Arcus navigated the dimly lit cobblestone streets, following the directions provided by the thug he had left in the alley. He casually counted the stolen funds in his pouch, totaling ten silver coins and fifty-six coppers.
It didn't take long for him to locate a two-story building constructed from a blend of sturdy timber and stone walls. Hanging above the slightly creaking entrance door was a weathered wooden sign bearing the crude carving of a black raven's head.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The first sensation that greeted him was a wave of suffocating, stagnant air. The room was packed with roughly hewn long wooden tables and chairs.
Dozens of men clad in dull leather armor and incomplete iron plating sat in groups. They clutched wooden mugs filled with beer, laughing hoarsely, and exuding a pungent aroma—a vile mixture of sour sweat, cheap alcohol, and dried blood.
Crude weapons were propped haphazardly near their feet.
Hearing the creak of the door, several pairs of eyes turned toward Arcus, whose silhouette was completely concealed beneath a shabby brown cloak. However, upon seeing no overt threat, they quickly resumed their crude banter.
In the center of the room, a roaring hearth warmed the air. Arcus ignored the stares from his surroundings and walked straight toward the wooden bar counter.
Behind the counter stood a bald, middle-aged man. One of his eyes was sewn shut by a jagged scar stretching across his face. The man was busy wiping down a kitchen knife with a rag.
"One night," Arcus stated in a low tone, placing a single stolen silver coin onto the wooden counter.
The bald man paused his work. He narrowed his one functioning eye, evaluating Arcus from the tip of his hood down to his shoes. Seeing a customer so desperately hiding his identity beneath a cloak, a sly 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 price.
Beneath his hood, Arcus's blue eyes narrowed sharply. Without uttering a single word, he unleashed a fraction of his killing intent. The air around the bar counter instantly turned ice-cold.
Clang!
The kitchen knife slipped from the bald man's grasp, clattering loudly against the wooden floorboards. The sharp noise caused several patrons at the nearest tables to look over.
The innkeeper's face turned completely ashen. He swallowed hard, his breathing hitched by an invisible terror choking his throat. His trembling hands hurriedly scrambled for an iron key in his drawer.
"M-my deepest apologies, My Lord," he whispered frantically, pushing the silver coin back to Arcus and immediately handing him the key. "S-second floor. Room number four."
Arcus took the key without changing his expression, then strode up the creaking wooden stairs, leaving the innkeeper still dripping in cold sweat.
Room number four was located at the end of the hallway. Arcus turned the key and entered.
The room was incredibly plain and minimalist. It contained a simple bed with coarse sheets, a small wooden desk and chair in the corner, and a weathered chest for storing belongings. Embedded in the wall was a small crystal emitting a faint, dim light.
Without wasting a second to rest, Arcus focused his Mana. He no longer needed to manually input a string of coordinates. His mind simply recalled the position where he had just left Vrischil.
[Tier A - Teleportation]
A flash of light swallowed his figure. The room was empty once more.
Inside the forest, the air suddenly distorted. Arcus materialized directly beside Vrischil.
The silver-haired Elf was still kneeling on the ground, but she had stopped crying. Her face had frozen over once more, burying the storm of emotions behind her mask of utter composure.
"I have found a human city and rented an inn room," Arcus reported with a seriousness he rarely displayed.
"Is the location secure?" Vrischil asked, her eyes darting toward Alphonse, who was still lying unconscious.
"Secure. And it appears the natives of this world are incredibly weak," Arcus answered casually. "I knocked six thugs unconscious without them offering the slightest resistance."
Arcus continued, "Even the innkeeper was terrified just from me glaring at him with a little killing intent. If trouble arises, our strength is more than enough to obliterate anyone."
Arcus extended his hand. "We move now."
Vrischil grasped Alphonse's shoulder with one hand, while her other hand touched Arcus's arm.
[Tier A - Teleportation]
In the blink of an eye, the forest scenery was replaced by the wooden walls of the inn room.
The moment his feet touched the wooden floorboards, Arcus pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long breath. He remained standing tall, but a faint, throbbing dizziness pulsed in his temples. Executing high-tier spatial displacement magic twice in rapid succession had drained his Mana far more than he anticipated.
