Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 126. Tirie Town (5)

I didn’t say anything after that. Just let the silence settle between us like a soft fog. The old woman remained seated, eyes distant, and I simply stared at the empty wall behind her, not really seeing it. It was one of those rare quiet moments—not awkward, not heavy, just... quiet.

Eventually, Evelyn’s steps echoed down the wooden stairs, her boots light but sure.

"The rooms are nice," she said, brushing her hair behind her ear as she reached the bottom. "There’s even a small bathroom with a tub. It’s clean... surprisingly."

I got up from the chair with a stretch and pulled out the coin pouch. From it, I slid six copper coins onto the counter, the clink of metal drawing the old woman’s attention. "We’ll need food too, if you don’t mind. Two rooms and dinner."

The old woman looked down at the coins, then shook her head. "Keep two copper for yourself," she said, voice scratchy but firm. "Food’s included. Just soup and bread, mind you—nothing fancy. But it’s warm, and it fills the belly."

I raised a brow. "Generous."

She shrugged. "You look like you’ve had a day. Everyone needs something hot in their stomach after a day like that."

I turned to Evelyn, who simply gave a soft nod, her eyes already scanning the rest of the inn’s modest interior. That was our signal. We were done here.

With that, we moved upstairs together.

The second floor was as humble as expected. Just four rooms lined the corridor, their doors uneven but sturdy. From the dust-free hinges and unlit lanterns, it was clear none were occupied. Quiet was something I could appreciate.

I chose the room nearest the corner—right beside the bathroom. Evelyn picked the one closest to the stairs. Probably so she could escape first if something tried to murder us in our sleep. Not a bad survival instinct.

We exchanged a simple glance and parted into our respective rooms without another word.

Mine was small, but not unpleasant. Cozy in the way worn-down places could be. A single bed with an old woolen blanket.

A narrow desk and chair tucked by the window. A chipped mirror leaning against the closet. Even a clay pot with a bluish flower nestled on the sill. Its scent—something between lavender and mint—floated faintly in the air.

I liked it. Quiet. Functional. No expectations.

But first things first. I stepped out and into the bathroom.

It was a surprisingly well-maintained space. The floor was tiled in uneven stone, the bathtub large enough to sit in, and there was even a functioning shower attached to a water conduit. freewёbnoνel-com

A bar of pale-green soap sat in a dish, next to a folded towel that smelled faintly of dried herbs.

I stripped off my clothes, noticing just how crusted they were with blood—some mine, most not.

I dropped them into the washing bucket and poured water in, planning to rinse them afterward.

The shower was cold, but not freezing. Just enough to make my muscles tighten, but not enough to make me curse the gods.

The sensation was oddly refreshing. I stood under the stream for a long time, letting the water wash away the remnants of the arena. The dust, the blood, the sweat...

Thirty minutes passed before I finally stepped out.

I dried off with the towel and took my damp clothes from the bucket. They’d need to dry overnight. No magical dryers here.

Wrapping the towel firmly around my waist, I stepped into the hallway, carrying the bucket with both hands. My plan was to leave the clothes by the window, closer to the breeze. A simple solution.

But the moment I opened my door—

There she was.

Evelyn. Standing right outside.

For a second, both of us just stared.

She was mid-step, clearly on her way to the bathroom, but now completely frozen. Her eyes scanned me from head to toe, or rather from towel to shoulder, and her brain clearly short-circuited somewhere in between.

’What the hell is this reverse fan service?’ I thought dryly. ’Should I squeal and cover my chest like a damsel in distress?’

Yeah. Fuck No.

Not happening.

I tilted my head, completely unfazed, and looked at her with a raised brow. "Hello, Evelyn. Why are you spawn camping here?"

She blinked. Then blinked again. Like waking from a trance, her face twitched with realization. "I—uh, I was going to take a bath. Just remembered I didn’t bring a change of clothes."

I looked her over. Her uniform still looked travel-worn, though not filthy. She was probably hoping to do the same as I had—clean up and relax. Unfortunately for her, I’d taken the only towel.

"And now you realize," I said, smirking, "you can’t exactly pull off the towel-only look like me."

She narrowed her eyes. "Not unless I want to accidentally flash the entire hallway."

I nodded sagely. "So what you’re saying is... you don’t believe in gender equality."

That earned me a look. Equal parts offended, embarrassed, and grudgingly amused.

"You are insufferable," she muttered.

"Maybe," I replied, moving past her, "but I’m dry."

She rolled her eyes and watched me as I re-entered my room, gently setting the bucket down and hanging the damp clothes by the window.

I heard her mutter behind me, "Could’ve at least offered the towel..."

I chuckled to myself, ignoring her petty complaint. After all, I’d earned this bath.

It didn’t take long before I heard a knock at the door.

I already had a good guess who it was.

