Valerian woke up feeling wonderful—and miserable. He had slept up against a tree and somehow hurt his neck, making it twinge with pain when he tried to flex it. His abused feet protested as he got up to start the day.

  Still, it was the best sleep he’d had in days, and his mind felt sharp despite everything. The road he was following went somewhere and he was looking forward to finding where. Hopefully a small village and not a fort, he thought wryly.

  He started the day with foraging. He found a small number of mushrooms and some edible nuts but not much else. Valerian had always been lean but he could tell he was losing weight. At least this forest had plenty of small creeks he could find moving water in.

  After a few more hours of walking, the air changed slightly. Valerian paused, trying to identify the difference. There was a different quality to the smell. He moved forward cautiously, using [Hide] to lower his visibility as much as possible. The skill gave him a sense of how easy he was to see along with helping him position his body better.

  It didn’t take long to discover the source of the difference; he had reached the outskirts of a village. Several farms dotted the outskirts. The wind had carried the scent of cut grain and manure far enough for him to notice.

  He didn’t recognize the village, which wasn’t surprising. He didn’t think he’d ever been this far north even as part of family outings. The longest he’d traveled up to this point was to the Ravencrest viscountcy for various family functions, but their lands were to the west and a bit south, not north. He was most likely still within the Greenmarch barony, although he could possibly have entered into the Frostpeaks’ land without realizing it. Either way, no one should know him here.

  He wasn’t looking forward to the next part. He’d made plans. A hundred different ways to avoid this. But every other option was too risky.

  He was going to have to steal clothing and supplies. There just wasn’t any way around it. And it pained him.

  He didn’t have any money. The ceremonial outfit he was wearing didn’t have functional pockets and he didn’t carry a coin purse during ceremonies or even on his manor in general. So outright buying what he needed wasn’t an option.

  He had his saber, his outfit, and his skills as an [Appraiser]. As much as he hated to admit it, the last one was the most value, but only for the civilian side. A level 5 teen with low rank skills wasn’t going to impress anyone over the age of 18. Villagers would have less need of appraisal skills than guilds or nobles, though, so even that wasn’t high value.

  His outfit was expensive but would be difficult to sell. Nobody in the village would want it for itself. They might repurpose the cloth or melt down the gold cuffs and buttons but it was unlikely any of them would have the funds or desire to use it for themselves. It was also his biggest liability right now; it clearly marked him as a noble, even a failed one, and the commoners wouldn’t know the difference. Those that did, and noticed his missing surname, might even use that to take advantage of him. Interacting with people while wearing it was a massive risk.

  The saber could probably be sold. It was high quality and useful. The Steelwurths didn’t believe in ceremonial swords that weren’t legitimate weapons. As the boar had learned yesterday, it was a high quality tool, and any villager who had skills for it would find it valuable.

  But those same qualities made it valuable to him. Valerian didn’t have any magical skills he could use to replace the saber and wasn’t high enough level that he’d want to risk relying entirely on skills that cost anima. Mages could use staves or wands to reduce the cost of simple skills to zero, but he neither had the artifacts nor the skills for that. And even if he decided to sell it anyway, he’d only get a tiny fraction of the coin it was worth.

  In short, Valerian had nothing of value to offer the village, and even if he did, he had to have common clothes to avoid attracting the wrong kind of attention or lead any pursuers right to him. But he would need both coin and an outfit for any of the next steps in his plan to work.

  That meant stealing an outfit was his only real option. The saber was harder to explain, but he could disguise it with dirt and grime if he had to. If he had a sword and common clothes that would give him so many ways to move forward that he didn’t have right now.

  Valerian didn’t know how long he stood hidden atop the hill overlooking the village. He was locked in place, thinking and thinking. How could he avoid becoming a thief of all things? He was already disgraced, sure, but had he really fallen that low? Everything in him rebelled at the idea.

  I’ll pay them back, he thought. No matter what, no matter how long it takes, I will pay back the one I take from a hundred-fold, he vowed to himself. He felt sick. But it made him feel better. Slightly.

