《The Eternal Reset》 Chapter 1: A Strangers Sword "If you want peace, then prepare for war!" the Eternal Emperor declared, his voice thundering across the grand courtyard. "Stand up for me as I have stood up for you! My blood, my strength, my very life, I dedicate all for the glory and unity of our Empire. I call upon you now, champions of our divine cause, to rise in a Holy War! Let your hearts burn with righteous fury! Rise together as an unstoppable force! The gods have ordained this sacred struggle and bestowed their blessings upon us. Through our unity, faith, and unwavering resolve, we shall strike down this looming evil and remind the world that the Central Continent remains unbroken, unyielding, and eternal! Let this day echo through history! Let our enemy tremble at the might of the Central Continent, united under one will¡ªmy will! For the Empire! For glory eternal! For victory!"
Albrecht jerked awake, his heart hammering against his ribs as the sharp thud of metal embedding into wood resonated through him. He blinked rapidly, disoriented, eyes widening at the scene before him. "Did you not hear me, barkeep? We want mana beer, not that watered-down piss you serve!" The loud voice came from a bulky man across the counter. A wicked grin stretched across his scarred face as he stared at Albrecht. The knife he had just driven into the wood was tightly gripped in his hand. The man''s breath reeked of alcohol, sharp and sour, making Albrecht even more uncomfortable. He had no idea where he was, how he''d gotten here, or why this man was threatening him. He glanced around frantically, taking in the rough wooden beams, flickering torches, and worn tables scattered across the room. Albrecht''s thoughts spiraled, his chest tightening as he clutched the counter for stability. Every sound and smell felt too sharp to be a mere hallucination. Yet nothing about this made sense. The man in front of the bar slammed his fist on the counter. He had to say something, anything. "I-I''m sorry, but I can''t help you," Albrecht stammered, his voice trembling. The other two men beside the bulky one laughed, one of them already helping himself to a handful of bread from a nearby basket. But Albrecht''s mind was elsewhere, still reeling as he took in his surroundings. Behind him stood a shelf lined with even more bottles, while in front of him sprawled a large, dimly lit room. ''This place doesn''t look like earth, more like some kind of medieval tavern¡­ or inn,'' he thought, his gaze darting around. Judging by his position behind the bar and the expectant looks from the men, he seemed to be the owner or bartender. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work. Suddenly, a hand shot out, grabbing Albrecht by the neck. His heart raced as he felt himself dragged forward across the counter. "You dare mock me, innkeeper?" the man growled. "I said we want mana beer. Either you bring it, or we''ll start smashing things until we find it ourselves." Behind him, one of his companions effortlessly hurled a wooden table against the wall, causing it to shatter into splinters. Albrecht''s breath caught in his throat. ''Impossible,'' he thought, his mind racing. ''No human can throw a table like that.'' Just as the leader''s grip tightened around his neck, a sharp voice cut through the tension like a blade. "I came for a drink and place to rest, not to watch drunken fools destroy a tavern." The grip on Reinhard''s neck loosened, and the three drunkards turned around. An old man with gray hair and beard stood by the door, leaning on a simple wooden staff. His cloak was tattered, and his boots were worn. As the three thugs walked toward the old man, Albrecht''s eyes darted to the swords strapped across their backs. The way they moved, confident and dangerous, made his stomach ache. His thoughts raced, and he grasped for something, anything, to make sense of the situation. He felt a cold, creeping dread. Sweat trickled down his forehead. ''I''m screwed¡­ totally screwed.'' he thought. The gangster''s drunken breath still hung in the air. Their weapons were raised as they stood in the middle of the room, just between him and the old man near the Inn''s entrance. Albrecht''s pulse pounded in his ears. For a fleeting moment, everything seemed frozen, the world caught in the stillness of anticipation. Then something happened. A flash. A thin glint of golden light cut through the air so fast it was almost imperceptible. The room seemed to hold its breath, the moment suspended like a fragile thread about to snap. Then, a dull thud echoed across the room before Albrecht could register what had happened. Three heads hit the floor, trailing blood that splattered across the wooden boards and floor. Their bodies remained standing for a heartbeat longer, swaying unnaturally before crumpling like broken puppets. Albrecht hadn''t even seen the sword that beheaded them. The old man suddenly stood almost in front of Albrecht. A faint golden shimmer danced along the edge of his blade before vanishing entirely. The silence that followed was suffocating. Albrecht couldn''t speak. His legs felt