Night had fallen over Seiryuu City, and the glow of the streetlamps bathed the cobblestone streets in their warm light. The night air was cool, carrying with it a mix of scents: the iron tang of a still-hot forge, the spiced fragrance of food stalls, and the faint dampness that drifted from the water channels running through the city.
Behind him, growing ever more distant, stood the city's imposing gates, where guards yawned through shifts split between boredom and fatigue. Beyond that, the main street was calm, with only a few residents in sight.
Satoru walked those streets with a steady pace, heading toward the Gatefront Inn, a place located near the city's main gates. According to the original work, it was a popular establishment, and the only one mentioned in that story.
His clothing had changed; gone were his ostentatious divine robes. Now he wore what looked like leather armor and dark garments, concealing his figure with a hooded adventurer's cloak. On his hands were a pair of brown gloves that hid his enchanted rings, and at his waist hung a sword.
Wishing to remain unnoticed, he had adjusted his equipment in general to pass for a traveler with only the bare minimum knowledge of self-defense.
As he approached the inn, he saw its lights still on. The voices of the patrons could be heard from outside—lively, but not boisterous. The atmosphere was warm and welcoming.
Ding!
With the soft chime of a bell, the door opened, and a person stumbled out, while a young girl bade him farewell from the doorway in a lively, friendly tone.
For Satoru, it took no effort to guess who she was: Martha, a fourteen-year-old girl, daughter of the inn's owner—the energetic waitress everyone adored.
"In the original work, she didn't have much of a role beyond showing the protagonist around the city. She really has no value," Satoru recalled, knowing her only from his limited knowledge of the beginning of the story. The girl had no talents or connections that interested him, nor any story potential beyond the inn.
The girl soon heard the sound of footsteps behind her and immediately turned with a smile.
For her, any chance to meet someone—or better yet, to attract a customer—was welcome. After all, who came to an inn if not to drink or stay the night?
"Welcome! Looking for a place to stay? We might not be that cheap compared to others, but our beds are clean, and our food is made with care!"
With the same boundless energy that defined her, the girl spoke to Satoru with enthusiasm—before her body tensed instinctively.
It wasn't his looks, nor his presence, nor his refined yet simple clothing that made her react that way.
It was his gaze.
His eyes seemed to draw in all the light spilling from the inn, an intense blue that looked as though it might start glowing in the dark. Martha, despite her young age, had already met all kinds of people and was confident she could handle anyone.
But when she looked into his eyes—
Satoru's gaze was cold, empty of emotion, looking at her as if she weren't even human, but a mere decoration of no importance. The intensity of his presence, the way he looked at her with neither rejection nor fondness, made her skin prickle; the air itself seemed to grow colder the closer he came.
For a moment, her body told her to step back. There was something about this man, something unnatural—it was like standing before a wild beast that could pounce at any provocation.
Silence stretched for a few seconds.
But Satoru broke it without hesitation.
"A room."
His tone was clear, precise. There was no need for unnecessary words.
Martha took a moment to react, but her instincts as an innkeeper's daughter kicked in automatically.
"O-oh, of course… How many nights?"
"Indefinite," he replied just as quickly. "As long as this will cover."
Without waiting for her response, he produced two silver coins and offered them to her.
Martha blinked. The amount was far more than what a single night in any inn would cost… He planned to stay for a while.
She swallowed hard and, still feeling that strange weight in the air, turned toward the shop's entrance after taking the money.
"Right, just… follow me, I'll give you your keys." Martha walked toward the reception with stiff steps, quickly realizing something.
Since he had entered, everything had gone silent.
The chatter, the laughter—everything had stopped. For a moment, everyone felt the same thing she did: that they were in the presence of a wild predator, sharing a room with a hungry lion.
It wasn't because Satoru was imposing his aura.
It wasn't because Satoru had hostile intentions toward anyone.
It was a basic survival instinct that made them feel that way, like the unease a civilian might feel when suddenly encountering a soldier fresh from the battlefield—a subtle warning that injury was only a mistake away.
Satoru himself was unaware of it. Because of the vulnerability he felt in his human body, he was constantly on alert, ready to react, analyzing his surroundings with sharp attention to every person in the room.
