The city of Rivenstone felt different after the guild incident.
Where before Damian was just another stranger blending into the crowd, now eyes lingered on him. Some curious, others hostile, a few calculating.
He felt them as he walked the market streets whispers following him like shadows.
"That's him… the one who brought back a wyvern core."
"No way. Look at him, he's just a rookie."
"Maybe he had help. Or maybe…"
"…a cheat skill."
Damian clenched his jaw. It hadn't even been a day, and already the rumors had spread. The AI's voice stirred in his mind, calm but sharp.
"Observation: Attention levels rising. Probability of confrontation within city walls increasing by 37%."
"...So, lay low. Got it."
But what Damian didn't notice was that among the murmuring crowd, three pairs of eyes lingered longer than most.
In a shadowed corner near a merchant's stall stood a young woman in leather gear, her movements too fluid, too careful. A thief's grin tugged at her lips as she studied him.
Up on the balcony of an inn across the street, a man cloaked in fine robes leaned against the railing, rings glittering in the sun. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze was sharp, predatory. The insignia hidden on his sleeve marked him as someone of noble blood, though the arrogance in his eyes spoke louder than any crest.
And behind them both, half in the light and half in shadow, stood another figure, their presence heavy, silent, but unmistakably dangerous.
"...That's him?" the thief girl whispered, barely audible over the market noise.
The robed noble smirked. "Yes. The boy who thinks he's special. Let him bask for now. Sooner or later… he'll learn his place."
Unaware of the watchers, Damian continued down the streets, distracted by the sight of his ruined clothes in a shop window. His plain shirt was torn from the wyvern battle, dirt-stained and shredded. He looked less like an adventurer and more like a beggar.
The AI's voice chimed, almost smug.
"Current attire integrity: 0%. Risk of ridicule: 92%."
"yeah," Damian muttered. "I already feel it."
He tried a few tailor shops, but the prices were impossible. He was about to give up when a crooked sign caught his eye in an alley:
"Old Wardrobe Equipment & Repairs."
It was the same shop Damian saw before going to gathering quest.
The building was shabby, windows dusty, wood warped with age. But something drew him inside.
The bell above the door jingled.
The shop was dim, cluttered with racks of mismatched clothes and half-broken weapons. It looked more like a junkyard than a store. Yet at the back, half-hidden on a mannequin, was an outfit that pulled at him instantly.
Dark fabric reinforced with subtle plating. Flexible, durable, but not flashy. It looked like it had been waiting for him.
The AI whispered.
"Material integrity: exceptional. Compatibility with User… optimal."
From behind the counter, an old shopkeeper emerged, eyes sharp despite his frail body.
"You've got good instincts, boy. Most walk right past that piece. But you… you felt it."
Damian hesitated. "…Yeah. It's different."
The man smiled faintly. "Cheap for you. Just one promise — if you wear it, use it. Don't let it rot."
Damian nodded, and after changing into it, stared at his reflection. For the first time, he looked less like prey and more like a hunter.
The AI hummed in approval.
"User survivability increased by 43%. Estimated intimidation factor: improved."
Damian smirked faintly. "Now we're talking."
But outside, watching from the inn balcony, the noble in robes sipped his wine.
"So… he's found his skin. No matter. Clothes won't save him."
The thief girl's grin widened.
"Better for us. Let him grow… prey tastes sweeter when it thinks it's strong."
The third figure remained silent, their shadow looming.
For Damian, this was just a new beginning.
For them… it was the start of a hunt.