Rion leaned back, eyes narrowing as memories of Moon Shadow Village flooded his mind. It had been a place where the strong fed off the weak, where the difference between life and death often came down to a single moment of hesitation. The village had taught him that survival was a cutthroat game, one where mercy was in short supply and ruthlessness often came with a price tag.
In that bleak place, everything was a transaction. Trust could be bought, loyalty could be manipulated, and friends… well, friends were little more than liabilities that would betray you the moment the scales tipped against their favor. Rion had learned that lesson early—first from his neighbors, then from the kids he'd grown up with, and finally from his mentor.
His mentor, a figure of both reverence and fear, had taught him the value of pragmatism. "There's no room for morality when you're staring down the barrel of starvation," he used to say. Those words had stuck with him, a grim mantra that guided Rion through his formative years. It was a lesson that saved his life more times than he could count, and one he clung to now, even in a world so vastly different from Moon Shadow Village.
But the lessons of survival weren't limited to food and shelter. Rion had realized early on that information was the most valuable currency. Knowing who held power, who could be manipulated, and where the dangers lurked—these were the true secrets to survival. In Moon Shadow Village, it was never about brute strength, at least not entirely. It was about strategy, about playing the long game and ensuring that you were never caught in someone else's trap.
As a child, he had learned to listen more than he spoke, to watch more than he acted. The gangs that ruled the village fought among themselves, always vying for dominance. Rion kept his distance, never getting too close to one faction or another, never allowing himself to be drawn into their petty wars. It was safer on the fringes, where the real power players rarely paid attention.
He had been a shadow, slipping through the cracks, observing from the periphery. But even then, he had known that survival wasn't enough. To truly live, you had to take a risk every once in a while.
He didn't like to gamble, but he understood that without risk, there could be no reward. The trick was to know when to hold back and when to go all in, and he liked to believe that he had honed that instinct to a fine edge.
These rules weren't just guidelines; they were the pillars of his existence, hard-learned truths that had kept him alive when others faltered. They served as a mental checklist, a survival algorithm that constantly calculated the best move in any situation, no matter how dire.
Whether it was stealing to eat, striking first to avoid being struck, or even manipulating alliances to his advantage, he had matured very early. In the unforgiving streets of Moon Shadow Village, hesitation meant death, and he definitely had no intention of dying—not then, not now.
As a result, when the thought of selling his services illegally crossed his mind, it didn't feel like a drastic leap. It felt natural, like slipping back into a familiar role.
The idea held a certain allure for him, mostly because it allowed him to maintain his autonomy. He could sell his inventions and expertise to the highest bidders while carefully avoiding getting entangled with dangerous entities. It was like playing with fire, but he had always been good at not getting burned—most of the time, anyway.
This new world was teeming with opportunities for those who knew how to seize them. Sure, there were risks, but risks were familiar to him, as was the art of balancing on the edge of disaster. The underworld was not a monolith—it was fragmented, just like the gangs back in Moon Shadow Village, with its own web of alliances and betrayals.
By staying under the radar, he could keep his freedom intact, build a network of trusted contacts within the cultivator community, and gather valuable intelligence and allies without chaining himself to any one organization. The world was filled with power-hungry groups and individuals, but he had no interest in being anyone's pawn. He had seen what happened to those who became too dependent on others; they were used, discarded, and ultimately left to die alone. Heintended to avoid that fate at all costs.
Besides, the numbers didn't lie—illegal trade was always going to be more profitable than sticking to the straight and narrow no matter what world one was in. It was akin to comparing the profits of robbing a bank to those of running a lemonade stand; the latter was safer, sure, but the former could set you up for life—provided you could handle the minor inconveniences of prison time.
But there was still a problem with this route. Dealing with criminals meant navigating treacherous waters where trust was as scarce as normal people on LOL.
One wrong move could put a target on his back, drawing attention from law enforcement, rival criminals, or worse. Until he had gained enough strength to defend himself, he would be walking a razor-thin line between opportunity and disaster.
But then again, hadn't he always been walking that line? This world was one where a person could meet their end just by being at the wrong place at the wrong time. The stakes were just a tiny bit higher now, but so was his determination to succeed.
As Rion carefully weighed his options, he found himself drawn more and more to the criminal path. The allure of freedom and the potential for lucrative deals overshadowed the constraints of guild life or any other legitimate occupation. He was no stranger to risk, and the potential rewards were too great to ignore.
This plan was a gamble—there was no denying that—but he had faced worse odds before. In his previous life, he had learned the value of adaptability and resourcefulness. Now, with a second chance at life and a unique set of abilities, he was determined to rise above his circumstances and carve out a place for himself in this dangerous new world.
The first step was to connect with the criminal underworld, preferably by starting with small-time crime bosses in his vicinity. Establishing a foothold there would provide the stepping stone he needed to climb higher.
Hmm.... This sensation.....
As Rion mused over his options, a peculiar sensation rippled through his arm muscles, like a subtle electric charge. This slight tingle brought with it the realization that his range of mobility had increased.
