Red-Eyes didn't return the next day. Or the day after that.

  Coward. Some 'relentless' hunter you turned out to be.

  Simon knew he should be relieved. As anticipated, there hadn't been any more Sanctuary Trees or Warding Orbs along the road. A visit from Red-Eyes would've likely resulted in a premature end to his Valtian vacay. Most importantly, he needed to retain composure at all times – an unsettled mindset was hardly conducive to survival.

  Yet his list of grievances were starting to pile up. He was thirsty, hungry, tired from sleeping badly on the harsh rocky ground, on-edge due to constantly watching for Fell Beast ambushes, mentally understimulated from traipsing through a barren wasteland, and kicking himself for rashly allocating four stat points. Dexterity wasn't a bad choice, but what if it ended up being suboptimal?

  Although it'll be worth it if I get to the next town sooner. A perk of increased Dexterity seemed to be that it reduced the strain of movement on his body. With the stat at 13, lightly jogging ate up as much of his stamina as walking had before coming to Valtia.

  He'd finally achieved a healthy level of cardio! And all it took was transmigrating into another world. Doctors hate this one simple trick.

  ...I'm more bored than I thought. Simon had been told multiple times by his paren– by people that his generation was addicted to smartphones and instant gratification.

  His problem was somewhat different. While the lack of stimulation was admittedly grating, this was also about when he would've stopped by Grace's soup kitchen back on Earth. If Voice-In-The-Sky had never appeared, then right now Simon would be sorting meal boxes, readying them for those in need.

  Instead, he was here. Kirkelas had been a gratifying diversion, but after that? Just days of nothing. No meaningful accomplishments. No helping people or making progress.

  The itch was creeping up on him.

  That, more than anything else, was what he disliked about the emptiness surrounding him. It gave too much time for unwanted thoughts to infiltrate the fortress of his mind.

  At least the dehydration pains should serve as an adequate distraction.

  That would be affecting him soon. Simon had previously hoped that Transmigrator's Body would cure him of his dietary needs after a full night's sleep. Healing the internal 'damage' done to his body, per se.

  Regrettably, that was one loophole the gods had accounted for. The System seemed to separate hunger and thirst from damage incurred via combat or injury. His stomach was just as empty upon awakening as before.

  He currently had enough water to sustain him for the rest of today. Afterwards...well, he'd once read that the human body could go seventy-two hours without refreshment before it started shutting down.

  If things came to that, he would be forced to bring out some of Stuart's remains from Inventory. Uncooked meat contained a good amount of water. Identify had warned him against partaking of tainted Fell flesh, but when his only alternative was gradual organ failure, what choice did he have?

  With any luck, being Fell-Touched would grant him a measure of resistance to the Beast's impurities. At best, it might render him completely immune to whatever corruption made Fell flesh toxic to humans.

  Not that raw meat was the smartest thing to consume even under normal circumstances.

  He kept walking, walking, walking. Eventually, Simon began outright wishing for Red-Eyes to return.

  Maybe its flesh would somehow be safer to eat.

  --

  Two more days had passed.

  It was now Simon's sixth day in Valtia. Since the time that Red-Eyes fled, he hadn't seen a Fell Beast, a Sanctuary Tree, or any signs of life whatsoever. His untainted rations were gone, and he'd reread Ardyn's unsent love letters until the parchment crinkled.

  Desperation was beginning to sink in.

  Little farther. He moved his feet as if lifting lead weights, motivating himself with hollow assurances. Has to be just a little farther. Road can't go on forever.

  Or maybe it did. Fantasy world and all that.

  There was one consolation prize – the dehydration pains were indeed distracting him from other concerns. His throat felt like it was on fire, burning with insistent, unquenchable need. The rest of his body wasn't faring much better, fluctuating between aches, wooziness, exhaustion, or some combination of the above.

  He would need to eat part of Stuart tomorrow. Assuming he survived the experience, the water within its meat should keep him going for...for longer. Perhaps–

  Simon perked up. Movement. At the edge of the horizon.

  His nerves tensed, preparing for the worst. If a Fell Beast ambushed him in this state, then he was deader than dead.

  Tension rapidly shifted to annoyance as the sight became more clear.

  A carriage was rushing down the road at high speeds. It resembled an old-timey caravan that settlers would've taken on the Oregon Trail, or that merchants used in the games he'd played. Wooden frame, large wheels, doors on the side, and a sturdy cloth covering the top.

  Except that it had no horses pulling it. The carriage was simply zooming along without a care, in defiance of the natural laws of physics.

  Simon let out a sigh. Hallucinations already? He kneaded his temples, trying to massage the pain away. If my subconscious is going to start tormenting me with false hope, then I would've preferred an all-you-can-eat-buffet. Burgers. Ice cream. Soda. God do I miss soda.

  Putting the vision out of his mind, he continued marching. This was merely another trial to overcome. He couldn't get bogged down in delusions of a horseless carriage coming out of nowhere to rescue him.

  Then the hallucination drew closer.

  And closer.

  It was about five seconds from impact when Simon's starved, malfunctioning mind grasped that it might actually be real.

