Alessio Leone's Perspective
Alessio wasted no more time.He called the young merchant back into the room and, wearing the best look of disappointment he could muster, thanked him for the opportunity.
"Thank you for allowing me to speak with your grandfather," he said with a controlled sigh. "Even without results, the experience was worth it."
The young man, slightly uncomfortable, tried to offer some polite consolation.
"I'm sorry the trip turned out to be fruitless, sir," he said in a tone that aimed for sincerity.
But the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.It was impossible to hide the satisfied gleam in his eyes.After all, he had just earned in under thirty minutes what usually took him three months of hard work in his small shop.
Alessio said nothing.He kept the somber expression until he left the house.Only after crossing the threshold of that old wooden home — with the streets of Durnholde once again before him — did he allow a genuine smile to form.
The information was his.Information worth far more than fifty gold coins.
He moved through the city's bustling streets, ignoring the chaos of rookie players and NPCs weaving between the market stalls.His destination was clear: the southeastern gates — the exit leading straight to Gloomshade Forest.
The game's timer glowed in his vision: 2:27.
It was late.The day's delays weighed on his mind like numbers misaligned in a spreadsheet.Waiting for the girls to log in, the long speech inside the dungeon, the trip to Durnholde, and now the visit to that house — everything had dangerously compressed his schedule.
His leveling plan relied on precision.Every lost hour meant adjustments.And though the "end of the world" wouldn't come if he missed his exact timing, his progression would inevitably turn a little messy.
There was no room for many mistakes.Today, he had to obtain the item he wanted — even if that meant doing something a bit reckless again.The thought made him briefly miss his devoted cleric, the one who'd kept him alive the previous day.
Fortunately, before he even reached the city gates, something unexpected caught his eye —a solution that hadn't been part of his original plan.An opportunity that, to be honest, he wasn't sure he could make use of.
But there was no harm in trying.
A little off from the main road, in a spot where the light barely reached, Alessio noticed what could only be described as a dark alley.The shadows cast by nearby houses and the city wall formed a narrow, dim corridor — stifling, in stark contrast to the lively noise of the gate.
There, three players stood out.Their faces were hard and mean, carrying the unmistakable look of troublemakers — the kind Alessio could only associate with convicts or gangsters.They'd positioned themselves to corner a single woman.
To an ordinary onlooker, the scene was obvious:a helpless victim surrounded by a group of lowlifes.
But that wasn't Alessio's first thought.His first instinct was to pray for the souls of those three fools.
They didn't know it yet, but they had just chosen the worst possible target.
The "poor" woman they saw as easy prey was none other than the one who, in his past life, would become known as the Goddess of War.And Alessio was absolutely certain of one thing: today, those men were in for a rough day.
He approached slowly, his eyes calmly studying the scene.Inside, a genuine question arose.
Should he play the white knight and offer help to the woman —even knowing she didn't need it?Maybe, with some luck, he'd earn a few favor points with the future legend.
Or perhaps the wiser choice was to grab a metaphorical bag of popcorn, lean against the wall, and enjoy the comedic spectacle of three fools marching to their doom.After all, the outcome was bound to be both memorable and mildly hilarious.
Unfortunately, he didn't get the chance to decide.
Or rather, someone decided for him.
Perhaps it was the unmistakable creak of his heavy armor —a metallic sound impossible to hide, betraying his presence even when he tried to move quietly.
Whatever the case, someone had noticed him.
At least one of the four people in that alley had.
Alessio was sure of it.
Because suddenly, the same cold, predatory eyes that had fixed on him half an hour earlier inside the shop were now on him again —green, intense, piercing straight through him as if searching his most private thoughts.
Alessio froze for a moment, not out of fear,but because he worried the woman — violent, ruthless — might mistake him for one of the thugs surrounding her.So he simply stood still, hoping the scene would resolve itself.
But the attention the Goddess of War gave him acted like a beacon.And in the end, like a cat locking onto a mouse, her gaze made even the three aggressors — who must've been either deaf or just stupid — finally notice him.
What happened next would've sounded ridiculous if written on paper,like a scene from a cheap action flick.
The three turned toward him in unison, cruel eyes and idiotic grins spreading across their faces as they started taunting:
"Hey, idiot! Move along — nothing to see here.""Get lost before we kill you just for fun.""This bastard wants to play the hero… let's slice him up so everyone knows not to mess with the Pit Dogs!"
In seconds, the situation flipped —the supposed assault on the "poor girl" now became a coordinated threat aimed squarely at him.The trio formed a semicircle, boots scraping against the stone floor, hands gripping dagger hilts, short laughs cutting through the air.
Alessio didn't argue. He didn't negotiate.With a smooth, deliberate motion, one hand reached over his back and unlatched the Lion Soul Helm — the heavy, ornamented piece of metal giving off a sharp metallic clang as he placed it over his head.With the other, he drew the axe from his belt, the handle sliding perfectly into his palm like an old companion coming alive again.
If this was a fight scene, then he'd gladly play the lead.He took a deep breath, felt the weapon's weight, set his feet, and waited for the first move.
At the very least, sending these three back to the respawn zone might help relieve some of his pent-up stress.