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

Arthur began his journey, leaving the fields. A few carts were entering and leaving the area. The boy needed a ride, until he recognized a familiar voice.

"...and that's how the young man saved me! A true hero, I'd say!"

It was the old woman he had helped. She was talking to one of the gate guards, standing next to her cart. Arthur approached, confused.

"Ma'am?" he called out. "I thought you had already left for the south."

She turned and broke into a wide smile upon seeing him. "Boy! I certainly tried! But right after we said our goodbyes, the guards closed the gates. They said there were reports of 'suspicious activity' on the road and that no one could leave until further notice. They only just reopened the passage a little while ago."

The guard beside her confirmed with a nod. "Orders from the capital. Security has been reinforced."

"What a coincidence! Are you leaving now too?" the old woman asked. Arthur showed her the wanted poster for Garrick. "I have some business to take care of on the South Road."

"Why, that's my way!" she exclaimed, genuinely happy. "Get in, get in! It's the least I can do to thank you again. A ride for my savior!"

Arthur smiled, relieved. Fate, for the first time, seemed to be on his side. He climbed onto the cart, and together, they passed through the large town gates, beginning his hunt.

The journey was mostly silent, with Arthur lost in thought about his new and dark power, and the old woman focused on guiding the horse with steady hands.

After nearly a day of travel, as the sun began to set, they arrived. The village was exactly as the word suggested: a handful of simple wood and plaster houses nestled in a valley. There wasn't the chaotic energy of the Fields, but there was no joy either. The streets were almost empty, and the few people who were outside stopped what they were doing to stare at the cart with suspicious, silent gazes before going back inside their homes. There was a quietness in the air, a silence that wasn't peaceful, but heavy.

The cart stopped in what seemed to be the village center, a small square with a well and a single, worn-looking tavern. "Well, this is my stop, kid," the old woman said, her voice a little lower now that they were in the village. "My home is just over there."

Arthur jumped off the cart. "Thanks for the ride, ma'am. Really."

"You saved me. It was nothing," she replied, but her tone was hurried. She looked around, at the windows that seemed to be watching them. "A word of advice, young man: the people around here don't like strangers, and they like trouble even less. If you've come looking for that man on the poster, speak softly and trust no one."

Without waiting for a reply, she snapped the reins and guided her cart down a side street, quickly disappearing and leaving Arthur alone in the silent square.

He felt dozens of eyes watching him from the closed windows and doors. The difficulty the old woman mentioned was already palpable. He needed information, and the only place that seemed to have any life was the tavern. Taking a deep breath, he adjusted his backpack and walked towards the building.

As he pushed open the wooden door, a loud creak caused all conversations inside to cease instantly. About a dozen men, all with tired, wary faces, turned to stare at him. The air grew heavy.

Ignoring the stares, Arthur walked directly to the bar, where a burly, thick-bearded man was cleaning a mug with a dirty cloth. "Excuse me," Arthur said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"I'm looking for a man. His name is Garrick."

The bartender stopped cleaning the mug. He slowly raised his gaze, his small, cold eyes analyzing him. "Never heard of him," he said, his voice deep and final. "Now order something or get out of my tavern."

Arthur looked around. All the other patrons were staring at him with the same silent hostility. He realized he wouldn't get anything here. This village wasn't just mysterious; it was closed off, like a clam. And he was the grain of sand no one wanted around.

"Come on, I need some information, please," Arthur pleaded, hoping to get something out of the bartender.

The bartender slammed the mug on the counter with force, making a loud, booming noise. "I already told you, kid: I've never heard that name! Now, get out!" he exclaimed, pointing to the exit.

The atmosphere in the place became instantly hostile. All the seated men watched Arthur in silence, their eyes cold. The message was clear: the adventurer was not welcome here.

Arthur, with nothing else to do, left the place. With the wanted poster in hand, he walked through the village streets, feeling completely lost.

Night fell. Only a few faint lights from inside the houses illuminated the dark street. Arthur saw a simple wooden sign with the word "Hotel" carved into it and didn't think twice. He entered the place to rest for the night. "I'd like a room for the night, please," the boy said, placing a silver coin on the counter.

The attendant, an old man with a disinterested look, took the coin and tossed an iron key onto the counter. "Room fifty-two. Breakfast included. Try not to make any noise, you hear?"

Arthur nodded and walked towards his room. The hotel was simple, yet cozy. A large red carpet stretched down the hallway, with several wooden doors on each side. Iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling held several candles, which cast a flickering, dancing light on the walls.

He found room 52, opened the door with the heavy key, and went inside, locking it behind him. The room was small and basic: a bed, a small table with a chair, and a window that looked out onto the dark and silent street.

Arthur threw his backpack on the bed and sat down, exhausted. The day's frustration hit him hard. He took the wanted poster from his pocket and stared at it in the faint candlelight.

'How am I going to find this guy if no one in this village will open their mouth? It's as if they're all protecting him. Or they're afraid of him.'

He got up and began to pace the small room. Asking directly hadn't worked. He needed a new approach. He could no longer think like a hero who asks for help at the Guild. He had to think like a hunter.

'A bandit like Garrick needs supplies. Food, drink… He doesn't live isolated in the mountains. At some point, he or his men have to come to the village. They're not going to walk into the tavern announcing who they are.'

An idea began to form. He stopped pacing and looked out the window.

'I'm doing this wrong. I don't have to ask for him. I have to look for him. I have to observe. Tomorrow, instead of asking questions, I'm just going to watch the market, the tavern, the entrances to the village. I'll look for someone who doesn't fit in, someone who acts suspiciously. I'm going to hunt my prey.'

With a plan finally in mind, a plan that depended on his own intelligence and not the help of others, Arthur felt some of his determination return. He lay down on the bed, still dressed, and stared at the ceiling. The journey would be difficult and lonely, but for the first time, he had a strategy. And that was enough for tonight.

Dawn broke. Arthur woke up to a beam of sunlight in his eyes. For a moment, with the warmth of the sun on his face, he felt at home, in his old room, in his world. A pang of nostalgia hit him, the longing for his mother and for how much simpler things were. But this fate was sealed the day he was sent to this world. There was no use complaining. He needed to get stronger to return to his reality as quickly as possible.

The young man got up, dressed, and went downstairs for breakfast, which was included with the room at the simple inn where he had spent the night.