rooted to the floor, his heart beating uncontrollably. ''H-he just killed them¡­'' His body was paralyzed, but not from fear alone. Something else rooted him to the floor. A quiet, horrified awe. The clean precision. The silence that followed. The way the blood fanned out across the floorboards like a red blossom. It should have disgusted him. But instead¡­ he just watched the heads rolling across the floor. Not with excitement. Not with joy. Just sharp, deliberate focus. Like a child, watching something forbidden for the first time. When the old man stepped further forward, his movements were slow and deliberate. His boots barely made a sound against the wooden planks. "You must be the new owner." His voice was calm, too calm. "Apologies for the mess." His gaze drifted down to the corpses with no more concern than one might spare for spilled wine. Albrecht could only stare, his mind scrambling for a response that wouldn''t get him killed. The old man, no, this killer, lifted his head, studying him with unsettling eyes. Chapter 2: Thereon Snowstride "My name is Thereon Snowstride, and I fought with your father in Lunaris. I am sorry for your loss." The words should have meant something. They should have stirred some connection to this world Albrecht had found himself in. But all they did was cement the cold weight of dread in his stomach. He wasn''t the man Thereon thought he was. And if that fact came to light¡­ Thereon exhaled as he sheathed his sword. The golden letters etched into the blade shimmered briefly before vanishing beneath the scabbard. He continued to study Albrecht, his sharp eyes missing nothing. Then, almost as an afterthought, he asked: "Did you not receive Vance''s letter? I assumed you already knew, but judging by that expression, I take it you never got it." Albrecht forced his face into something resembling composure. ''Think. Don''t act lost. Don''t let him suspect.'' His heart was still pounding, but he straightened his posture, willing himself to breathe evenly. If Thereon was dangerous enough to kill three men in the blink of an eye, Albrecht needed to handle this carefully. A single misstep could be fatal. "Yes, you''re right," he said at last, forcing a steadier tone. "I never got the letter. What happened to him?" It was the safest response he could think of. A son should want to know about his father''s death. If he played this right, he might learn enough to survive whatever he had been thrown into. Thereon watched him for a moment longer, as if weighing something, then nodded. "Of course," he said, his voice softer now. "Let''s talk, kid." Thereon sat down in the chair one of the dead thugs had been using. He shrugged off his coat, revealing a build that was still solid with muscle despite his years. Then he began to speak. "Your father, Vance, died roughly 1 month ago. He was fighting against the rebelling dwarfs at Lunaris. He was fulfilling his duty as a mage of Valoria. From what I could gather, they were only a small force of around 50 men to crush a simple uprising. No real Valorian army, no high-ranking commanders. Just your father and a handful of mercenaries meant to put down a rebellion." Albrecht swallowed his unease and slid a mug of beer across the counter. His hands trembled slightly, but he kept listening. "They must have assumed that it would be an easy victory. But the dwarves had a trump card: an exiled group of dragons." Albrecht''s heart skipped a beat. "Dragons?" He tried not to sound too shocked, but the very idea of it felt impossible. Thereon let out a tired chuckle, shaking his head. "Not the big ones you hear about in legends, but dangerous enough. Green-scaled, sharp-eyed, and smart. They weren''t supposed to be there, but somehow, the rebels must have convinced them to fight." Albrecht''s grip on the counter tightened. Dragons. Mages. A whole fantasy battlefield. This was nothing like the world he knew. "The mercenaries weren''t hired to fight dragons," Thereon continued. "Most of them ran. Can''t say I blame them. They signed up to put down a rebellion, not face a bunch of fire-breathing lizards." If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. "What happened next?" "Your father was a mage of Valoria. That meant he served at the Emperor''s pleasure. He wasn''t forbidden from using his magic, but he needed permission." Albrecht narrowed his eyes. "Permission? Even in battle?" Thereon gave a slow, knowing nod. "That''s how it works for Valorian battle mages. Their magic is an extension of the Emperor''s power. It''s not just a rule. The emperor restricts them from using magic with his or, in most cases, borrowed authority." He further added: "The battlefield showed no traces of human magic, so as far as I can tell, he was never allowed to use his magic. He was killed without putting up a fight." "But why would the emperor do that?" Thereon exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. "Impossible to say for sure. Maybe the Emperor simply wanted him dead. Maybe there was a deal with the dwarves. Or maybe there''s something else we don''t know about." Albrecht forced himself to