His eyes caught on a fruit stall.
Red apples speckled with dark spots, rough-skinned yellow pears, a few dark berries piled in wicker baskets. Nothing extraordinary. Nothing magical. Nothing worth the attention of a man with a full stomach.
Just food.
Right then, that was all that mattered.
Driven by his body's desperation, Davin staggered closer.
"Please…"
He reached out.
The merchant, a stocky man with an apron stained by juice and dust, recognized him before Davin even reached the stall. His eyes hardened at once.
"Get lost, vermin."
His hand vanished beneath the counter and came back with a heavy club of blackened wood.
"Come any closer, and I'll break your fingers."
Davin stopped.
His stomach screamed.
His pride made no sound.
He stepped back.
Survival instinct took over. Begging was useless. He tried two more stalls: a flatbread seller, then an old woman seated behind baskets of shriveled vegetables. Each time, he got the same look. Disgust, suspicion, and recognition.
The truth settled in, cold and clean.
They're not chasing me off just because I'm a beggar. They know me. The former owner of this body must have had sticky fingers, and people's memories don't seem short.
Asking meant dying slowly.
He had to take.
Davin slipped into the shadow of a side alley. The air was damper there, thick with garbage, cold smoke, and dried piss. Empty crates were stacked against a rough stone wall. He crouched behind them and watched the street through a gap.
People came and went in a chaos that was not quite chaos: peasants in coarse tunics, porters bent under sacks of grain, guards in boiled leather with spears on their shoulders. A few armed men crossed through the crowd with the quiet confidence of people others naturally avoided.
Davin gave them only a glance.
Too dangerous.
His attention returned to a tired merchant sorting through what he had not sold. Black bread, bruised fruit, two leather waterskins hanging from a hook. The man yawned every ten seconds, eyelids heavy, while his handcart waited near the curb, one wheel stuck in a rut.
That one would do.
Davin stayed crouched behind the crates, muscles tight despite the weakness eating at his legs. Hunger stretched every second. His hands trembled. His breath scraped his throat. Still, he forced his eyes to follow the merchant's rhythm instead of the dizziness rising behind them.
The man kept taking the same path: one trip to the cart, one back to the stall, then another trip out. When he bent down to free the stuck wheel, his back finally turned.
Now.
Davin burst from the shadows.
Pain bit into his wasted leg muscles, but he ignored it. His hands moved before thought could catch up, guided by hunger and by whatever instincts remained in the body he had stolen. He swept up two loaves, three fruits, and one waterskin, then clutched them against his chest.
"Hey!"
The merchant straightened too late.
"Thief!"
Davin was already running.
He did not run straight. He did not run fast. He did not run well.
But he ran enough.
He plunged into the alley, cut sharply left, slammed his shoulder into a crate, nearly fell, then squeezed between two damp walls. Behind him, the merchant's shout dissolved into the noise of the street.
A few passersby turned, but no one truly chased him.
Not for a few fruits and stale bread.
Not for a beggar who stank of carrion.
In a dark dead end, Davin collapsed with his loot.
He did not take the time to savor it. With his back against the cold stone, he sank his teeth into the first loaf. The bread was dry, almost hard, but his body received it like a feast. Every bite scraped his throat. Crushed fruit smeared his fingers and chin. He ate too fast, too brutally, until his lips split.
Then he tore the stopper from the waterskin with his teeth.
The liquid was lukewarm, faintly sour, maybe weak beer or badly kept water. He did not care. He forced every gulp down.
When he finished, a long, trembling sigh escaped him.
The burning pain in his stomach did not disappear completely, but it receded enough to give him room to think.
Davin stayed seated with his back against the wall, breathing hard. His sticky fingers still clenched a piece of crust. He stared at it for a few seconds, then swallowed that too.
In this state, even crumbs are worth more than my dignity.
The fog of hunger slowly thinned. His mind took shape again, slower than he would have liked, but enough to put his priorities in order.
His body was not repaired.
Only usable.
Everything hurt. Scratches pulled at his skin, bruises pulsed beneath the grime, and the stink of the alley seemed to have soaked all the way into his bones. But he could walk, steal, run, and observe.
For now, that was enough.
The world around him finally began to sharpen.
Packed dirt streets wound between low houses of gray stone and dark wood. Uneven tile roofs cast broken shadows across the walls. Iron lanterns hung from hooks, unlit for now. The air mixed smoke, warm bread, sweat, and wet leather.
This was not a modern city.
Nor was it some neatly arranged medieval backdrop meant to be admired from a distance.
