Arcus strolled down the cobblestone street, following the directions of the thug he had left in the alley. He counted the money he had taken from the thugs, which amounted to 10 silver coins and 56 copper coins.
It did not take long for him to find a two-story building constructed from a sturdy blend of wood and stone walls. Above its entrance hung a worn wooden sign with a rough carving shaped like the head of a black crow.
He pushed the door and stepped inside.
What greeted him was a wave of stuffy air. The room was filled with roughly carved long wooden tables and chairs.
Dozens of men in dull leather armor and incomplete iron guards sat in groups. They clutched wooden mugs filled with ale, laughed hoarsely, and spread a pungent scent—a mix of sour sweat, alcohol, and dried blood.
Crude weapons leaned haphazardly near their feet.
Hearing the creak of the door, several pairs of eyes turned toward Arcus, whose silhouette was tightly concealed by a worn brown cloak. However, seeing no significant threat, they resumed their crude chatter.
In the center of the room, a lit hearth warmed the air. Arcus ignored the stares from his surroundings and walked straight to the wooden bar counter.
Behind the counter stood a bald, middle-aged man. The man was busy cleaning a kitchen knife with a rag.
"One night," Arcus said in a low tone, placing a looted silver coin onto the wooden counter.
The bald man stopped his work. He narrowed his eyes, observing Arcus's appearance from the tip of his hood to the tips of his shoes. Seeing his customer hiding his identity behind a cloak, a smile formed on the innkeeper's lips.
Instead of taking the coin, the bald man raised his hand and held up two fingers. He was demanding double the pay.
Beneath his hood, Arcus's eyes narrowed. Without needing to utter a word, he released a sliver of killing intent from his eyes. The air around the bar counter suddenly felt as cold as ice.
Clang!
The kitchen knife in the bald man's hand slipped and crashed onto the wooden floor. The sharp sound caused several patrons at the nearest tables to look over.
The bald man's face instantly turned deathly pale. He swallowed hard, his breath hitched by an invisible terror choking his throat. His trembling hands hurriedly grabbed an iron key from his drawer.
"F-forgive me, Sir," he whispered hastily, returning the silver coin Arcus had given and immediately handing the key over to him. "S-second floor. Room number four."
Arcus took the key expressionlessly, then stepped up the wooden stairs, leaving the innkeeper still breaking out in cold sweat.
Room number four was at the end of the hallway. Arcus turned the key and entered.
The room was incredibly simple and minimalist. There was a basic bed with sheets, a small wooden table and chair in the corner, and a worn chest for storing belongings. Embedded in the wall was a small crystal emitting a dim glow.
Without wasting time, Arcus focused his mana. He no longer needed to manually input a string of coordinates. His mind recalled the position of Vrischil whom he had just left.
[Tier A - Teleportation]
A flash of light swallowed his form. The room was empty once more.
Inside the forest, the air suddenly distorted. Arcus appeared right beside Vrischil.
The silver-haired Elf was still sitting on his knees upon the ground, but he had stopped crying. His face was frozen once again, concealing a storm of emotions behind his mask of composure.
"I have found a human city and rented an inn room," Arcus reported with a serious tone he rarely displayed.
"Is the place safe?" Vrischil asked, her eyes glancing toward Alphonse, who was still lying unconscious.
"Safe. And it seems the denizens of this world are truly weak," Arcus answered casually. "I beat six thugs unconscious without them being able to put up the slightest resistance."
Arcus continued, "Even the innkeeper was terrified just because I looked at him with a sliver of killing intent. If trouble occurs, our strength is more than enough to defeat anyone."
Arcus extended his hand. "We move now."
Vrischil grabbed Alphonse's shoulder with one hand, while her other hand touched Arcus's arm.
[Tier A - Teleportation]
In a single blink, the forest scenery was replaced by the wooden walls of the inn room.
As soon as his feet touched the wooden floor, Arcus massaged the bridge of his nose and let out a long sigh. He still stood tall, but a softly throbbing headache appeared at his temples. Performing high-tier spatial displacement magic twice in a row drained his mana more than he had anticipated.
