With his mind set on food, Zi-Cheng made his way back into the heart of Hazelton, following the tempting aromas that filled the air as he wove through the bustling streets and alleys.

“So this is the Gourmet District….”

image [https://i.imgur.com/vcTq8Dv.png]

He looked up at the signs on the building, taking in the lively scene. Though night had only just begun, the district was already packed with diners crowding into every restaurant and bar in sight. The cheerful, energetic atmosphere felt even more vibrant than the city he once called home.

Resolved to finally satisfy his rumbling stomach, he relaxed and let himself go with the flow of people, immersing himself in the festival-like energy filling the streets.

“To my brother’s victory at the arena! Another round of ale!”

“Sorry, folks! We’re sold out of Roasted Drakes for the night! But there’s still plenty of Herb-Crusted Cockatrice Wings!”

The cobbled streets were full of workers wrapping up their day and arena fighters celebrating their victories. Everyone seemed in high spirits and eager to feast; clearly, the Hero’s system with the arena and Invocations had brought prosperity to the city within these walls.

(Partying every night, is that how they do things here? No wonder everyone worships the Hero!)

As Zi-Cheng passed another group of high-spirited arena combatants, a rich, savory smell of grilled meat drifted his way, making his stomach growl even louder.

“Goblin skewers! Get your hot, fresh goblin skewers here!”

Wait, what – goblin?

Images of nasty green-skinned creatures with gnashing fangs flashed through Zi-Cheng’s mind. No matter how amazing that smell was, there was no way he would eat a goblin!

And it seemed he wasn’t the only one caught off guard by that name.

“Don’t let the name scare you, kid!” the mid-aged vendor called out with a hearty laugh, “We call ’em Goblin Skewers ‘cause they’re cooked in goblin style – a perfect blend of meats and spices. No actual goblin meat here!”

“Ah, I see… I thought….”

“Only an idiot would go hunting for goblins outside of the city,” the vendor laughed, waving his skewer for emphasis. “All our meat here’s supplied by the Dreslam Merchant Guild!”

(The Merchant Guild!)

That was the missing piece.

Hazelton’s thriving economy wasn’t just built on the arena and Invocations; it was backed by the guilds pulling the strings. Arena fighters without noble lineage often ended up employed by these guilds, spending their Invocations on gathering resources only accessible outside the city walls.

Zi-Cheng took a second look around—the packed restaurants, the vibrant commerce, the steady flow of supplies—it was all fueled by this guild-backed system. Goods, logistics, construction, imports and exports… one could only imagine how deep the guild’s roots ran in Hazelton.

In other words, there was far more to this city than its arena or the kingdom’s rulers. The rules of survival here were woven into a system so complex it was impossible to escape. Without any cheat-like abilities to rely on, it was painfully clear that Zi-Cheng had no way of climbing up.

“Hey, young man, fancy a goblin skewer?” The vendor held up a skewer sizzling with savory juices.

The vendor’s offer was almost impossible to resist, especially with the rich, mouthwatering aroma wafting his way. But with just a few silver coins from Chris and no real means to earn more, even a taste of the Gourmet District felt painfully out of reach.

As Zi-Cheng tried to back away from the vendor, searching his mind for words to excuse himself, someone bumped into him, shoving him to the ground.

“Hey! What’s your problem?” barked a brawny young man, glaring down at him. His friends, who reeked of alcohol, snickered and began to close in around Zi-Cheng.

“Sorry, I didn’t see you there,” Zi-Cheng replied, trying to keep his tone friendly, but his apology did little to help, as the young man’s friends only laughed harder.

“Yo Karl, this punk says he didn’t even see you!”

“What a load of crap, bet he did that on purpose!”

Zi-Cheng frowned; these drunks clearly weren’t planning to let him off easy, and the bystanders just backed away to watch the show.

“Listen up, dumbass,” Karl leaned in, “I just hit the Bronze today, and my boys got me that drink to celebrate. Now it’s all over the ground ‘cause of you. So how you gonna pay for that, huh?”

Zi-Cheng glanced at the tankard on the ground, not a drop of ale left in it.

(Are you serious? This is the most clichéd setup in the book…)

“What was that?” Karl snarled, grabbing Zi-Cheng by the collar.

“Nothing! I didn’t say anything!” Zi-Cheng protested, holding his hands up in defense.

“Look at him, Karl! Guy’s treating you like a joke, you really gonna let that slide?”

Zi-Cheng shot a look at the guy egging Karl on, his frustration growing. If they decided to gang up on him, he’d have no way out of a beatdown.

“Fine, I’ll pay for it!”

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Desperate to diffuse the situation, Zi-Cheng decided it was best to part with his precious coins, his only means of food and shelter for the night, than risk further trouble. But before he could even reach into his pocket, Karl yanked his collar tighter, his scowl deepening.

“Pathetic. You didn’t even try to stand up for yourself, you spineless loser.”

Zi-Cheng froze, a chill crawling up his spine. Unlike his encounter with Julia, he couldn’t make sense of Karl’s actions. What did this thug even want from him?

Before he could figure it out, Karl jerked him forward with brutal force. A sharp knee drove into his stomach, and the air was knocked from him in an instant.

“Ugh – gah!!”

A sharp burst of pain tore through Zi-Cheng’s body as he crumpled to the ground. Clutching his stomach, he felt bile rising in his throat, his breath shallow and ragged.

“What... the hell is wrong with you...?” he croaked, his voice trembling. “Didn’t I... say I’d pay you...?”

