Chapter 5: The First Step in the Game

The first rays of dawn crept through the cracks in the boarded windows, casting elongated shadows across the empty room. The air remained still, thick with the scent of dust and aged wood.

I lay on the cold floor, my coat draped over me as a makeshift blanket. My body ached slightly from the night spent on the hard surface, but discomfort was a small price to pay. I had more pressing matters to attend to.

My fingers absentmindedly traced the edges of my notebook, its presence grounding me.

Let's see if my test worked.

Sitting up, I stretched out my stiff limbs before moving toward the center of the room. The notebook had clear rules: the larger the change, the more mana it required. But small, precise alterations—those were possible without significant cost.

Taking a slow breath, I reached down and pried at the floorboards. My pulse remained steady as I worked, fingers methodically testing each section of wood until—

Click.

A slight shift. A hollow space beneath.

I carefully pulled up the board, and there, just as I had written, was a small leather pouch.

Gold coins.

The soft jingle of metal filled the quiet room as I lifted the pouch, rolling a coin between my fingers. The weight, the texture—it was real.

A quiet chuckle escaped my lips.

It had worked.

A small victory, but a significant one.

Not only did this confirm that I could manipulate reality, but it also showed the mana cost for minor changes was bearable. I had felt a slight drain after writing the command, but nothing debilitating.

This changes everything.

I tightened my grip around the pouch. While this test had worked, I needed to be careful. The more I tampered with reality, the greater the risks. If I was careless, I could attract unwanted attention.

For now, I would use this ability sparingly—only for controlled, calculated changes.

I pocketed the pouch and stood, taking a moment to gather my thoughts.

Next step: securing resources.

Gold was useful, but money alone wouldn't be enough to establish myself in this world. I needed leverage. Connections. And most importantly, power.

And to gain power, I needed training.

By midday, the city was alive with activity. Merchants called out from their stalls, hawking everything from exotic spices to enchanted trinkets. The scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread lingered in the air, mingling with the less pleasant aromas of unwashed bodies and sewage.

I moved through the crowd with ease, blending in as just another nameless face. My destination wasn't one of the main markets but rather a less reputable part of the city—a district known for catering to those who sought strength by any means necessary.

The underground fighting pits.

A place where mercenaries, outlaws, and desperate souls tested their mettle for coin and reputation. More importantly, it was a place where I could observe, learn, and—when the time was right—make my own move.

The entrance was unassuming, tucked between a crumbling stone wall and an unmarked tavern. A single guard stood at the doorway, his arms crossed over his barrel-like chest. His eyes flicked over me as I approached.

"New?" he grunted.

I nodded, slipping a silver coin into his open palm.

He examined it for a moment before stepping aside. "Don't cause trouble."

I stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the scent of sweat and blood thick in the air. Muffled cheers and shouts echoed from further in, growing louder with each step I took.

Then, the corridor opened into a vast underground chamber. The arena was carved into the earth itself, a crude fighting pit surrounded by raised wooden stands. Spectators lined the edges, some shouting bets, others simply watching in grim fascination.

In the center of the pit, two men circled each other, their bodies covered in sweat and bruises. One lunged forward, his fist connecting with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed as the other man staggered back.

I watched silently from the shadows.

This is where real fighters are made.

Formal training was valuable, but nothing compared to raw, unpredictable combat. If I wanted to become strong, I needed to experience real fights, understand how battles unfolded beyond the controlled environment of a training hall.

But today, I wouldn't be stepping into the pit.

Today, I was here to observe. To gather information.

My gaze swept across the spectators, searching for anyone of interest. Fighters, brokers, trainers—people who could be useful in the long run.

Then, my eyes landed on him.

A man sitting near the edge of the pit, his expression calm despite the violence before him. He was older, his face lined with experience, his posture relaxed yet alert. A former warrior, perhaps. Or someone who had seen enough battles to no longer be fazed by them.

He might be useful.

I made my way toward him, moving with deliberate ease. No sudden movements, no signs of intent. Just another spectator looking for a place to sit.

As I reached his side, I leaned against the railing and spoke casually. "Brutal, isn't it?"

The man glanced at me, his eyes sharp despite his otherwise lazy posture. "Depends on how you look at it. Some see brutality. Others see opportunity."

I smirked. "And what do you see?"

He studied me for a moment before chuckling. "Someone who doesn't belong here—but isn't lost either."

Smart.

I didn't respond immediately, letting the silence stretch between us. Then, I extended my hand. "Nathaniel."

He eyed my hand before shaking it. "Orion."

A name. A connection.

The first step in weaving my web.

The fights continued, but my focus had shifted. Orion was an enigma, but one I intended to unravel. If he was truly experienced, he could be the first piece in my growing arsenal—a potential mentor, or at the very least, a source of valuable insight.

The night was still young, and the game had only just begun.

One step at a time, I would carve my path.

And no one would see it coming.