"Let me grab something before heading in," Leon muttered as he turned away from Emily's house and strolled toward a familiar side street. It wasn't long before he arrived at a run-down lot where his car sat, looking as tired as he felt.
The old, rusted vehicle groaned as he slid inside, its chipped paint and worn interior telling stories of years better left forgotten. The engine sputtered to life with a reluctant growl, and Leon hoped it would hold up for one last trip. He didn't have time to worry about that now—money was the pressing issue.
Leon pulled up to a small car dealership nestled in the outskirts of town, the kind of place people only went when they were desperate. The peeling "Buy, Sell, Trade" sign barely clung to its post, much like the dealership itself to its meager business.
He stepped out, his car emitting one final, guttural cough as it fell silent. A man in a grease-stained jumpsuit leaned against the building, idly puffing on a cigarette. He eyed Leon with mild disinterest as he approached.
"I'm looking to sell," Leon said, motioning to the car.
The man took a drag, squinting at the vehicle. "That rust bucket? I'll give you $4,500—tops. That's all it's worth, and I'm being generous."
He didn't argue. Time was money, and he didn't have much of either. "Fine," he said sharply.
Minutes later, Leon walked away with $4,500 in cash stuffed into his jacket pocket. Barely enough for what he needed, but it would have to do. Without a backward glance, he flagged down a taxi and headed to his next destination—a weapons and armory shop tucked discreetly away in a back alley.
The unassuming metal door and faded signage hid its grim offerings from prying eyes, but Leon knew exactly where to find it. He'd been here before. Inside, the heavy aroma of gunpowder mingled with the musk of aged leather, a pungent reminder of what this shop specialized in.
Behind the counter stood a grizzled man with a thick beard and tired eyes, barely sparing Leon a glance.
"I need an M4 assault rifle," Leon said, his tone measured but resolute. "Preferably military-grade."
The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow. "Not something you can just buy at your local market. You ex-military or what?"
Leon slid his military ID across the counter. The shopkeeper studied it briefly before giving a curt nod. "Makes it easier. Fill these out," he said, pushing over a stack of forms. "No cutting corners."
Leon worked quickly, his hand moving automatically over the paperwork. The routine was familiar—too familiar. The shopkeeper scrutinized the completed forms, then disappeared into the back. Moments later, he returned, hefting a sealed box onto the counter.
Leon glanced at the label: Colt M4 Carbine, 5.56mm. His fingers tightened briefly, imagining the weapon in his hands. The package included a suppressor, reflex sight, and extra magazines—a deadly tool in the right hands.
"You'll want to carry it discreetly," the shopkeeper said, setting a rugged black duffel bag on the counter. "Thick padding, nondescript. Perfect for avoiding trouble."
Leon handed over the cash and carefully packed the rifle and ammunition into the bag. Slinging it over his shoulder, he gave the man a nod and walked out into the cool evening air.
"System," Leon murmured, scanning his surroundings. "What's the plan? Where are you sending me?"
The familiar robotic voice answered promptly:
[Medieval World. Suggested preparation: Basic survival resources.]
Leon sighed. "Great. Salt, I guess. That's a start."
Salt wasn't just a luxury in a medieval world—it was currency, a preservative, a remedy. It could prove invaluable. He quickly made his way to a convenience store, snatching a cheap container of salt off a shelf. The clerk barely glanced at him as he paid.
From there, he found a small outdoor shop. The aisles brimmed with survival essentials, and Leon moved methodically, grabbing what he needed: a compact sleeping bag, a first-aid kit, and a handful of non-perishable snacks.
Satisfied, he packed his supplies alongside the rifle and ammo in the duffel bag. Everything felt heavier.