CH 7. Gotta Eat to Live
Riu and I sprinted at full speed for what felt like ages.
We’d blindly trusted Riu’s knowledge of the terrain and run without a plan, yet somehow we’d completely shaken off the guards’ pursuit.
“Hah…! Hah…! Are they gone?!”
“Catch your breath. You look wrecked.”
“We ran the same distance! Why are you fine?!”
“Maybe because I trained by hauling rocks?”
“Ugh… Let’s drop it.”
I wasn’t tired—if anything, the mild exertion left me invigorated.
The thrill of newfound freedom also buzzed through me.
“Where are we, anyway?”
“Mota, a small city. Closest to the prison.”
“Wouldn’t they expect us to flee here first?”
“Still safer to disappear into a crowd. We can’t reach a farther city in one night.”
I nodded.
Even after a decade in this world, I didn’t know every corner of the empire.
In my gaming days, I’d just repeated optimized routes to clear quests. Now that I was out here, following Riu’s lead made sense.
“I’ll stick with your plans for now. So, what’s next? You must’ve thought beyond just escaping.”
“Obviously. First, we change clothes.”
“Clothes?”
“Stay here. Don’t move. You’re my lifeline now, got it?”
You’re the lifeline here.
We both had mutual interests, so betrayal seemed unlikely.
Wait—he’s a street thief. Can I even trust him?
Riu vanished, leaving me weighing doubt against pragmatism. He returned within an hour.
“Put these on.”
“…These look like rags even by beggar standards.”
“Beggars are everywhere here. Blending in is strategic.”
“Wow, you’re a genius.”
With no alternatives, I pulled on the frayed, stinking clothes.
The perfect fit almost made me believe his “strategy” claim.
“And these.”
“What?”
“Tinted lenses.”
“Lenses? Oh.”
“Red eyes are an Arahans’ trademark. Wandering around with those? Rumors would spread in two hours.”
“I was just curious about colored contacts.”
“For nobles, eye color’s another accessory. Not that you elites would get it.”
Riu tossed me a potato—no clue where he’d scavenged it—and bit into one twice as large.
This guy’s not just skilled. He’s a professional thief.
“In the west, Arahans rule. But here in the south, it’s the Bahal family. Hence the blue lenses nobles wear.”
Right—Bahal. The name clicked. My main gaming character had been “Torres Bahal,” a knight-class hero.
I’d even achieved the final ending with him.
If Arahans represented mages, Bahal stood for swordsmen.
Red eyes for Arahans, clear blue for Bahal—fitting for a world where knights and mages despised each other.
“Thanks for the consideration, anyway.”
“But keep your head down. Those lenses are pricey. Beggars wearing them? You’ll get robbed.”
“Got it.”
“Let’s rest. I found a spot earlier.”
Riu brushed off his pants and stood. I trailed him to a dilapidated stable.
Neglected and filthy, but compared to our prison cell, it felt like a five-star hotel.
As I flopped onto straw, Riu eyed me.
“One question—where’d you learn those brawling skills? Do Arahans teach that?”
“Brawling?”
“The punches, the acrobatics. Where’d that come from?”
Is he talking about martial arts?
Is this punk serious? Calling modern combat techniques—refined for peak efficiency—“brawling”?
I bit back my irritation.
In a world of swords and magic, fists were for street scuffles. Martial arts as a concept didn’t exist here.
“Forget it. Nobles love their secrets.”
Something told me explaining would turn me into a lore-dumping NPC, so I stayed silent.
We fell asleep without another word.
Morning revealed the stable’s true state.
Dried horse dung littered the ground, and bugs crawled everywhere.
Paradise? More like a dump.
Riu smirked at my disgusted face.
“What? Too beneath you, Lord Noble?”
“Who’d like this?”
“You don’t live here ’cause you like it. You adapt.”
“We need money. Or we’ll keep sleeping in hellholes.”
“How? Evading guards is already a full-time job.”
“We still gotta eat.”
We hit the streets with empty stomachs and zero plans. It felt like my first day in the city after moving from the countryside years ago—lost, wandering, hoping for luck.
“What’s that crowd? A restaurant?”
A massive line of nobles snaked outside a building, beggars loitering nearby.
Riu clicked his tongue and groaned.
“Ugh—shouldn’t have puked yesterday. Should’ve kept that meal in, even if it killed me.”
“You know the place?”