Beings of great power could influence their environment without even trying. Not just Satoru—anyone with high power acting in such a way would have the same effect.
When Martha finally reached the counter, she took an available key and offered it to him.
"Second floor, at the end of the hall."
"Thank you."
Satoru took the key and went up the stairs without adding another word.
Martha watched him until the door to his room closed with a soft click.
The inn's silence returned to normal—or at least the invisible pressure was gone—but she couldn't shake the feeling that she had just spoken to someone who didn't quite belong in this world.
Instinctively, her mind replayed the transaction.
"…Wait."
She frowned.
She hadn't asked for his name or any details for the register.
Which meant that tomorrow… she would have to deal with him again.
Completely unaware of the turmoil he had caused, Satoru entered his room and took a quick look around. It was modest, with a bed, a desk, and a window overlooking the street. In the distance, the city gates were visible.
It wasn't luxurious, but it wasn't shabby either. A decent middle ground.
Satoru had no standards to meet, no expectations or references to complain about. For all he knew, he might have lived in such places his entire previous life—or perhaps he had lived better, or worse.
"I suppose one advantage of having no memories is being able to adapt to your surroundings," he thought, sitting on the bed, resting his sword against the wall, and with a quiet sigh, letting go of the tension he'd felt.
"The guards don't seem to suspect anything strange, so my integration into the city is complete. I just need to ensure everything follows the original course in the coming days."
Without any spoken command, Satoru looked ahead, where the Hanzo he had summoned earlier now stood, ready for his next order.
"Hanzo," Satoru's voice carried through the room, marking his presence. "I want you to gather information on several targets. I'll summon a group of [Shadow Demon] to aid you. Search for information on…"
***
Watching Hanzo leave to carry out his task, Satoru's gaze followed him for a few more seconds. Then, in silence, he turned his attention back to the room.
This should be enough, he thought—at least to have a solid base of information that would allow him to act with greater precision.
He took a seat at the desk and, with a motion of his hand, opened his inventory. A faint burst of light revealed a leather-bound grimoire inscribed with arcane symbols that glowed faintly. He set it on the table and began to leaf through it.
It was a grimoire of intermediate magic, focused on fifth-tier spells and incomplete notes on advanced magical theory. In YGGDRASIL, it would have been considered obsolete, but in this world, its contents were valuable: it offered a solid foundation for understanding the structure of local spells and how they could be improved.
Satoru didn't study it with the arrogance of a scholar, but with the keen eye of a learner who recognized his own ignorance. He didn't yet possess the necessary knowledge to fully comprehend this world's sorcery, but each page was another piece of the puzzle—useful for preparing for future journeys.
He spent several minutes in silence, analyzing symbols, channeling diagrams, and the mana flow described by the authors. He wasn't seeking immediate power, but authentic understanding.
Finally, he lifted his gaze.
He looked out the window.
The city slept quietly, but to his eyes, adapted to the dark, nothing was ever truly still. He saw the faint flutter of a nocturnal moth dancing near a streetlamp, the tiny march of ants crossing a cobblestone in disciplined order, and a pair of night birds gliding from one rooftop to another with silent wings. Small, almost imperceptible details—yet enough to remind him the world kept turning, indifferent.
Still, all of it passed before him like a stage he wasn't truly part of—a living scene in which he had no real interest in participating. In his mind, the events he knew were coming played out: tomorrow, the day after. They were clear, defined. So even as his eyes traced the streets and shapes of the night, his attention was elsewhere. Like someone rereading a book whose ending they already knew, yet still going over it carefully.
A night breeze slipped through the window crack, barely ruffling the edges of the grimoire.
A faint golden line began to emerge on the horizon, gently pushing the darkness back into the city's hidden corners. Morning light hadn't yet reached the streets, but the world's murmur was beginning to stir, like a body waking from deep sleep.
Satoru hadn't moved.
The grimoire lay open before him, its pages held firmly by a small stone to prevent the wind from turning them. He had read through the entire night, analyzing each line with steady, unbroken focus. Sleep wasn't a necessity for his current body, and monotony posed no threat to his mind.