"Phew..." Arcus complained, exhaustion audible in his voice. He shook his hand as if shaking off numbness. "My mana capacity is indeed too small compared to Alphonse's. Just two consecutive spatial jumps are enough to make my head throb slightly."
Vrischil ignored Arcus's complaints. She immediately lifted Alphonse's body carefully and laid him upon the bed. She pulled the wooden chair in the corner of the room and sat beside the bed, her eyes never leaving Alphonse's pale face.
Arcus rotated his slightly stiff shoulders to chase away the lingering fatigue, then readjusted the hood of his worn cloak.
"I will go out for a bit to monitor the city's situation," Arcus said. He looked at Vrischil earnestly. "Do not leave this room. We do not yet know how the humans of this world view non-human races like you. Use your protection magic just in case."
Vrischil merely replied with a slow nod.
After Arcus left and locked the door from the outside, Vrischil immediately moved his fingers.
[Tier C - Silence] Instantly, all sounds from the lower floor and the hustle of the streets were cut off. The room became soundproof from both inside and out.
[Tier C - Magic Lock] The doorknob glowed blue, sealing the room magically.
[Tier C - Magic Barrier] A transparent layer coated the entire walls, floor, and ceiling of the room, protecting it from magical detection and sudden physical attacks.
As a final touch, his eyes emitted a magical glow.
[Tier B - Great Sense Up] His sense of hearing and perception increased sharply, allowing him to notice every vibration and movement in the hallway outside the room without having to look directly.
Once his defenses were perfect, Vrischil leaned forward. Both her hands, clad in combat gloves, reached for Alphonse's right hand and gripped it tightly.
"Wake up soon, Alphonse," he murmured softly amidst the silence of the room.
On the lower floor, Arcus descended the stairs. The atmosphere was just as noisy. He cast a brief glance toward the bar counter. The innkeeper immediately bowed his head, avoiding eye contact.
Arcus stepped outside, inhaling the midday air of Wealden City.
Alphonse should wake up soon. Just before I left, I could feel his body beginning to absorb mana in the air. He felt a bit relieved because the damage to Alphonse's body was not fatal. What an idiot. He must have asked the Akashic something excessive.
While walking down the cobblestone street, Arcus wrinkled his nose. The musty and sour smell from the thug's cloak he was wearing began to bother his sense of smell.
He turned into a deserted alley.
[Tier E - Cleanse]
A wave of thin light swept over his cloak, eradicating the dirt, odor, and dust instantly. The cloak now felt far more comfortable even though its shape still looked worn out.
He returned to the main street and began to observe. Although the architecture resembled the medieval era with its blend of wood and stone, the urban planning was quite advanced.
The poles along the street did not use torches, but rather magical crystals that emitted a soft light. The streets were clean, and his eyes caught structured gutters along the roadside indicating that the city possessed a good sanitation and drainage system.
Many pedestrians were walking by. Arcus also spotted several groups of adventurers.
He observed their equipment: roughly stitched leather armor, dented iron chest guards, standard steel swords, and small wooden shields. There was no energy radiating from their items. It was incredibly primitive compared to the artifacts normally used by mid-level players in the game.
Arcus approached a male pedestrian. "Excuse me, where is the nearest tailor shop?"
He tossed a copper coin into the man's hand. With a wide smile, the pedestrian pointed the way to a shop at the end of the street.
The shop displayed a sign reading Brown Tailor. Arcus pushed the door and was greeted by the chime of a small bell. A teenage brunette girl who was organizing fabrics turned and smiled warmly.
"Good afternoon, Sir. Is there anything I can help you with?"
"I need a cloak like the one I am wearing. Black or dark grey in color. Give me three pieces of the highest quality," Arcus requested.
The girl swiftly fetched a thick, neat black cloak from the back rack. "These are the best, Sir. Very comfortable and durable. The price is six silver coins."
Arcus did not haggle. He placed six of his looted silver coins on the counter, took the new cloaks, and immediately stepped out of the shop, intending to change out of the dirty thug cloak he was currently wearing right away.
