It is a nice day outside — sunlight glints off the white stones of the road, heat already rippling faintly across the packed earth of the street. Dust rises in thin veils where wagon wheels grind, and the air hums with overlapping voices.
The gate guards, red-faced and exhausted, keep shouting for an orderly line that no one listens to.
I don't give a flying fuck about that, though. Getting yeeted through the multiverse tends to have that effect.
---
You got isekaied in Danmachi!
You enter Orario without issue.
You attempt to join the Hestia Familia but you don't know how to navigate through Orario. The Hestia Familia also isn't yet famous.
After hours of searching, you get mugged because of your 21st-century clothes.
You don't try fighting back and hand over your belongings silently, but you still get mercilessly beaten up by the thieves for shits and giggles.
You fall unconscious.You wake up a day later in a ditch. Briefly. You pass out again.You wake up a few times as the days pass, but your legs are broken and you can't move.
You are too weakened to call for help.
You die shortly after.
---
– Simulation Complete –
You have survived – 4 days!(Cooldown – 7 days)
Extracting possible rewards –
Please choose 1 of the following:
Development Ability – Thievery (F)
Skill – Minimap
Item – Big Hammer
---
"Purpose and duration of the visit?"
My eyes flicker away from the transparent floating screen that only I can see and to the bored-looking guard in front of me. The queue moved faster than I expected.
The screen fades away as I clear my throat to reply.
"Adventuring, sir. I don't know when I will leave."
He gives me a once-over. I'm not a bodybuilder, but I was a semi-pro athlete back on Earth, so he merely nods at me instead of laughing. He doesn't even ask for my name, likely assuming that I'd end up in the city records eventually… or he just doesn't care.
"Join a Familia and get registered to the Guild. Then get some equipment. If you delve like this, you'll die. Now move along."He gestures lazily toward the massive gate behind him, the one leading into the city proper. His gaze lingers on me for a split second — probably because of my clothes. Scratch that, definitely because of them.
I walk straight forward.
---
Orario stretches before me. The architecture reminds me of a medieval painting brought to life: wooden beams, tiled roofs, faint curls of smoke from chimneys. Yet everything is… organized. The streets aren't muddy, and the air doesn't reek like I would expect from a city of this era.
Behind me, the outer walls grow smaller with each step, while ahead, the massive spire at the city's heart — Babel — towers higher and higher, piercing the blue sky like a divine spear. Its surface glints in the sunlight, and for a moment, it almost feels alive, watching. Probably Freya being her creepy self.
The streets are crowded but not chaotic. Merchants bark out prices, guards and what I assume to be Ganesha members patrol in pairs, and I catch snippets of laughter from passing adventurers. Among the mostly human crowd, I spot a few elves — poised and graceful, their eyes sharp as blades — and animal-people with twitching ears or tails flicking lazily in the heat.
The city feels alive in a way that hums through my bones.
---
After two minutes of walking, I start taking off my shirt and shoes, leaving them right in the middle of the road. It's annoying having to give up perfectly good clothes, but being mugged would be much worse.
I could probably sell them, but carrying money isn't all that different from being dressed in clothes worth money. Selling them and immediately buying a knife or something is something I consider briefly, but not knowing how to use one would make it a mere prop. It would also involve a lot of wasted time trying to haggle with a clothing store clerk to buy my weird and slightly sweaty clothes off my back without being ripped off or having to explain how I have something of this quality. Not worth it, so I abandon them in the middle of the road.
May some homeless find them and give me some good karma to counter the crimes I will undoubtedly commit in this new world.
I half expect some passerby to question my sanity, but no one spares me more than a glance. Apparently, shirtless guys are just another Tuesday here. I even see a few others walking around like this — mostly laborers or adventurers in half-armors — so maybe I'm blending in better than expected.
Unfortunately, I can't get rid of the jeans without drawing attention. Nobody I've seen so far is that undressed — except a few Amazonesses who can apparently get away with anything.
Would this prevent another mugging? Only time will tell. At the very least, I've lowered the odds. For now, I'll stick to the busier streets anyways.
I squint at the sun. Judging by its position, it's somewhere between noon and two. Eyeballing it.
There are… a lot of problems currently on my plate, and solving some before dark would be ideal.
In no particular order:
I have no food or shelter.
I have no money to fix either problem.
Technically, I could try to fix that by taking the "Thievery (F)" skill my little Simulation System offered earlier. Whether it would even function without a Falna, I have no clue. The thing doesn't exactly come with a manual.
Still, stealing in a medieval world where might makes right sounds like an express ticket to an early grave. It's the kind of gamble that only looks clever until you're bleeding out in an alley. And any decent gambler knows — the more valuable the stake, the less you should bet it.
So for now, I'll pass.
My stomach will have to settle for water from the nearest public well I stumbled upon during my aimless wandering.
Speaking of which — the aimlessness is becoming a problem.
I am completely lost, both mentally and physically. Understandable, considering that an hour ago I was studying for an exam on Earth, but still… not ideal. I don't know where I am in this city. I don't know where to go next. And even if I did, I wouldn't know how to get there.
Simulation-Me apparently decided to try and find the Hestia Familia — for reasons I can't really argue with.
Despite my general distaste for "It is Retarded to Try to Pick Up Girls in a Dungeon" , I know enough about the plot through years of internet osmosis. Joining the protagonist's Familia was the safe bet. Sure, there'd be the usual share of mortal peril, but there was also a guy practically armored in plot from head to toe — the kind who would throw himself in front of a dragon to save his friends and somehow live. Statistically speaking, standing near that kind of person boosts one's survival odds.
