[12] Thought
"They probably do get sick. Experiencing hunger, injury, bleeding, and illness is part of the mortal life these fun-seeking gods want to live." Aiden thought as he washed his face. He put on his shoes and socks, wore just a vest on his upper body, and took his sword as he stepped out of the dilapidated church.
Although the changing seasons didn't affect him much, Aiden felt neither hot nor cold in his long coat. The fresh outdoor air and the cool morning breeze helped clear his slightly foggy mind.
Aiden drew Durandal from its sheath, holding the sword horizontally in front of him. He gazed thoughtfully at the blade, which he needed to help him become a Level 2 adventurer. This sword wasn't the real Durandal. It resembled the demonic form of Kratos's sword more closely. About 1.2 meters long, the blade was 90 centimeters, with the hilt making up a third of the length. The entire sword was golden, with golden patterns extending into a cross-guard and purple petal-like designs adorning the spine. The golden blade shimmered in the morning sunlight.
Aiden held Durandal's blade upward and plucked a hair from his head. As it gently fell under the power of gravity, it split into two upon encountering the golden edge, both halves continuing their descent to the ground.
Aiden thrust Durandal into a nearby wall. The blade sank halfway in, meeting resistance akin to cutting half-thawed meat. He gave another push, and the blade embedded itself fully. He inspected the sword lodged in the wall and the crumbling wall itself, doubting the structure's integrity. But upon touching the solid wall, he realized the issue wasn't with the wall but with the sword's sharpness and his own strength.
Aiden yanked Durandal from the wall and slashed at another decrepit section, cleaving it in two. He brushed the dust from the blade, which remained unscathed.
"Cutting hair, slicing through walls like mud, and that unscientific hardness... this sword truly lives up to the saying 'system-produced, quality assured.'" Aiden mused as he sheathed Durandal and stored it back in the church.
"When will I be able to sheathe my sword coolly like Vergil? My sheathing speed totally ruins my style. But if Durandal were in a martial arts world, it would be on par with the legendary weapons, perhaps even stronger. Thanks, system." Aiden genuinely appreciated the sword's quality.
Stepping out of the church again, Aiden activated the system, beginning a morning workout he hadn't done in ages.
"System, can you track my running distance and time?"
[Affirmative.]
The gentle morning sun began to stir the city awake. Orario, quiet through the night, resumed its bustling daytime activities. To avoid the crowds, Aiden chose to do shuttle runs around the sparsely populated area near the church.
Wind whistled past his ears, and familiar buildings blurred by as Aiden ran. It had been a long time since he last exercised, so he chose a 10-kilometer run to test his current capabilities.
[Ten kilometers completed in thirty minutes flat. Continue?]
"Stop timer." Aiden knows. Despite his lack of professional running techniques, he had managed a professional athlete's time of ten kilometers in thirty minutes. Feeling both a bit fatigued and exhilarated, he knew this was a great time for an amateur runner.
In this world devoid of phones and the internet, Aiden sought activities that brought him joy. The exhilaration of a thorough workout, something he usually avoided, sparked a newfound interest in exercise and an anticipation for the more exciting battles ahead.
After resting for a while, the morning breeze dried his sweat, and Aiden felt his strength returning.
"Is this the power of the Sparda bloodline? It really is strong, and this is without awakening the full potential. If I had professional combat training, I might even be on par with Captain America." With this thought, Aiden retrieved Durandal from the church.
Although Aiden had never formally learned swordsmanship, he had inherited the legendary eight slashes from a certain green-haired master. Despite its formidable power, he diligently practiced the basic moves of traditional Japanese swordsmanship, preparing for a weapon he might never receive... the Yamato, and for his future expeditions into the dungeon.
He practiced for a long time, the rising sun gradually heating up the morning air. Finally, Aiden sheathed Durandal and stood at the church door, feeling his stomach rumble.
He returned to the basement. As expected, Hestia was still asleep, mumbling in her dreams.
After tidying up his toiletries, Aiden felt refreshed after his workout and shower. Dressed and ready, he glanced at Hestia, still lost in her dreams. Shaking his head slightly, he grabbed his money pouch and left the church, heading towards the bustling main street.
...
Instead of heading to the Hostess of Fertility, Aiden decided to try a different restaurant, craving new experiences. He found a place that served a very classic English breakfast... who knew such a thing existed in this otherworld?
The meal consisted of fried bacon, eggs, grilled tomatoes, baked beans, sausages, bread, a vegetable salad, and English breakfast tea. After his morning workout, Aiden devoured two hearty servings of this greasy meal.
With his enormous appetite and the workout, Aiden felt satisfied. Used to always having his phone to check the time, he finally bought a wristwatch. At 9:45 AM, Aiden returned to the Hestia Familia's base, carrying breakfast for Hestia in his left hand and a cup of coffee milk in his right.
As soon as he entered, Hestia, already awake, pounced on him like a hungry tiger.
"Wuwu, Aiden-kun, where did you go? Don't leave me behind!" The adorably silly goddess seemed afraid of losing Aiden and held onto him tightly, subconsciously ignoring the milk and breakfast he was holding.
'I'm sorry, Hestia. Ultimately, I will leave. To you and this world, I am just a traveler.'
Aiden felt a pang of guilt. But outwardly, he spoke softly, bringing the breakfast closer to her head, "I wouldn't leave without reason. I saw you were still sleeping, so I went out to get you breakfast."
Feeling the warmth on her head, Hestia beamed, "It's really breakfast! I knew you wouldn't leave me, Aiden-kun. You're the best!"
Aiden didn't respond, but instead gently patted her head. After Hestia finished her meal, the two headed towards Babel Tower.
They needed to register with the guild, as required for new Familia members, and to purchase the necessary gear and supplies for dungeon exploration.
Despite his confidence in his abilities, Aiden understood that this world wasn't a game. It was intensely real, where everyone felt hunger, pain, and injury. Except for the gods, no one was guaranteed to survive.
He admired the Spardas' fearless fighting style from the Devil May Cry series, where they wore long coats instead of armor. But Aiden knew his limits and the harsh reality: dungeon exploration was perilous, not a social event, sightseeing tour, or leisurely trip. Until he had Dante's strength from Devil May Cry 4, the dungeon remained a deadly place.
This world was beautiful and filled with charming characters, but it was also brutally real and unforgiving. Each year, many adventurers were injured or even perished in the dungeon.
Dungeon exploration meant facing continuous monster attacks, and pass parade. One also had to be wary of malicious adventurers. Though Orario had a non-killing pact, many loopholes existed. The pact only prohibited directly killing an adventurer.
Breaking a person's legs, leaving them immobile, and dragging them to a floor beyond their capability to be killed by monsters; or luring someone into a trap and attracting a horde of monsters... these were just a few methods. Greedy adventurers would often trample others' lives for money.
If severely injured in the dungeon, one could become food for countless monsters with sharp teeth and claws, leaving no remains.
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État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone