Two Months Later…
The bar was in complete chaos—a lawless haven for drunkards, gamblers, and troublemakers. Laughter and shouts filled the air as men brawled in one corner, while others downed mugs of ale, slamming them onto the wooden tables. The scent of alcohol and sweat lingered thickly, blending into the dimly lit, smoke-filled atmosphere.
At the center of it all, a poker table sat under the flickering lantern light. Four individuals eyed each other warily, their expressions tense as silver coins gleamed in the dim glow.
A drunken man, red-faced and barely holding himself upright, slurred, "I'm going all in!" as he shoved the rest of his coins onto the pile.
A scrawny, thief-looking man smirked, following suit. "Heh, I'll match that. All in."
The third player, a striking woman with a concealed smirk, hid her face behind her cards, tapping her fingers on the table in amusement. "You sure know how to make things interesting," she mused.
The final player, a man in unfamiliar, sat calmly, watching the others. Without hesitation, he pushed all his coins forward.
The other three chuckled, sensing an easy win.
The drunken man revealed his cards first—9 of Spades and 8 of Spades. A straight flush.
The thief revealed A of Diamonds and K of Diamonds. Two pairs—but not enough to win.
The woman smirked, revealing J of Spades and 10 of Spades. A formidable hand.
Finally, the fourth player flipped his cards over—K of Spades and 10 of Spades. A higher straight flush.
Silence.
"Looks like I win," the man announced, his voice smooth yet confident.
The drunken man's jaw dropped. "H-How the hell did you win?!"
The woman's smirk disappeared. Her golden eyes narrowed dangerously. "Seems like we have a cheater among us."
"Catch him!" the thief growled, his face twisting with rage.
The thief lunged forward, grabbing for the man's collar, but in an instant, the man caught his wrist and twisted it with a sickening crack.
The thief howled in pain, clutching his now-broken hand.
Without hesitation, the mysterious man flipped the poker table over, sending coins scattering across the floor, knocking the thief backward.
His face was glowing in the dim light. It was Aeron who changed his appearance.
Aeron's outfit, bought from a local trader in the other world, is a blend of rugged practicality and subtle fantasy craftsmanship. The base layer is a dark, fitted tunic, lightweight yet durable, with long sleeves that snugly wrap around his arms, offering both protection and mobility. Over the tunic, he wears a leather chest guard reinforced with stitched patterns. His pants, made of sturdy dark fabric, are fitted but flexible, ideal for long journeys and combat. The knee-high boots are crafted from thick, battle-worn leather, reinforced at the toes and heels, showing signs of careful craftsmanship. Aeron's hooded cloak, made from a lightweight but durable fabric, drapes over his shoulders, fastened at the front with a metal clasp is long enough to shield him from harsh weather but not so heavy that it restricts movement. His gloves, fingerless and made of dark leather, provide extra grip, ideal for wielding weapons or navigating rough terrain.
The drunken man, recovering from his shock, lunged at him. "Where do you think you're going?!" he roared, grabbing Aeron's shoulder with his meaty hands.
Aeron smoothly gripped the drunkard's wrist, yanked it away, and shoved him aside. Then, in one fluid motion, he crouched down and executed a swift, sweeping kick, knocking the drunk off his feet and sending him crashing to the floor.
"Whoever catches him gets 10 gold pieces," the woman declared with a smile, her eyes now cold and calculating.
"Shit." Aeron gritted his teeth. "I have to get out of here."
Just as he turned to run, a knife whistled through the air, aimed straight for him.
He barely dodged it, his reflexes kicking in just in time.
"You've got some sweet reflexes," a grinning man said, stepping forward—the one who threw the knife.
Before Aeron could react, two swords spun toward him in a deadly vertical arc.
Aeron rolled forward, narrowly avoiding the blades, only to find himself face-to-face with another opponent.
With lightning speed, Aeron snatched a knife off the table and struck the man with its handle, sending him stumbling back.
Grabbing a half-empty mug of beer from a nearby table, Aeron flung it at a random patron.
The heavy mug smashed into the back of a burly man's head.
The man, confused and furious, turned around and punched the nearest person—who just so happened to be another random person.
Aeron shouted "It's a free for all brawl"
Hearing Aeron's announcement, the bar fell into absolute chaos.
Fists flew. Glass shattered. Chairs were overturned. The bartenders desperately tried to calm the storm, but it was too late—everyone had joined the brawl.
Taking advantage of the pandemonium, Aeron sprinted towards the nearest window.
He leapt through it, rolling onto the cobbled street outside, his heart pounding.
Inside the bar, the woman stood still amidst the chaos, "We'll find you," she murmured, her eyes gleaming with a dangerous glint.
A moments later…
The streets of Veltharion Town glowed under the warm flicker of torches and lanterns, casting long, dancing shadows on the cobbled roads. The night air was thick with the scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and the faint saltiness of the nearby river.
Aeron walked among the bustling crowd, his footsteps light but his mind heavy. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, cloth-made bag filled with silver coins. He opened it slightly, watching the metallic glint under the lantern light.
"This should last me a few days," he thought to himself before tucking it away safely.
Two months had passed since Aeron left the ASC camp, and a month since he arrived in Veltharion Town. The journey had been long and exhausting, but he had finally made it. He had gathered enough money from Riverbranch Town to get here, spending every last coin on survival along the way.
As he reached a small, rusted wooden door at the end of a narrow alleyway, a familiar warmth spread in his chest.
"I'm back," Aeron said, pushing the door open with a creak.
Before he could take another step, three small figures rushed toward him, clinging to his legs.
"Welcome back, big brother!" the children chorused, their wide, innocent eyes filled with joy.
Aeron chuckled, kneeling down as he pulled out three small masks from his cloth. Each one was carved carefully, painted with bright colors and tiny patterns.
"Look what I brought for you," he said, handing them over.
The children's faces lit up with excitement. "Wow! They look so cool!" one of them exclaimed, while another eagerly put the mask on, giggling.
Leaving the children to their play, Aeron stepped inside. The scent of herbs and warm soup filled the air. Standing by the modest kitchen was an old woman, her frail hands stirring a pot over a small fire.
"I got us some food, Grandma," Aeron said, setting a small bag of vegetables on the wooden table.
The old woman turned to him, her wrinkled face softening with a warm smile. She reached out, gently ruffling his hair. "How sweet of you to think of us."
Aeron lowered his gaze slightly. "It's the least I can do to repay my debt."
The old woman shook her head, her voice filled with kindness. "Oh, dear… We help each other—that's what makes us human."
Aeron felt a lump form in his throat. This warmth, this care… it was unlike anything he had ever felt before.
"But still," he said softly, his fists clenching. "I insist."
The old woman simply smiled again, her eyes twinkling with understanding.
A month ago, when Aeron had arrived in Veltharion, he had spent his last coin. His body was weak, his throat dry, his stomach empty. He had collapsed near this very house, barely conscious.
It was then that this kind old woman had found him, taking him in without hesitation. She and the orphaned children had nursed him back to health, offering him food, shelter, and something he never thought he would experience—the love of a grandparent.
Now, every day, he worked to help them, bringing whatever money he could to support them. It wasn't just a debt he owed anymore. It was the love.