In a quiet alley not far from the tailor's shop, Arcus stripped off the shabby cloak he had been wearing and tossed it onto a pile of wooden barrels without a second thought.
He immediately donned his new black cloak, made of thick wool. The fabric draped immaculately over his maroon tailored suit, concealing the Sirius Piercer bow on his back while providing a far more dignified silhouette.
In his left hand, he carried a cloth bag containing two additional cloaks for Alphonse and Vrischil.
Arcus smiled faintly, recalling the warm smile of the teenage shopkeeper.
That girl gave me this cloth bag for free and called me 'Sir Noble' with a blush on her cheeks, Arcus thought, highly amused.
He looked down, admiring his polished, expensive leather loafers—the only part of his attire not covered by the cloak. Was it because of these shoes? Or was it because my handsome face simply cannot be hidden, even by a hood? It has to be the latter.
As he stepped back onto the main street, Arcus noticed the sky beginning to change color. A reddish-orange hue painted the western horizon. Dusk was approaching.
His brow furrowed slightly. When he first arrived in the poisonous swamp, the sky was pitch black, deep in the night. Yet here, in Wealden City, the sun was only just about to set.
Time zone differences, Arcus deduced.
This fact cemented a crucial realization in his mind. Planet Orion was not merely a virtual space running on a simultaneously programmed day-night cycle. This was a physical world rotating on its axis, exactly like Earth.
Arcus walked at a leisurely pace, allowing his eyes to record the pulse of life in this new world. The city's atmosphere in the late afternoon felt incredibly vibrant and peaceful.
The wheels of wooden carts creaked softly across the neatly arranged cobblestone streets. The hum of conversation from merchants beginning to pack up their stalls blended harmoniously.
There was no tension in the shoulders of the pedestrians, and the patrolling city guards strolled casually, emitting absolutely no aura of vigilance. At the end of the street, the sound of children laughing and chasing each other pierced the cool evening air.
Arcus's stomach gave a signal. He spotted a tavern at a crossroad, bustling with locals and a few adventurers.
He stepped inside, ordered a portion of roast meat, wheat bread, and a mug of ale, then chose an empty table in a dimly lit corner.
While waiting for his order, his sharp auditory senses picked up a conversation from the adjacent table.
Seated there was a group of four adventurers. They wore incredibly basic equipment: a Warrior with a broadsword, a second Warrior resting an iron spear against the table, a Rogue flipping a small dagger, and an Archer with a standard wooden bow.
"Damn it," the broadsword wielder complained, taking a rough gulp of his beer. "Those bastard goblins are retreating deeper into the Eastern Forest."
"We have to trek miles further in just to find their tracks. How are we supposed to complete this hunting Quest on time?" he continued, clearly annoyed.
"Do you think this has anything to do with the Falling Stars phenomenon this afternoon?" the Rogue chimed in, tapping the table with the hilt of his dagger.
"On the Guild board, I saw an emergency Quest issued by the city military to investigate an anomaly deep within the forest. The payout is fifty silver coins."
The Archer's eyes widened. "Fifty?! Split four ways, that's more than ten silver a head! But... the situation out there is weird right now. Are you sure it's safe to go that deep?"
The broadsword wielder scoffed. "It's a great opportunity. With the money and reputation from that Quest, we'll be just a step away from being promoted to Silver-rank adventurers."
The spear wielder, who had been silent the entire time, finally spoke up, letting out a long sigh as he stared into his mug. "Forget the promotion. I just hope whatever anomaly is in that forest doesn't bring disaster and ruin the peace of this city."
Arcus, listening quietly, analyzed the four individuals using his visual abilities. He could see straight through their muscles and trace the thin flow of energy within their bodies.
Incredibly weak, Arcus scoffed internally. If converted to the game's system, they haven't even touched Level 20.
However, their complaints provided valuable intel. The Eastern Forest seemed to be genuinely devoid of small-fry monsters.
Arcus recalled Alphonse's story—his friend hadn't encountered any monsters aside from a pack of Dire Wolves before rendezvousing with Vrischil.
Something, or someone, has suppressed the monster population on the outskirts of the forest.
