Rhaenor stood at the edge of the clearing, staring into the horizon as his naked form shimmered under the moonlight. His entire body ached with the loss of his wealth, a fortune meticulously created through hours of effort and skill, now nothing more than dust scattered into the wind. Every coin, every piece of gear, and even his basic clothes—everything was gone. The realization hit hard: this was the cost of his Vaporous Transformation. For all its mobility and invulnerability, the skill had left him in dire straits, stark naked and penniless, exposed to the harsh realities of Midgard.
"That was reckless," he muttered under his breath. He could still feel the adrenaline from his escape from the wolves, but now, the cold reality of his situation was all that filled his mind. He needed to regroup, find shelter, and more importantly—clothes. His nakedness wasn’t just uncomfortable, it was humiliating. The city of Eldham might be forgiving in its liberal views, but a grown man wandering through its streets without so much as a scrap of fabric would surely raise alarms.
He needed a plan. He couldn’t return to the city like this. As powerful as his skills were, they didn’t solve the simple problem of needing basic necessities. The cheapest clothes in the market were 10,000 bronze coins—an impossible amount to make quickly without equipment or tools. His only option was to go down to the sewers, where the stench of the city’s waste and decay could be converted into bronze through Gaseous Transmutation.
With no time to waste, Rhaenor set his sights on Eldham’s underbelly.
The sewers were worse than he had imagined. The air was thick with a foul odor, a rancid mixture of decaying organic matter, waste, and stagnant water. Rats scurried along the edges of the stone walkways, their beady eyes glowing in the dim light. The further he ventured into the labyrinth of tunnels, the more oppressive the smell became. But Rhaenor welcomed it—he needed this.
His mind worked in tandem with his mana, and soon, he activated Gaseous Transmutation. The air around him shimmered as the carbon dioxide molecules from the fetid stench condensed into solid form. A small pile of bronze began to materialize at his feet.
[Notification]
50 Mana spent.
250 Bronze Coins created.
For hours, Rhaenor repeated the process. His mana drained steadily, but with his intelligence stat so high, his mana pool regenerated quickly enough for him to continue the transmutation. Every few minutes, another pile of bronze appeared at his feet, slowly accumulating into a respectable amount. The rhythmic pattern of casting and waiting for regeneration became almost meditative, and despite the filth surrounding him, Rhaenor felt a sense of purpose returning.
[Notification]
Gaseous Transmutation skill leveled up!
Bronze output doubled to 500 coins per 50 Mana.
Mana cost to rarity ratio unlocked: Silver (10 mana per coin).
The notification broke his focus, and Rhaenor allowed himself a small smile. His efforts were paying off, and now, with his newly leveled-up skill, the process would go even faster.
By the time his mana reserves were fully drained, he had amassed a small fortune.
[Notification]
10,000 bronze coins created.
It was enough. Rhaenor gathered the coins, feeling the weight of his efforts in his hands. He needed to get out of the sewers and back to the city as quickly as possible. But he couldn’t do it alone—not in his current state. His mind raced, trying to figure out his next move.
That’s when he spotted him—a boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, lingering near one of the sewer exits. His clothes were ragged, his face smudged with dirt, but his eyes were sharp. Rhaenor approached cautiously, realizing how he must look—completely naked, drenched in the grime of the sewers, and carrying nothing but a pile of bronze coins. It wasn’t exactly a position of strength.
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"Hey," Rhaenor called out, his voice steady but nonthreatening.
The boy’s eyes widened as he took in Rhaenor’s appearance. He took a step back, clearly on guard.
"I need help," Rhaenor continued, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I have money—enough to buy clothes—but I need someone to get them for me. Can you do that?"
The boy hesitated, his gaze shifting between Rhaenor and the coins in his hands. "Why would I help a naked man in the sewers?" the boy asked, his voice wary.
"Fair point," Rhaenor replied, suppressing a chuckle despite the gravity of the situation. "But I’m not asking for free. I’ll pay you for your help. All I need is a light shirt and trousers—10,000 bronze. You can keep whatever’s left."
The boy stared at him, suspicion etched on his face. Rhaenor could see the calculations happening behind his eyes. He knew the boy had every reason to refuse—a naked stranger in the sewers wasn’t exactly the most trustworthy person. But Rhaenor didn’t have time to convince him otherwise. He needed to act quickly.
"I’m Rhaenor," he said, extending his hand. "What’s your name?"
