Two weeks had passed quickly, and the sun was as bright as ever, illuminating every corner of the fortress city. People entered the tavern with a reddish tint to their faces due to the heat that dominated the atmosphere. Martin was busy carrying glasses of beer and plates of food from one place to another—it was one of those very busy days.

"Table 10! Alpaca meat with potatoes!"

"Table 11! Two sulfuric beers and silver alcohol!"

"Table 12! Rice with pork!"

The tavern’s receptionist was calling out orders while attending to the bar. Behind her, the kitchen staff were in full swing, preparing the dishes.

A girl with short, reddish hair took the orders for tables 10 and 11 and disappeared in the blink of an eye. Martin then appeared, carrying the order for table 12.

"Here you go, sir."

"Thank you, lad," replied a bald old man who was hunched over in his seat.

"Take these coins."

The old man stretched out his arm and handed Martin three green coins. Martin thanked him and headed to the bar, where he deposited the tip he had received. Old Alan didn’t pay Martin a salary and forbade him from keeping tips; this was part of his training and also a way to pay for his stay at the place.

"Phew… not much left," Martin glanced at the clock on the wall, which showed 9:30 PM. His shift ended at 10 PM.

"Just a little more... what a relief," added a young boy around 15 years old with gray hair and a patch over his left eye.

"Move along, guys, I don’t want to get scolded," said the red-haired girl who had recently returned.

“This isn’t much different from my time as a waiter.” Martin smiled softly at the pair of youngsters and turned to continue taking orders. Fond memories surfaced in his mind as he witnessed the scene.

Knock, knock.

"Come in."

The door to the room opened, and a young man with dark hair, tattered clothes, and an exhausted look peeked through the entrance.

"How are you, foreigner?"

"As usual... a busy day."

"I see, take a seat."

Martin grabbed a chair and slowly sat down. Old Alan had summoned him after his shift at the tavern.

"Master, what do you need from me?"

"I just want to know your thoughts on everything—my swordsmanship training, Professor Teresa’s classes, your work in the tavern."

"You already knew what you were missing, didn’t you?"

Martin nodded affirmatively in response. After the first history class, he immediately knew why he was stuck—he lacked the “concept.” According to the theory, the spiritual body needed to be established on a solid foundation, which could be an idea, a belief, a reason, or something similar. This was the “concept.”

The path of magic states that the individuality of each being lies in the spiritual body. Therefore, this individuality must be developed through the establishment of a concept, which is unique to each being. However, this “concept” can be replaced by faith in God, which is how people associated with the church replaced the concept with their belief in the latter.

Martin didn’t even consider the option of religion. His desire to become strong was to obtain his freedom. If he chose faith as his concept, he would simply be swapping one jailer for another.

"I’ve reflected and thought a lot about it, Master, but I’ve reached no conclusion."

"I know it’s difficult. Adopting a concept and developing it is crucial in every knight’s life."

“It feels like choosing a major in college,” Martin thought with some anxiety, remembering how his fight with his family had started because of that.

"That’s why I assigned you to work in the tavern. Meeting different personalities, experiencing various environments and sensations, forming connections, sharing laughter—all this will help you reach a conclusion. Living through diverse experiences is essential when choosing your path."

"I see, so my sealed ability was because of that?"

"Partly, yes. When you described your ability to me, I guessed it would become an obstacle in the future, as it feels like cheating when trying to understand others. You need to perceive these sensations on your own without the aid of ether."

"Trainee knights usually take part in various missions before formally embarking on the path of the sword. When the time comes, the accumulation of experiences produces strong and stable individuals. At the age of 15, they usually reach the apprentice rank. In your case, you’ve already passed the ideal age, so I decided to take a more relaxed approach."

"You’ll tell me about your experiences every month from now on. In a year, you should be ready to ascend and enter the apprentice rank, if you decide to follow the path of the sword."

Martin reflected with his head down, his gaze lost in the void. Many of his doubts were cleared at that moment, and he better understood his master’s intentions. However, a year was too long; the anxiety within him would devour him before then.