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  "What the..." His voice cracked with disuse. "Hey! HEY! STOP!"

  To its credit, the carriage did slow down...although not quickly enough. Simon was forced to throw himself sideways lest he succumb to medieval-brand vehicular manslaughter.

  Still. It was the thought that counted.

  The beleaguered transmigrator shakily picked himself off the ground. He eyed the caravan as it came to a halt not far away, unsure of how to feel or what to expect. Circumstances had changed so suddenly that–

  Focus. Simon urged his nutrient-deprived brain to cooperate. He attempted to devise contingency plans for whatever debacle was about to transpire.

  It felt like trudging through an ocean of molasses. Baby steps, then. Make things easy on myself.

  When in doubt: gather intel.

  With the bizarre contraption now close by, he took the chance to examine it in detail. No less than four Warding Orbs were embedded onto the carriage's wooden exterior. Aside from that, it didn't look like anything that he hadn't seen in pictures on Earth. Considering Valtia's presumed level of technology, the vehicle was likely propelled by either magic spells or Artifacts.

  That was all the time he had to investigate before two people hopped out from inside.

  The duo consisted of a man and a woman, each in their early 40s of age. Both were sporting clothes of much finer make than Simon's threadbare ensemble. They still weren't up to Earth standards of luxury, but compared to them, he may as well have been wearing a potato sack.

  After six days of solitude – excluding Kirkelas and Red-Eyes – seeing other people in the flesh nearly prompted Simon to burst into cheer. Mostly from imagining the rations nestled within that wonderful caravan of theirs, but hey. He wouldn't turn down the simple joy of pleasant company.

  Now if only they could sheath their swords and cease glaring at him with murderous intent. Then things would really be in business.

  "Who are you?" The woman took point, speaking in a harsh, questioning tone. "And how in Helmund's name are you alive? Traveling alone on the road, no carriage or Warding Orbs, that...shouldn't be...possible...."

  Her words faltered. With a mixture of haste and subdued fear, she gestured to the man beside her. "Ebris – you have that portable Orb with you? Think this might be a new type of Hunter. Some deceiving Fell Beast in disguise."

  Well, yes, but actually no. Would the people of Valtia view a Fell-Touched human as a Beast?

  Probably best not to test that hypothesis.

  "Let's calm down," Simon professed. He raised his hands in a non-threatening manner. "We're all friends here."

  The man belted out a derisive laugh. "Are we now? Then tell me – which friend of mine am I addressing, hmm? What's your name?"

  In the few seconds afforded to him before he had to answer, Simon took stock of the current situation. Need info.

  Identify.

  Name: Ebris Twobreath

  Description: A merchant of sorts. Armed, dangerous, and won't hesitate to defend himself. Suspicious of those he does not know.

  Estimated Level: 9

  Name: Lucette Drenoka

  Description: A merchant of sorts. Armed, dangerous, and won't hesitate to defend herself. Views family as sacrosanct, and those outside the family...not so much.

  Estimated Level: 8

  That was less detail that he'd wanted. Simon willed Identify to give him more, but the Descriptions remained unchanged. He still didn't know what governed the information it chose to reveal.

  They're both wary of strangers. Understandable, when creatures like Red-Eyes roamed the lands, but not super helpful. They wouldn't be willing to aid him out of the goodness of their heart.

  Both their Levels are higher than mine, too. Little surprise there. Pretty much everyone in Valtia with a modicum of combat expertise would be stronger than Level 3.

  Not that he could've defeated them even if he was Level 30. His body was essentially shutting down; a stiff breeze would've laid him low and danced on his corpse.

  What else is there? Merchants. Right. I can work with that.

  Merchants should be receptive to profitable bargains. If he showed them something that interested them – like interdimensional storage for ferrying cargo – then they'd be tempted to keep him around.

  He much preferred that to relying on the kindness of strangers. Generosity and goodwill were finite, fragile concepts, liable to shatter at the first mistake you made. Like a beautiful stained glass window with a sledgehammer suspended just inches above.

  Fulfill someone's personal desires, though, and they would often treat you better than their own kin.

  "My name is Simon Cobblestone." He straightened his posture, drawing up every ounce of energy left in his failing body. "I'm–"

  "Cobblestone?"

  He was interrupted by a startled utterance from Lucette. The woman's mouth had fallen open. "Do...do you know a man called Ardyn?"

  Simon froze. 'Do I know Ardyn?' he internally repeated. It took him a split-second for his confusion to subside, and for his addled mind to connect the dots.

  THEY know Ardyn.

  Opportunity was a curious thing. It wasn't a living creature, and it usually couldn't be predicted in advance – yet it shaped the history of the world, raising rulers and toppling others in equal measure. The difference between those who succeeded in life and those who crawled through the festering gutter of defeat...was a mere matter of seconds. Seize the moment, or wallow in disgrace.

  Simon seized this moment like a lifeline in a storm. He spoke before the thought was even fully formed, trusting his instincts to guide him to safe harbor.

  "You've met my cousin Ardyn?"