Trapped In Elysium: A Virtual Reality Nightmare-Chapter 51: Braywick

Soon, after days of steady travel across plains, hills, and narrow roads through small, sleepy villages, the group finally arrived at the outskirts of a coastal town. It had taken them six full days — six days of camping under the stars, taking turns at watch, and keeping a weary eye on the road ahead. But now, the sound of waves crashing against the docks, the distant squawks of gulls, and the faint scent of salt in the air marked a change in their journey.

The sun was just beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting an orange-gold glow over the sea and painting the sky in brilliant hues of fire. The town by the sea, called Braywick, was bustling even at this hour. Dozens of merchant stalls were lined along the streets, with fabrics of bright colors flapping in the ocean breeze. Fishmongers shouted about their catch of the day, sailors haggled over crates of imported goods, and children darted between carts, laughing as they chased each other with sticks.

Despite the town’s life and energy, there was an undeniable grittiness to it. The streets were a mix of cobblestone and squishy, wet soil. Parts of the town were still damp and marshy, especially closer to the lower docks. Water gathered in puddles near shoddy wooden planks that served as makeshift bridges. The place smelled heavily of fish, seaweed, and damp wood.

"Lads..." the dwarf said with a proud little chuckle as he stepped ahead and raised a hand toward the scene, "this is where our journey truly begins."

Liam scanned the area warily. "You mean we haven’t started yet?"

The dwarf grinned. "We’ve been walking so far. Now we sail. Big difference."

Sophia’s boots squished slightly in the wet mud, and she winced as she looked down. "Ugh. This place is... gross," she muttered. "My boots are literally soaked."

"Smells like something died... and came back to haunt the whole street," Eleanor added, covering her nose with a handkerchief.

"Welcome to Braywick," Jason said sarcastically. "Where dreams go to drown."

Marcus glanced around and sighed. "Well, at least we’re near the sea. Always wanted to see the ocean... just didn’t imagine it smelling like armpits and dead fish."

They followed the dwarf as he navigated through the chaos with surprising ease, nodding to a few shady-looking dockhands and exchanging words in a dialect none of them quite recognized. His short legs moved fast, and the group found themselves weaving through merchants and street performers just to keep up.

"There’s an inn at the edge of the port," the dwarf called back over his shoulder. "We’ll stay there tonight. We leave with the tide tomorrow morning."

"And how long is this boat ride supposed to last?" Eleanor asked, sidestepping a bucket of fish guts.

"Depends on the wind," the dwarf replied with a shrug. "Could be a week. Could be two. Or longer if you all keep pissin’ off the sea spirits."

"Lovely," Sophia mumbled, flicking some dirt off her cloak.

Liam, walking beside her, leaned in slightly and whispered, "Could be worse."

Sophia glanced at him. "How?"

He grinned. "Could be raining."

Just as he said that, a sudden gust of wind carried a splash of dirty water from a puddle right up onto her trousers. She stopped, glared at Liam, and pointed at her now stained leg.

"You jinxed it."

Liam held up both hands with an innocent expression. "That wasn’t me. That was the sea welcoming you."

Jason chuckled while Marcus laughed behind them, clearly enjoying the moment despite everything.

As they continued forward, a massive ship came into view at the far dock, sails partly furled and ropes being adjusted by shirtless deckhands. The dwarf pointed toward it.

"That’s our ride," he said with a gleam in his eye. "The Sea Phantom. Sturdy, fast, and full of rum."

"Please tell me we’re not rowing," Jason said, already exhausted by the thought.

"Nah," the dwarf replied. "But keep your heads low. We’ve got enemies in more places than you know."

That last sentence hung in the air.

Their journey had taken a new turn, and whatever awaited them across the sea was now just a horizon away.

The Wailing Mermaid—that was the name of the inn they finally found themselves in. Fitting, Liam thought, considering how the place looked like it had been crying for a renovation for at least a decade. The walls were darkened with soot, the wooden floor creaked with every step, and the air... gods, the air was thick with the overpowering stench of rum, old sweat, fish, and something no one dared to identify.

The moment the group entered, they instinctively drifted toward the farthest corner, away from the louder crowd of sailors, gamblers, and shady merchants. They settled around a rough-hewn table that looked like it had seen more bar fights than actual meals. The wooden chairs groaned under them as they sat.

Sophia immediately covered her nose with her sleeve. "Oh my god. I think the air here might actually be toxic."

"I feel like I just inhaled an entire barrel of rum," Eleanor added with a grimace, her face slightly pale. "I swear, I’m going to vomit if I smell that one more second."

"Why is it wet in here?" Sophia said, lifting her boot slightly. "Is this seawater? Or is this... no, no—I don’t even want to guess."

Liam and Jason, sitting across from them, were already laughing.

