The New World
Copyright© 2024 by Dark Apostle
Chapter 16: No More Surviving—It’s Time to Build an Empire
Fan Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 16: No More Surviving—It’s Time to Build an Empire - The story follows James Smith, a man who dies and finds himself in a surreal afterlife courtroom, where his life is judged as "zero sum"—neither good nor evil, just utterly average. Dissatisfied with being consigned to eternal mediocrity, he manipulates the cosmic bureaucracy into granting him a second chance in a new world, where he is reincarnated as a child with his memories intact and perks... - edited by my lovely Steven.
Caution: This Fan Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Ma/ft Mult Coercion NonConsensual Reluctant Slavery Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fan Fiction Farming High Fantasy Rags To Riches Restart Alternate History DoOver Extra Sensory Perception Body Swap Furry Magic Incest Mother Sister Politics Royalty Violence AI Generated
At sunrise, after a night tangled in sweat and filth, James finally relented. She could barely move, her body worn by pleasure and exhaustion, every limb trembling. He helped her up and offered a cup of water provided by Subotai. “That was amazing, I have never experienced anything like that. But I need to get home so I can get ready for work.”
“You know where to find me if you would like a repeat,” James replied. With a smile on his face, he watched her stagger off on shaky feet.
“I need a bath,” James commented. Turning to Subotai, who was still lounging nearby, a half-smirk on his lips. “You coming?”
Subotai shook his head, laughing. “No. I’m going into the brothel. Watching you fuck her made me hard.”
James couldn’t help but bark out a laugh, shaking his head. “Enjoy. Don’t spend all your coins at once.”
“Yes,” Subotai said, already drifting off, hunger in his eyes.
James stretched and followed Subotai to the brothel. Subotai went upstairs to where the women waited for clients. James headed to the kitchen to order a bath.
James lay back in the tub and watched the whores pour hot water over him. ‘Next time, I will have them do it naked and then wash me. That can make up for all those years lost to the slavers. It will be worth the coins.’
Finally, he stepped out and dressed in clean clothes. He left the old ones for the kitchen staff to wash. ‘I need to wander the streets and see how the city has changed since the last time I was here, almost nine years ago.’
James went to see Fel and tell him that he would feed him when he returned later today. He took to the streets, moving with purpose and keen eyes. The city was different—new faces, fresh scars on the old buildings—but some things never changed. The layout, the way the market wound down the main road, the stalls peddling the same tired goods—bread, salted fish, cheap wine, trinkets that looked older than some of the merchants themselves. Time moved forward, but habits lingered. He traced the routes he remembered from childhood, noting which shops survived, which ones closed, leaving only faded signs behind.
He focused on the taverns, taking mental notes as he passed by each one. Most were lively, crowded with locals, some too nice for what he wanted, others far too expensive. He wasn’t after respectability—he wanted somewhere forgotten, somewhere desperate and run-down, a place begging for new blood. He kept moving, following the smell of stale beer and spilled piss until he found exactly what he was looking for: the worst tavern in the city.
It barely looked like an ongoing business. The sign hung crooked, one chain missing, and the paint was so chipped that only half the name could be read. A cracked window stared out onto the street, grimy with years of neglect. Inside, the scene was even worse. Dust and the scent of old sweat hung in the air, the floor sticky beneath his boots. Tables wobbled, several with legs propped up on bricks. Every surface was covered with the remains of yesterday’s customers—dirty glasses, empty plates, the odd bit of dried food or something less savory. Only a handful of regulars lingered in the shadows, nursing cheap drinks and ignoring the world. The place was half-dead, forgotten by the city. Exactly what James needed—a blank slate, waiting for someone bold enough to claim it.
Once inside, James barely paused to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. The bartender sat behind a battered counter, a man in his late fifties, skin weathered and eyes dull with hopelessness. He looked up, surprised to see anyone walking in with confidence.
“Is the owner available?” James didn’t waste time with pleasantries.
The man nodded. “That’s me.”
“I am James, and I’d want to buy this place if we can work out the price.”
The man barked a tired laugh, shaking his head. “Buy? Okay, make me an offer. I am Ernie. I’d say come to my office, but there isn’t one.”
James just nodded, scanning the room: the cobwebs in the rafters, the water stains crawling down the cracked plaster walls, the ancient bar scarred with knife marks and candle burns. “I’m going to make you a rich man.”
“How?” Ernie’s tone was skeptical; clearly he thought James was crazy.
“Because this place is perfect for my needs.”
The man shrugged, uninterested, “Not my problem. Do you want to order a beer?”
“I am serious. What will it take to sell to me?”
“100 gold, on the counter now!”
James laughed. “I doubt you make a gold in a year. If you charged what the other taverns did, you would be sitting here by yourself.”
“Maybe. But it is better than going home to my shrewish wife.”
“How does 50 silver sound?” James offered.
“Too low. Make it 5 gold.”