Recalling the spear wielder's words about the 'peace of the city', Arcus smirked cynically. His mind drifted to the six thugs in the alley earlier.
Beneath a peaceful city, there will always be cancerous cells rotting away in the gutters.
The waitress arrived with his order. Arcus took a bite of the roast meat. He frowned.
It was bland, the meat was tough, and the bread was far too hard. It was well below his culinary standards. He called the waitress back, ordering two additional portions to go—there was no way he was going to let Vrischil and Alphonse starve.
Once the packaged food was ready, the waitress stated the price.
"The total is thirty copper coins, Sir."
Arcus pulled a silver coin from his cloak pocket and placed it on the table. The waitress smiled brightly, then handed him back seventy copper coins in change.
As he walked out of the tavern, Arcus's brain ran a simple calculation. Thirty paid with one hundred, seventy in change. The currency ratio is one silver coin to one hundred coppers. Exactly the same as in the game. Good.
Night had fully enveloped Wealden City. The streets began to empty. The light from the magical street crystals stretched Arcus's shadow across the cobblestones.
As he walked a few blocks closer to the Black Raven Inn, his pace remained steady, but his combat instincts twitched.
The sharp corners of his eyes caught unnatural movements. Shadows were shifting behind wooden barrels, across low rooftops, and within the gaps of dark alleyways.
He was being watched. Followed.
Arcus let out a long sigh. His mood was actually terrible at the moment. The image of Alphonse lying helplessly, soaked in his own blood, was still vividly etched in his mind. He possessed neither the time nor the patience to entertain a game of gutter rats.
As he took a right turn toward the inn, barely a few steps in, the path ahead was blocked.
A group of fierce-looking men stepped out of the darkness, drawing rusted swords, axes, spears, and spiked wooden clubs.
From the crowd ahead, a man pointed a trembling finger at Arcus. It was Fred, one of the six thugs he had beaten unconscious that afternoon.
"That's him, Boss! That's the guy!" Fred shouted, his voice cracking.
Arcus listened to the approaching footsteps from behind him. He turned his head slightly and saw that the entrance to the street had also been sealed off by another group.
"The perimeter is secure, Boss Bryan!" a scrawny man yelled from the rear, laughing mockingly.
Arcus stood perfectly calm in the middle of the street. In total, there were eighteen armed men encircling him.
The crowd at the front parted. A massive man with bulging muscles beneath his leather armor stepped forward. Bryan, the leader, stared at Arcus with a confident, condescending smirk.
"Hand over that bag, and all the coins and valuables you're hiding beneath that cloak, Sir Noble," Bryan demanded, his heavy voice echoing down the street.
Bryan crossed his arms over his chest. "I admire your ability to incapacitate six of my boys earlier. A sneak attack from the shadows—not bad at all."
"But..." He spread his arms wide, gesturing to the eighteen bloodthirsty thugs grinning all around them. "...fighting eighteen armed men head-on in a dead-end street is not a wise move."
Bryan leaned forward, attempting to intimidate. "I'm a generous man. Surrender your wealth, and I won't kill you tonight."
Silence fell over the alley. The night wind blew, lifting the edge of Arcus's cloak slightly, revealing the faint gleam of his expensive leather shoes.
From beneath the dark hood, a cold scoff echoed. It was not the sound of a terrified man, but rather the sound of someone who felt his time was being utterly wasted.
Arcus raised his head. His blue eyes flashed sharply in the darkness, looking at Bryan the way a god would look down upon a swarm of insects.
"Come at me, all of you," Arcus said. His voice was calm, yet it sliced through the night air like a blade. "I do not have time to play games."
The veins on Bryan's neck bulged. His pride was shredded by that dismissive tone. "Kill him!" he roared furiously.
In the front row, Garn pressed a dagger against Fred's back. "You go first!" Garn threatened.
Fred gulped hard. Cold sweat poured down his temples.
With a desperate scream, Fred charged forward, his sword raised high. The rest of the pack immediately followed suit from all directions, like a swarm of hyenas catching the scent of blood.
The brawl erupted.
Fred swung his weapon in a downward arc.
[Tier D - Power Slash] The air hissed softly, bearing the pressure of the metal blade.