The boy glanced at his outstretched hand before finally replying, "Adon."
"Adon," Rhaenor repeated, lowering his hand. "Look, I know this is strange, but I have no other options. Help me, and I promise I’ll make it worth your while."
For a moment, Adon said nothing, his eyes flicking back and forth as he considered Rhaenor’s offer. Then, with a small nod, he agreed. "Fine. But no tricks."
Adon led the way out of the sewers, moving swiftly through the narrow streets of Eldham. Rhaenor kept his head down, doing his best to remain unseen. The boy was quick and resourceful, darting between alleyways and avoiding any major thoroughfares. Within minutes, they arrived at a small market stall tucked away in a quieter part of the city.
Adon approached the stall owner, a stout man with a thick beard, and began haggling over the price of clothes. Rhaenor watched from the shadows, trying to stay out of sight while Adon worked. Eventually, the boy returned with a simple light shirt and trousers, tossing them to Rhaenor with a satisfied grin.
"Here," Adon said. "The cheapest they had."
Rhaenor quickly pulled on the clothes, the fabric rough against his skin, but it was a welcome relief after hours of being exposed. "Thanks, Adon. I owe you."
"You do," Adon replied, crossing his arms. "So, what’s next?"
Rhaenor considered the question. The boy had done more than enough, but Rhaenor couldn’t shake the feeling that Adon deserved more than just a handful of bronze coins. There was something about the kid—his resourcefulness, his sharp instincts—that made Rhaenor want to help him, not out of obligation, but out of a genuine desire to see him succeed.
"How about I treat you to lunch?" Rhaenor offered.
Adon raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by the suggestion. "Lunch? Why?"
"Because I want to hear your story," Rhaenor replied. "And besides, I owe you more than just coins."
The boy hesitated again, but eventually nodded. "Alright. But it better be a good lunch."
They sat at a small tavern near the outskirts of the city, the air thick with the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread. Rhaenor ordered a modest meal, and as they waited for their food, he turned his attention to Adon.
"Tell me about yourself," Rhaenor said, leaning back in his chair. "What’s a kid like you doing in a place like Eldham?"
Adon shrugged, his expression guarded. "I get by. Do what I have to."
"That’s not really an answer," Rhaenor pressed, though he kept his tone light. "You seem pretty sharp for someone your age."
"I’ve had to be," Adon replied, his voice quiet. "There’s no one else looking out for me."
Rhaenor nodded, understanding all too well what it was like to fend for oneself. "You’re not from here, are you?"
Adon shook his head. "No. I came here a few years ago, hoping to make something of myself. But it’s hard—especially for someone like me."
Rhaenor didn’t need to ask what he meant. Eldham was a city where the strong thrived, and the weak were often left behind. But there was something about Adon that told Rhaenor he was more than just another street urchin.
"I see potential in you, Adon," Rhaenor said after a long pause. "You’re clever, resourceful—and I think you deserve more than this life."
Adon looked at him skeptically. "And what would you know about that?"
Rhaenor smiled. "More than you think. How about this—I’ve got some ideas on how to make a real living in Midgard. You help me, and I’ll make sure you get a piece of it."
Adon’s eyes narrowed. "What kind of ideas?"
"Alchemy," Rhaenor replied simply. "I’ve got a rare skill—one that could make us both a lot of money. But I’ll need help—someone I can trust to handle things on the ground while I focus on perfecting the craft."
For the first time, Adon’s interest was piqued. "Alchemy, huh? Sounds dangerous."
"It can be," Rhaenor admitted. "But it can also be incredibly rewarding. And with your help, I think we can make something big out of it."
Adon studied him for a long moment before finally nodding. "Alright, I’m in. But no more sewer adventures, okay?"
Rhaenor chuckled. "Deal."
As their meal arrived, the two of them ate in companionable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. For the first time since arriving in Midgard, Rhaenor felt like he had a real shot at success—not just as a player, but as someone who could build something meaningful in this strange new world.
And with Adon by his side, he was more determined than ever to make it happen.
As they finished their meal and made their way through the city, Rhaenor’s thoughts turned to the future. He really needed a business, a permanent home in this world—something stable to ensure he wouldn’t be caught off guard again.
Adon glanced up at him, his face now relaxed and content from the meal. “What’s the plan now?”
Rhaenor grinned, already feeling more optimistic about the future. “We make some money. Lots of it.”