"Phew..." Arcus sighed with a feigned casual tone, though a hint of exhaustion bled into his voice. He shook his hands as if trying to shake off the numbness. "My Mana capacity truly is minuscule compared to Alphonse's. Just performing two consecutive spatial jumps was enough to give me a slight headache."
Vrischil ignored Arcus's complaints. She immediately hoisted Alphonse's body with utmost care and laid him gently onto the bed. She pulled the wooden chair from the corner and sat down beside the bed, her eyes never leaving the Guild Master's pale face.
Arcus rolled his stiff shoulders to ward off the lingering fatigue, then adjusted the hood of his shabby cloak.
"I'm stepping out for a moment to observe the city's situation," Arcus announced. He looked at Vrischil with absolute seriousness. "Do not leave this room. We have no idea how the humans of this world view non-human races like you. Deploy your defensive magic just in case."
Vrischil merely replied with a slow nod.
After Arcus left and locked the door from the outside, Vrischil immediately moved her fingers.
[Tier C - Silence]
Instantly, all the noise from the lower floor and the bustling streets was severed. The room became hermetically sealed, soundproofed from both the inside and the outside.
[Tier C - Magic Lock]
The doorknob glowed a faint blue, magically bolting the room shut.
[Tier C - Magic Barrier]
A transparent layer blanketed the walls, the floor, and the ceiling, rendering the room impenetrable to both magical detection and sudden physical assaults.
As a final touch, her eyes glowed with magical energy.
[Tier B - Great Sense Up]
Her auditory and perceptive senses spiked drastically, allowing her to detect every vibration and movement in the hallway outside without needing to see them directly.
With her defenses flawlessly established, Vrischil leaned forward. Her combat-gloved hands reached out, tightly gripping Alphonse's right hand.
"Please wake up soon, Alphonse," she murmured softly amidst the absolute silence of the room.
Downstairs, Arcus descended the steps. The atmosphere was just as obnoxiously loud. He shot a quick glance at the bar counter. The one-eyed innkeeper immediately bowed his head, actively avoiding eye contact.
Arcus stepped outside, breathing in the midday air of Wealden City. Behind his mask of composure, he was busy with his internal monologue.
Alphonse should be waking up soon. Right before I left, I could feel his body automatically absorbing the ambient Mana. He felt slightly relieved knowing the trauma to Alphonse's body wasn't fatal. Absolute idiot. He definitely asked the Akashic Record something way out of his league.
As he walked down the cobblestone street, Arcus wrinkled his nose. The musty, sour stench from the thug's cloak he was wearing began to seriously annoy him. He ducked into a quiet alleyway.
[Tier E - Cleanse]
A wave of pale light swept over his cloak, eradicating the dirt, odor, and dust instantly. The cloak felt vastly more comfortable, even though it still looked entirely shabby.
He returned to the main street and began his observation. Although the architecture resembled a medieval era with its timber and stone constructions, the city planning was surprisingly advanced.
The street posts did not utilize torches; instead, they housed magical crystals that emitted a soft glow. The streets were clean, and his eyes caught sight of structured drainage trenches along the sides, indicating a functioning sanitation and sewage system.
Pedestrians hurried about. Arcus also noticed several groups of adventurers.
He analyzed their equipment: roughly stitched leather armor, dented iron breastplates, standard steel swords, and small wooden shields. There was absolutely zero magical energy radiating from their items. It was incredibly primitive compared to the artifacts casually utilized by mid-tier Players in the game.
Arcus approached a male pedestrian. "Excuse me, where might the nearest tailor be?"
He tossed a copper coin into the man's hand. With a wide grin, the pedestrian pointed toward a shop at the end of the street.
The shop bore a sign reading Brown Tailor. Arcus pushed the door open, greeted by the chime of a small bell. A teenage girl with brown hair, busy arranging fabrics, turned and smiled warmly.
"Good afternoon, Sir. How may I help you?"
"I need a cloak similar to the one I'm currently wearing. Black or dark grey. Give me three of your highest quality pieces," Arcus requested.
The girl swiftly retrieved a thick, neatly tailored black cloak from a back shelf. "This is our finest work, Sir. Very comfortable and durable. It costs six silver coins."
Arcus did not haggle. He placed six of his stolen silver coins onto the counter, grabbed the new cloak, and immediately walked out of the shop, fully intending to discard the filthy thug's cloak the moment he had the chance.
