"Two whole freakin' days…"
It had been two days since Luck had arrived in this unfamiliar world, and two days without food. His stomach growled angrily, a loud reminder of his malnourished state.
He stumbled weakly through the slums, his legs trembling with every step. Exhaustion weighed down his body, and hunger clawed at his insides, threatening to bring him to his knees.
Half of him hoped some kind soul would notice his sorry state and offer him scraps, but this wasn't a fairy tale. Life didn't work that way.
The streets were alive with sound—vendors shouting, children crying, and the occasional scuffle breaking out in the distance. Luck couldn't see the chaos around him, but he could hear it, smell it, feel it pressing in from all sides. The pungent stench of garbage mixed with the faint aroma of cooking meat teased his senses, making his stomach clench painfully.
Floating beside him, the wisp glowed faintly, its ethereal light undisturbed by the turmoil around them.
"D-damn lucky bastard," Luck muttered, his voice hoarse and weak. "You don't have to worry about food… unlike your poor master."
The wisp bobbed in place as if responding to his words, almost mocking him with its carefree existence.
Luck sighed, using his cane to feel his way toward a quieter alley.
'A cane...yeah right if it could even pass as one.'
He felt the rough wood on the stick that he had picken up the day he arrived. It was familiar to touch and he reckon that it had been with the past host of this body before Luck himself had arrived.
He paused, tilting his head and focusing on the distant sounds of the market. Voices overlapped in a disarray, but Luck could pick out the patterns—the steady rhythm of footsteps, the clinking of coins, the occasional bark of laughter. He had been here long enough to map out the area in his mind, piecing it together with his keen hearing and enhanced senses.
He had walked this route many times and had "observed" the routine of the market for the past two days. In fact, this was the same market he had originally transmigrated in front of.
The market was a culmination of multiple stalls and vendors, a bustling hub of activity, filled with people of all kinds. Luck had overheard snippets of conversations about elves, Avians, and a reptilian race called Drassk. Though he couldn't see them, he had picked up on the subtle differences in the way they moved and spoke. The light, almost gliding steps of an elf were distinct from the heavier, clawed gait of a Drassk.
All of that was beside the point. What mattered was the bakery he had been staking out for the past two days. It was always busy, with a steady flow of customers coming and going. Perfect for what he had in mind.
Luck tilted his head, focusing on the bakery's sounds. The baker's heavy footsteps thudded against a creaking wooden floor behind the counter, and the clatter of trays indicated that they were restocking. His assistant was there, too—her sharp voice cutting through the din as she barked at someone to hurry up their order. She would be the one to watch out for.
His stomach growled again, loud enough to make him wince. Luck clenched his fists around his cane.
'Let's just say I'll place it on my tab'
Luck's cane tapped lightly against the cobblestones as he approached the bakery.
Luck adjusted the position of his wisp, silently willing it to hover slightly ahead of him. It wasn't much use for seeing, but its faint warmth acted as a guide, helping him avoid obstacles that his cane might miss.
"Alright," he muttered to himself. "In and out, quick and quiet."
He stepped into the fray, his senses on high alert. He kept his head low, his cane sweeping in careful arcs in front of his feet.
The bakery itself wasn't too large, it was more developed and built then the other stalls but the foundation was just wooden planks and only a tarp covered it from the sun and potential rays. Luck wasn't even sure where the bread came from but that wasn't really his concern. The only thing that mattered was where the bread was placed and then interval of it being reloaded.
And if his observetion served him faithfully then it would be refilling any minute now...
Then he heard it once again: the clatter of a tray being placed on the counter. His heart sped up. From the sound, it was loaded with pastries, likely fresh out of the oven.
Luck stopped just short of the bakery stall, pretending to lean on his cane as if catching his breath, which was somewhat true. To anyone watching, he would appear as just another weary beggar.
The baker was busy reloading and selling the bread while the assistant was busy arguing with a customer a few feet away. Perfect.
He edged closer to the stall, his fingers brushing against the counter. The warmth of the tray was palpable, its contents just within reach. Luck's heart pounded in his chest as he extended his hand, feeling for the edge of the tray.
A voice snapped through the air, sharp and accusing. "Hey! What do you think you're doing?"
Luck froze, his hand inches from the tray. His mind raced, trying to come up with an excuse, but his body had other plans. Before he could think, he the tray and bolted, his cane tapping furiously against the ground as he navigated through the crowd of people.
Behind him, the assistant shouted, "Thief! Stop him!"
Luck ducked into the nearest alley, his enhanced senses guiding him through the maze of narrow passageways. He could hear the assistant's footsteps pounding after him, but they were getting fainter.
He didn't stop running until he was sure he had lost them. Gasping for breath, Luck slumped against a wall, clutching the tray that rested in his hands.
He snatched a crossiant and briefly smelled it, savoring his not-so silent victory
"W-worth it," he panted, tearing into the warm, flaky bread like a man starved—which, to be fair, he was.
He felt the contents of the tray with one hand as the other fed him.
'2 long bread things, 5 rolls and 4 more croissants...YAHOO!!'
He mentally celebrated, too tired to dance or shout with excitement. If he stretched it maybe it would last him a couple of days. However what would happen after that? Would he have to continue creating the same commotion each time he was hungry? Surely not everyone would be as slow as the assistant in a chase nor would they fall for such petty thievlary multiple times.
He sighed and looked at the wisp still floating infront of him, its glow dimming slightly as if sharing in his exhaustion.
Luck leaned his head back against the wall, swallowing the last bite of the pastry. He was temporalily satiated but he need a more stable plan of action.
"Alright buddy," he muttered to the wisp. "We're gonna need a better plan."