The quick and easy joining process didn't hurt either. Useful for someone currently classified as "homeless multiversal debris."
Loki might've taken me in, but my lack of fighting experience and general "I-don't-belong-here" aura would've raised eyebrows, if not outright rejection. Freya? Yeah, no. I like having my mind un-raped. Hephaestus would want some crafting knowledge I absolutely don't have. Dionysus was evil and insane. Hermes was a smiling puppet master, and the small-time familias would all get eclipsed by Hestia's eventually — assuming, of course, that the Random Omnipotent Being who threw me here decided to put me before Bell's meteoric rise.
The Simulation did say the Hestia Familia "isn't yet famous," which probably means she's descended but hasn't recruited Bell yet. Still, I might be reading it wrong — or the stimulator was intentionally obtuse. Unlikely, but blind trust rarely pays as well as cautious paranoia.
Looping back to more immediate needs: I'm confident I can scrounge enough food not to starve for a few days. That confidence depends on finding a few key locations — and maybe a few generous people frequenting them.
Stealing would be… interesting. Risky, but useful long term. I could also just ask for directions since everyone conveniently speaks my language — small mercy there — but ultimately, I've already made my choice.
'Choose Minimap,' I say mentally.
A blue screen pops up with the same text as before. The words "Skill – Minimap" light up, then the window fades away.
Whoever coded this interface deserves a raise. The moment I think "Minimap," a tiny display flickers into the corner of my vision. It's identical to the Fallout 4 Pip-Boy map, right down to the soft green hue and digital hum, which tells me it's drawn straight from my memories. Disturbing, yes — but given recent events, my threshold for "disturbing" has gone through the roof.
The map is almost entirely blacked out, except for a glowing green dot (me), a few faint lines representing the path I've walked, and the outlines of nearby buildings. Names appear above some of them — simple labels like Trade Street, which fits, given the growing swarm of street vendors yelling about fish, fabric, and food that smells too good for my current wallet status.
It's clear enough how it works: the more I explore, the more it fills in.
So I start walking.
I am barefoot, so it's annoying — every pebble a personal insult — but manageable. At least for now.
From Trade Street to Feather Street, then to Sun Street and a few others whose names sound like someone ran out of creativity halfway through — I keep walking.
My Minimap slowly fills with color and structure, each street and corner forming into a soft green grid. Buildings tagged with Familia names begin to dot the expanding map like pins on a digital atlas. As planned, I stick to the crowded routes — more eyes, fewer muggers — and steer clear of one Daedalus Street and the creatively titled Slum Street 1, 2, 3, etc.
Apparently, the Minimap recognizes any location I see, translating it into readable text, but only if it's something the general populace knows. Lesser-known places get generic placeholders like "Residential Building #4" or "Unmarked Alley #3." It's efficient, if a little eerie — as though the city itself is being documented through my eyes.
About an hour into my exploration, curiosity gets the better of me. I stop in front of a modest, well-kept manor marked on my map as belonging to the Chandi Familia — a moderately sized group, according to a chatty old lady selling vegetables. She'd been kind enough to spare a few minutes and, between adjusting her basket and shouting prices, described them (along with five other random passersby I asked) as "good, reliable fellows." That was enough assurance for me that I wouldn't be thrown out on sight.
Inside, the air smells faintly of oil, metal, and incense — the kind of mix that says "we work, and we don't have time for nonsense." A rough-looking man with cropped hair and tired eyes greets me. After a polite exchange, I ask what the requirements are to join their Familia.
He looks me up and down once — the kind of look that measures everything from your stance to your worth — before giving a short sigh. "We're not recruiting," he says plainly, though his tone isn't unkind.
Honesty pays off. When I admit I've got neither money nor skills, his expression softens slightly. He tells me to head to the Guild, where I can get a list of Familias that are currently recruiting. If none take me, he suggests finding a newly descended god who's looking to start their own.
I already knew all that, of course, but I still smile and thank him earnestly. I'm not even acting — kindness is a rare currency everywhere, and he'd just spent some on me.
His name is something like Bron S-something. I didn't catch the full thing, but he gave off a solid vibe — the kind of person who wouldn't kick you while you're down. I quietly mark his location on the Minimap, just in case my plans crash and burn and I end up desperate enough to beg. Hopefully it won't come to that.
I wasted half an hour and am slightly hungrier, but now I understand what mid-sized familias require from those looking to join them. No wonder Bell ended up rejected everywhere in the beginning.
Another hour later, I find myself standing before the Guild.
The place is enormous — a double-winged building with tall arched windows and banners fluttering in the breeze, painted with the Guild's emblem. It's busier than anything I've seen so far; adventurers of all shapes and sizes stream in and out, their laughter and bickering spilling into the street like the hum of a living machine.
Steel boots clatter against the stone steps. Even out on the street, the air smells faintly of parchment, metal, and faint perfume.
I straighten my back and keep my chin up as I pass a few groups loitering outside — mostly young adventurers leaning on walls or flexing for attention. I keep my gaze lowered just enough to avoid eye contact. Confident, but not cocky. Respectful, but not submissive.
Hopefully, I look like I belong here.
Getting punched in the face for looking at someone the wrong way would be very annoying.