"How is the monster extermination going? Have we handled all the threats?" Zephyrion asked, his voice steady yet edged with urgency.
It had been almost a week since the report came in, and every high-level administrator had been tasked with locating and exterminating the monsters threatening their realm.
"Sir, we've found 43 suspected monsters underneath or around 37 of the 38 frontline towns and villages," Ben replied, shifting uneasily in his chair. "We're still searching for a monster in Istarra."
Zephyrion's expression darkened slightly, his golden eyes narrowing as he rested his chin on his hand. "I see. What will you do about Istarra, then?" he asked, his tone measured yet probing. Though he was the leader, he valued the input of his allies and sought their growth through decision-making.
"We can't be sure we exterminated the right monsters even in the towns where we found them," Ben admitted, his brow furrowed with concern. "So, we can't send extra forces to Istarra. I'm ashamed as the advisor, but may I ask for your wisdom?" His face reddened, the words seemingly difficult for him to voice.
Zephyrion straightened in his chair and offered a reassuring nod. "It's okay to seek help," he replied. "How about this: let's hold the tournament in Istarra. That way, we can get the help of the deployed guards and start giving quests to the saviors that will come for the event."
Ben's eyes lit up, relief washing over him like a wave. "Sir, that's a brilliant idea. I'll begin the preparations immediately."
---
Arlon entered Istarra shortly before the servers reopened, the familiar sight of the town filling him with a mix of nostalgia and curiosity. The town looked just as he remembered—unchanged, as though time had frozen since his departure a week ago.
Of course, it was. It couldn't change in only one week!
Reflecting on the emotional debates he'd had with himself about returning after six long months, he felt a little embarrassed. He had agonized over this moment of his return in six months, and yet here he was as if he'd never left.
Determined to make the most of his return, he decided to tour the town and reacquaint himself with its streets that he didn't forget.
Istarra was situated in a warm region of Trion, and its arid appearance was deceiving. The surrounding land was surprisingly fertile, yielding vibrant crops and colorful flowers that adorned select parts of the town.
Tall sunflowers swayed gently in the breeze, their golden heads a cheerful contrast to the town's dusty roads. Yet, the simplicity of its unpaved dirt paths and modest alleyways reinforced the illusion of a harsh, dry landscape.
Arlon wandered aimlessly until something unusual caught his eye—a shop he hadn't noticed before. A clothing store.
The modest wooden sign creaked softly in the wind, and the windows were lined with mannequins dressed in exquisite outfits. It seemed odd to him that he hadn't seen it before, but then again, clothing hadn't been a priority in his previous life.
Clothing wasn't typically necessary for players, after all. They logged out daily and spent most of their logged-in time battling in armor.
This lack of need likely explained why the store had escaped his notice. But today was different. He had events to attend and summons to Kelta to prepare for. Showing up in battle-worn armor wouldn't do.
For the past two weeks, he had been relying on the dirt-repellant starter clothes provided by EVA. They served their purpose well enough, but they were plain and unremarkable.
In fact, players themselves were essentially dirt-repellant—a convenience of the game world that spared them mundane tasks like laundry.
Still, Arlon found solace in polishing his sword, more out of admiration than necessity.
Now, however, it was time to upgrade his wardrobe. He had more than enough money, thanks to the Keldars he had slain.
EVA never rewarded players with money, likely to preserve Trion's economy. But every monster dropped money. Even Keldars had their own economy. So, he gathered a substantial amount.
While thinking this he stepped into the shop.
The interior was more luxurious than he'd expected. Racks of brightly colored garments filled the space, each piece crafted with an elegance that spoke of royalty.
Soft sunlight filtered through the windows, illuminating the fine fabrics and the polished wooden floor. Behind the counter stood an elderly dwarf woman, dressed in a professional yet vibrant purple outfit.
Her warm, trustworthy expression immediately reminded Arlon of a kind grandmother from a storybook.
"How may I help you, sir?" she asked, her voice gentle but businesslike as she approached him.
Arlon hesitated for a moment, feeling a pang of disappointment. He had secretly hoped for an intimate, grandmotherly welcome—the kind he'd read about in fantasy novels.
But he quickly shook the thought from his mind and pressed on.
