The thugs cornered the man, pressing him against the grimy wall of the alley. Their knives glinted menacingly in the faint light, each movement a silent promise of violence.

"Listen," the leader said, his voice low and threatening, "me and my crew are about to be Adventurers, and you don’t want to mess with us, okay? So, give us the money, and we’ll be done here. Alright, man?"

The man trembled, his hands shaking as he fumbled to pull out a small leather sack. "Okay, here—take all my money. Just... just leave me alone," he stammered, thrusting the sack forward.

The leader grabbed it with a smug grin. "Smart choice," he sneered, motioning for his crew to step back. The man bolted, panic in his every step.

As he ran out of the alley, he nearly collided with Travis, who sidestepped smoothly, his expression unreadable.

"Wow, they're quick," Travis thought as he watched the man disappear into the crowded street. Turning, he strolled into the alley, his hands casually tucked into his pockets.

"Hey, guys," he called out, his tone almost friendly. The thugs spun around, startled by his sudden presence.

"What you got there?" Travis asked, nodding toward the sack of money.

Before the leader could reply, Travis had already snatched the sack from his grasp and returned to his original spot, inspecting it with casual interest.

The leader stared at his empty hand, dumbfounded. "How the hell did you do that?!" he roared, his voice echoing off the narrow walls.

Travis didn’t answer. He turned on his heel and began to walk away.

"Get him!" the leader barked, and the group surged forward.

But then they froze. A suffocating wave of pressure filled the air, halting them in their tracks. The sensation was indescribable—an instinctive, primal fear that warned of death itself. Their instincts screamed at them to retreat, and they obeyed, stumbling backward as Travis continued his leisurely pace.

He flipped open the sack, counting its contents as he walked. "So, this is their currency," he mused, examining a silver coin. "Pretty cool, I guess."

Emerging from the alley, he made his way to a small restaurant, its warm glow inviting against the chill of the night. After ordering a modest meal, Travis leaned back in his seat, his mind wandering.

"What now?" he thought, his gaze fixed on the flickering lantern hanging above the counter. "I’m done with the coliseum. No reason to stick around here any longer."

He drummed his fingers against the table. "Yeah, I’ll leave tomorrow. Just need to grab a map first. I know where to find one."

His food arrived, the aroma pulling him briefly from his thoughts. Taking a bite, he let the flavors distract him while his plan for the next day solidified in his mind.

While Travis ate his food, savoring the fleeting moments of peace, the soft chime of the restaurant door opening caught his attention. A group of armored guards entered, their boots clinking against the wooden floor as they scanned the room. Their gazes locked onto him, and they approached with a sense of purpose.

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"You," one of them said curtly. "Come with us."

Travis sighed, his appetite souring. "I can't even eat peacefully in this fuckin' world," he thought, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Reluctantly, he stood and followed them out.

The guards led him through the town, past bustling streets and into a grand building that seemed out of place in the otherwise modest settlement. Inside, the walls were lined with ornate tapestries and polished wood, exuding an air of authority. They stopped before a large set of double doors and pushed them open, revealing a spacious office.

At the center sat a man on a throne-like chair, draped in fine fabrics that screamed wealth and power. His posture was relaxed, almost too casual, as he regarded Travis with a calculating gaze.

"He looks like a dictator," Travis thought, unimpressed.

"Travis," the man said, a wide grin spreading across his face. "Our coliseum star who managed to walk out alive. It’s nice to finally meet you."

Travis's memory jogged. During the chaos of the coliseum fights, he recalled spotting a group of spectators seated in a private viewing room above the arena. This man had been one of them.

"Yeah, nice to meet you too... guy in a big chair," Travis said, his tone indifferent. "So, what do you want from me?"

The man chuckled, leaning forward slightly. "It’s nothing much, really. Allow me to introduce myself—I am Matthew Osborne, the leader of this fine town. I have a proposition for you."