I opened it without much thought, and—as predicted—there she was. Evelyn, arms crossed, her expression already halfway to irritated.

I leaned on the doorframe and gave her a casual once-over. "What?"

She rolled her eyes. "You still haven’t put on your clothes?"

I glanced down at the towel wrapped around my waist, then back at her. "Nope. They’re still drying. What happened?"

She exhaled through her nose, clearly trying to keep her annoyance in check. "The old woman downstairs called us. Dinner’s ready—the soup she mentioned."

I nodded, turned on my legs, and began stepping out of the room without hesitation.

Evelyn, caught slightly off guard, blinked. "Wait—are you seriously going downstairs like that?"

I looked over my shoulder at her. "Yeah. Why not? She’s like a grandma, right? I doubt she’s gonna faint at the sight of my glorious abs." I gave a slight flex and smirked. "Besides, I’m not ashamed. This body’s sculpted enough to appreciate."

She gave me a long-suffering look, lips twitching between a frown and a reluctant grin. "You’re so shameless..."

I shrugged as we moved toward the stairs. "Maybe. But confident is another word for it."

As we descended, I felt the shift in atmosphere before we even hit the bottom step.

Noise. Laughter. Conversation. The hum of a room full of people.

And the moment we reached the lower floor, the full extent of it hit us.

The inn’s dining area was packed.

Every single table—except for one—was taken. And not by rugged adventurers or scruffy mercenaries like I half-expected. No. The entire room was filled with women.

Dozens of them.

Ladies in their thirties, girls in their twenties. All of them dressed decently, most laughing and talking in groups.

It looked like some kind of important gathering, maybe a local event, maybe a reunion. Whatever it was, it screamed: "Ladies’ Night."

I froze halfway down the stairs, and instinctively turned to glance at Evelyn.

Her face was twisted into the same confused scowl I felt blooming on my own.

So, yeah. This was unexpected.

She didn’t seem any more informed than I was. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and I could already tell her mood was souring fast.

I gave her a sideways glance and muttered, "Okay, seriously... what is this? Secret coven meeting?"

She didn’t answer.

I sighed and gestured toward the bottom of the stairs. "We’re already here. I’m not going back up just to throw on damp clothes. Let’s just eat."

Evelyn looked at me as if I had just suggested we dine naked on stage. "You’re actually going down there like that?"

I gave her a toothy grin. "Sure. Maybe I’ll get lucky. Meet a lovely lady who doesn’t mind a confident man in a towel."

I stuck my tongue out for extra effect.

She scowled. "You’re disgusting. Don’t forget—you have a fiancée. And I’m her friend."

I chuckled as I took the final step down and headed toward the only unoccupied table in the entire room. "You’re my friend too, aren’t you? And if you’re really her friend, then you should know she doesn’t give a shit about me."

Her mouth opened, ready to protest—but nothing came out. The words caught in her throat, and her eyes flickered away.

That silence was more telling than anything she could’ve said.

I smirked and claimed the table, plopping down casually, still wrapped in nothing but my towel. The temperature in the room seemed to shift subtly.

The conversation at several nearby tables slowed, then stopped entirely.

Dozens of eyes were on me. Women who had been sipping wine or giggling over stories now turned to sneak glances—or outright stare.

Some whispered behind raised hands. Others just gave appreciative looks. And, hey—I did look good. Even I could admit that.

A few smirks, a few giggles, even a not-so-subtle "who’s that?" drifted my way.

I rested an arm on the table, leaned back slightly, and pretended not to notice.

Soon after, the old woman appeared from the back with a wooden tray in hand. On it were two steaming bowls of soup, each accompanied by a small basket of fresh bread.

She placed one set in front of me without a word, then turned to wait for Evelyn.

Speak of the devil.

Evelyn approached a moment later, clearly less than thrilled by all the attention. Her eyes scanned the room like a hawk, her jaw tight, and her brows furrowed.

She took the seat across from me reluctantly, then shot a few threatening glares toward any woman who so much as looked in my direction.

One poor soul who was mid-sip of her drink looked away so fast she nearly choked.

I arched a brow and leaned over the table slightly. "Protective, aren’t you?"

She didn’t answer. Just tore a piece of bread a little more aggressively than necessary.

’Interesting,’ I thought, watching her out of the corner of my eye. ’She’s definitely acting a little too defensive for just a friend of my fiancée.’

Maybe it was genuine loyalty. Maybe it was something else.

But either way... I wasn’t complaining.

The soup, as promised, was basic—a clear broth with some herbs and chunks of root vegetables. But it was warm, hearty, and tasted far better than anything I expected from a rundown roadside inn.

And with Evelyn silently chewing her bread across from me, throwing daggers at any woman who dared look my way...

Well.

Dinner had never been more entertaining.

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