"Come back here!" the shopkeeper screamed.
I ran with all the strength my feeble body could muster—I hadn't eaten in two days, after all. As I sprinted, I felt something hot approaching from behind me. I veered to the side just as a column of fire whooshed past.
"You're trying to kill me over a loaf of bread?!" I shouted, my voice raw with desperation.
Glancing back to gauge the distance between us, I failed to notice a jagged stone in my path. My foot caught on it, and I crashed to the ground with a heavy thud. Pain flared through my body as the shopkeeper closed the distance almost instantly. Before I could react, his boot slammed into my side.
He snatched the loaf from my grasp and looked down at me with disgust. "You slums are always causing trouble. I don't know why the king hasn't done away with you all."
Grabbing my right arm, he pressed his thumb against my skin. It began to glow, turning a molten yellow.
"Take this as a lesson," he said before branding my flesh with his searing touch.
I screamed, my body convulsing as the stench of burning skin filled the air. "Please—stop!" I choked out, my voice barely a whisper.
Satisfied, he dropped my hand, only to crush it beneath his heavy boot. I howled in agony.
"Here," he sneered, tossing a few crumbs onto my trembling form. "Think twice before stealing from me again."
He turned to leave, but my rage burned hotter than my pain.
"Bastard!" I spat through clenched teeth.
He froze. Slowly, he turned back, his face twisted with fury. Fire swirled around his right hand.
"Maybe this time you'll learn," he growled.
"He's going to kill me," I thought. "If only I had a magic attribute, I wouldn't be in this mess."
If this was the end, I'd go out swinging.
"Is that all you got?" I taunted, forcing a smirk despite the agony. "My farts pack more heat than your flames."
His rage surged. The air grew blistering hot. He thrust his hand forward—
A sudden voice interrupted.
"This is hardly the time or place to be taking a nap."
A stone wall erupted in front of me, blocking the flames.
I opened my eyes.
Tristan stood there, smirking.
"Shut up," I muttered weakly.
Tristan had gone just as long without food, yet he still had the strength to use magic. As the stone wall crumbled away, I saw the shopkeeper's stunned expression.
"Who are you?" he demanded.
Tristan's smirk deepened. "What's going on here?" he asked, feigning curiosity.
"I was only enforcing justice against that thief you just protected," the shopkeeper huffed.
Tristan turned to me. His gaze lingered on my mangled, scorched arm. His smirk faded.
"So you tried to kill him… over stolen food?" His voice was eerily calm, but anger simmered beneath the surface.
Without warning, a sharp piece of stone shot from Tristan's hand, striking the shopkeeper square in the forehead.
The man crumpled to the ground.
I stared at his lifeless body.
"He's dead," I whispered.
"Well deserved," Tristan replied flatly, lifting me off the ground with ease.
He hoisted me over his shoulder and carried me through the slums. The air reeked of decay, and crumbling houses lined the filth-ridden streets. The sight of hollow-eyed people wandering aimlessly made my stomach twist.
Tristan carried me to our run-down house, pushed open the door, and set me down on the floor.
"You could have at least taken the bread," I said, looking at Tristan with empty eyes.
He opened his mouth, then shut it, as if forgetting what to say. After a moment, he reached into his pocket and pulled something out.
"A key," I muttered, staring at the flat, purple stone in his hand. It shined with a dim, ghostly glow, as if the light itself was unsure whether it should exist.
"Where did you get that?" I asked, more worried than curious.
"Stole it from an Association convoy," he responded with pride.
I frowned. I heard that keys were usually smaller.
"What rank is it?"
"Five," he answered.
Keys were used to enter realms—detached dimensions where the rules of our world didn't apply. They were ranked from 1 to 5, with 5 being the weakest. The Association controlled the distribution of keys and determined the ranks of realms and guilds.
"How did you pull it off?" I asked, now intrigued.
"You'd be surprised what I can manage with pure grit and a few golems," he said with a grin.
It was a bittersweet situation. The valuables found in a rank 5 realm could be sold for as much as 1000 pounds—enough to sustain Tristan and me for years.
I looked at the key, appraising both it and its wielder.
"Where's the realm located?" I asked, fatigued.
Tristan averted his gaze, rubbing his neck with one hand while pretending to search for something with the other.
"On the outskirts of Gourd," he mumbled.
I nearly jumped off the floor, but my body, barely able to sustain conversation, refused to cooperate.
"Do you want to die?" I asked, staring at the back of his head.
He turned around, his expression hardening. "I have a plan."
Gourd was a massive city, often called the 'Latent Capital' because it housed Gourd Academy—the best magic school in the kingdom. The city was surrounded by the Nameless Forest, home to beasts of all kinds.
"It's impossible. We haven't even eaten for two days," I said, my stomach growling in protest.
Tristan smirked, then grabbed a burlap sack from the floor. He opened it and emptied its contents onto a mat.
My eyes widened as food spilled out in abundance.
"Where did you get all that?" I asked, stunned.
"You'd be surprised what I can pull off with—"
"…pure grit and a few golems," I finished for him with a grin.
He tossed me a loaf of bread. Just as I was about to devour it, he threw me a glass bottle. I uncorked it and inspected the thick, red liquid inside. Wine.