It was the sound of coordinated footsteps, the metallic rustle of armor, and the voice of a commander that drew his attention.
He rose without hurry and walked to the window.
Below, on the open ground near the city's main gate, a group of soldiers was gathering. Their formation was orderly, meticulous—some carried spears, while others checked supplies in reinforced leather packs. Carts with provisions, shields, and maps were being loaded by civilian assistants under the firm direction of an officer giving commands.
Satoru recognized the event instantly.
"An expedition," he murmured to himself. "This is the group that…"
In the original story, this detachment was the one that allowed the protagonist to meet Zena Marientail. There was no margin for error—if he wished to maintain the structure of events, he had to confirm her presence there.
"[Mana Essence]."
Without moving his hands or making any other gesture, the spell activated with only his voice as the trigger. Instantly, his vision was overlaid with a fine layer of magical energy, turning the outside scene into a sea of blue and green tones dancing around each living being. The technique was neither invasive nor flashy, but it clearly distinguished individual sources of mana.
Among the soldiers, one figure stood out immediately. Her mana was clean, clear, vibrating with a stable pattern—like a contained melody. Her short hair, almost silver under the early light, and her firm posture left no room for doubt.
Zena.
He had found her.
Satoru kept his gaze fixed for a few seconds longer, ensuring her identity, and then deactivated the spell with a faint sigh. What he felt wasn't relief or excitement, but the confirmation of a variable he had already accounted for.
Everything was on course.
He continued watching the militia group for a few more minutes, observing their faces, their weapons, the rhythm of their steps. He had no reason to intervene. He knew this expedition would face no real trouble in the absence of the original protagonist. And he would gain nothing by getting involved with them… not yet, at least.
He turned his eyes back inside, where the grimoire still lay open.
Thinking over the day's events, he precisely calculated how much free time he had. Until noon, everything would remain in order.
He would make use of that margin.
"[Message]."
The word formed in his mind, and the spell did the rest. The connection to Hanzo was immediate, thoughts transmitted as if whispered directly into his ear.
"My lord," Hanzo's voice replied respectfully, his tone conveyed straight into Satoru's consciousness. "I apologize for the delay. We have gathered information on the first two targets. However, we are still searching for clues about the third."
"Nothing yet?"
"So far, we have not found anyone who stands out."
"You will rarely find someone who meets your standards," Satoru thought calmly, transmitting the idea. "Lower them to the minimum. Don't look for quality… look for usefulness."
"Understood. I will proceed accordingly."
"Report on the first two."
The link paused as Hanzo began preparing his report. The projection faded silently. Satoru glanced at the grimoire, but this time did not open it. He knew he had only a few hours before the day's crucial moment.
A couple of hours passed in silence.
When the sun was already bathing the streets in a brighter light, Satoru slowly descended the inn's stairs.
Downstairs, Martha was setting the tables with quick, practiced movements, while her mother busied herself in the back kitchen, boiling water and arranging breakfast ingredients.
Martha heard the soft creak of the steps and looked up. Her body tensed immediately at the sight of Satoru descending with the same contained calm as the night before. Though his presence felt less oppressive today, there was still something about him that provoked an instinctive reaction. She straightened without thinking, as if good posture could somehow help her deal with that invisible unease.
"G-good morning," she said, forcing a smile, though her voice betrayed a hint of stiffness.
On the ground floor, only she, her mother—still in the kitchen—and a sleepy customer near the reception were present.
Satoru looked at her briefly. His gaze wasn't threatening, but neither was it warm. Just… empty. As though he were seeing her without truly seeing her.
"Good morning," he replied naturally, and without pause added, "Do you know if there's a library in this city?"
Martha hesitated—not because she didn't know, but because being looked at with such absolute indifference tied a knot in her stomach. She had never been seen like that before. Never felt so… irrelevant.
"Or do you not know?" Satoru added, with the same calm as if he were talking about the weather.
"Ah! N-no, I do know," she replied with a small start. "It's near the temple, at the end of West Street. There's a wooden sign shaped like a book—you can't miss it."