stay composed, but the thought of dragons, mages, swordsmen, and some kind of conspiracy was simply overwhelming. Also, the relationship between Vance, this body''s father, and Thereon was unclear. ''Were they comrades? Friends? Rivals?'' he thought. Whatever they had been to each other, Thereon seemed to trust him, or at least trust who he thought he was. And maybe, just maybe, Albrecht should trust him in return. He took a quiet breath and finally spoke. "Could I¡­ learn from you?" His voice came out steadier than he felt. "My father never taught me magic. We didn''t see each other much, especially in the last few years." Thereon watched him with unreadable eyes. Albrecht tried not to shift under the scrutiny, but the silence stretched unbearably long. He forced himself to stay still, even as nerves twisted in his gut. Then, at last, Thereon exhaled and spoke. "Are you sure you want someone like me teaching you?" His tone was calm, but there was something heavy beneath the words. "I won''t pretend to know what your father had in mind for you¡­ but if he wanted you to be a mage, then perhaps you should study at a magic academy." He straightened slightly, his sharp gaze lingering on Albrecht. "I''m a Swordman, so I can only offer swordsmanship. Maybe a few elementary spells. Nothing more. You should definitely think about it before making the decision. I will stay until tomorrow." Albrecht didn''t expect to be disappointed by this. In fact, Therion''s desire to teach him was good news. But he had actually hoped to learn magic, maybe because of books he had read on Earth or the story about Vance. On the other hand, the thought of one''s own magic being restricted didn''t sound that great. He had no one else. And Thereon seemed strong, even if Albrecht could only compare him to the three thugs he effortlessly killed. Compared to Earth, Thereon would obviously be something like a superhuman. So Reinhard couldn''t afford to be picky. "Thank you, Thereon. I''ll think about it. Also, you can have the best room. It''s the least I can do after you saved my life." Thereon nodded. "That will do." Albrecht exhaled quietly, masking his relief. Thereon stood up, stretching slightly before stepping toward the door. "I''ll be back this evening. Think it over, Albrecht." Albrecht stiffened. That name. ''It can''t be a coincidence that my name here is the same as on Earth.'' As the old man stepped out, the door creaked shut behind him, but Albrecht barely noticed. His thoughts swirled. A ripple of unease crawled through him, mixing with the countless unanswered questions clawing at his mind. ''Is this some kind of reincarnation? A cruel trick? The afterlife?'' He didn''t know. But he was determined to find out. Outside, dawn was breaking, golden light spilling through the tavern shutters in soft, scattered beams. It should have felt comforting. But It didn''t. Albrecht exhaled slowly, rubbing the back of his neck, his gaze drifting to the bloodstains still streaking the wooden floor, along with the dead bodies. The day stretched ahead of him, directionless, uncertain. He had no roadmap, no guide to this world. For now, all he could do was move forward. And hope that trusting Thereon wasn''t a mistake. Chapter 3: Vaelmont Albrecht took a deep breath, stepping out from behind the bar. His hands trailed along the counter''s edge, its surface nicked and worn from years of service. For the first time since waking in this strange world, he had a moment to gather his thoughts. The inn was constructed almost entirely of old, sturdy wood. Its design was simple but functional. At the back of the room stood a well-stocked bar, its shelves lined with dusty bottles of varying shapes and sizes. To the left of the bar, a door led somewhere else¡ªlikely the kitchen. Albrecht made a mental note to explore it later. The main room itself was split into two levels. The bar area was slightly elevated above the rest of the space. Flanked by modest railings, a short set of steps led down to the eating area, where four tables were scattered. There were three small, square tables with seating for four. The fourth, a larger, rectangular table, had been smashed against the wall by one of the thugs. Now, though, every chair sat empty, and the air still carried a faint metallic tang of blood. As he moved toward the entrance, Albrecht tried his best to ignore the dead bodies lying on the ground. Instead, he looked at another door near the front leading upward. It seemed to spiral toward a second floor, likely the sleeping quarters for guests. He also noticed a small, non-lit fireplace on the right side. The inn wasn''t large, but it was well laid out ¡ª structurally sound, easy to navigate, and defensible. Even in his disoriented state, Albrecht found himself noting the doorways, windows, and furniture positions like a general scanning a battlefield. Some habits of the mind didn''t need time to settle; they were just there. Reaching the entrance door, he paused and grabbed the closed sign. He then opened the door. What he saw was¡­ beautiful. Morning light spilled across the street, casting long, golden