I looked at him, practically drooling as I tore into the bread and took a swig of the rich, smooth wine.
"So that's why you didn't take the bread," I said, my mouth still full.
That also explained how he had the strength to use magic—he must have eaten before finding me. I devoured loaf after loaf until my stomach finally forgave me.
"When do you plan on leaving?" I asked, glancing toward the corner of the room where my dilapidated sword rested.
Tristan looked away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts.
"Immediately," he said, staring at the wall.
My bottle slipped from my fingers, and I nearly choked on the cool wine sliding down my throat.
"Sorry… I thought you said immediately," I said, hoping I had misheard.
His expression told me I hadn't.
I sighed. "Let's rest a little. Besides, how do you even plan on getting there anyway?"
He was about to answer when a thunderous knock shook our flimsy door, threatening to tear it from its hinges.
"Where's my money?!" a coarse, hollow voice screamed.
Without warning, a powerful gust burst the door open, and three men barged inside.
"Where's the boy?" the oldest of them demanded.
He was portly, dressed in washed-out clothes that strained at the center. His disheveled hair stuck out wildly, as if it had never known the touch of a comb.
I turned around, instinctively assuming he was referring to Tristan—who was nowhere to be seen.
"He's not here, as you can see. Is there a problem?" I asked, feigning calm.
The man's expression darkened with irritation. "The fool owes me twenty pounds, and I'm here to collect." His beady eyes scanned the tiny room.
"He'll be back in a few days. You can come back then," I said, eyeing the two hefty men blocking the entrance.
The portly man sneered. "I don't plan on leaving empty-handed."
With a brief tilt of his head, he signaled his men, and they immediately began snatching up the remaining bottles of wine.
"Stop!" I screamed, unwilling to let my first proper meal in days become a one-time luxury.
The taller of the two enforcers shot me a withering glare. A crushing pressure radiated from him, pinning the words in my throat.
"I'll be back in two days," the portly man said, stepping over our broken door as he left. "Tell your friend to have my money ready by then."
I let out a shaky breath as their footsteps faded.
"That was close," Tristan muttered, emerging from the shadowed corner of the room.
I whipped around. "How the hell do you owe him twenty pounds?!"
Tristan shrugged, unbothered. "He gave me the information I needed to steal the key."
"For twenty pounds?!" I repeated, still unable to process the amount.
"Information is expensive," he said wryly.
He stepped over the broken door and stretched his hands outward, gesturing for me to follow. "Are you coming or not?"
I rubbed my mangled arm, then moved to the corner and picked up my battered sword.
"Hell yeah."
We left the stinking slums and made our way through the bustling town. As we walked, I couldn't shake the feeling that someone might have seen what happened with the shopkeeper.
"The only way to Gourd is by teleportation gate," I said. "It's seven pounds per person. What's your plan?"
Tristan looked away, saying nothing.
"He must have taken another loan," I thought grimly.
Thirty minutes later, we arrived at the station and found ourselves among the first names called.
"I had this trip reserved," Tristan declared, brimming with forced pride.
We stepped into the enormous teleportation chamber, approaching the gate.
It was a massive, circular portal, seemingly carved from stone. Its circumference was lined with intricate runes, pulsating with faint energy. The sight alone was intimidating.
"Please proceed to the gate. Departure is imminent," a voice announced, amplified by wind magic.
We climbed onto the platform, and the portal began to emit an ethereal yellow glow.
With a zap, the world around us vanished.
We reappeared in an instant.
"That wasn't so bad," I said, turning to Tristan—only to find him doubled over, vomiting into a corner.
I rolled my eyes and stepped outside. A monolithic sign loomed ahead, its bold letters reading:
WELCOME TO GOURD.
I was already heading toward the city when Tristan grabbed my arm.
"Our destination lies elsewhere," he said, leading me toward the boundary between Gourd and the Nameless Forest.
A deafening screech tore through the air, echoing from deep within the forest.
I tensed. "Let's hurry this up."
We walked until we reached an open field—a kilometer from the Nameless Forest, half that distance from Gourd.
Tristan pulled out the key and held it up.
"What's supposed to happen now?" I asked, watching him hold the key in an awkward position.
"Beats me," he admitted.
I was about to respond when the key suddenly flared with a brilliant light—then fizzled out of existence.
Tristan relaxed, lowering his arms. "Well… that was unexpected.
"What now…" I started to say, but my words were cut short as a door began to materialize before our eyes.
It looked as though it was being constructed in real-time, piece by piece.
The sight was mesmerizing. The door stood at an imposing 3.5 meters, appearing to be crafted from an otherworldly bark. Each of its two panels measured roughly 1.5 meters wide, yet there were no knobs—only two amethyst keys embedded within the wood.
Tristan and I stepped forward, each gripping a key. With a shared glance, we turned them simultaneously.
With a deep, resonant hum, the doors swung open, revealing a swirling, violet portal beyond.
"You're sure this is rank 5?" I asked, eyeing the sheer size of the doors with unease.
"Damn sure," Tristan replied.
I exhaled slowly. "Let's hope you're right."