Satoru nodded in silence, memorizing the direction. Then simply said:
"Thank you."
And without another word, he walked toward the door with the same unhurried pace he had when he arrived.
As soon as the door closed behind him, Martha let out a small breath—though she couldn't tell if it was of relief or lingering tension. She kept staring for a few seconds at the spot where Satoru had stood, still feeling that prickling at the back of her neck that only he seemed to cause.
"That was the new guy?" her mother asked from the kitchen, without pausing her stirring.
Martha blinked, surprised by her mother's casual tone.
"Yes… he's strange. Polite, but… I don't know, there's something about him I can't explain."
"Your first difficult customer?" her mother said with a faint smile, without looking at her.
"It's not that he's hard to deal with! Just… he's not like the others," Martha replied with a slight pout.
Her mother let out a soft, low chuckle.
"Then it shouldn't be hard for you to ask for his name and details for the register. We still don't have them, right?"
Martha's expression tightened, provoked. She turned, ready to grab a paper and do exactly that—but her mother's calm voice stopped her.
"But first, finish setting the tables. The soldiers staying here will be coming down soon."
Martha froze. She clicked her tongue softly, conceding that the provocation had worked.
"Yes, yes… I'm going."
She went back to her work, though her eyes kept drifting toward the door Satoru had just left through, as if she still wasn't done with him.
***
Meanwhile, Satoru walked the streets with an even stride, not needing to glance around to orient himself. He knew exactly where to go.
He had no intention of halting the events to come. He had already accepted that his presence would distort the natural flow of the story, but that didn't mean he planned to stop it. In fact, it was inevitable. If he wanted to extend his name, if he wanted access to real opportunities in this world, his shadow needed to begin leaving a mark at the right moment.
As he walked, he mentally reviewed the events scheduled for that day and the next. Some were key pieces. Others were minor incidents that could serve as anchors for his intervention. The trick wasn't to follow the script exactly… but to know when and how to insert his own lines.
Certain encounters couldn't be avoided. But they could be redirected, shaped—like watching a river and not trying to stop its flow, but placing stones to guide it in a more useful direction.
The library appeared before his eyes soon enough. It was a modest stone building, aged with time, with a wooden sign hanging outside. The carved shape of a book confirmed he was in the right place.
Inside, it was quiet, lit only by the natural light filtering through the windows. Simple shelves, reading tables worn with use, and a few scattered books. It wasn't a great repository of wisdom, but it would serve for what he sought.
Satoru made his way to the magic section. There were few volumes, most of them worn, written in careful but old handwriting. He took one at random and opened it, flipping through its pages with the attention of someone who already knew what kind of mistakes to look for.
Magic in this world, according to the text, was structured through a magical language—an idiom humans had inherited from spirits, serving as the means to shape reality. It wasn't just about energy, but about verbal structure: a command, an invocation, a purpose channeled through words.
Satoru found nothing particularly impressive, but made a mental note of the system's logic. He didn't fully understand it yet, but he could tell that a spell's strength seemed linked to the precision of its language.
He mentally compared what he read to what he remembered from the original work. Demonic magic, as presented there, was more fluid, less bound to strict formulas, and far more devastating in effect. It wasn't just a difference in method, but in its very roots.
Why were they so different? Were their origins the cause of that gap? Or did the demonic language itself carry an inherent property that made its spells more effective?
He had no way to answer yet, but the question was planted. He set himself a clear goal: when he had a demon before him, he would compare both languages—word by word, power by power.
He stored that observation away. It would be useful later.
He moved on to the next book, this one focused on demonic creatures and ancient beasts. What he found were tales, legends, stories that read more like folklore than academic record. But even in myths, there were patterns, common roots that could hint at something real behind the fiction.
Satoru read without hurry, yet without rest. He wasn't seeking raw power—he sought understanding. And knowledge, even when wrapped in superstition, was a tool few knew how to wield properly.
It was then that a new mental connection activated at Satoru's will.
"[Message]."
Hanzo's voice manifested in his mind again, as precise as ever.