In the corner of the Black Raven Inn, Bryan sat with his back resting against the wooden wall. In front of him, a half-empty mug of beer left a wet ring on the table.
His sharp eyes had just witnessed the shabby-cloaked man descend the stairs and walk out through the inn's front door.
One of his subordinates, Morg, leaned across the table.
"Boss, did you see that guy?" Morg whispered, pointing toward the door. "His cloak might look like beggar's trash, but did you see his shoes when he walked?"
"Those were premium leather loafers. The cut was far too clean. He has to be a noble. Isn't this a remarkably fat sheep just waiting to be slaughtered?" Morg teased, a greedy smile plastered on his face.
Garn, Bryan's skinnier subordinate, shook his head frantically. "Oi, Morg! Are you insane? Attacking a noble inside the city walls? I'd very much like to keep my head attached to my neck!"
Morg smacked the back of Garn's head hard. "Idiot! What kind of noble willingly stays in a garbage dump like the Black Raven?"
"I bet that noble is on the run or hiding something fatal. As long as we do a clean job and the city guards don't find out, we'll be safe and filthy rich!" Morg continued, trying to convince him.
Bryan listened to his subordinates' debate in silence. The survival instinct that had propelled him to become the leader of this thug syndicate was warning him of something. He stood up and walked toward the bar, approaching Otto, the innkeeper.
"Otto, what's your take on the guest who just walked out?" Bryan asked quietly.
Otto, who was wiping the counter, suddenly froze. He shot Bryan a look, the residual terror still lingering in his one good eye.
"A piece of advice, Bryan... stay far away from that man. He is no sheep. When he glared at me... I felt as though I was being swallowed whole by a monster. His killing intent was utterly terrifying," Otto whispered, shuddering.
Bryan's brow furrowed. A warning from Otto—a man who had witnessed dozens of murders in this very tavern—was not something to be taken lightly.
However, before Bryan could come to a decision, the inn doors were violently kicked open from the outside.
Six men stomped inside, panting heavily with enraged expressions. They were the thug syndicate that had been operating near the red lantern intersection moments ago.
Morg, upon seeing them, immediately let out a mocking laugh. "Hey, look who it is! Did you boys get beat up by the vegetable merchants again?"
Fred, the leader of the six thugs, slammed his fist onto Morg's table in sheer fury. "Shut your mouth! We just got robbed! All our money and the fat guy's cloak were stolen by some freak noble!"
Bryan, who was walking back from the bar, halted his steps. His eyes narrowed. "Was this man wearing black leather shoes? Is he currently wearing a shabby cloak?"
"Yes!" Fred exclaimed, his tone instigating, greed flashing in his eyes. "And do you know what was hiding beneath that cloak? The man is wearing an incredibly luxurious maroon tailored suit! The stitching is done with solid gold thread!"
"He has to be carrying an absolute fortune. If we combine our forces, we can take him down and split the loot!"
Morg laughed even louder. "All six of you got robbed by one guy? How pathetic are you?!"
Bryan shoved his way through his subordinates, standing directly in front of the complaining thug leader. Bryan's massive stature instantly intimidated the miserable man.
"You're telling me all six of you were taken down by one man?" Bryan's voice was low and threatening. "If he managed to incapacitate all of you without a weapon, he must possess high-tier combat skills. And you want me to send my men to die with you?"
Fred took a step back, cold sweat dripping down his temples. He desperately scrambled for an excuse to salvage his pride.
"N-no, Boss Bryan! He isn't that strong! He just ambushed us from the shadows when we weren't ready! If we attack him all together, prepared and armed, he'll definitely die!"
Bryan stared intensely into Fred's eyes. A heavy, oppressive silence dominated the table. Under Bryan's murderous glare, Fred eventually bowed his head deep, averting his gaze in absolute fear.
After several agonizing seconds, Bryan took a deep breath. The sheer greed for the mysterious noble's wealth finally overpowered Otto's warning in his head.
"Morg, Garn," Bryan barked loudly. "Rally the men. Prepare your weapons. We are heading out right now."
Bryan turned back to the six gulping thugs. He flashed a cruel smirk.
"And make absolutely sure you bring these six cowards with us. If that noble is truly as strong as Otto claims, these six will serve as our first meat shields."