shadows against the weathered stone of the houses. Their wooden beams and slate roofs seemed to lean toward one another in a perfectly balanced way. A gentle breeze carried the faint scent of earth and baking bread, mingling with the muffled sound of distant wheels on cobblestones. Weirdly enough, the street itself was mostly empty. A lone horse-drawn carriage was rattling lazily along. Clad in a brown hooded cloak, its driver hummed a low tune as he passed. Only Here and there, a few figures moved across the street, dressed in cloaks of varying lengths. Many passersby carried weapons openly: swords, axes, and bows glinting faintly in the early sunlight. Albrecht''s eyes caught on one particular individual, a robed figure leaning heavily on a staff capped with a glowing blue orb. The faint shimmer of the orb''s light hinted at magic, and Albrecht''s chest tightened at the sight. He exhaled slowly, his breath visible in the crisp morning air, and took a hesitant step onto the cobblestones. The world felt alive in a way he hadn''t anticipated. Every sight and sound seemed amplified, bursting with a vibrancy he hadn''t experienced in a while despite the street being mostly empty. A nagging thought pushed its way to the forefront of his mind. Since waking up in this world, Albrecht had sensed that something was different¡ªnot dramatically so, but enough to stir his curiosity. He felt an urgent need to see himself. His hands, in particular, caught his attention. They looked the same at a short glance but bore faint scars that hadn''t been there before. Thin lines etched across his knuckles and palms like remnants of a life he hadn''t lived. Without a mirror nearby, he turned to the next best thing. A shallow puddle near the door of a clothing store caught his eye, its surface rippling slightly in the morning breeze. He walked over and crouched beside it. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. The face staring back at him was unmistakably his. The same sharp features, icy blue eyes, vivid and intense. Just like he''d always known. But his hair... Back on Earth, his hair was a plain shade of brown, unremarkable and easy to overlook. Now, it was a striking white blonde, short and neatly cropped, catching the morning light in a way that made it almost luminescent. He ran a hand through it, feeling the soft strands slide between his fingers. The color was so different, yet the texture was familiar. For a brief moment, he let out a breath of relief. But his clothes were completely different, a stark contrast to anything he would have worn on Earth. He was dressed in a simple yet well-kept innkeeper''s attire, practical for long hours of work. A dark brown, long-sleeved tunic made of fabric fit snugly over his shoulders, the sleeves rolled up just past his wrists. Over it, he wore a sleeveless, earth-toned vest, slightly worn but tailored well, giving him an air of someone accustomed to managing a business rather than fighting. His trousers were thick and a simple shade of gray, ending just above his leather boots. Around his waist, a simple leather belt secured a small and empty pouch. At least he hadn''t been completely transformed; he was still himself in most ways that mattered. Albrecht straightened, his reflection rippling away as he moved. The change in his hair color was unsettling but not as concerning as the scars on his hands. This world had altered him, but to what end? He stuffed his hands into his robe pockets, feeling the rough fabric against his skin. "Excuse me, sir. Are you looking for new clothes?" A soft voice startled Albrecht, pulling him away from his thoughts. He turned toward its source and found a young woman standing in the doorway of the clothing shop, just steps away from the puddle he''d been using as a makeshift mirror. Her long, wavy hair shimmered in the morning light, shifting between deep blue and soft lavender hues as it moved with the breeze. Her curious eyes, framed by delicate features, studied him with polite interest. Albrecht''s heart skipped a beat, caught off guard by her sudden appearance and strikingly unusual hair. Realizing he hadn''t responded yet, he cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh¡­ yeah. Sure," he stammered, his voice coming out higher than usual. "I was just about to come in." Embarrassment crept up his neck, his cheeks warming as he realized how odd he must have looked, crouching over a puddle, staring at his own reflection. Was he supposed to explain that? No, probably better not to. The young woman tilted her head slightly, an amused smile tugging at her lips, but she didn''t press the matter. She looked about his age, around 17 like himself, and her expression softened as she stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter. "Well then, come on in. Let me know if you need anything," she said, her voice was very kind. Albrecht nodded, muttering a quick "Thanks." He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing a bit. Albrecht stepped into the shop, his boots clicking softly against the wooden floor. The interior was cozy but cluttered, with racks of