"You two sound like noble girls dragged into a pirate ship," Jason chuckled, relaxing back in his seat. "Didn’t realize marsh towns were above your paygrade."

"I grew up around people who actually knew how to clean," Sophia snapped, but there was no venom in her voice. Just frustration.

"Yeah?" Liam grinned. "How clean were their vomit buckets?"

Sophia glared at him, then smirked despite herself.

Meanwhile, Sera had gone to the bar counter. She exchanged a few words with the barkeep—a gruff, one-eyed man with a beard so thick it could’ve doubled as a pillow. She pointed back at the group, and the man gave a nod before shouting something unintelligible to the kitchen.

The group ignored her completely. Their hostility toward her was palpable. She might be traveling with them, but trust wasn’t something they gave freely anymore. Not after what happened with Marcus.

Speaking of whom...

"Oi, make some space!" came Marcus’s voice from behind them.

The group turned just in time to see him stumbling their way, juggling three oversized wooden mugs filled with frothy rum. The liquid was sloshing over the sides with every step he took. He looked like a child trying to carry buckets of water far too big for his arms.

Jason burst into laughter. "Bro, what are you doing? Why three?"

Marcus, puffing up proudly, tried to steady himself. "One’s for me... and the other two? Also for me. Just... in stages."

"You’re going to pass out face-first before we even hit the ship," Liam said, shaking his head, chuckling.

"I earned this, alright? My soul’s been through enough."

As Marcus finally reached the table and carefully set the mugs down—only spilling half of one—Liam and Jason broke into applause.

"Bravo," Jason laughed. "Truly, the balance of a warrior."

Marcus raised a mug. "To bad decisions!"

Sophia rolled her eyes. "You’re going to make another one if you finish all that."

Eleanor leaned forward slightly, smirking. "Let him. The ship’s deck could use a new mop."

They all laughed—except Sera, who was still at the counter, now carrying a tray of simple hot meals toward them.

As Marcus raised his first mug of rum to his lips, basking in the sweet scent of trouble, Liam casually reached over and snatched one of the other mugs before Marcus could stop him.

"Hey! What the hell, man?" Marcus barked, his eyes wide with betrayal. "You could’ve gone to get your own, you know!"

Liam took a big gulp, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Yeah, but this one’s already sweating. You know I like it cold."

Jason, never one to miss a good opportunity, grinned and lunged for the remaining mug. "Since it’s a free-for-all," he said, snatching it.

Marcus looked at the now-empty space in front of him where three glorious mugs once stood. "You mother—!"

He couldn’t even finish his curse before Jason started chugging, laughing between gulps. Marcus looked between the two of them like a man betrayed by his own blood.

"I hope you both choke," he muttered, slumping in his seat, arms crossed.

Jason smacked his lips. "Tastes like pirate tears. Delicious."

Just then, Sera returned to the table, carrying a large wooden tray stacked with plates. Surprisingly, the food looked far from what anyone expected from the dumpy inn they were in. Neatly arranged, steaming dishes of grilled lobsters, thick slices of buttered bread, and bowls of well-seasoned stew made their mouths water. The smell was heavenly—garlic, herbs, and spices filled the air, cutting through the stench of rum like a cleansing wave.

She set the tray down gently. "Bon appétit," she said with a slight smirk, clearly proud of the meal.

The group looked at the food, then at each other, mildly stunned.

"Okay... I gotta admit," Jason said, leaning forward, "this smells incredible."

Sophia didn’t wait for approval. She grabbed one of the lobsters and immediately began tearing into it. "Oh my god," she mumbled, her mouth full, "this is so good."

Eleanor, ever more composed but equally ravenous, picked up her own portion and took a bite. Her eyes widened. "Damn it. I wanted to hate it... but this is divine."

"Don’t speak with your mouth full," Jason teased.

"Says the guy drinking stolen rum like a frat boy," Eleanor shot back.

Liam was already halfway through his stew. "This might be the first decent thing we’ve had since we got to this world."

Sera sat a short distance away, quietly observing them, arms crossed, eyes lingering on each of them for a moment longer than necessary—especially Liam. But no one paid her much attention. Despite everything, hunger won the war today.

Marcus, still bitter over the stolen drinks, tore a chunk of bread in half and dunked it into the stew with exaggerated aggression. "I was gonna toast to this meal," he grumbled. "But clearly, I’m surrounded by thieves."

"Just say you love us, bro," Jason said, grinning with a piece of lobster stuck in his teeth.

Marcus flipped him off without looking up from his plate.

The inn was still noisy, filled with clanking mugs and off-key sea shanties being sung by drunk sailors in the background. But for a while, at that tiny table in the corner, the group felt a little more at ease—warm food in their bellies, rum in their hands, and the comfort of shared suffering wrapped in laughter and curses.

They knew this peace wouldn’t last long.

But for now... it was enough.