Scroll 03: Appearance Parameters Maxed Out
Arya's words hit Alaster like a bucket of cold water, sending a sharp shiver straight down his spine. For a few seconds, the young man stood frozen in the middle of that dark alleyway. The noise of the city felt distant, as if he had been shoved inside a sensory isolation bubble.
Arya leaned against the stone wall to catch her breath after their sprint, but her eyes never stopped scanning the mouth of the alley, completely alert.
"Listen to me very carefully, Alaster," she whispered, trying to steady her breathing. "We got incredibly lucky that the Guild was packed and rowdy. Mila reacted quickly, but if any other adventurer or some noble's spy had caught a glimpse of that parchment, you'd be chained up in a dungeon basement right now."
Alaster swallowed hard, feeling a tight knot form in his stomach. Almost by instinct, he pressed the small leather pouch and the metal card Mila had handed them before chasing them out closer to his chest.
Chained up in a basement? he thought, panic surging. I've barely been in this world for a few hours, and I'm already a dangerous target?
"Is it really that severe?" he managed to ask. "It's just an attribute..."
"It is not just an attribute. Spatial magic is practically a myth," Arya cut him off, grabbing his arm so tightly it actually began to hurt. "Fortunately, the Guildmaster returns tomorrow at noon from an inspection in the south. Mila is going to lock your original parchment in the high-ranking safe until then. It is absolutely mandatory that you speak with him in private the moment he arrives. In the meantime, if anyone asks, you tell them you are a regular, elemental mage. Something like wind or water. Understood? Do not utter the word 'space' even by mistake."
Alaster nodded, processing the sheer weight of such a massive secret. He looked down at the polished metal card in his hand. It felt strangely warm to the touch, almost as if it possessed a pulse. It had his name written in a highly elegant script, followed by his class: "Mage." Nothing else.
"Mila did the right thing by giving you a standard card," Arya remarked, softening her voice a bit upon noticing how pale he looked. "Specific attributes are never listed for safety reasons. If your rivals, bandits, or assassins know your strongest element, they can easily prepare resistance amulets or counter-spells to defeat you. Keeping it hidden is your best defense; it gives you the element of surprise."
Arya stepped away from the wall and adjusted her green cloak. In the dim light filtering into the alley, Alaster noticed she was flushing slightly. She looked extraordinarily pretty—so much so that, for a brief moment, the young man found it hard to react amidst all the tension.
"Alaster... you don't have a place to stay tonight," she said, averting her eyes. "I was thinking that... well, you could stay at 'The Forest's Rest.' It's the inn where I'm boarding. It's a quiet place, it's not expensive, and Barnaby, the owner, doesn't ask weird questions to trustworthy customers. But first, let's get out of this alley."
They cautiously slipped out and returned to the main street. As they walked over the cobblestone floor, Alaster noted that the city smelled of woodsmoke, freshly baked bread, and the metallic tang of nearby blacksmith shops. But what truly made him uncomfortable were the stares from the people.
Arya held him by the arm to guide him and keep him from colliding with passing ox carts. His clothes were the glaring issue: his jeans and hoodie drew far too much attention in this medieval city.
It's like walking around in a high-visibility vest inside an ancient theater, he thought, feeling intensely awkward. I need to change immediately if I don't want to get flagged.
"We need to get you out of those clothes right now," Arya whispered urgently, pulling her hood down to shield her face. "You stand out too much. Those glossy fabrics, those cuts... you look like a freak from some far-off land or a crazy noble who got lost in the woods. If we keep going like this, the guard is going to stop us out of pure curiosity."
They stepped into a small shop selling apparel and travel supplies. It smelled of wool, berry dye, and lavender. The place was narrow, packed to the ceiling with shelves holding fabric bolts and ready-made tunics.
While Arya negotiated with the shopkeeper over which fabrics were best for travel and which cuts wouldn't disrupt mana flow, Alaster took advantage of their distraction. For the first time, he opened the leather pouch Mila had given him as a "good faith loan" before they fled.
He peered inside, feeling the comforting weight of the coins. There were exactly forty copper coins and five silver ones. The clinking of the metal was absolute music to his ears. His former self back on Earth, drowning in debt and unemployed, would have wept with emotion.
Forty copper and five silver... Alaster calculated mentally. Thank goodness Mila helped us. With the measly nine copper coins we earned from the goblins, Arya said we couldn't even afford to sleep in the straw with the horses. This loan literally saved my life.
With the pouch safely tucked away, the young man turned around and approached a full-length mirror at the back of the shop.
Looking into the glass, Alaster stopped dead in his tracks. His brain, still entirely adjusted to Earth's logic, conjured a ridiculous thought.
Ah, my bad... I thought it was a mirror, but it must be a window into another room, was his very first instinct upon seeing the guy standing there.
But the stranger in the "other room" didn't move on his own. When Alaster tilted his head, the stranger did the exact same thing. When he raised a hand, the figure mimicked him instantly in flawless synchronicity. That was when the bucket of cold water finally hit him: there was no other room, and that was no stranger.