Arcus did not draw his weapon. He merely tilted his body one inch to the side. Fred's blade sliced through empty air, striking the cobblestone ground.
Without losing momentum, Arcus's two fingers shot forward like an arrow, striking the base of Fred's neck. Directly on a nerve cluster. Fred's eyes widened, his body stiffened for a split second, and then he collapsed to the ground without a sound.
Three thugs charged from the left flank. One lunged forward with a [Tier D - Single Thrust], the tip of his rusted spear aimed straight at Arcus's chest.
To Arcus, their movements were agonizingly slow. He stepped sideways, letting the momentum of the attack carry past him.
His left hand moved, swatting the spear shaft away with the back of his hand, while his right palm struck the attacker's solar plexus. A sharp gasp for air was violently cut short. The thug dropped to his knees, his eyes rolling to the back of his head, consciousness fading before his body even hit the ground.
From a blind spot, a man rushed in, swinging dual swords.
[Tier D - Double Slash]
Arcus ducked. The flash of metal grazed just above his hair.
He twisted his hips, swept his leg across the enemy's ankles, and delivered a palm strike to the lower jaw of the falling man. The enemy's consciousness was severed instantly.
A dull vibration traveled up Arcus's arm—a tactile reminder that he had to actively restrain his strength, lest he shatter these men's skulls entirely.
Two other thugs attacked simultaneously from the right flank. [Tier D - Quick Slash] and [Tier D - Hard Hit].
Arcus closed the distance in a single breath. A rapid elbow strike landed on the first thug's shoulder joint, disabling his arm, followed by a sharp rap to the temple that knocked him out cold.
Arcus proceeded to catch the second thug's wrist, twisting it until the weapon dropped with a clatter onto the stones, then delivered a light knee strike to the stomach. The air was forcefully expelled from the thug's lungs, sending him collapsing to the floor.
Dust billowed. The sound of bodies hitting the ground echoed in rapid succession.
Fear began to infect the remaining attackers. The thugs who were still standing hesitated to advance. Their breathing grew erratic. Their eyes darted wildly at the growing piles of their helpless comrades on the ground.
Arcus stepped slowly among the sprawled bodies. There was not a single drop of sweat on his forehead.
Morg, who had initially been laughing in the back, was now trembling as he gripped his dagger. He forced himself forward, screaming hysterically as he slashed blindly.
Arcus simply slipped beneath the wild swing, then delivered a sharp thrust to a nerve cluster just below Morg's ribcage. The pockmarked man fell flat on his face instantly.
In a matter of mere seconds, seventeen men had fallen.
The street, which had previously been loud with threats, was now filled only with the soft groans of men writhing in pain, while several remained completely unconscious.
At the end of the street, Bryan stood absolutely paralyzed. His face was ashen.
His eyes were blown wide as he witnessed how his entire syndicate had been dismantled without offering the slightest meaningful resistance, without a single magic spell being cast, and without a weapon even being drawn from its scabbard.
His survival instinct overrode any remaining shred of sanity. Bryan turned around. He sprinted with all his might toward the darkness of the street to save his own life.
Arcus stared at the retreating back. His hand slowly reached into the small pouch hidden beneath his cloak. A silver coin was pulled out and placed precisely between his thumb and index finger.
With a casual flick, propelled by the raw physical strength of a Level 100 Player, the silver coin shot through the air. It whistled sharply, slicing through the night wind.
Smack!
The silver coin struck dead center on the nerve behind Bryan's right knee.
A suppressed shriek rang out. Bryan's right leg lost all motor function instantly. The sheer momentum of his sprint sent his body hurtling forward, skidding violently across the cobblestones until his shoulder and face were scraped raw against the rough asphalt.
Bryan whimpered in agony, holding his breath as he desperately tried to drag his body away using only his hands.
From behind him, the sound of slow, approaching footsteps echoed. Every click of the leather shoes against the stones sounded like a countdown locking in his doom.
Arcus stopped right beside Bryan, who lay sprawled and helpless. The young man looked down, staring at the thug leader with eyes as cold as ice.
"That's the silver coin you asked for."