Karl loomed over him, his grin widening with cruel satisfaction. “Relax,” he said, cracking his knuckles lazily. “I’ll take the coins... after I’ve had my fun.”

(Damn it, he’s not even listening!)

Panic surged through Zi-Cheng as Karl’s arm reached toward him like a predator’s claw. Without thinking, Zi-Cheng’s body moved on pure instinct, grabbing Karl’s arm and spun around, channeling every ounce of his strength into a classic over-the-shoulder throw—

Throw...

Throw…..

...but Karl didn’t move an inch.

“Huh?” Karl tilted his head, his tone mocking. “What’s this? You trying do something with my arm?”

Karl’s feet stayed rooted to the ground, as solid and unyielding as steel. Zi-Cheng strained with everything he had, his muscles trembling from the effort, but Karl stood there, unmoving, like a mountain.

“Guys, did you see that? This dirt bag tried to do a shoulder throw on a martial artist!”

(M..martial artist?)

Zi-Cheng tried to connect the words with the situation before him, but it was too late, he couldn’t let go even if he wanted to.

A sudden, searing pain shot through his wrist, locking his arm in place and leaving him completely defenseless.

“Good reflexes,” Karl sneered, his grip so tight it almost crushing Zi-Cheng’s bones, “but your strength is pathetic.”

Before Zi-Cheng could register the words, Karl’s massive fist slammed onto his face like a sledgehammer, the impact reverberating through his entire body. Blows after blows struck down like a relentless downpour, each sending a fresh wave of agony as if bones were being shattered piece by piece.

“Don’t black out on me yet, loser!” Karl barked, his voice dripping with malice.

“Yeah, we’re not done watching the show!” one of Karl’s friends jeered, their laughter echoing through the night.

Dizzy and battered, Zi-Cheng barely heard the mocking voices around him. He hoped that someone would step-in, but the crowd just kept their distance, watching with interest but offering no help. Perhaps, he was nothing more than tonight’s entertainment.

(P...please….help….someone…..anyone…..)

Pain, humiliation, and the metallic taste of blood consumed every fiber of Zi-Cheng’s being. His body screamed in agony, yet his mind felt strangely lucid. Time seemed to stretch into eternity as his gaze wandered over the indifferent crowd, capturing every face, every expression, every glint of emotion, or lack thereof, in their eyes.

And then, amidst the sea of apathetic onlookers, he caught sight of a familiar figure.

“C...Chris———!!!”

Desperation surged through Zi-Cheng as he cried out, his trembling hand reaching toward the one man he thought he could trust, the one he believed he could rely on.

But then…

“Ah, bloody hell. You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

Chris’s voice cut through the crowd like a whip as he stepped forward, his expression hard and unfeeling.

“You weren’t supposed to notice me, kid.”

“Chris... W-what are you saying…?”

Zi-Cheng’s right eye was swollen nearly shut, and every inch of his body screamed in pain.

Karl crouched down, rifling through Zi-Cheng’s pockets until he fished out the silver coins Chris had given him.

“S-stop... Those... Those are from Chris… he gave me...”

Zi-Cheng weakly raised a trembling hand, but the sight that followed froze him solid. Karl handed the coins over to Chris without hesitation.

His breath caught, his chest tightening like a vice.

“Here’s your share.” Chris flipped a portion of the coins back to Karl with the same casual indifference as someone tossing scraps to a dog.

“What’s... going on…?”

Chris sighed, his voice low and edged with disdain. “Not the smartest one eh? Don’t make me spell it out for you, kid.”

As Chris spoke, he pulled out a small oil lamp not unlike the one Zi-Cheng had seen before. As soon as it was lit before his face, the familiar green glow poured forth once again, wrapping around him like an invasive mist. That awful feeling of being stripped bare and exposed return, prickling at his very core.

“What the hell is wrong with this guy?”

(Stop…. Stop...it)

“Can’t read any of his stats, and look at those useless abilities, I’ve never seen worse than this!”

“What a piece of trash, does someone like this even have a reason to exist?”

(I said...stop….!!)

Around him, gasps of shock, mocking laughter, and murmurs of pity echoed. Scornful faces leered from every direction, their expressions searing themselves into Zi-Cheng’s heart.

(Why… why am I going through this… suffering… even in another world….?)

“I only wanted to see what you’re up to kid, but then you went and disrespected the most important person in my life.”

Chris Coleman’s voice was cold as ice, a stark contrast to the warm, friendly tone he had when pushing that wooden cart.

“Most important person? What… are you… even talking about….?”

“I told you, Chris. This guy’s not worth the trouble, just a piece of scrap iron at best. You believe me now?”

Zi-Cheng’s body stiffened as he realized Julia Kinsley, the vice-captain of the town guards, had been standing beside Chris the entire time.

“Yeah, you’re right, sis.” Chris nodded, his gaze cold and dismissive, like he was staring at a piece of grabage, “not worth existing, let alone being a threat.”

(They’re siblings?)

So it was a setup all along.

(But...why….?)

“If I’m... just a piece of trash… why didn’t you just leave me to rot in the forest!”

The words tore out of him like a dam breaking, releasing every ounce of anger, humiliation, and despair that came with the realization of this elaborate betrayal.

Yet, Chris did not respond. Instead, he crouched down, with that same friendly smile from the forest stretching across his face.

“Ah, my bad,” Chris said with a chuckle, tilting his head slightly. “Really sorry to have wasted your time, kid. But hey, it’s all over now, so why don’t you do us all a favor and crawl back to whatever hole you came from?”