A man with messy black hair and dark eyes stood by the window of his inn room. His skin was fair, and his expression was lazy, like someone who had just woken from a deep sleep. That was exactly the case.
Aldric had ended up sleeping through the entire day and night. The mental exhaustion from shaping steel and wood had taken its toll. He had only stirred when the sun was already rising again.
But now, he felt refreshed.
For the first time in his life, his body didn't feel heavy from hunger or chains. His stomach was full, his head was clear, and his limbs carried energy. He had never eaten so well or rested on such a comfortable bed.
The orphanage he grew up in had beds and food, but neither compared to this. The food there was always bland, thin porridge or scraps, and the beds were just wooden frames with hay. Compared to the soft mattress and warm blankets here, the difference was heaven and earth.
He stretched his arms and let out a quiet sigh.
---
After taking another shower in the inn's simple washroom, Aldric changed into a fresh set of clothes. He admired how clean and presentable he looked now.
Then, he brought out his newly crafted steel armor.
Piece by piece, he put it on. It wasn't flawless work, but it fit snugly and covered his body with solid protection. For a novice, it was more than enough. The knowledge engraved in his heart had helped him craft something far superior to what most apprentices could manage.
Over the armor, he wore his black robe with the golden waist design. The robe wasn't meant for battle, but it helped cover the bulk of the armor and gave him the appearance of someone with status.
Once dressed, he strapped the katana at his side and adjusted the scabbard.
When he looked at his reflection in a small mirror, he didn't see a slave anymore. He saw an arcanist.
---
Aldric went downstairs into the inn's dining hall. The smell of cooked meat filled the air, mixed with chatter from mercenaries and travelers. He ignored the stares and sat down at a corner table.
He ordered another satisfying meal, paying with fragments of spirit stones. Plates of meat, bread, and stew were placed before him. He ate slowly, savoring each bite. The taste wasn't as important as the feeling of strength that came from eating his fill.
When he finished, he felt completely ready.
---
Next, Aldric left the inn and walked through the village marketplace. The streets were busy even in the early hours. Merchants shouted about their wares, guards patrolled with spears in hand, and adventurers bargained loudly for supplies.
He stopped at a shop that sold traveling provisions.
Inside, he bought dried meat, hard bread, smoked fish, and several water skins. These supplies could last for weeks if rationed carefully. He also bought a few simple cooking tools and flint for starting fires. All of it was stored neatly in his dimensional storage artifact.
It wasn't much by the standards of wealthy merchants, but for Aldric, it was the first time he could prepare for a journey properly. No longer was he a slave forced to survive on scraps.
---
His plan was simple: return to Duskendale.
That was the kingdom he had come from with the caravan before his awakening. He had no intention of staying in this region. Too many factions were converging on the Blood Fang Mountains because of the rumor of a grandmaster's inheritance. He had no strength to compete with them.
Going back to Duskendale was the safest option. It was familiar, and he could use the journey to grow stronger in private.
The only problem was the danger of travel.
The wilds between regions were filled with beasts, bandits, and rival arcanists. A lone traveler would almost certainly die. The best choice was to join a caravan or mercenary group heading in the same direction.
Aldric knew this. His eyes scanned the marketplace, searching for any signs of a departing group.
---
Caravans were common here. Merchants traveled to and from Duskendale carrying goods, hoping to profit from the influx of people chasing the inheritance rumor. Mercenaries often took the same routes, either to guard caravans or to hunt beasts along the way.
All Aldric needed was to find a group willing to accept one more person. With his armor and weapon, he looked the part of a low-ranked arcanist. Even if he was just a novice, appearances mattered.
For now, he simply observed. There was no rush. He had enough spirit stones to survive comfortably for a while.
---
As he stood in the middle of the bustling street, Aldric tightened the strap of his storage artifact around his waist. The weight of the katana at his side reminded him of how much his life had changed in such a short time.
Not long ago, he was a slave, dragged along by others with no say in his own fate.
Now, he was free.
And as long as he kept making cautious choices, he intended to stay that way.
For the moment, his only hope was simple—to find a caravan or group willing to travel with him back to Duskendale.
That would be the first step in his journey as an arcanist.