Limitless Ascension:The System Chosen

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The sun beat down on the cobbled streets as Ethan walked through the lively main square, passing through narrow lanes flanked by quaint stone buildings. Arendelle's charm was undeniable—the buildings with their painted wood exteriors, the flower boxes hanging from every window, and the sweet aroma of fresh pastries drifting from the bakery.

Despite the warmth, Ethan pulled his coat tighter around him, not used to the foreign sun. The temperature was much higher than what he was accustomed to, and yet, there was a strange weight pressing on him. He'd fought monsters, battled gods, and wandered through realms beyond his understanding. But here, in a bustling town—no money, no purpose, no clue—it felt heavier than any enemy he had faced.

He paused in front of a small shop, its windows fogged from the warmth inside. A chime of a bell rang as he entered, greeted by the spicy scent of herbs and wood. Shelves lined the walls, filled with simple tools, leather goods, and sturdy boots. The shopkeeper, a middle-aged man with a bushy beard, looked up from his work, studying Ethan with a curious eye.

Ethan gave a polite nod and wandered over to a shelf stacked with boots. His old ones were worn from the many journeys, not built for warm weather or the cobblestone streets of a town like this.

"These are good quality," he murmured, kneeling down to inspect the stitching of a pair.

"Handmade," the shopkeeper replied, stepping closer to offer more information. "Strong leather. Imported from the southern coasts."

Ethan nodded again, absentmindedly brushing his fingers over the boots.

"You're not from around here," the shopkeeper added, eyeing him closely.

"I've been hearing that a lot," Ethan answered, keeping his tone light.

The man chuckled. "You've got the look of a soldier. Or something worse."

"I'm not here to cause trouble," Ethan replied, locking eyes with him.

"I didn't say you were," the shopkeeper said, leaning on the counter. "You looking to buy?"

Ethan hesitated.

"No coins," he admitted, his voice a little quieter.

The man let out a low whistle. "That's a problem. Nothing's free in Arendelle, stranger."

Ethan stood up, brushing the snow off his boots—a habit that lingered even in the summer warmth. He glanced out the window toward the bustling docks and vibrant streets. "Any work going around? Something a traveler could do?"

The shopkeeper scratched his beard. "Try the docks or the stables. Though most people are busy with the coronation tomorrow. You might want to try the palace, if you're feeling bold. But—" He studied Ethan again. "—you don't seem like the type to beg."

"I'm not," Ethan said firmly.

The shopkeeper gave a half-shrug. "Then you'll have to figure something out. Arendelle's a kind place."

Ethan stepped back outside, the bell chiming behind him. He looked up at the distant palace on the hill, bathed in the bright sunlight. The coronation tomorrow. If there was something—or someone—out of place in this town, the palace would be the center of it.

No money. No map. No answers. The system was silent.

For the first time in a long while, Ethan was truly alone.

"How the hell do I get back?" he muttered, his gaze trailing across the sky, watching the bright clouds drift lazily overhead.

There was no sign of the being who'd thrown him here. No message. Just the warm sun and a town full of questions.

Still, he wasn't the type to sit around and wait for answers.

Ethan continued down the street, his boots clicking against the stones. The summer heat wasn't unbearable, but it still felt oppressive, especially when he had no idea where to turn next. Children ran past him, tossing brightly colored balloons in the air, their laughter ringing out. Couples strolled hand-in-hand, and a few eyes turned toward the hill where the castle stood.

"First step's finding work," he muttered to himself. "Then answers. Then a way home."

Just as he passed a corner, he heard a distant bell ringing across the square. His attention snapped toward the sound, but his gaze caught something else. A figure darted into an alley—cloaked, swift, moving with purpose.

Not just a commoner.

His instincts flared, sharp and honed from countless battles. Ethan paused for a moment before pushing forward.

"Time to make a move," he muttered, his hand instinctively sliding into his coat pocket, feeling only lint and frustration.

He adjusted his coat, tucked his hands deep into the pockets, and slipped quietly into the shadows, following the cloaked figure through the narrow alley.

The hunt had begun.

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