weaknesses ever. You wanna learnbout weaknesses listen but don't ask. Fuggen off with that suicidal askin'."

I nodded with a grimace. I asked for too much. I passed her a silver this time. "For forgetting I asked about weaknesses."

I then put out 10 more copper coins. "Hows about just what you've heard of the current candidates."

She nodded. "Aye, that it is. Got that Emilia, the half-elf, tryin' to make things fair for everyone. Then there's Priscilla, all high and mighty, thinks the crown belongs to her by right. Crusch, the general, she's all about order and discipline. And Anastasia, the sly one, always wheelin' and dealin'. Whole lot of power at play, that's for sure."

"Interesting," I murmured, taking another sip of the ale. "Seems like a complex situation."

"That it is," the barmaid agreed. "Best to keep your head down and stay out of trouble, that's what I say."

"Wise words," I replied, offering a small smile. And for once, I intended to heed them.

I left another silver and stood up.

I left the tavern and I tried to disappear into the crowd.

Bennetta the Barmaid POV​

As the fancy fellow tried to shift into the crowd and fail, I cast a suspicious glance at his retreating back.

With a scowl, I leaned towards a group of shady-looking individuals huddled in a dark corner of the tavern, their faces hidden beneath hooded cloaks.

"That one," I muttered, pointing in the direction the fancypants had gone. "He was askin' 'bout the royal selection, and the fifth candidate. Paid good coin, too."

A low chuckle rippled through the group, followed by a voice like rustling dry leaves. "Interesting. Perhaps our little game is about to get more profitable."