He flexed his fingers experimentally, noting the increased responsiveness. The movement was smoother now, more natural, less like he was fighting against the body's inherent limitations. It was a small victory, but in his situation, small victories were to be celebrated..
His current demeanor was a seamless blend of his chuzkah and human personas, a melding of two very different beings. But there was a notable distinction—his chuzkah traits, which were more mature and sophisticated, often overshadowed his relatively undeveloped human characteristics.
This disparity wasn't just in personality; it extended to his physical form as well. The different body structure, coupled with the divergence in core values and instincts, posed a significant challenge, making it harder for him to manipulate this body with the same finesse he had in his human form.
It was like trying to drive a car with a different set of controls; it took time to get used to, and even more time to master.
But he was nothing if not patient. He guessed that gaining full control of this body was only a matter of time. Given that he had the memories of perfectly controlling this form, all he had to do was retrain his mind on how to direct it.
Anticipating the restoration of his complete mobility, Rion envisioned the next steps in his journey. With a plan of action already settled, he planned to start practicing combat strategies from his previous world as soon as physically possible, adapting them to this new body.
The Chuzkah civilization he hailed from was far more advanced than this world, and its training regimens and combat techniques were a product of thousands of years of evolution and refinement.
Even though he was just a low level street rat who had to rely on scavenging daily to survive, he had a large wealth of knowledge on combat and other related fields. This proficiency was cultivated partly due to the perilous environment of Moon Shadow Village, where one had to learn how to start a fight or end one quickly.
Those without this valuable skill quickly lost their possessions, or worse, to the unforgiving denizens. The memories of that life might be dark, but they had shaped him into someone who knew how to fight, how to survive, and how to win.
Furthermore, every chuzkah on planet Macipher was mandated to attend a free three-cycle education course. This basic training covered a wide array of subjects such as metallurgy, history, and combat, but only at a surface level.
Students were taught the basics of metallurgy—how to identify different metals, how to assess their quality, how to work with them to create simple tools and weapons.
History lessons emphasized the evolution of conflict resolution techniques, from ancient ritual combat to modern diplomacy, with a particular focus on the strategies that had proven most effective throughout chuzkah civilization.
Combat training was comprehensive, covering everything from hand-to-hand techniques to the use of standard-issue energy weapons, with an emphasis on adaptability and improvisation.
The education plan had been designed to provide just enough knowledge for citizens to take care of themselves without delving too deeply into any one area.
Of course, this seemingly free education wasn't just about academic enrichment; it was a crucial preparation for defending their planet against potential conflicts with other pioneers. While open warfare was rare, border disputes and resource conflicts were common across most settlements. In times of crisis, these pseudo-educated citizens could serve as invaluable backup, ready to step in if the official army faced unexpected challenges or setbacks.
Although adapting the combat techniques to his current form would be a challenge, the potential for growth and strength was worth the extra time and effort. His new body might be different, but the principles of combat remained the same. Speed, precision, and cunning—these were the tools that had kept him alive, and they would do so again.
After all, cultivators at my current stage are not particularly formidable and are often weaker than well-trained baseline humans, Rion though as he wiggled his fingers. He could feel the strength returning to his muscles, the sharpness to his mind. It was like waking up from a long sleep, with every fiber of his being slowly coming back to life.
But getting control over his body was merely the initial phase of his plan. His most valuable possession was the wealth of advanced knowledge he held. However, to effectively utilize his technological prowess in this new world, he first needed to grasp the local science and technology thoroughly.
After all, no matter how many theories he had grasped or the number of blueprints that were stored in his mental library, they ultimately originated from a world that operated on completely different principles. The fundamental principles of physics might be universal, but they most certainly not interdimensional.
What worked on Macipher might not work here, or might work differently. Materials that were commonplace in his home world might be rare or non-existent in this one. Energy sources that he had taken for granted might be unavailable, requiring substitutes or workarounds. To successfully integrate his expertise into this new domain, he would have to immerse himself in the study of this world's unique scientific progress and tailor his knowledge accordingly.
Fortunately, his enrollment in the mechanic college provided an excellent cover and a convenient platform for the in-depth study of materials and resources available. After all, what better environment to enhance his understanding than a place dedicated to the very subject he aimed to master?
The college was a treasure trove of information, filled with books, equipment, and, more importantly, people who understood the mechanics of this world in ways Rion did not—yet.
The classes would be an opportunity to learn, to observe, and to experiment with the local technology. But more than that, it was a place where he could blend in, since no one would look twice at a student tinkering with machines or conducting experiments. He would be able to experiment with local materials, to test theories and refine techniques under the guise of academic curiosity. He would be able to make mistakes—within reason—without arousing suspicion, as experimentation and failure were natural parts of the learning process.
The more he learned, the better he could apply his knowledge, and the more he could better integrate his knowledge into this world's framework.
The challenges would be immense, the risks high, but the rewards… The rewards were something worth fighting for.
The future… promised to be rather interesting.
'And incredibly tiring,' he mused with a wry smile.