"Miss, I need clothes but don't know what to buy. I need a few pieces of casual wear, two formal outfits, and some sleeping clothes," he said, scratching the back of his head sheepishly.
Normally, if he'd made such an admission to a shop owner, he might have been swindled. But here in Trion, he felt at ease.
People lived in relative peace, and the economy was stable enough that even the poorest citizens could meet their needs.
Greed, while not absent, was far less rampant than in the world he'd left behind.
The dwarf woman's smile widened. "I see. What kinds of clothes do you normally wear, my dear?" she asked, her tone shifting to one of genuine warmth.
Of course, she wasn't about to swindle Arlon. She was just good at her job and realized Arlon's rejection.
Each customer needed a different approach. She wouldn't lose this fight to win the customer. If Arlon wanted an intimate approach, she would give him one.
Arlon's smiling lips touched his ears without realizing it. The next words came out of his mouth as if he were telling his biggest success story:
"I don't wear any, I wear armor."
The old woman, Carnie, was dumbfounded. In front of her was a guy in his early 20s, claiming he didn't wear clothes.
How was that possible? Had he worn armor for 20 years? Of course, She couldn't know that Arlon referred only to his time in Trion and that Earth's clothes weren't available here.
But, she didn't change her demeanor and continued:
"I see," she said with a chuckle. "Don't worry, dear. I'll find the perfect outfits for you."
For the next hour, Carnie guided Arlon through a variety of options. She measured his frame, handed him garments to try on, and offered gentle critiques that were as encouraging as they were insightful. The experience was far more enjoyable than he had anticipated.
Finally, Arlon emerged from the store with a satisfied smile. He wore sleek black slacks and a matching shirt—an outfit that reminded him of Earth.
Over it, he draped a black robe, adding a touch of Trion-inspired elegance to his look. In his inventory, he carried additional outfits, including some traditional Trion attire and comfortable sleepwear.
Feeling rejuvenated, he made his way to the Moonlight Potion Store to deliver the medallion. The streets of Istarra seemed more vibrant now as if reflecting his lighter mood.
Arlon had considered absorbing the medallion's experience but remembered Charon's warning: not about the danger—he doubted actual harm would come to him since he was a player—but about its lack of benefit at his current level. Losing Charon's trust wasn't worth the risk.
So, he decided not to risk it and hand it in properly.
Upon entering the potion shop, he overheard Charon muttering under his breath. "I knew it," the elder alchemist said, his voice barely audible.
"Sir Charon, I've brought the medallion. Did you know I was coming?" Arlon asked, stepping forward.
Charon waved dismissively. "Don't worry about that. Kid, you've gotten stronger. But do you think it's enough to call yourself legendary? Agema was legendary! Kirke was legendary! Makel was legendary! Do you think you are on the same level as them?"
"Sir, I think there's been a misunderstanding. I never claimed—" Arlon began, but his words were cut off as a curtain in the corner of the room was swept aside.
A woman in a red robe stepped into view, her expression brightening as she saw him. "Sir Arlon, you have arrived!" Shirl greeted him warmly.
"Miss Shirl, it's good to see you. How have you been?" he replied, bowing slightly.
"I am thankful to you," she said with a gracious smile. "Are you here for the medallion? It seems like you've become even stronger."
Arlon blushed slightly—something that hadn't happened when Charon made a similar remark. "I've been doing well, thank you. Yes, I'm here for the medallion. Sir Charon, here it is."
He handed the medallion to Charon, who didn't take it directly. Instead, with a flick of his wrist, the medallion levitated, wrapped in ethereal bands of light. Moments later, it vanished as if it had never existed.
"You did well not to absorb it," Charon said, his tone approving. His gaze sharpened as he studied Arlon. "It seems you're at a bottleneck. Step closer," he commanded.
Arlon obeyed without hesitation. Charon grasped his wrist, and a golden light flowed from the elder to him, warm and invigorating.
Shirl's expression turned to one of alarm. "Sir Charon, what are you doing? That is—"
"It's okay. Don't worry," Charon interrupted. The golden light dimmed, leaving Arlon with a sense of clarity.
A series of notifications appeared before him:
"You have leveled up. You gained 3 CP."