  I have no choice. He thought. “You always have a choice,” a slightly mocking voice replied. It was Father and it wasn’t. I had a choice, but you and the System took it from me, he countered. It felt hollow. He felt hollow.

  Valerian waited. And watched.

  * * * * *

  A farm was his best bet. They’d have some dirty clothes from the day’s work, the fewest people around to see him, and the easiest escape routes. He had been watching this one all day and had a good sense of their patterns, number of fam—people, and where they congregated. He wouldn’t fail.

  Night fell, and Valerian crept along the treeline, hugging the roadside shadows as long as he could. The road had a sharp decline on the side where they had flattened out the terrain, giving him a bit of cover and shadow in the dim moonlight.

  His stomach clenched, and his thighs and back burned from crawling low and slow. He’d left his saber in the forest; it would get in his way, and there was no possibility he would use it against the farmers. He would rather die than become a murderer.

  The farmers finished supper when he was about halfway there. A few minutes later, the open windows began to darken as people went to bed. Valerian moved slowly, crawling along the ground, to minimize the chance someone might see him while preparing for bed.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Valerian grimaced as his stomach growled. It felt so loud he was sure they could hear it all the way from the house. He froze face down in the dirt, the pebbles pressing painfully into his dirty palms.

  There was no reaction from the house. After his heart rate slowed, Valerian continued, making his way steadily closer. He was sure it would be morning before he arrived. But it stayed dark.

  He slid under the wooden fence around the main courtyard, careful to stay in shadow wherever he could. He’d spotted the clotheslines earlier, near a vegetable garden behind the house. His biggest worry was the dog he’d seen in the afternoon. But it had a small doghouse near the barn, presumably to help guard the livestock and chickens, and the barn was on the opposite side of the plot.

  When he reached the garden, he was sorely tempted to take some of the vegetables. He could still smell some of the dinner from inside the house and it was all he could do to stop from drooling. But he could survive without their food, and he refused to steal any more from these people than he absolutely had to.

  Finding the clothes and taking them was easy. Valerian pulled down one of the boys’ clothes and tucked them under his arm. He moved away from the garden as quietly and quickly as he could, then waited. If they noticed or were going to pursue, he needed to know. But there was no response.

  Retracing his steps out of the farm felt like an eternity. His instincts screamed at him to run once he cleared the gate, but he forced himself to move methodically. One careful step after another. He couldn't risk discovery now.

  Only when the farm shrank to a dim outline in the distance did he stand upright. Even then, he resisted the urge to sprint. Running would only draw attention, and his legs trembled with exhaustion already.

  It took him a bit, but he finally got far enough away that he felt it was unlikely he would be seen or found in the morning. He needed sleep. Just in case, he stashed his stolen clothing under a bush and found a place to sleep nearby. If they did find him, he didn’t want to be wearing or in possession of the clothes, and he could come up with an excuse for being out there.

  He’d done it. Once deeper into the woods, he retraced his steps and picked up his saber. He was exhausted and his hands kept shaking. His feet were miserable; there were no shoes outside and his dress shoes barely looked recognizable as such, so he should be fine until he could afford better ones.

  He smiled. He had planned things out, he had executed his plan, and it had worked. He felt giddy with his victory. He could move forward, now. He had everything he needed to get started.

  As he fell asleep, he ignored the pressure of guilt in the back of his mind and instead focused on his success. He would move forward, no matter the cost. He had come too far.

  * * * * *

  Valerian woke to bright light and a body full of pain. His stomach growled and his mouth felt like he had eaten sawdust. He squinted, his head pounding, and slowly stood up.

  It was going to be a long day.

  He trudged over to where he’d hidden the clothes. He kept an eye on his surroundings to ensure he hadn’t been pursued, but saw nothing. He changed quickly, burying the ceremonial outfit after slipping into the farmer’s tunic and trousers.

  They were uncomfortable and didn’t fit right, but Valerian made it work. It was better than what he had on before.