In the corner of the Black Crow Inn, Bryan sat with his back resting against the wooden wall. In front of him, his mug of ale was half-empty, leaving a water ring on the table.
His sharp eyes had just seen the figure of the man in the worn cloak descend the stairs and walk out through the inn's doors.
One of his subordinates, Morg, leaned across the table. "Boss, did you see that guy?" Morg whispered, pointing toward the door. "His cloak is worn out like a beggar's, but look at his shoes when he stepped just now."
"Those are leather dress shoes. The cut is very neat. He must be a noble. Isn't this a very fat sheep for us to slaughter?" Morg tempted with a greedy smile.
Garn, Bryan's skinnier subordinate, shook his head in a panic. "Oi, Morg! Are you crazy? Attacking a noble inside the city? I still want my head attached to my neck!"
Morg smacked the back of Garn's head hard. "Idiot! What noble would want to stay in a garbage dump like this Black Crow?"
"I'm certain that noble is on the run or hiding something fatal. As long as we work clean and the city guards don't find out, we will be safe and filthy rich!" Morg continued convincingly.
Bryan listened to his subordinates' debate in silence. His survival instinct, which had led him to become the leader of this thug gang, was warning him of something. He stood up and walked toward the bar counter, approaching Otto the innkeeper.
"Otto, what do you think about the guest who just left?" Bryan asked quietly.
Otto, who was wiping the counter, suddenly stopped his hand. He glanced at Bryan with lingering fear in his eyes.
"My advice, Bryan... stay far away from that man. He is not just a sheep. When he looked at me... I felt like I was being swallowed by a monster. His killing intent was terrifying," Otto whispered, shivering.
Bryan's eyebrows knit together. Otto's warning, a man who had seen dozens of murders in this tavern, was not something to be ignored.
However, before Bryan could make a decision, the inn's doors were busted open roughly from the outside.
Six men stormed in, panting heavily with angry faces. They were the group of thugs who had been operating in the intersection area moments ago.
Morg, upon seeing them, immediately laughed mockingly. "Hey, look who's here! Did you guys get beaten up by the vegetable merchants again?"
Fred, the leader of the six thugs, slammed Morg's table angrily. "Shut your mouth! We were just robbed! All our money and Fatty's cloak were taken by some weird noble!"
Bryan, who had just returned from the bar counter, halted his steps. His eyes narrowed. "Was that person wearing black leather shoes? Is that person currently wearing a worn cloak?"
"Yes!" Fred exclaimed provocatively, his eyes radiating greed. "And do you know what is underneath that cloak? The man is wearing a luxurious maroon suit! The stitching uses golden thread!"
"He must be carrying a massive amount of treasure. If we combine our forces, we can finish him off and split the loot!"
Morg laughed even harder. "The six of you were robbed by one person? How weak are you guys!"
Bryan stepped through the crowd of his subordinates, standing right in front of the complaining thug leader. Bryan's large posture instantly intimidated the poor man.
"You said the six of you were taken down by one person?" Bryan's voice was low and menacing. "If he could incapacitate all of you without weapons, that person must possess high-tier combat abilities. And you want me to send my boys to die?"
Fred stepped back, cold sweat dripping from his temples. He immediately searched for excuses to save his pride.
"N-no, Boss Bryan! He isn't that strong! He just attacked us by surprise when we weren't ready! If we attack him all together, he will surely die!"
Bryan stared intently into Fred's eyes. An oppressive silence dominated the table. Under Bryan's murderous glare, Fred finally bowed his head deeply, averting his gaze in fear.
After a few long seconds, Bryan drew a deep breath. Greed for the mysterious noble's treasure finally overcame Otto's warning in his head.
"Morg, Garn," Bryan called out loudly. "Gather all our men. Ready your weapons. We move out right now."
Bryan turned back to the six thugs who were gulping hard. He smirked cruelly.
"And make sure you bring these six cowards with us. If that noble is indeed as strong as Otto says, the six of them will serve as our first meat shields."