"My lord, one of the reconnaissance teams has just sent their report. The demi-human girls you asked us to watch have been separated by order of a supervisor. The two younger ones are carrying firewood from the east warehouse, near the commercial district. The eldest was assigned heavier work inside the storage sector."
Satoru slowly closed the book in his hands.
"I see. Do not lose sight of the eldest. I want a complete record of her movements and behavior. As for the little ones…"
He paused for a second, mapping the city in his mind.
"Notify me the moment they approach the commercial street—the one that passes in front of the Gatefront Inn."
"It will be done," Hanzo replied, and Satoru felt the faint echo of the order being relayed to the [Shadow Demons].
***
Back at the inn, the atmosphere was calm, marked only by the steady sound of dishes being set and the crackling of firewood in the kitchen.
The older customer sitting near the reception—a man with a graying beard and tired eyes—watched in silence as Martha crossed the room with a tray in her hands. After a few minutes, he approached the counter, where the girl's mother continued with her work.
"Is it really safe to let Martha go alone to find that young man from last night?" he asked in a low tone, though filled with genuine concern.
The woman chuckled briefly as she tasted the contents of a pot with a spoon.
"And why not? Martha's dealt with all kinds of customers since she was seven. This is just the first time one has made her nervous. Maybe it's a good chance for her to learn something new."
"I'm not saying it's not, but… that guy doesn't feel like the others. He reminds me of soldiers when they come back from the front. Quiet, cold… different."
"And yet, he was polite," the mother replied firmly. "More polite than most of our usual drunkards."
The old man nodded, though without full conviction.
"I suppose what worries me is that feeling… like standing next to an abyss, you know?"
"Of course I know," she said without raising her voice. "But tell me—what kind of criminal registers at an inn right next to the militia's barracks? And not only that… this place is frequented by soldiers, inspectors, even a couple of guild mages. Do you think someone dangerous could stay here unnoticed?"
The man exhaled, unable to argue with that logic.
"What matters," she continued, stirring the pot again, "is what he does, not what he looks like. As long as he pays, respects the rules, and causes no trouble… I don't need to like him. Just for him to comply."
***
Martha finished cleaning the last table and, after exchanging a brief look with her mother, stepped out the door with a determined stride. She still felt something strange in her stomach—a mix of nerves and wounded pride. He was just a customer, she told herself. One with a cold stare and unsettling presence, but a customer nonetheless.
She walked along the cobblestone streets, guided by the directions she herself had given a few hours earlier. Her pace was steady, though each step sounded a little louder than she would have liked.
When she reached the library's front, she stopped. She swallowed and adjusted the band holding her hair, trying to calm herself. She took a step toward the entrance… but didn't reach the door.
Satoru walked out at that exact moment.
Martha froze.
He didn't notice her—or if he did, he gave no sign. He simply walked away down the street, moving as if he knew exactly where to go.
Martha lowered her hand slowly, took a step back, and then began to follow him. She had no clear plan. She didn't even know what she would say if she caught up to him. But something in her—maybe pride, maybe unease—pushed her to continue.
A few meters behind him, always keeping her distance, she began her improvised pursuit.
Satoru, for his part, had noticed her presence the instant he stepped out of the library. No magic or special senses were needed—the steps, the breathing, the hesitation of someone unsure whether to approach or retreat… it was all too obvious.
He tilted his head slightly, as if to glance at a shop by the roadside, but in truth only to confirm what he already knew: Martha was following him.
"What exactly is she trying to do…?" he thought—not with annoyance or urgency, but with mild curiosity.
He didn't have time to dwell on it further.
A voice ahead rose above the morning murmur, laden with irritation. The sound of wood striking stone and a muffled gasp pulled him from his thoughts. Satoru's gaze hardened slightly as he turned toward the source of the commotion.
It was no longer the time to think about Martha. There was something more important in front of him.
Turning the corner, he saw it clearly. Two demi-human girls—both with animal ears and tails, one with feline traits and the other canine—were hurriedly picking up pieces of firewood from the ground. Near them, a man in his twenties, dressed in coarse clothes and wearing a face wrinkled with irritation, raised his voice without restraint.
"Who brought beasts to this place?! You're blocking the way, damn animals!"