It was dirty, alive, and dangerous. A place where every smell, every stare, and every visible weapon reminded him the rules had not been written to protect the weak.
The strangest part was still the language.
Every insult, every bargain, every order barked by the guards reached him with perfect clarity. He understood everything without effort, as if the words had always belonged to him.
A gift from the body, maybe.
Or something left behind by its former owner.
Either way, it was a huge advantage.
The main problem remained: money.
The villagers traded dull copper coins. He had seen them pass from hand to hand, small, round, stamped with a symbol he could not read. Stealing food from stalls would only last so long. Sooner or later, they would catch him, beat him, brand him.
Or worse.
I need to understand the rules before they kill me.
AI, open.
[BEEP. System Message / Analysis in progress…] > HOST STATUS:
Name: Davin (Unknown Vessel)
Biological age: 19
Strength: 0.8 (Standard average: 1.0)
Agility: 0.8
Vitality: 0.9
Unknown Energy: 1.2
[Alert / Recommendation: Nutritional intake assimilated. Immediate vital risk reduced. Persistent muscular atrophy. Insufficient body reserves.]
Davin stared at the numbers.
His body had reacted quickly to the food. Too quickly, maybe. But he was not about to complain. He was still below average, weakened, aching, but he was no longer two steps away from dying in an alley.
The unknown energy, however, had not moved.
AI, identify this unknown energy.
[BEEP. System Message / Analysis in progress…] > RESPONSE:
Foreign energy source detected in host bloodstream.
Exact nature: not listed in original database.]
Run a deeper analysis. Give me something I can use.
The interface remained silent.
One second passed.
Then ten.
After a minute, Davin felt the alley's dampness bite into his back. By the second minute, his brows had drawn into a hard frown.
[BEEP. System Message / Analysis in progress…] > RESPONSE:
Analysis failed.
Insufficient reference data on current environment.]
Davin closed his eyes.
You took two full minutes to tell me you don't know?
He sighed, irritated, then closed the interface with a thought.
The AI was not omniscient.
Good to know.
Night slowly fell over the village.
The streets emptied in uneven waves. Stalls were taken down. Shutters slammed shut. One by one, the iron lanterns lit up, casting yellow halos into the cold mist. Far off, a dog barked. Closer by, a drunk vomited against a wall before laughing alone in the dark.
Davin stayed in his alley.
He barely slept.
The cold bit through his rags. The damp stone leached the heat from his back. His wounds pulsed. But his mind kept turning.
He needed a way to eat without begging, a place to sleep without being robbed, and clothes that did not scream "easy target" at every passerby. The local hierarchy would come later.
Or rather, it would come and hit him if he took too long to understand it.
The guards had weapons. The merchants had enough money to pay guards. Beggars lived like rats. Armed men were avoided by reflex. This world was not complicated at its core: strength decided how much distance others kept from you.
So I need strength. Or the appearance of strength. Until then, I need coins.
The first rays of daylight eventually pierced the dark.
Davin rose, muscles stiff, mind clear. He rubbed the dried mud from his hands with little success, then left the alley.
The village was already waking.
Carts creaked over uneven stones. Women opened their shutters. Apprentices ran past with baskets of laundry or bread. Somewhere above the rooftops, a deep bell rang, slow and heavy.
People still moved away from him.
His foul stench served as a natural shield.
Davin wandered through the village's streets until a building caught his attention.
It was larger than the others, with a ground floor of dark stone, massive beams on the upper floor, and double doors reinforced with iron bands. Above the entrance hung a carved sign he could not read, but the symbol was clear enough: a sword crossed with a monster's claw.
Men and women kept going in and out. Some wore scuffed leather armor, others old chain mail, short bows, axes, or curved blades. A few figures wore long travel robes, thick and stained from the road, but far too well maintained to belong to ordinary wanderers.
So.
A guild.
The oldest cliché in another world.
And probably the best place to turn risk into money.
Davin quickened his pace.
He pushed open the heavy door.
The great hall mixed the severity of stone with the warmth of dark wood. Smoke-blackened beams held up the ceiling. Oil lamps cast yellow light over long tables scarred by cuts, burns, and spilled mugs. A broad staircase climbed toward a gallery where a few figures watched the crowd without joining it.
At the back, behind a sturdy counter, several receptionists sorted parchments and answered adventurers. A wide wooden board was covered with requests, bounty notices, pieces of branded leather, and rough sketches of creatures.
The smell of strong liquor, sweat, oiled leather, and damp metal filled his nose.
He had barely taken three steps before the nearest conversations died.
Heavy stares turned toward him, full of disgust, mockery, and hostility. No one moved, but several hands drifted closer to dagger hilts, more from habit than fear.