“Serves Bertisan beef. Only one in the city. Reminds me of last night’s feast.”
Bertisan beef?!
My stomach growled as my eyes lit up.
“How much per pound?”
“Bertisan? Years of wages couldn’t buy a bite.”
“I want it again.”
“Same. Desperately.”
The reduced penalty from yesterday’s meal only sharpened the craving.
But we were fugitives with empty pockets. Stealing crossed my mind, but the crowd’s desperation mirrored ours.
“Filthy beggars! Scram!”
“We have money! We’re not beggars!”
“Think we’re fools? Hey! Get rid of them!”
Bouncers barred anyone shabby-looking from entering. No theft—just an entrance cutoff for the destitute.
“Need better clothes to get that beef.”
“Which requires money.”
“To earn money…”
“Pickpocketing. Time to learn, partner.”
“……”
How did I, who once lived the life of the strongest, end up like this?
It was a laughably bleak reality, but I didn’t actually hate it.
After all, don’t they say humans need voids in their lives to keep living?
Frankly, modern existence had become too comfortable—so devoid of hardship that it bored me.
“There’s a fighting arena here, right?”
“Every city has one. Why?”
Why overthink it? Fighting’s the only skill I’ve got.
I resolved to return to my early twenties—that era of burning passion and desperate survival.
“Why? To make money, obviously.”
“What? Stop spouting nonsense.”
“You’ve seen what I can do.”
“Those cheap tricks won’t work in the fighting arena.”
This idiot, really…
Modern combat sports—streamlined through endless iterations for peak efficiency—
“You realize how much dirty shit happens where big money’s involved? It’s not some chivalrous duel. Hidden blades are standard, and they’ll use every underhanded tactic.”
“Only weaklings rely on tricks.”
“You think fighters operate alone? They’ve all got syndicates backing them.”
“The ring’s no different.”
What separates modern combat from this?
Coaches dissecting opponents’ weaknesses.
PR teams manipulating public perception.
Brokers peddling drugs and bribing officials.
Only two fighters show on camera, but dozens battle behind the scenes.
And I’m the undefeated champion of that world.
“Take me to the arena.”
“Were you even listening? You’ll die there.”
“Let’s go. If I die, it’s my problem, not yours.”
“Ugh! You’re hopeless! Fine—see it yourself!”
Riu stormed ahead, grumbling.
Was he worried about me, or just protecting his meal ticket?
‘Hm.’
Now that I thought about it, “meal ticket” sounded absurd.
What did Arahan’s prestigious family matter? I was too busy scraping by.
My current status? Hiding behind colored contacts, worrying about my next meal.
‘Riu must know this.’
His loyalty puzzled me.
If he were dumb, I’d understand—but Riu’s shrewd for his age.
With Clark targeting me, sticking close meant danger. He could survive alone with his skills.
“Riu.”
“What? Regretting it?”
“What do you want from me?”
“…Huh?”
“Stop evading. Why cling to severed ties?”
……
Riu froze midstep.
I halted, awaiting his answer.
After a beat, he countered:
“What’s your goal? You ghosted through life, then suddenly started brawling with prisoners, volunteering for execution duty, backstabbing the warden. Since when do you take risks?”
“Your point?”
“You’ve got secrets. So do I.”
Riu marched forward, face carefully blank.
His sudden intensity startled me—until I recognized my own bias.
A boy in hellish prison.
Clutching at fraying hopes of escape.
Why assume he lacked depth?
Had I reduced this world to mere game logic?
“Riu, we’ll go together.”
These weren’t scripted NPCs.
They were living people. Riu—my first comrade here.
“Fine. No more questions.”
“…Must you really go?”
“Yes.”
“Damn it…”
“We need to eat.”
A former champion can’t work fast food.
Amid Riu’s muttered curses, we reached the arena.
“…Seriously entering? Can’t you smell the bloodlust?”
“They bet on winners here? Put everything on me.”
“Everything?!”
“We’ll sleep on feather beds and gorge on Berti Mountain beef.”
“You’ve gone mad since the escape.”
“Then bet on madness—stake your soul.”
“Maybe I should quit now.”
Quit when we’re about to skyrocket? Ridiculous.
I strode inside, nerves steady.
Dust clogged my nose. Crowd roars battered my ears.
Same electric tension as the octagon.
“This’ll be fun.”
Only differences? No gloves, no mouthguards.
Just crude ropes where sturdy ones should be.
