"Geh, at least give me a day to prepare!"

The door to the Adventurer's Guild remained shut even as Lokim complained. Gerald really had no intention of letting him back in. 

The shapeshifter was sent out with nothing else besides the clothes on his back—and his charming mien. At least the latter was part of the Lokim package. That wasn't going anywhere. 

"Ah, well fuck you too."

Picking himself up, Lokim groggily started to wander the streets of Grosnask. 

The city had its own appeal to it, being one of Arcadia's most populated settlements. While consisting primarily of humans, there was some variety, given the fact that elves and dwarves were given free rein to traverse the bustling streets. 

"Heh. That wouldn't have flown half a century ago."

The difference in the way the races treated each other today and a hundred years ago was like night and day. While it most likely just shifted to subtlety instead of blatant discrimination, it was still a breath of fresh air compared to what Lokim knew. 

Everywhere Lokim looked, there were races of all kinds going about their days. Some were busy ordering their produce from the dozens of stalls around, some were simply browsing, and some took their time touring Grosnask's endless streets. 

Grosnask had a reputation as being the most "newbie friendly" out of all the cities. This was primarily due to the low monster population in the surrounding plains. The few aggressive beasts never were stronger than the direwolves that prowled the woods. 

It was perfect for new adventurers who were looking to get a hang of battling against beasts and carrying out their contracts. Their experience was what would ultimately carry them through their hardest struggles. 

"I'm kinda hungry." 

Lokim noted the grumbling his stomach was emitting. While being a God-born meant he could survive simply by feeding on the energy in the air, whether it be mana or divinity, he still longed for earthly pleasures. 

The centuries he had spent on Arcadia had mostly been put to trying its various cuisines and doing the occasional contract in order to purchase said foods. By now, his stomach had essentially molded itself to want only Arcadian foods. 

It wasn't long before Lokim spotted his first meal of the day. Right off the side of the street stood a stall, where a fruit salesman made shop. "Fresh fruit of the day!" he shouted, trying to grab the attention of passersby. 

All sorts of fruit had been stocked on the shelves, from the common apples and pears to the more uncommon mana fruits. The stall boasted a wide variety of choices—although all of them were produce. 

"Slow day today?" He asked. 

"Pretty slow, yes," The salesman replied. "I don't understand, the quality today is exceptional. We're directly in the middle of the harvest season."

"Guess that's just how it is." 

As the shopkeeper was focused on Lokim, the shapeshifter slowly brought his hands closer to a lone apple that was displayed on one of the racks that held the fruits. 

Then, without wasting a single moment, he nabbed the apple and ran off. 

The salesman shouted. "Thief! Get that thief! He stole an apple!"

"Whoa, he sure noticed it fast. No matter."

In response to the salesman's pleas for help, a familiar bell rang throughout the area, signaling the arrival of the district guard. 

Lokim was no stranger to the melody. To discourage shoplifting and any manner of crime in Grognask, the city officials had each and every salesman implement an alarm in their shops. With the press of a button, the district guards would be notified, and the closest who were on patrol would immediately come. 

The shapeshifter enjoyed the occasional chase from the guards as a hobby. The adrenaline and joy he obtained from it warranted the infamy he gained with each stunt. 

Lokim weaved through the streets with ease, shuffling through the crowds of people. He knew the streets like the back of his hand—every corner, every turn, and every alley was clearly implanted in his head.

But it didn't take long before the district guard were on his heels. Thanks to their attack hounds—Cerberus who were domestically trained—they were able to follow after even the most elusive thieves by simply pursuing their scent. 

Unfortunately for them, however, Lokim was no ordinary rascal. He was a divinely-chosen rascal. 

As the barks of the attack hounds grew closer and louder, Lokim took the opportunity to mess around a little bit. The moment he reached a fork in the road, he purposely made a hard left. 

He continued onward for a few seconds, suddenly stopping once he neared an alleyway. Then, as if to announce his presence to all the sharp-scented lifeforms in the vicinity, he began to dance in an exaggerated way. 

His arms seemed to follow a routine. One moment, they were swinging great distances as he flung them in the air, the next he was tapping his feet on the ground rapidly. 

Lokim did his best to emphasize the absurdity of the act he was performing. Every movement of his dance carried a subtle elegance, despite looking and feeling barbaric to see. As he finished, Lokim made sure to really lean into the overemphasized nature of his maneuvers, ending the whole thing with a giant leap, into a graceful pose. 

Just as he finished, the barking of the hounds began to enclose on his location. With a few seconds to spare, Lokim activated his ability. 

In an instant, his body shifted to become that of a frail little girl. He had shrunk to half of his original size, and the clothes he was wearing had been changed into worn-out rags that looked to be on the border of tearing completely. 

And almost as if on cue, the figures of three district guards accompanied by their hounds, came into view. They were visibly tired from the chase, huffing in exhaustion. 

"Where did he go?!" One shouted. 

"I don't know! The hounds definitely had a lead on his scent." Another replied. 

"Dammit. Maybe he managed to hide his scent by hiding in the crowds?" The third suggested. 

"That's impossible," The first replied. "The moment the hounds smell their scent, they won't forget it."

"Tch. We lost him, then." The second said, "There's only a little brat here. Let's go."

Throughout the entire conversation, Lokim made sure to act as terrified as possible. He shifted his mannerisms to embody how an orphan would act—shy and afraid. 

It seemed to work fine in the end. As soon as the guards confirmed that Lokim was nowhere to be seen, they took off in a different direction, pinning their hopes on catching him somewhat.

"Gehe." Lokim laughed smugly. "Another win for me." 

All that could be heard from the alley was the rhythmic chomping on an apple. After a few minutes, Lokim came out, already back in his original form. Only the core of the apple he had ate was left in the alley. It was all that served as evidence that he was ever there. 

"You'd think the guards would be more wary. Guess the crimes I've committed aren't enough of a wake-up alarm."

"Now then, where to next? I've got until tomorrow before the Hero's Party arrives in Grognask."

Although they had lost one of their party members, the Hero was bound by an oath that he had to fulfill—said oath being the death of the Demon Lord. That meant that even if all of his party members ceased to exist, he had to continue the journey. 

And it just so happened that the next leg of their journey was the city Lokim resided in. Quite frankly, it was perfect. 

"Guess I'll pay a visit to an old friend. He should be able to stock me up on some goods."

In Grognask, and pretty much any other large settlement in Arcadia, connections were a vital part to survival. If one couldn't find the means to keep themselves afloat, it was always good to have someone to rely on. Or someone to owe a debt to.

Thankfully for Lokim, the friend in question was of the former.