Travis raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

"You see," Matthew said, gesturing lazily with one hand, "this town lacks excitement. There’s no ambition here, no dreams, just a bunch of losers going about their dull lives. Frankly, I find it boring. But you? You’re different. You have something special. I’d like you to stay here as this town’s voluntary adventurer." He smiled, as if his offer was irresistible. "I heard you passed the adventurer’s exam—congratulations, by the way. So, what do you say?"

Travis didn’t hesitate. "No."

Matthew’s grin faltered, his expression momentarily blank.

"But," Travis added, "since I’m going to be an explorer and all, I’ll mention your town when I’m out there. Might get you a bit more traffic, maybe even some recognition."

Matthew’s face lit up, his disappointment replaced with enthusiasm. "I like the sound of that! Yes, yes, if you spread the word about us, we’ll attract visitors. Maybe even residents! This town could rise back to its former glory!" He clapped his hands together. "So, what do you need from us in exchange for this announcement?"

"Not much," Travis replied, smirking. "A map of the entire region and some decent equipment for the road. That should do it."

"You’ve got yourself a deal!" Matthew said, standing abruptly. "Guards, show this man our finest adventuring equipment and a detailed map immediately!"

As the guards hurried to fulfill the order, Matthew leaned back in his chair, his mind racing with possibilities. "If we impress the tourists, they might even want to stay here. Then we won’t have to live in this depressing town anymore," he thought, excitement brimming in his eyes.

Travis gave a casual nod. "Pleasure doing business with you," he said as he turned to leave, the faintest hint of a smirk on his face.

Travis was led to a room filled with various equipment, neatly organized on racks and shelves. The guards watched as he inspected the selection with a critical eye.

His attention landed on a set of sleek silver armor. The craftsmanship was impeccable, each piece polished to a mirror finish. He selected armor for his shoulders and arms, its design simple yet elegant, with subtle engravings that shimmered faintly under the light. Matching armor for his legs caught his eye next, lightweight yet durable. Finally, he spotted a long black drape hanging from a hook, its fabric smooth and heavy. He fastened it over his shoulders, letting it flow down his back and partially cover his face like a shadowy veil.

He rolled his shoulders and flexed his arms, testing the fit. The armor moved with him effortlessly, as if it were a second skin. "Great," he thought, satisfied. "Now let’s look for a sword."

The guards led him down a narrow hallway to a weapons room. As soon as Travis stepped inside, his gaze was drawn to a particular cabinet in the corner. A pitch-black blade rested within, its surface dull and unassuming compared to the polished weapons surrounding it. Yet something about it pulled at him, an invisible thread tying him to the weapon.

He approached the cabinet, his footsteps echoing softly. When he opened the glass door and wrapped his hand around the hilt, a strange sensation coursed through him. The blade hummed faintly, as though alive, and he felt his mana being siphoned away. It wasn’t overwhelming—just a steady drain—but he barely noticed, his reserves vast enough to handle it without effort.

"Wow," he thought, marveling at the sword. "This thing would probably kill a normal guy. Thanks for the mana pool, Xavier."

The guards exchanged uneasy glances. "You sure you want that one?" one of them asked hesitantly.

Travis turned to face them, the blade resting comfortably in his hand. "Yeah, why? Is it cursed or something?"

The guards shook their heads quickly. "No, no. Just checking. Are you done?"

"Yeah, that’s it. I’m done," he replied, sliding the blade into a scabbard he found nearby.

Before leaving, he returned to Matthew Osborne to exchange a few parting words. The leader tried once more to convince him to stay, but Travis declined politely and left, heading straight back to the house.

The restaurant and his unfinished meal were forgotten. Upon arriving, he tossed his new gear onto the bed, its weight causing the old mattress to creak.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Travis unfolded the map he’d been given. It was worn and faded, the edges frayed from years of use, but it served its purpose. His eyes traced the routes and landmarks, planning his journey.

"Yep, tomorrow’s the day," he thought. "Finally leaving this hellhole."

Stretching, he leaned back, his body sinking into the mattress. "Should probably get some rest before I head out."

The room fell silent, save for the faint rustle of the map as it fluttered in the breeze coming through the window.

TO BE CONTINUED