He had thrown the girls' load to the ground with disdain and now looked at them with a mix of disgust and superiority. The people around said nothing. Some looked away; others simply walked off. Demi-humans were not a particularly welcome race in the city, so this was no surprise.
Satoru walked toward them.
He didn't quicken his pace. He didn't raise his voice. He simply approached, stopping right beside the man.
The pressure in the air shifted immediately, as if it had grown denser.
The man turned, annoyed by the interruption… and then he saw him.
Satoru's blue eyes stared out from beneath the shadow of his hood. Unmoving. Cold. Impossible to hold for more than a second.
"You're in my way," he said, low but clear.
It wasn't a threat. It wasn't a shout. But the tone carried an authority the man could not resist. He stepped back once, then again, before turning and walking away with a scowl—without another word.
Satoru paid him no further attention.
He looked at the girls. Both had stopped moving. They stared straight at him, as if his presence had frozen them in place. It wasn't just his sudden appearance, nor even what he had said—it was his gaze. That expressionless look that seemed to pass right through them, as if he weren't seeing people, but variables in an equation.
One of them trembled slightly. The other quickly lowered her eyes, as if keeping his gaze any longer would be dangerous. Neither spoke. Neither could.
Satoru made no effort to ease their fear. He simply regarded them with the same indifference one might show a damaged object still worth repairing.
"Be more careful," he said at last. "With people. And with yourselves."
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and began to walk away.
From a discreet corner, barely visible beneath the shadow cast by a canopy, Martha had seen it all.
She hadn't caught every word, but enough. She saw how Satoru stopped in front of the man. How that man backed away without saying a thing. And how the girls remained frozen under a presence that seemed to come from somewhere else entirely.
"Did he… help them?" she murmured to herself, brow slightly furrowed.
It wasn't a gallant defense, nor an impulsive act. There was no courtesy, no comfort. But there had been intent—clear, precise.
Martha didn't understand what kind of person he was. But in that moment, she realized one thing: he wasn't someone who could be neatly labeled.
He wasn't a good Samaritan, but he didn't seem like a bad person either.
He was something else.
"Are you following me?"
The voice came suddenly, just a step away. Martha spun around, heart leaping into her throat. Satoru stood there beside her, as if he had appeared out of thin air.
"Ah! I… no, it's just that…" She tried to say something—anything—but her tongue tripped over itself.
"Do you need something?" he asked, without raising his voice. His gaze was the same as ever: calm, unshakable, yet impossible to meet for long.
Martha swallowed. This time, despite everything, she decided not to back away.
"Y-yes. It's just… we still don't have your information in the inn's register. I need your name, age, and occupation."
Satoru regarded her in silence for a moment longer than necessary. Then he nodded.
"Satoru. Twenty-five years old. Traveler."
Martha memorized the details. She hadn't brought paper with her, but she would note them down when she returned. She let out a small sigh of relief that everything had gone without incident.
"If there's nothing else…" Satoru said, turning slightly.
"Ah!" Martha stepped forward. "Tonight's dinner will be especially good. Fresh ingredients arrived, so… if you come back early, you could try something different."
There was a brief silence. A cool bead of sweat slid down her cheek.
"I'll be there," he replied, before continuing on his way.
Martha watched him leave again, exhaling another sigh—this time with a little less tension. Maybe… just maybe… he wasn't as terrible as she had thought.
Satoru walked on in silence, his thoughts returning to their natural course.
The first step of the day was already complete. Now he only had to wait for Hanzo's confirmation regarding the ocular demon—one of the first problems Satou had faced in the original work. If everything happened in the same order, it wouldn't be long before it appeared.
On the other hand, the third target remained: finding bandits or undesirable mages who could disappear without leaving a trace. People who wouldn't be missed. Useful material for acquiring skills, studying their magic, and testing how far this world's magical structure could be pushed if forced.
He closed his eyes for a few moments. His mind went blank, as if resetting his focus.
Then he turned away from the city's noise, heading back toward Dragon Valley.
He could use the rest of the day to stretch his body a bit.
After all, tomorrow would be the real start of the game.