  Valerian’s first priority was water. He didn’t want to get too close to the small river running near the village to the north where he could be seen. Ideally, no one at the village would ever know he was there. While it would have been nice to use his new clothes to get some work and buy some supplies, he couldn’t risk staying here. The farmers would likely report the theft at some point and the stranger with farmer’s clothes and a fancy sword would be an obvious suspect.

  When he reached the river, he stripped and cleaned himself off. The cold water sent goosebumps down his arms, but he scrubbed anyway. He was tired of being dirty, even if he would only be clean for a short while.

  Once clean, he grabbed his clothes and swam across the river on his back. The water here was slow and Valerian was a good swimmer. He held his new clothes and the saber above his head to keep them dry, swimming on his back. The current took him a ways down the bank on the other side but he didn’t encounter any problems. Swimming in unknown waters was risky but it would make him harder to track.

  He foraged as he went. He was tired of nuts and mushrooms. The first thing he did once he had some money would be to buy some hot food. Well, maybe after buying new shoes. Maybe.

  The next few days were uneventful. Valerian walked, finding food as he went, periodically sitting to rest and air out his aching feet. He slept fitfully. Maybe he’d buy a room with an actual bed once he had some money?

  Money had never been a huge deal to Valerian. While his family wasn’t rich, they were nobles, and did not want for comforts. He’d thought his family was pretty tough; they trained hard, were required to do field exercises to simulate being a soldier, and were not pampered. But those things had the knowledge that he’d be back in his comfortable bed after a hot meal and warm bath once it was over.

  Now he didn’t have that. If he failed to find food, water, or a town in enough time, he’d die out here. And even when he did find a town, he had no money, so he’d have to beg or offer his services as an [Appraiser]. Valerian had never really thought much about what it might be like to have to live without a guarantee of safety and food in the future.

  He’d been naive. It was a depressing realization. Valerian had always prided himself on his wit and rationality. He was smart. He knew it.

  But as he wandered through a forest for days on end with bleeding feet, a splitting headache, cramped stomach, and not a single copper to his name, he started to think he might not be as smart as he thought.

  The notifications took Valerian by surprise. I leveled up? Why? He assumed he’d only gain civilian XP by working in town or as a delver. He hadn’t contributed anything to society. Not really. He was just trying to survive. Either way, it was a welcome surprise and the first good thing that had happened to him in what felt like forever.

  He was tempted to slot [Forage] into his class slot. Skills in class slots gained twice the scaling from each rank compared to ones in a general slot. If he unslotted [Hide], however, the slot would be locked out for a full day before he could replace it with the new skill. It just didn’t seem worth it.

  At least he had all his slots filled. And both his civilian skills scaled with Perception, his highest stat, so they should even be quite good, despite lacking high Agility and Stamina. It wasn’t a build he could be proud of, but it was a start.

  [Forage] paid off. More food, less effort. And he was finally staying full for once. He even managed to train both it and [Hide] up to rank 3. Thankfully, his civilian leveling penalty only applied to the track itself; skills would rank up normally.

  Valerian was getting sick of the woods. And his feet. He felt like he thought about his feet a lot. But it was hard to ignore them when you had uncomfortable shoes and spent most of your day walking. What he wouldn’t give for some action!

  Unfortunately, action found him instead. He went over one of the rolling hills a bit too carelessly and found himself staring straight at a young man with a partial beard, some ill-fitting leather armor, and a small bow strapped along his back.

  Valerian took in his appearance immediately and his heart sank. The man wasn’t a hunter. And instead of a hunting blade, he wore a scimitar. While it was possible that it was related to his class, the poor fit of his armor and general appearance made it likely he was a bandit or outlaw of some sort. He’d been trained what to look for as nobles would frequently be called upon to enforce the law.

  If Valerian was lucky, this would be a low level scout for a bandit band. Well, if he was really lucky it would be a hunter with unusual gear. Even with a level disadvantage, Valerian was confident he could take on most commoners that lacked military training under level 20. Skill potency mattered, of course, but your actual technique and practice with fighting was just as important, if not more so.

  If he was unlucky, the man was over level 20 or part of a larger group nearby. And he was probably dead.