Dream Wizard

A few days later, Arthur walked down the street, feeling a light breeze and enjoying the sunny winter day. In the basket he carried were red root vegetables that somewhat resembled cat paws and fresh milk—items his mother had asked him to buy. Everything seemed ordinary until he heard children's voices coming from an alleyway.

The loud taunts and muffled sounds of crying immediately caught his attention. Curiosity and a sense of unease prompted Arthur to leave the main road and see what was happening.

In the alley, he saw three boys surrounding a girl. It was Anya. She stood clutching her doll, her face frozen in hurt.

Eric, the son of a wealthy merchant, stepped forward. His perfectly styled blond hair gleamed in the sunlight, and he carried himself with arrogance, as if to display his superiority to everyone around.

"And what's that rag you've got?" he sneered, pointing at her doll. "Do you think anyone would want to play with you because of it?"

Wilhelm, standing slightly behind, laughed harshly. His fiery red hair stuck out in all directions, making him look even more insolent.

"Maybe we should give you a real toy," he said mockingly. "Then you'll stop kissing that dirty doll and start kissing me instead."

Olaf stood off to the side, arms crossed. His eyes sparkled with interest in the scene, but he didn't interfere. He seemed to enjoy watching Eric and Wilhelm flaunt their power.

Anya didn't know what to say. She clutched her doll to her chest as though it could shield her from their mockery. Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn't let them fall.

Arthur felt a surge of anger boil inside him. The sight of the girl cowering under the boys' bullying stirred a storm of emotions within him. He had to act.

Setting his basket on the ground, he stepped confidently toward the group.

"Hey!" he called out loudly.

All three boys turned to face him. Eric squinted, sizing up the intruder who dared to intervene.

Arthur walked closer, his gaze steady.

"What are you doing? Aren't you ashamed of yourselves?" he asked, trying to keep his anger in check.

Eric scoffed, though a flicker of surprise crossed his face.

"None of your business," he replied, trying to maintain his composure. "We're just joking around."

Arthur took another step forward, his confidence unwavering.

"Jokes? Is that what you call this?" he said, looking Eric directly in the eyes.

Despite being outnumbered, Arthur didn't back down. His determination, fueled by memories of his past life where he had learned to stand up for himself, burned brightly in his eyes.

Eric, seeing that Arthur wasn't going to retreat, smirked and nodded to his friends.

"Well, you asked for it," he said, his cold gaze flashing.

Arthur knew a fight was inevitable. He saw the hunger for violence in Wilhelm's eyes, the cold calculation and arrogance in Eric's, and a mix of mockery and curiosity in Olaf's.

Wilhelm lunged at Arthur first, his powerful shove nearly knocking him off his feet. Arthur dodged, his heart pounding in his chest. His mind raced, trying to recall the skills he had used in street fights in his previous world. He managed to deflect the blow and even push the red-haired boy back, but Eric and Olaf quickly joined in.

Eric, frail-looking at first glance, struck with unexpected force, as if possessed by a demon. His punch landed squarely in Arthur's solar plexus, knocking the wind out of him. Arthur collapsed onto the cold ground, searing pain spreading through his body. Wilhelm immediately stepped on his neck, his heavy boots pressing into Arthur's skin.

Surrounded, they became a pack of ravenous jackals, each strike precise and cruel. Arthur tried to defend himself, but his movements were sluggish and weak. He heard their jeers, felt their contempt. His body ached, every muscle screaming for relief. He wanted to cry out, but his pride kept him silent.

Arthur struggled to stand, but time and again, they knocked him down. His body screamed in pain, and his pride in humiliation. He thought they were just children, but now he realized he had underestimated this world. Here, even children could be far stronger than adults in his former life.

Finally, Eric clapped his hands, signaling his friends to stop.

"That's enough. I think he's learned his lesson," he said, raising his head proudly like a victor.

Olaf chuckled, Wilhelm spat on the ground near Arthur, and the three walked away, laughing. Their taunts still echoed in Arthur's ears as he lay on the ground, battered and humiliated. He stared at the clear sky, trying to understand how he had ended up in such a hopeless situation.

Leaning against the wall, he slowly got up, trying to catch his breath. Pain pulsed through his body, but stronger than the pain was his anger at himself.

"I thought I'd be the hero saving the damsel in distress... But that's not how it works. This world doesn't forgive foolishness. Even children here can be stronger than adults from my old world."

Arthur clenched his fists, feeling a surge of determination.

"I've been too complacent and forgot where I am. This world is different, and I have to accept that. If I want to live here, I need to become stronger."

He raised his head, looking at the sky.