“I’ll probably have a Qi deviation before the year is out,” Martin compared his situation to a common theme in Chinese novels. He didn’t know if something like that existed in this world, but he was sure he would head down that path if he didn’t make significant progress.

"I understand, Master."

"I’m glad you’ve understood. So, foreigner, how was your day?"

"Well…"

Two days later, Celestial District, Central Square.

A melancholy sound filled every corner of the surroundings. Feelings of longing and sadness blossomed among the spectators as a girl with blonde hair and gothic attire elegantly played the harp. Passersby stopped to watch the girl’s performance, mesmerized by the sorrowful melody. Every time she finished a song, they applauded enthusiastically and left money for her.

The sun was high in the sky, illuminating the area, and the clock showed 5:00 PM when a young man with dark hair and casual clothes appeared among the crowd.

"Excuse me, dear audience, today’s performance has come to an end." The girl bowed to the audience and collected the money they had given her.

"Excellent as always, Miss Alice," said the dark-haired young man amid the applause.

"It’s the norm for this lady," Alice replied with a smile.

Martin crouched down to pack Alice’s harp in a case and slung it over his shoulder.

"Shall we go?"

"Follow me, foreigner."

The blonde-haired girl led the way through the bustling crowd.

"It’s been a while. Do you think they’re still on alert?"

"I doubt it. Accidents like these in the slums are forgotten within a few days. We don’t matter much to the nation," the blonde girl replied with a serious expression.

"Surveillance has decreased significantly. We can get the ID without much trouble. Did you bring the money?"

"Yes, I have it here. I brought extra just in case."

"That’s fine. Remember not to haggle too much or you’ll make him angry."

"Understood, ma’am," Martin said, raising his hand to his forehead as if saluting a high-ranking officer.

After a half-hour walk, they entered the earthly district and took a carriage pulled by alpacas. They rode for 10 minutes and arrived at a colorful and elegant shopping area, which didn’t seem like a place where illegal activities took place.

"Are we here?"

"Yes, it’s the flower shop on the corner." Martin followed Alice’s gaze and observed the shop she was referring to—it looked quite normal from the outside.

"I’ll wait for you at the café since that guy is known for being paranoid. If he sees two people entering his shop, he might get the wrong idea. Remember to be subtle, don’t say anything strange, don’t haggle too much, and avoid unnecessary chatter. Mention that you’re coming from me."

"Got it, Alice. I’m on my way."

Martin left the girl behind and headed toward the flower shop with a calm face, his emotions under control and his mind focused on his task.

"Good afternoon."

"Good afternoon, young man. What can I do for you?"

"I’m looking for a special type of flower. I’m new in town."

The middle-aged man frowned slightly and cautiously looked around.

"I see. Who recommended my humble shop?"

"The daughter of delirium, a famous composer."

"So it was her… come, follow me inside."

Martin glanced around and took a step into the shop.

"What’s the name of the flower you’re looking for?"

Martin thought for a few seconds and decided to go with something simple and easy to remember.

"Ray Driguez."

The middle-aged man took out a pen and infused it with a strange purple aura. After that, he began writing on a silver plaque.

"Look over here."

After writing, the man placed a camera-like device on a tripod, and a purple flash flooded the room. A photo had been taken of Martin’s face.

"Now, just hold the plaque and say your name out loud."

The man handed Martin a silver plaque with his name and a photo of him printed on it.

"Ray Driguez," Martin pronounced in a dry, firm tone.

A soft purple light began to emanate from the plaque, and the previously inscribed letters started to glow intensely.

"It’s ready. Be sure not to use it around noble houses, or they’ll immediately realize it’s fake. Although it’s a high-quality imitation, the ether imprint inside the card doesn’t match yours."

Martin closely examined the plaque in his hands and slightly sensed the incongruity the man was talking about. The ether inside the plaque felt quite similar to his own, but upon closer inspection, there were small differences.

"It’s like they put someone else’s fingerprint on it," he thought to himself, recognizing the forgery.

"That’ll be 10 cuprums," said the middle-aged man without a hint of doubt.