"That's... me?" he murmured. His voice sounded significantly smoother and more melodic than he remembered.
He stepped forward slowly, touching the cold glass with his fingertips.
"It's not just the pointed ears... I've completely changed."
The guy staring back at him from the mirror looked like he had been pulled straight out of a beauty pageant. Joseph remembered his unkempt skin, the acne, and the massive dark circles under his eyes from spending ten hours a day glued to a computer monitor. But this was an entirely different tier. His skin appeared flawless, almost radiant, and his ugly, dull brown hair was now a striking silver-white tone, resembling glacial ice beneath the moonlight.
It's as if my consciousness got uploaded into the avatar of a fantasy video game, he thought, a nervous chuckle bubbling up. No, it's worse. It's as if someone took a character creator and cranked every single graphic setting to the absolute maximum, shattering any trace of realism.
He ran a hand over his face, half fascinated and half terrified. Not a single blemish. Zero fatigue. He was so ridiculously attractive it was borderline frightening. In his old world, Joseph was an invisible guy, just another cog in a gray office. Here, simply by existing in this body, he was going to draw everyone's eyes. It gave him a massive surge of self-esteem, but at the same time, a looming dread of not knowing what kind of creature he had truly become.
The young shopgirl had frozen completely in place, measuring tape dangling from her hand, staring at him with her mouth open and her face as red as a tomato. Arya noticed how the girl was devouring him with her eyes and furrowed her brow, visibly annoyed. Alaster didn't know why, but seeing other women look at him like that seemed to put the elf in a foul mood.
Without a word, Arya grabbed him by the arm and forcefully shoved him into the wooden changing stall, slapping the curtain shut with a sharp snap.
They paid two silver coins for an outfit Arya deemed "discreet." Alaster figured that if there were more elves in this world, perhaps he could blend in as just another face in the crowd. The travel tunic was dark blue, featuring brown leather reinforcements over the shoulders and forearms so that backpacks or weapons wouldn't chafe.
Though it was standard clothing for adventurers here, the cut made his new athletic frame look incredibly elegant. An elegance Joseph never possessed in his previous life. The mirror inside the stall didn't lie: he touched his pointed ears, feeling the firm cartilage. A real, physical reminder that he was no longer human. His appearance vastly surpassed that of any model or actor on Earth; it was an almost divine beauty.
Alaster forced himself to stop staring; he didn't want to turn into a narcissist. He had to remember his reality.
It's just a skin swap, I'm still the exact same person, he told himself. Three months ago I decided that love was a scam, and why would that change now? Just because I'm in a different world? Get a grip, Joseph! If you get distracted by this nonsense, you're going to end up as someone's dangerous slave in this place.
Arya cut into his stoic thoughts. She shot one final warning glare at the shopgirl (who was still smiling like an idiot) and dragged him out of the shop toward the inn before the girl could snap out of it.
"The Forest's Rest" was a cozy three-story establishment with exposed wooden beams. Upon entering, they were greeted by Barnaby, a large, sour-faced man who welcomed Arya with a friendly grunt. Moments later, a short, pleasant lady emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron to give Arya a heartfelt hug.
Arya introduced Alaster as a distant relative traveling to seek his fortune. She paid a couple of silver coins from Mila's pouch, and they handed over the heavy bronze key to his room.
He was left alone in the quarters. It was a small but exceptionally clean space that smelled of pine and beeswax. He sat on a wooden chair in front of the desk, where a candle flickered, casting dancing shadows against the stone walls.
The innkeeper had brought him a tray with warm, homemade bread, a wedge of sharp goat cheese, and a pitcher of fresh water. As he ate absentmindedly, Alaster found himself staring into the candle flame, thinking about how ridiculous his life had become in less than twenty-four hours.
How did he go from being an unemployed programmer, stressed about paying rent and blasting out resumes, to being a High Elf with legendary magic in a world with actual walls, swords, and real monsters? The fear was still there, like a shadow whispering that this dream could easily morph into a nightmare, but the curiosity and excitement were vastly stronger.
Magic wasn't code on a screen or a rendering engine; it was in his veins, pulsing with power, ready for him to command with his own will. His previous life filled with infinite loops of code and gray offices now felt like a blurry memory. It was as if he had awoken from a boring simulation only to discover that the universe was gargantuan.
I'm incredibly excited about the prospect of magic, he admitted to himself, feeling a tingling sensation in his fingertips as he watched the fire. Even if the threat of getting enslaved by a high-level spell isn't funny... at least I know what I'm up against. This is my shot. If I play my cards right and optimize my resources in this place, I can have a vastly better life than the one I had back on Earth.
He carefully took off his new tunic, noting that the stitching was perfect—vastly superior to mass-produced, synthetic clothing—and lay down on the bed's clean sheets. The city's silence was broken only by the distant footsteps of the night guards and the cry of an occasional bird. He closed his eyes, clenching his fists tightly.