“Do I look stupid? This tavern is not worth 5 silvers. I have seen taverns in dozens of towns and cities, so I know the worth. This one needs a lot of money poured into it just to be attractive to someone who is not destitute. Do you want to die behind the bar from old age? That is the path you are on. The gods sent me to this city. This is your lucky day. Take my offer and relax for the first time in years.”
“The gods? Why you? What do you want with this fine establishment?”
James looked around. “Fine establishment? Where? Maybe you are the stupid one. I am making a fair offer. 50 silvers will support you for years compared to what you are making now. What is your daily income—10 or 20 tins a day before expenses? I am offering you five years of income just for the effort of holding your hand out.”
“And when it runs out, what do I do?”
James put a single gold coin on the bar, looked Ernie in the eye, “My final offer.”
Ernie’s hand twitched and started for the coin. James could see the effort the man spent to stop from picking up the coin. But the allure of the money was so powerful, Ernie started to shake.
“No, it needs to be more.”
James nodded, smiled, and said, “Good luck with your fine establishment.” He then picked up the gold and turned towards the door. Just before he walked out, he turned to Ernie, “Fool.”
Walking out, James smiled. That was fun. There are other taverns.
He barely got to the end of the block before he heard Ernie call out, “Come back and talk.’
Three hours later, James was the owner of a run-down tavern for the low cost of two gold and 60 silvers. He also received an education on law enforcement for Castletown, who to pay off, how much, and when.
James was late and had to rush back to the brothel. Fel was expecting to be fed, and he did not want to break his word or have a hungry Fenrir.
Over the meal, James filled Fel and Subotai on his day’s adventure. Tomorrow, he would get the keys could start the work to clean the place up.
The next morning, Ernie handed James the key and took his money.
“Good luck. I hope you are successful.” The door creaked shut, and James was alone in his new domain. The silence was thick. He looked around, seeing not filth and neglect, but opportunity. Sure, the walls sagged and the furniture looked ready to collapse, but it was a blank canvas. He ran his fingers over the battered bar, already imagining it cleaned, oiled, polished—slime and grime gone, wood gleaming, a place people actually wanted to lean.
Outside, Fel was waiting, sniffing the air with skepticism as James stepped into the sunlight. “Are you sure about this place, human?”
“Yes,” James said, voice steady, a glint in his eye. The others only saw a dying business—he saw a goldmine ready to be claimed. The tavern needed work, but so did most things worth having in life. He’d rebuild it, tear out the rot, fill the air with the scent of roasting meat and good bread instead of old beer and piss.
As they headed back through the winding streets, Fel’s voice broke the silence.
“I am curious,” Fel said, his massive form matching James’s stride as they wandered through the thinning crowds and deeper shadows of the city.
“Yes?” James replied, not breaking his pace.
“Why have you not attempted to go home yet?”
James paused, caught off guard. The truth was, it hadn’t really crossed his mind—not in any serious way. Between nearly fucking the old woman into a coma and buying a literal wreck of a tavern, his focus had been completely absorbed in the moment. The idea of “home”—that little farmstead from so long ago—seemed distant, like it belonged to a different life. He’d been so busy chasing money, sex, and opportunity, he hadn’t left any space in his head for nostalgia.
“Honestly, I’ll do it tomorrow,” he said, half a promise, half an excuse.
“Of course,” Fel rumbled, his tone unreadable, maybe a little amused.
James nodded to himself. The more he thought about it, the more awkward it felt. Just showing up after nine years, looking like a wild beast and probably twice the size he’d been, would likely scare the shit out of anyone still living there. They’d worry about who he was, where he’d been, and if they could even feed a man of his size. Besides, after being gone for so long, he was a stranger to them—maybe even a threat.
A plan formed in his mind, simple but solid. If he showed up with no warning, it would just bring confusion, maybe even fear. But if he walked in with a fat bag of gold and the confidence of a man who had already made something of himself, it might take the edge off. Money had a way of making worries disappear—or at least shrink. He could show them he wasn’t a burden, that he could help, that maybe they’d even be proud of what he’d become. He had so many coins from selling rockbird parts that he could afford to be generous.
For now, though, his priorities were clear. He was here to build something, to claim a corner of the city for himself. The old homestead could wait one more day. With every step, the tavern looming in his mind, James felt more certain than ever: he was exactly where he was meant to be.
They got back to the brothel as night was closing in, lamps glowing through the fogged windows and laughter spilling out into the street. Subotai was already a legend in his own right, slouched in the corner with a wine jug, a girl on each side, looking smug as a cat who’d found a creamery. Fel ignored the crowd, heading straight for his hay pile with all the enthusiasm of a retired warhorse.
James barely stepped through the door before the Madam herself burst into view, half her corset undone and one enormous tit swinging free. She looked like she’d been drinking for hours and maybe fighting off customers with the other hand. Her grin was devilish.
She sized him up, saw the sweat still shining on his chest, and didn’t bother with manners.
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