"I believe this flower isn’t worth more than 5 cuprums," Martin replied seriously.

"It’s of high quality; few produce plants at this level."

"Do you think so?" Martin slightly furrowed his brow and looked the man in the eye without blinking.

"Since you’re new to the city, I could give you a discount… How about 8 cuprums?"

"Hmm, I don’t know… I wanted to take a walk around the royal palace, but you say that’s not possible."

"He’s trembling like a leaf about to fall," Martin noted to himself as he observed the man’s shaking hands.

"It’s time for the final touch," the young man began tapping the counter's surface with two fingers in quick succession.

"Th-this… Fine! 5 cuprums!" The middle-aged man looked nervous, with beads of sweat running down his face.

"We have a deal. I like people like you, sir." Martin extended his hand and sealed the negotiation with a handshake.

Having lived in the slums, he had gotten used to dealing with people like this. They would take advantage of the naïve whenever possible. The moment someone showed any sign of weakness, they pounced like hungry wolves ready to skin the poor sheep.

Martin left the flower shop with the silver plate in his pocket, feeling pleased that he had achieved his first objective in this city. At last, he could work as an adventurer, explore the world, fight dragons, conquer a dungeon, save a beautiful woman, and be decorated as the hero who saved the country.

"If this were an average isekai, such a development might be possible, but in this world, nothing goes as I want," he sighed deeply inwardly, stopped imagining silly things, and decided to head to the café where Alice was waiting for him.

However, after a few steps, Martin began to feel terrible, as if his strength was being drained. He told Alice they should go to a room to rest. The girl agreed without much trouble, and they headed toward an inn while Martin leaned on her delicate and small shoulder.

"Are you okay, Martin?" Alice asked, concerned for the young man lying on the bed.

"I don’t know what’s happening. I feel like my head is spinning, and I have no strength."

"Are you sure nothing happened at the flower shop?"

"Absolutely nothing, no problem at all."

"How strange… Maybe you ate something bad?"

"I doubt it; I always eat at the tavern."

"I’ll go get some medicine. Don’t move from here, my lord." Alice knelt down on one knee, lifting the other as if she were a knight.

"Haha, it’s okay, my noble knight. I trust you."

Alice gave a thumbs-up in approval and left the room.

Seconds passed, and silence filled the room. Strange images flashed quickly through Martin’s mind. His fantasies from a while ago reappeared, and scenes he had never experienced before played before his eyes.

Martin being cheered by a crowd of people.

Martin exploring a dangerous dungeon with a group of adventurers.

Martin fighting side by side with a powerful knight.

Martin swinging his sword against a fearsome dragon spewing crimson fire.

Martin facing an endless horde of monsters while defending a helpless woman.

"The path of the hero is steep and difficult; death lurks around every corner, waiting for its chance. Few are chosen to embark on this journey. Your determination will be constantly tested. You will fall many times, and your willpower will waver, but a hero is not one who fears nothing; a hero is not one who always emerges victorious; a hero is not one filled with virtue and nobility."

"A hero is one who rises despite the fear."

An image of Martin fleeing from the avatar of the goddess appeared in the air. Seconds later, he returned with a sword and a suit made of metal mesh.

The scene changed, and Martin appeared trembling in fear before a man holding a knife. However, he mustered his courage and pushed the man with both hands, knocking him to the ground. A small girl with long, dark hair was grabbed by Martin's hand, and they ran at full speed.

"A hero is one who, despite losing, keeps trying until they achieve victory."

Martin appeared again, this time sitting at a desk with an exam on the table that had a very low grade. Weeks passed in the blink of an eye, and the boy studied tirelessly day and night until another exam appeared, this time with the highest possible score.

The scene changed, and Martin was covered in wounds and burns. The divine emissary had launched a series of lightning bolts, but the young man agilely dodged them and managed to land a blow.

"A hero is someone ordinary, full of flaws."

Martin appeared arguing with his parents about his career choice.

Martin sleeping in college and being kicked out of class.

Martin defeating Big Bull with a less-than-honorable tactic.

(Continued in the next short chapter)