Based on her words and demeanor, she was nothing like a freshman—she was a professor. So why was someone of her stature sorting through library books late at night? Asmon tucked the card away, his mind racing with possibilities as he stepped into the cool evening air.
Asmon was momentarily confused but quickly composed himself and continued on his way. In his plan, he doubted their paths would cross again—there was no need to waste energy on someone he'd met purely by chance. As he left the busy district and entered the street near his hotel, a voice suddenly called out, "Excuse me!"
A young man in a police uniform beckoned him over. With a friendly smile, the officer held up a small device and said, "Would you mind cooperating with a quick inspection?"
"…An inspection?" Asmon's heart skipped a beat. The moment he heard that word, his mind raced. Had someone discovered he was nothing more than an unregistered factory worker? He thought he'd kept that secret, but now it seemed it might already be exposed.
No—if they knew he was undocumented, a lone officer wouldn't approach him so casually. The sight of the officer, device in hand, made him seem unguarded. In that split second, Asmon wrestled with his options and decided it was best to comply. "Not sure what kind of inspection you need, but…" he began hesitantly.
The officer replied with a faint smile, "It's nothing serious… There's been a robbery nearby. We're investigating by tracking the magical residue left at the scene."
"…I see." Asmon realized the case had nothing to do with him, though he maintained a perfectly neutral expression. It was clear he no longer wore his inner thoughts on his face like he used to back on Earth.
Calmly, he extended his hand toward the officer's device and slowly channeled magical energy toward its lower section. At the same time, he subtly adjusted his magical pattern. As the energy flowed, the device's display registered the pattern. The officer compared the image on the screen with a photo stored on his device and then nodded with a smile. "The pattern is clearly different. Thank you for your cooperation."
Apparently, the officer's device was sensitive to magical energy, checking whether someone possessed any magic. Although the absolute amount in Asmon's body was small, his innate talent ensured it was tightly controlled—so not even a wisp leaked out. Had the officer noticed otherwise, he might have suspected Asmon's true nature. Pointing at the screen, Asmon asked, "Does this meter also detect the presence of magical energy?"
The officer nodded awkwardly, "Y-Yes. It uses a material highly sensitive to magic. But surely, you, as a mage, would know better than I, right?"
"Actually, I haven't been here long. It seems criminal investigations rely on methods like these nowadays."
"Indeed. We no longer use unsecured physical evidence. You'd be surprised—although I'm not as old as I look, I've seen a thing or two." As the officer nostalgically recalled how modern investigations worked—shamans summoning spirits, blood mages tracking stains, druids chasing faint echoes—Asmon nodded in understanding. The officer explained that while it wasn't impossible to integrate magical countermeasures into surveillance equipment, the cost was too high outside core facilities. Thus, most patrols were still on foot.
Soon, the officer's pager beeped, and he excused himself. As Asmon watched him leave, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. 'So he wasn't someone from the factory after all…'
Perhaps all the extra precautions Asmon had taken to avoid detection had paid off. They'd only pretended to search for him—so far, there were no signs of a serious pursuit. From the police's perspective, he was probably just another dying factory worker, so it wasn't surprising that no one was after him.
Even though he had stolen a supervisor's car earlier, that man had long been neutralized by Asmon's pistol. There was no one left to worry about. He wasn't completely at ease yet, but he figured it was safe to lower his guard a bit. In fact, Asmon thought the police in Valkan—relying on magic and ritualistic methods—might even be an advantage.
Powerful mages usually have some resistance against tracking spells. Even if someone tried to follow a magical scent, a mage with strong countermeasures is hard to pin down. When Asmon created his character, he maxed out every one of those minor resistances. If that ability worked here, his body should be nearly immune to any tracking or curse spells. "I might not shrug off a mage far more powerful than me, but hiding my identity or fleeing will be much easier," he thought.
After returning to his hotel, Asmon checked out immediately and transferred to another hotel far away from that area. No need to leave a trace. Though he wasn't overly worried about being tracked from the factory, caution was always wise. Besides, the hotel prices were exorbitant. It didn't take long for Asmon to gauge the cost of living in Valkan. The hotel he'd stayed in cost 100,000 credits per night, which was far from acceptable. The new hotel had slightly smaller rooms and a tinier bathroom, but the cost was nearly half as much. That way, he wouldn't blow all his savings on lodging for a week.
After hauling his few possessions over, Asmon sat by the bedside, grabbed a notepad and pen, and began jotting down his thoughts—an inventory of what he needed and what he could do. "The top priority is to survive."
It had been nearly a week since Asmon awoke in this unknown world. He knew he had to stay alive long enough to secure some time and freedom—only then could he plan his next move. The reason he'd come here could wait; for now, he needed to restore his fragile body. If he didn't, his remaining time would be very short.
To heal, he needed either a unique, time-based magic or some kind of restorative elixir. In the library, he recalled hearing about time-related magic, but Asmon figured that obtaining a restorative medicine or remedy was far more practical. Unlike a legendary elixir that might cost a fortune, there were lesser remedies that could suffice—as long as they eased his physical penalties and extended his lifespan. Of course, for that to be true, such remedies had to exist in this world, just as they did in the game. The decision was made. "I need to find a way to make money." Money was essential—and not just a little, but a lot.
Suddenly, a craving surged through his mind, and he couldn't hold back any longer. He slipped a cigarette into his mouth, lit it, and inhaled deeply.
Almost instantly, the fatigue that had weighed him down vanished, replaced by a burst of vitality. "Phew…" he exhaled, letting the smoke fill his lungs. But as he savored that fleeting rush, he realized the bitter truth: to make money and to heal, he would have to keep pushing his already fragile body to the limit. It was an inescapable contradiction—earning enough to secure his survival while further straining his body. Yet for Asmon, who had nothing, it was almost inevitable. Even if it meant forcing himself through the grind, he had to break free of this cycle and create an opportunity. Fortunately, unlike others, Asmon possessed one very special talent.
It wasn't surprising—since the beginning, that talent was all he believed in.