When the bullies, satisfied with their "victory," disappeared around the corner, silence settled over the alley. Anya, still clutching her beloved doll, hesitantly approached Arthur. Her eyes were full of worry, and her face showed a mix of fear and gratitude.

"Are you okay?" she asked softly, leaning closer.

Arthur, leaning against the wall, lifted his head with difficulty. His face was smeared with dirt, and his shirt was torn at the shoulder. Despite the pain, he tried to smile so as not to scare her.

"I'm fine," he exhaled, though his voice was heavy with exhaustion.

Anya frowned, not believing him. She placed her doll on the ground to free her hands and offered one to help him up.

"Come on, I'll help you," she said with unexpected firmness for her age.

Arthur wanted to refuse, but he didn't have the strength to argue. With her help, he got to his feet, swaying but managing to stay upright.

"Thank you," he said quietly, looking at her gratefully.

Anya nodded, picking up her doll and clutching it to her chest. She looked unsure but determined.

"I'll walk you home," she said as if leaving no room for objections.

Arthur was surprised by her bravery but didn't argue. They walked slowly down the street, with Anya keeping pace beside him.

The walk home took longer than usual, but for Arthur, those moments were meaningful. The small gesture of care felt more significant than he could put into words.

When they finally reached home, Martha stepped out onto the porch and froze in horror at the sight of her son's torn clothes and bruised face.

"What happened?!" she exclaimed, rushing to him.

"It's fine, Mom," Arthur tried to reassure her, but she had already wrapped him in her arms, inspecting his injuries.

Anya stood shyly behind, glancing at Martha and seeming ready to say something.

"It's all my fault," she said quietly. "He... he was protecting me."

Martha looked at the girl, her expression softening.

"Thank you for bringing him home," she said, smoothing Arthur's disheveled hair. "You're a little hero."

Anya nodded and, casting one last glance at Arthur, headed home, leaving him in his mother's care.

When Anya left, Martha immediately turned her attention back to Arthur. Her hands were gentle but firm as she examined his bruises and cuts. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries—just a few bruises and a couple of scrapes. Still, her face was filled with concern.

"What happened, Arthur? Why did you get into a fight?" she asked, her voice a mix of worry and reproach.

Arthur hesitated. He didn't want to upset his mother further, but he also knew he couldn't lie.

"I couldn't just stand there, Mom. They were bullying Anya," he said quietly, avoiding her gaze.

Martha sighed, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead.

"You did the right thing standing up for her," she said softly. "But you need to be careful. This world... it's not like your old one."

Arthur nodded, understanding the unspoken truth in her words.

A few moments later, Tom returned from the workshop. His sharp eyes immediately noticed Arthur's battered appearance, and his brow furrowed in concern.

"What happened here?" he asked, his deep voice calm but commanding.

Martha explained quickly, and Tom listened without interrupting. When she finished, he turned to Arthur, his expression serious but not angry.

"You did well to protect someone weaker than you," Tom said after a moment. "That takes courage. But courage without strength is like a blade without an edge—it's not enough."

Arthur looked down, his fists clenching at his sides.

"I know," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "I thought I could handle it, but I was wrong."

Tom placed a firm hand on Arthur's shoulder, making him look up.

"Strength isn't just about muscle or skill," Tom said. "It's also about knowing your limits and choosing your battles wisely. Remember that."

Later that evening, during dinner, the conversation turned to the different kinds of strength in their world. Arthur listened intently as Tom spoke about the warriors and magic users who shaped the kingdom's history.

Tom described the knights, their shining armor, and their relentless training. He spoke of their rigorous breathing techniques and the discipline that allowed them to perform feats of strength and endurance far beyond what ordinary people could achieve.

He also told Arthur about the totemic warriors—those who bonded with the spirits of animals through ancient rituals. These warriors drew power from their totems, gaining the speed of a hawk, the strength of a bear, or the cunning of a fox. Each one had unique abilities, making them formidable in battle.

Finally, Tom mentioned the wealthier families who could afford elixirs and rare training from a young age, giving their children an unfair advantage.

Arthur listened carefully, his mind racing. The world was far more complex than he had imagined. He realized that strength here wasn't just physical—it was tied to resources, knowledge, and training.

After dinner, Arthur went to his room, his body still aching from the fight. As he lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts swirled.

"I can't keep relying on luck or stubbornness," he thought. "If I want to survive here, I need to adapt. I need to learn everything I can about this world."

His resolve hardened. Tomorrow, he would start asking questions—about training, about the techniques his father had mentioned, and about the secrets of this world.

Arthur closed his eyes, a faint smile on his lips despite the pain. He might have been defeated today, but he wouldn't let it happen again. This was just the beginning of his journey.