Isekai Murim In The Apocalypse

Panting heavily and clutching his aching stomach, Aziel staggered through the bustling streets of the unfamiliar town. Each step felt like a battle against his failing body, yet he pressed on, his eyes flitting from one sight to another. The town was vast, far larger than he had anticipated.

Everywhere he turned, there was something new to behold—weapon shops overflowing with gleaming steel, cozy tea houses exuding rich, earthy aromas, lively inns, and raucous taverns spilling laughter and music into the streets.

The architecture was unlike anything he had ever seen: intricate and foreign, while the attire of the townsfolk deepened his sense of displacement.

With each step, exhaustion weighed heavier on him, and his mind grew hazy with fatigue. He had lost track of time and could no longer determine how long he had been wandering. His thoughts swirled chaotically, difficult to untangle in his weakened state.

"I'm starving… Food… I need something to eat… What is this place? The more I walk, the harder it is to understand…"

His condition made it impossible to make sense of his surroundings. If he could even call this body his own anymore, it was barely holding together. His vision blurred, and his knees threatened to buckle beneath him.

"Food first. Before anything else, I need food. And for that… I need money."

Ahead, a group of young men strolled leisurely in his direction, their pristine white robes and elegantly hanging swords suggesting wealth and privilege. Unlike the common folk he had encountered, these men carried themselves with an air of affluence.

"Perfect targets."

Feigning disinterest, Aziel adjusted his path to intercept them, maintaining the appearance that he hadn't noticed their approach. As they drew closer, he shifted at just the right moment, colliding with the one in the center—a young man with long, flowing brown hair. The impact sent Aziel tumbling to the ground.

"Ah—Sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going," he muttered, scrambling to his feet and bowing his head in a feigned apology.

The young noble clicked his tongue in irritation, brushing at his robe as if Aziel's mere touch had soiled it. "Tsk, watch where you're going, slum rat."

Aziel bowed again before swiftly making his exit, quickening his pace once he had put some distance between them. A smirk tugged at his lips as he slipped a small leather pouch from beneath his tattered rags.

"…That was almost too easy."

He opened the pouch, and his fingers brushed against the cool metal inside. Dozens of copper coins, each featuring a square hole at its center, glimmered in the sunlight. The currency was foreign, but its value was unmistakable.

"Now for food."

His stomach clenched in protest, urging him to act quickly. As he scanned for a food stall, his attention was drawn to a gathering crowd just down the street. Yet, it wasn't the commotion that caught his interest—it was the intoxicating aroma wafting from within.

Following the scent, he soon found himself in an arena district, where multiple fighting rings stood at the center, drawing clusters of spectators. The air buzzed with excitement, but Aziel had no interest in whatever event was taking place. He was here for one thing only.

Weaving through the crowd, he finally reached a row of food stalls, the scent of grilled meat making his mouth water. Thick, juicy skewers sizzled over open flames, their fat dripping onto the fire, releasing an irresistible, savory perfume.

Barely able to hold himself upright, he forced himself to wait his turn in line, his vision threatening to blur. When he finally reached the front, he barely managed to speak. "T-Two meat skewers, please."

The merchant stared at him, puzzled. It took Aziel a moment to realize his mistake—he had spoken in his native tongue. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to repeat the request, this time mimicking the unfamiliar language that, somehow, inexplicably, he understood.

"Two meat skewers, please."

The merchant's expression softened. "That'll be five copper qian."

Aziel hastily untied a few coins from the pouch, handing them over. The term qian was foreign to him, but he assumed it referred to the currency he had stolen. Fortunately, the merchant accepted the payment without question, handing him the skewers with a grin.

Aziel wasted no time. Stepping away from the stall, he sank his teeth into the first skewer. The moment the rich, seasoned meat touched his tongue, his entire body shuddered. The explosion of flavor was unlike anything he had ever experienced. His cheeks flushed, and his breath hitched—this was bliss.

"So good…" he mumbled between bites, devouring one skewer and moving onto the next without pause. His mind cleared with every mouthful, and his strength gradually returned. It was the first real food he had tasted in what felt like an eternity. The sensation was almost overwhelming.

'Anais would have loved this…'

The thought hit him unexpectedly, dampening his excitement. He swallowed hard, pushing the memory away. Now wasn't the time to dwell on the past.

As he finished his meal, he became aware of the swelling energy around him. The crowd had grown denser, the murmurs of excitement rising into eager cheers. Curious, he made his way through the throng, seeking the source of the commotion.

At the center stood an arena, where two combatants faced off beneath the sun's unforgiving glare.

On the left, a young man stood poised, dressed in flowing dark blue robes. His long hair was tied back in a ponytail, and his piercing eyes were locked onto his opponent. His hand hovered over the hilt of his sword, the blade crackling with raw energy, currents of power flickering around it.

Opposite him stood a towering, bald brute, muscles rippling beneath his battle-worn skin. He planted his feet wide, his stance unshaken, and his massive gauntlet gleamed ominously in the light.

Aziel's eyes narrowed.

'So this is what has everyone's attention…'