The noon sun hung high over Velshara, casting sharp, unforgiving shadows across the cobblestones as I finally left the inn. I had spent the morning consuming the meal the innkeeper had left at my door—a simple but hearty spread that did little to lift my dampened spirits. Once I finished, I decided to wander the city, though my motivations were far from touristic. I didn't have the desire to navigate thick crowds or engage in idle chatter with merchants, so I steered my path toward the south side of the city.

  Velshara’s geography was structured with a predictable, almost rigid logic. To the north, the terrain rose toward the Lord’s residence and the imposing spires of the castle, a layout nearly identical to the one I had left behind in Targashar. The central district served as the commercial heart, leaning heavily toward the east where the city’s dungeon entrance pulsed with activity. The west side was the domain of the military, a dense concentration of guard barracks and training grounds that I had no interest in visiting. The south side, by contrast, was relatively quiet. It was less crowded, residential in parts, and—most importantly—it was situated close to the city gates.

  It wasn't that I had a definitive plan to flee, but a nagging sense of paranoia had taken root in the back of my mind since the day of the massacre. I was carrying a platinum coin and thirty-eight gold coins within the city—a staggering fortune that would tempt even the most honest of men. While it was highly unlikely that anyone knew about the platinum coin tucked away in my inventory, the gold I had moved through the Guild and equipment shops was a different story. News of a "rich peasant" could travel fast in a city like this. Whether I was truly in danger or just projecting my inner gloom onto the environment didn't matter; the south side felt safer simply because the exit was within reach.

  As I moved through the quieter streets, I observed the local trade. Velshara, like much of the surrounding kingdom, was a farming hub. The shops I passed were filled with iron-shod plows, sacks of specialized grain, and leather harnesses for draft animals. In Targashar, the focus had been on high-altitude crops and forest mushrooms, but here in the lowlands, the scale of agriculture was far more industrial. I browsed through a few stalls, searching for anything truly unique, but the repetitive nature of the goods only bored me further.

  I eventually found myself nearing the southern gate. The shopping district was thinning out, replaced by smaller workshops and quiet alleys. I took a random turn to the right, hoping to find a path that avoided the main thoroughfare, and that was when I saw them.

  Three men were idling near the front of a small storefront, their postures oozing a casual, unearned arrogance. One in particular stood out—the man in the center. He wore a mocking, smug smile that seemed permanently etched into his handsome face. He was well-groomed, his hair perfectly styled, and his clothing was of a quality that suggested significant wealth. He looked like a man who had never known a day of true labor in his life. If he had possessed a personality that matched his polished appearance, I might have ignored him, but his eyes were filled with an ugly, belittling light that made my skin crawl.

  I felt a sudden, irrational urge to punch him. I would have willingly parted with a gold coin just for the opportunity to wipe that smug look off his face. I’ve always had a visceral distaste for that specific brand of spoiled elitism. They are the kind of people from whom nothing good ever comes.

  I attempted to walk past them as if they were nothing more than scenery, but as our eyes met, he didn't even look at me like I was a person. He looked at me like I was a smudge of dirt on his boots. I tightened my grip on my resolve, trying to avoid a scene, but I couldn't stop the reflexive, sharp click of my tongue as I looked away.

  “Hey, you! You peasant!”

  The voice was shrill and filled with an entitlement that made my blood pressure spike. I didn't stop, continuing my pace as if I hadn't heard a word, but the "young lord" was not accustomed to being ignored.

  “Did you just frown and click your tongue at me? Huh?”

  I kept walking, my back turned to them. I could hear his irritation mounting, the sound of his boots clicking against the stone as he took a step forward. He had two bulky lackeys with him, and their presence clearly emboldened his ego.

  “Hey, you little shit! Get him!”

  The two muscular men surged forward, their intent to capture or restrain me obvious. I had truly wanted to leave Velshara without causing a riot, but it seemed fate—or this man’s fragile ego—had other plans. One thing did catch my attention, however: the lackeys had called him "young lord." If he truly was the son of a local noble, my day was about to get exponentially worse.

  I stopped in my tracks and turned around slowly. I looked directly at the leader, ignoring the two bruisers who were closing in on me. I kept my voice tired and flat, hoping to end this through sheer lack of interest.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  “What do you want?”

  “You piece of garbage,” one of the lackeys barked, his face reddening. “Watch your tongue. This is not how you address the young lord.”

  He seemed genuinely offended on behalf of his master, but I could see the noble himself was enjoying the display. He stepped forward, a patronizing smirk on his face.

