The junior guild assistant, still red-faced and gesticulating wildly, remained Virgil's sole focus. The man was so consumed by the paltry argument over three Valis that he was functionally blind to the real world. This was not just anger; it was a psychological blind spot—the arrogance of the privileged who never had to worry about what crawls in the shadows.
Hiroshi saw his window. He waited for the assistant's arm to sweep high for emphasis, briefly covering the fruit vendor's line of sight and creating a flicker of confusion in the tight crowd.
Now. He darted between the assistant's legs, utilizing his small stature as both camouflage and a structural advantage. As his shoulder brushed the man's knee, his tiny, practiced fingers, thin as wire, hooked the taut, leather cinch of the heavy Valis pouch.
He didn't tear the material itself as it would create too much noise. He aimed only for the precise tension holding the pouch to the belt loop. With one precise, almost weightless tug, the strap came free, and the entire pouch fell directly into his awaiting hand. Simultaneously, the movement was just enough to displace the leather cinch of the coin pouch.
The assistant, entirely unaware, stepped forward again, and the newly acquired pouch was already safely concealed beneath his thin tunic. Hiroshi, still scurrying away, used the momentum of his escape to casually secure the Valis pouch against his ribs.
Success was a strange, cold taste, less satisfying than the rat meat but infinitely more liberating. He had stolen what he needed not just to eat, but to choose.
He put as much distance as he could between himself and the market, the adrenaline starting to drain away and leave him shaking. He found a less crowded, cleaner district near the outer walls—a place frequented by traveling merchants, not local Adventurers.
His first stop was a dilapidated cloth stall. He didn't haggle. He pointed to the cheapest, darkest tunic available—a simple, rough cotton garment—and traded a single silver Valis. The fabric was coarse, but it was clean and unmarked. He stripped off his rags and left them in a pile. The new tunic was a fresh start, an act of shedding his history.
Next, sustenance. He found a stall selling simple, hot stew and hard, fresh bread. He bought a small, clean ceramic cup of water. He sat on a low, sun-warmed stone wall, eating slowly, savoring the actual warmth of the food and the pure, life-giving neutrality of the water.
As the physical hunger finally began to recede, the strategizing began. He held the stolen pouch and left him with deep thought.
How I managed to steal it out of that Guild assistant was pure luck. But I guess having a small body like this helps. Survival is the minimum. Strength is the goal.
He knew, instinctively, that raw power would always win in this world of gods and monsters. But since his body was useless now, he needed to build it to be able to do the things that he wants. He had to leverage knowledge.
He thought of the name that flashed in his mind during the memory flood: Chandra Ihit. The name belonged to a fellow familia member—seemingly a lapdog to Zanis Lustra, the leader of the Soma Familia. The city was full of Adventurers, and he needed to be stronger.
I need a good trainer to transform this worthless body. Not only in strength but in combat also. I was a pretty normal dude back in my world. Fighting isn't one of my forte, but this needs to change now.
His gaze lifted toward the spire of the Dungeon, no longer a terrifying symbol of the unknown, but a resource to be mastered. He finished his bread, felt the warmth spread through his belly, and tucked the pouch securely into his new tunic.
Virgil Varis had found his first great goal: to get stronger.