When I finished my drink, I received more pop-ups: "Health restored" and "Attack restored." I guess the meal had some minor healing effects. I looked at the empty mug. The restorative effects were received only when I actually finished the drink. In other words, merely taking a sip wasn’t enough to receive the restorative benefits of the drink.

Speaking of health restoration, I needed to check and confirm that my health would naturally replenish over time as well, perhaps from sleep or rest. The Merlin game that I played had allowed for health and stamina restoration that way. Also, creatures with ultra-high Constitution attribute, like trolls, could also restore health over time. I added the subject of health restoration to my mental checklist.

I pondered what I should do for the rest of the day. I already had food and shelter down pat. But another fear crept into my mind. How was I going to support myself in this world? In the wink of an eye, I had already spent one gold and seven copper pieces. I might be playing the role of a confused nobleman right now but sooner or later the truth would be revealed. What would I do then to make a living and support myself?

I looked around the common room, trying to get a better sense of the environment that I had landed in. As expected, I arrived in medieval times. There was no electricity. There were no computers. There was no internet. A lack of internet access was not a trivial matter to me because it meant that I had very limited access to news and information aside from my interactions with the people in this unknown town. As a fantasy writer, I took for granted my ability to go on the internet and to research for information when I was writing my stories. Here in this world, however, I was limited to whatever information I had inside my head.

Of course, my knowledge was probably immense compared to what the people in this town knew. That was especially true for technologies like using wind and water to generate energy to complete certain manual tasks, such as milling grain into flour. Many of the laws of physics should still be applicable even in a world where magic exists.

For example, I should look into how bakers create flour in this land; if the task was still done by hand then I could “invent” the mill grain and profit from selling this machine. Heck, I could even negotiate indentured servitude contracts offering the use of the mill grain for a share of the baker’s profits. Milling grain by hand to create flour was a very laborious task. If I offered a simpler way to make this critical ingredient then a baker with access to a mill grain can increase productivity by a tremendous amount. The increased productivity, in turn, would allow the baker to bake more products in the same amount of time spent normally. Even accounting for the rental cost of the mill grain, the baker would still come out way ahead.

Another use of the windmill was to operate a water pump to drain water and reclaim land. If I wanted to become a wealthy man, then I may have to reclaim my own land. Land ownership was crucial in generating wealth during the medieval times. Peasants worked on the land and paid taxes on their crops to the landholder. On the other hand, I would need to have an army to defend my land from invasion. So in the end, becoming a landowner may not be a sure path to wealth. But it was certainly an option available once I found a suitable area to reclaim land.

Suddenly, I noticed a large shadow looming over me. I looked up and saw probably the ugliest looking man in my life! The man had a flat forehead, a large square jaw with sharp fangs protruding from the lower jaw, a large, flat nose bisecting a pockmarked face filled with old scars on both cheeks, a pair of long, pointy ears, and slanted eyes that seemed to belong to a wise guy from the mafia. His physique was stacked like a professional bodybuilder; I wouldn’t be surprised if he weighed over three hundred pounds. The oddest thing about him, though, was his skin color, which was light gray. I barely avoided squealing out like a little girl and disgracing myself publicly in the common room.

The man, who obviously was a demi-human and probably an orc, put his humongous hand on the table in front of me. When he lifted his hand, there was a brass key on the table. “This is the key to room ‘F’,” he growled.

I quickly looked at the floating caption over his head and read, “Name: Vern, Level: ?, Disposition: Guarded.” I offered my most charming smile, which unfortunately wasn't much of an offering. “Thank you, Vern. Are you the owner of this fine establishment?” I may as well try a bit of flattery to butter up to this ugly brute.

Vern snorted in derision. Then he narrowed his eyes and bored down on me with murderous intent. “Amelica is like my own daughter. I expect her to be treated right, even if her consort is from the nobility. Understand?”

I quickly nodded.

“Good,” he gripped my right shoulder and squeezed. Hard. I sucked my breath but managed to avoid yelping in pain. Another pop-up appeared in front of me and, not surprisingly, it read, "-2 Health. -5% Attack." When Vern walked away, I muttered, “I guess he’s the overly protective innkeeper.” I looked around but the patrons quickly averted my eyes again.

With nothing further to do, I decided to visit my room upstairs.