Everyone hates me in this new world and they will pay for it

Arthur thought about ignoring it. After all, it was no longer his business. He wasn't a hero, just an ordinary citizen trying to survive. But then he heard it again.

"Please… someone…" the voice exclaimed again, weaker this time.

For a moment, Arthur remembered the past—not of the fantasy world, but of his life on Earth. He remembered a time when he defended a chubby kid from some bullies and the beating he took for it. He remembered the pain, but he also remembered something else. A thought that intrigued him.

'I didn't do it for him. I did it because I wanted to. And… I felt good.'

It was true. He had genuinely felt good about it, about the simple act of helping. It had been months, maybe years, since Arthur had felt genuinely good about anything. Apathy was his only shield. But maybe… maybe he didn't need it anymore.

So, the boy took a deep breath, and for the first time in a long time, he made a decision that wasn't just about surviving. He moved towards the voice.

Turning the corner of a wider street at the edge of the market, he saw the scene. A small wooden cart was stopped, with sacks of grain and vegetables torn open and scattered on the ground. Three rough-looking men were taking what they could, while an old woman, probably the owner of the cart, was on her knees, crying.

"Please, stop! That's all I have to sell this week!" she pleaded.

"Shut up, old woman!" shouted one of the bandits, kicking one of the sacks. "You should be thanking us for not taking the whole cart."

Arthur's blood boiled. The injustice of the scene, the cowardice of the men against a defenseless old woman… it all awakened the fury that had been dormant under months of depression.

He stepped out from the shadows of the alley, his voice sounding firmer than he expected. "Hey. Leave her things alone."

The three bandits turned, surprised. They looked him up and down: a poor-looking boy with a cheap sword at his hip. The leader, a large man with a scar on his face, let out a laugh.

"Look what we have here. A hero of the slums. What are you going to do, kid? Threaten us with that toothpick of yours?"

"I'm not going to ask again," Arthur said, his hand going to the hilt of his uchigatana.

"Boys, it looks like the kid wants a lesson," the leader said with a cruel smile. "Let's show him how adults solve things around here."

The three men dropped the sacks and began to walk slowly towards Arthur, surrounding him. Arthur drew his blade. He was outnumbered and probably at a disadvantage, but for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel empty. He felt rage. And he was ready to use it.

The three bandits advanced, with cruel smiles and the confidence of those accustomed to intimidation. The leader drew a rusty knife, while the other two approached with clenched fists.

The first bandit threw a clumsy punch. Arthur dodged to the side, an instinctive move he didn't even know he possessed, and spun, striking the man on the back with the flat of his uchigatana. The bandit grunted and staggered forward.

The second attacked from above. Arthur blocked the blow with his blade, the cheap metal groaning under the impact, and quickly counter-attacked with a diagonal slash on the man's arm. a scream of pain echoed, and blood began to flow.

The leader, seeing that the boy was faster than he looked, advanced with the knife. Arthur parried the blow with his sword, the two blades locked in a metallic clash. The man's strength was superior, and Arthur felt his arms tremble. He needed to be fast.

With a sharp movement, Arthur pushed the knife aside and took a step back, gaining a fraction of a second of space. He seized the opportunity to deliver a quick, precise cut to the leader's neck. The man's eyes widened. He brought a hand to his throat and fell to the ground, a trickle of blood seeping between his fingers.

The other two bandits, seeing their leader fall, hesitated for an instant. Fear shone in their eyes. But it was too late. Arthur advanced, his blade moving with an unexpected ferocity. In a few swift blows, he took down the two men, deep wounds marking their bodies. They groaned in pain, unable to get up.

The old woman, who had been watching in terror, let out a muffled cry. Arthur turned to her, his breath ragged.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his voice still charged with adrenaline.

The woman just nodded, her wide eyes fixed on the fallen bandits.

Arthur sheathed his sword, feeling his heart race. He had never seriously injured someone before, let alone… he had only ever fought against monsters and those damned Reapers. He looked away from the bandits. The feeling wasn't one of glory, but of a strange exhaustion, mixed with a hint of satisfaction. He had done the right thing.

He felt something different. He could swear he felt stronger.

'Could I have… no, it's impossible.'

Arthur opened his palm at that very moment, checking his level, and a miracle happened. The translucent writing glowed:

[LEVEL 2]

Arthur had leveled up. The boy was overcome with a mixture of happiness and shock, and he stood there for a moment, without reacting.

'So I level up… by killing people.'

He couldn't believe it, but it was real. This was definitely very strange. How could a hero only level up by killing people? Well, he was a "mistake," so that probably explained everything. Or that's what Arthur wanted to believe so he wouldn't go mad.

But now what? How should he proceed? He couldn't just go around killing everyone in front of him; his conscience would kill him for it. So he decided: he would only kill those who deserved it, those who did evil. He would go after the strongest wrongdoers. A theory formed in his mind: the greater the strength and "will" of the human, the more levels he could gain. It was a quick line of reasoning, but it certainly had some logic to it.

"Boy?" the old woman exclaimed, worried about the young man who was staring intently at his own hand.

The young man then returned to reality. "Are you okay, ma'am?" he asked, still distressed by everything that had happened.

She smiled, a genuine smile of relief. "I am, thanks to you, boy. I didn't lose my goods. Thank you," she exclaimed.

Arthur nodded, satisfied with what he had done. Even if he had taken human lives, he had done good for this old woman.

"I'll help you load your cart again, and you give me a ride?" he asked, already picking up a sack of grain from the ground.

The old woman nodded gratefully.

And so, they spent a few minutes putting all the merchandise back on the cart. The bandits' bodies were still on the ground, lifeless, but neither Arthur nor the old woman seemed to care about them.

"Where are you headed, ma'am?" Arthur asked, climbing onto the front of the cart, next to her.

"I'm heading back to my village, a little south of here," she replied, snapping the reins to get the horse moving.

"And you, my young hero? What is your destination?"

"To be honest, ma'am, I'm going to get stronger and kick those idiots' asses," he replied, smiling as he clenched his hands.

The old woman didn't understand at all. She didn't know why he wanted to get stronger, nor who the "idiots" were. She just returned the friendly smile.

"I'll drop you off in the fields. Let's go, boy," she said, as the cart began to move.

Arthur nodded, jumping in beside the old woman. For the first time in months, he felt something. He felt hope. The boy was determined on his mission.