Davin ignored the welcome and walked straight to the counter.
The young woman behind the counter had brown hair tied in a low ponytail, a gray tunic cinched with a leather belt, and sleeves rolled up to her elbows. A small knife rested near her ledger, within easy reach.
She looked up.
Then immediately regretted it.
"By the Gods…"
She took a step back and pressed her sleeve over her nose.
"You stink of carrion."
"I'm looking for a way to earn coins," Davin said, his voice rough.
"We don't hire beggars here. Especially not little thieves like you. Get lost."
This body's reputation again.
Davin held her gaze.
He did not need her to like him.
Only to talk.
"The bounties on the board. How do they work?"
The receptionist stared at him like a puddle of vomit had just asked a question.
"You can't read?"
Davin did not answer.
A snicker rose from a nearby table.
The woman sighed. Not out of pity. Out of impatience.
"Small bounties don't require registration. You kill the beast, bring back proof, and get paid. Simple. Even for you."
"What beasts?"
"Wolves. Goblins. Sometimes cellar rats, when tavern owners panic over nothing. One silver coin per goblin head, if the ears are intact. Escorts pay better, but you need to be at least an Initial Adept."
She looked him up and down, then gave a short, dry laugh.
"And I don't sense a single ounce of mana on you. So forget it."
The word struck Davin harder than the insult.
Mana.
Finally.
He kept his face blank.
"What's an Adept? And how does the money work?"
This time, the receptionist stayed silent a second too long.
Around them, two adventurers turned their heads slightly. Not enough to get involved. Enough to listen.
Davin understood his mistake.
He had shown too much ignorance, too openly.
The woman narrowed her eyes.
"Where the hell did you crawl out from?"
Davin lowered his head slightly, just enough to look more pathetic than suspicious.
"A ditch. With half my memories missing. Good enough?"
The receptionist stared at him.
Her expression did not exactly soften, but impatience won over suspicion. The faster she answered, the faster he would leave.
"An Adept is a Rank 0 fighter. Warrior or mage, depending on the method. The Initial Stage is the first step of cultivation. To reach it, you need to awaken your Mana Gates. Not everyone can."
She tapped one finger against the counter.
"As for money: one hundred bronze coins make one silver coin. One hundred silver coins make one gold coin. Now, can you count, or do you want me to teach you how to breathe too?"
Davin stored every word: Rank 0, cultivation, Mana Gates, and especially the sentence that weighed more than the rest.
Not everyone could.
"I'll take a goblin bounty."
The woman blinked.
Then almost burst out laughing.
"You?"
Davin said nothing.
His silence seemed to annoy her even more than his smell.
She jerked her chin vaguely north.
"Waterfall Forest. Five kilometers north. Merchants reported goblins near the old trails. Bring back the right ear, and you get one silver per head. But without a weapon, you're mostly going to bring back your corpse."
"Do you pay for human corpses too?"
For a fraction of a second, the receptionist's mouth hung open.
Then her face shut down.
"Get out."
Davin turned away.
He had nothing more to get from her for now.
Behind him, someone snickered.
"Hey, beggar! If you survive, bring back both your ears too. We'll frame them."
A few laughs followed.
Davin did not slow down.
Laugh while I'm still weak.
Outside, the day had fully begun.
The light struck his face.
Davin raised his eyes and stopped.
Two suns shone above the village: one wide and pale, almost white, the other smaller, golden, slightly offset in the sky. For a moment, the noise of the street seemed to drift away.
Two suns, a Rank system, mana, goblins, Mana Gates to awaken. This world isn't just unknown. It's vast, absurd, dangerous, and full of opportunities.
If people on Earth saw this, they'd kill each other for a chance to move here.
Then they'd probably die in the first alley.
The thought almost made him smile.
He was trapped in the body of a starving kid after biting into a divine apple. His very existence already defied all logic.
Davin headed for the village exit.
The two guards blocking the gate recognized him at once. One of them grimaced and stepped aside without even raising his spear.
Still no interest in searching him.
Once outside, the air grew drier. The dirt road wound between thin fields, crooked fences, and a few trees with dark leaves. In the distance, the forest formed a violet-black mass against the horizon.
It took him less than forty minutes to pass the makeshift camp where he had appeared.
Under the broken carts, near the dying fires, the beggars were still there. He recognized their silhouettes, their hunched shoulders, their rags, and the slow movements of tired scavengers.
His face did not change.
Revenge required time, strength, and room for error.
He had none of those.
Davin looked away, clenched his fists, and quickened his pace north, toward the Waterfall Forest.