Aiden finally lies back on the bed, letting the tension drain from his shoulders. The room is quiet, broken only by the faint sounds of the city outside.
Then a thought strikes him.
"…Should I just take that place?" he mutters.
The thug leader's house flashes through his mind. Solid structure. Hidden location. No landlord. No rent.
The more he thinks about it, the more reasonable it sounds.
"It's a good house," Aiden says quietly. "And I wouldn't need to pay a single coin."
He sits up, resting his elbows on his knees. If he plans to stay in this city for a long time, and he already knows that he does, then having a base of his own is important. An inn is convenient, but it's not safe.
That house, on the other hand, sits in a remote corner of the city, surrounded by filth and fear. No one goes there unless they have to. Perfect.
After a moment, Aiden nods to himself.
"I'll take it."
His expression darkens slightly as another thought surfaces.
Also those clans that were responsible for destroying the clan of this body's original owner.
From the fragments of memory he's seen, the original owner wasn't a nobody. He was a young master of the clan that once ruled this region. A name people recognized. A face people remembered.
Aiden exhales slowly.
"If I stay in crowded places," he murmurs, "someone is bound to recognize this body sooner or later."
That's dangerous.
Very dangerous.
An inn full of travelers, merchants, and martial artists is the worst place for someone like him to linger. All it takes is one familiar face, one old retainer, or one enemy.
The thug leader's house, however, offers privacy. Isolation. Control.
Aiden's gaze sharpens.
"Yeah," he says quietly. "That place will do."
With a base of operations, hidden from the public eye, he can grow stronger in peace. Summon freely. Experiment with skills. Prepare for the future.
The next morning, Aiden comes down from his room and finds Lira behind the counter, busy wiping cups and arranging bowls. The inn already feels livelier than before, there are voices, footsteps, the smell of warm food in the air.
"Lira," Aiden calls.
She looks up and smiles when she sees him. "Good morning, sir Aiden."
He hesitates for a moment, then speaks. "I'll be leaving the inn today."
The smile on her face fades. She lowers the cloth in her hands, her fingers tightening around it. For a second, she doesn't say anything.
"I see…" she says softly.
Aiden can tell she's disappointed. It's not hard to understand why. He saved her life. He dealt with the gang that had been tormenting her, and the other small shops in this area, for years. Since last night, word has already begun to spread. People are no longer afraid to walk past the inn. Customers are starting to return.
Lira forces a small smile. "I knew you wouldn't stay forever."
She bows slightly, deeper than necessary. "Thank you. For everything, sir Aiden. You saved me… and you saved this place."
She straightens and looks at him earnestly. "If you ever need anything, please don't hesitate to come to me. This inn will always welcome you."
Aiden nods. "I'll remember that."
Just then, a few customers call out for food, and Lira turns back to her work. The counter is already crowded, and the kitchen behind her is noisy. Compared to before, the inn feels alive.
"She'll be busy from now on," Aiden thinks.
He picks up his things, pulls his hood over his head, and steps outside. The street is brighter than it was days ago, and for once, no one is arguing or shouting nearby.
Without looking back, Aiden heads toward the other side of the city, toward the house that once belonged to the thugs.
A quiet place. A hidden place.
His new base.
---
After some time, Aiden arrives at the house.
The moment he steps closer, he senses something is off. The gate, which he smashed not long ago, has been roughly propped back into place. There are fresh footprints in the dirt, and faint voices coming from inside.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
He slips closer and peers through a broken section of the fence. Inside the courtyard, three men are lounging around like they own the place, one sharpening a blade, another leaning against a wall, the third squatting near a crate.
Aiden exhales slowly. "So they really moved in that fast."
Without hesitation, he summons an undead.
Black mist coils beside him, condensing into a tall figure. His first bronze-grade undead steps forward, broad-shouldered, fists wrapped in hardened fist.
"From now on," Aiden mutters, "you're Bone Fist."