  “Now, now, let’s be easy on him,” the noble said, his voice dripping with mock-graciousness. “He stopped eventually, didn’t he? Like a good, obedient dog. Listen, peasant. You were disrespectful to me. But I am a forgiving man. If you get down on your knees, lick my boots, and apologize like a proper little puppy, I might just forget this whole unpleasant business.”

  It was like listening to a script for a low-budget villain. The absurdity of it would have been funny if I weren't already so easily agitated. I felt the last of my patience snap.

  “You must be delusional,” I began, my voice dropping an octave. “Why would I ever—”

  “Clank!”

  The air seemed to shatter. In his arrogance, the noble had reached out, his hand moving toward my head as if he were about to pet a stray animal. My body moved before my conscious mind could even process the threat. It was a reflex born from two weeks of high-intensity dungeon crawling and a massacre on a mountain pass. My sword was out of its scabbard in a blur of steel.

  I hadn't even seen the fourth man until my blade hit his.

  A figure clad entirely in black shifted into existence between me and the noble. He blocked my strike, but the sheer difference in our physical power was evident. Even though he parried the blow, the force of my 11+ Strength sent him reeling backward. He skidded several meters across the cobblestones, a grimace of pain and surprise crossing his hidden face.

  The two lackeys stood frozen, their brains unable to comprehend how a "peasant" had just moved with such lethal speed. The noble, meanwhile, lost his balance entirely, falling onto his backside with a dull thud. His smugness had evaporated, replaced by a pale, shivering mask of terror.

  I didn't give them a second to recover. I lunged at the nearest lackey before he could even unsheathe his weapon, my blade carving a deep, crimson arc across his chest. He collapsed without a sound.

  The second lackey managed to draw his sword, but his hands were shaking so violently that the tip of the blade was dancing in the air. Behind him, the noble had begun to scream.

  “G-guards! GUARDS! Help! Kill this psychopath at once!”

  “Protect the young lord!” the black-clad guard shouted as he scrambled back to his feet. “The Lord will have our heads if anything happens to him!”

  The situation had officially reached the point of no return. If he truly was a noble, the city guards would be descending on this street within minutes. In a city, strength alone isn't enough; if you're surrounded by a hundred soldiers, you’re dead. I had to leave Velshara, and I had to do it now.

  “Hold him until reinforcements arrive!” the ninja-like bodyguard yelled to the surviving lackey as he rushed me again.

  The lackey tried to lunge at me, but his fear was his undoing. His grip was weak, and as our blades clashed, he simply dropped his sword, the steel clattering uselessly against the stone. I saw the black-clad guard closing in from the corner of my eye. He was waiting for me to commit to the kill so he could strike my opening.

  I feinted, pulling my sword back as if to finish the unarmed lackey, but at the last millisecond, I pivoted on my heel and swung with everything I had at the guard’s neck. He was caught off guard by the sudden change in trajectory. He managed to bring his short blades up to block, but once again, the sheer force of my strike blew him away.

  While he was mid-air, I turned back to the trembling lackey and plunged my sword through his chest.

  I looked at the noble. He was cowering on the ground, his eyes wide and leaking tears of terror. Part of me wanted to end him right there—to silence that shrill voice forever. But I knew the consequences. If I killed a noble, the kingdom would hunt me to the ends of the earth. If I just ran, I might still have a chance.

  I dashed toward him, but I didn't use my blade. I pulled back my leg and delivered a massive, bone-shattering kick directly into his face.

  “Kuuggghhhh!”

  The sound he made—a high-pitched, wet squeal—was immensely satisfying. It was a petty revenge, but it bought me the time I needed. The black-clad guard didn't chase me immediately; he rushed to check on his employer’s condition, his loyalty outweighed by his fear of the Lord’s retribution. I didn't wait to see the results. I turned and sprinted toward the end of the street.

  I ran with a singular focus. I turned left, then right, navigating the back alleys of the south side as fast as my legs could carry me. I knew the window for escape was closing. The guards would be locking the gates soon.

  As I ran, I accessed the Player Window. I needed speed, more than I had ever needed it before. I made a split-second decision. I deactivated my two experience-boosting skills—the ones that had cost me 110 points. The points flooded back into my reserve, and I immediately reallocated them. I increased the agility stat to 18 and the strength stat to 9.

  With the massive stat bonuses provided by the Hero job, the shift in my physical state was profound. My heart began to beat with a powerful, rhythmic thump, and the world seemed to slow down. My muscles felt coiled like high-tension springs. I wasn't just running anymore; I was a blur of motion.

  I rounded the final corner and saw the southern gate looming in the distance. The guards were already looking toward the commotion in the city, their hands resting on the gate mechanisms. I didn't slow down. I gathered every ounce of my newfound Agility and prepared to force my way through the threshold before the iron bars could drop. Just like that, I sprinted.

  [Edited]