clothing and shelves stacked with bolts of fabric. The young woman followed him inside, her movements graceful and unhurried. She stopped near a marble counter and turned to face him, her curious expression shifting into a warm smile. "You looked like you were lost out there. I didn''t mean to startle you," she said. Albrecht scratched the back of his neck, feeling the heat return to his cheeks. He said: "It''s fine, I¡­uh, guess I''ve just got a lot on my mind." Her smile widened. She asked: "Are you new in Vaelmont?" Albrecht hesitated, turning the statement over in his mind. The inn belonged to his father¡ªor rather, his father of this world. He thought about how Thereon knew his father, Vance, but not him. And this girl didn''t seem to recognize him either, despite the inn being just across the street. Shaking off the thoughts, he refocused, determined not to make the moment more awkward than it already was. "You could say that," he answered, forcing a small but nervous laugh. The woman chuckled softly, clearly amused by him. "I''m Isla, by the way. My family owns this shop. We sell clothing and some enchanted accessories." She offered Albrecht a hand. He hesitated for a split second before shaking it. "My name is Albrecht. I''m just passing by this town for travel." "Ah, I see. It''s nice to meet you." Isla let go of his hand and gestured toward a rack of simple tunics and cloaks. "Let me know if you need anything. We also do tailor-made clothes." Albrecht smiled faintly, her kindness easing some of the tension he hadn''t realized he was carrying. "There''s something I''ve been meaning to ask¡ªis it always this quiet around here at this hour?" "No, the Central Continents Special Affairs Division is searching the whole town. They are saying that some dangerous criminal is hiding in Vaelmont. They even searched my parent''s house a few streets away. They just barged in without warning¡­" "I see. Sorry to hear that." Albrecht responded. Chapter 4: No Way Home He slowly moved through the different sections of the shop. Most of the clothing seemed practical yet elegant¡ªthe kind of fashion one would expect in a magical world like this. From what he saw in documentaries and movies, it reminded him very much of medieval times on earth. He kept strolling and suddenly noticed that he didn''t have any money with him. In fact, he had no idea what currency was used. He realized how foolish he had been. At that moment, Albrecht began to understand the gravity of his situation. Stranded in another world, knowing almost nobody and having no way home. He didn''t even know if he had died on Earth¡ªand what would happen to his little sister, Nora. Their parents were dead, and their Uncle didn''t care about them. He was the only person his sister could rely on. ''Dammit!'' he thought, angry with himself. The whole idea of a magical world made him excited without properly thinking about the consequences. He clenched his fists and thought about what to do next. Ideally, he would learn magic immediately, but he didn''t know anyone who could teach him. That meant he would have to stick with Thereon, someone who could at least teach him Swordsmanship. After that, he just had to find an opportunity to learn magic. With that thought, an idea began forming in his head. The old man told him about Vance using powerful magic to kill dragons. If something like that was possible, then surely magic capable of bringing him home existed. The resolve settled in his chest like a steady flame. For now, he had to rely on the old swordsman. But beyond that, Albrecht promised himself he would do whatever it took to master this world and return to his little Sister. After coming to that conclusion, he kept glancing around the shop for a bit before turning back to Isla. She was still seated by the entrance, reading something that looked like a newspaper. "Excuse me," he began, his voice steady despite the swirl of emotions inside him. She glanced up, and her curious gaze met his. "Need help finding something?" "Actually¡­ yes," Albrecht said, scratching the back of his neck. "I was wondering if you could help me with some clothes. Something practical for a swordsman." Isla tilted her head, intrigued by him. "Are you trained in the sword?" "Not yet," Albrecht admitted with a faint smile. "But I''m hoping to learn. And if I''m going to train, I''ll need the right outfit. Something durable but flexible." She nodded thoughtfully, already standing and moving toward a rack of fabrics. "I can make you something. We''ll need to take measurements first, but I can customize it however you''d like." Albrecht hesitated before adding, "About payment¡­ I don''t have anything on me right now. But I run the inn across the street and promise to pay you back as soon as possible." Isla paused, then smiled warmly. "Think nothing of it. You seem honest enough. Besides, a swordsman must be clad accordingly." Albrecht forced a small, grateful nod, but a dull weight settled in his chest. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. Honest? If only she knew. The truth was, he wasn''t planning on staying. As soon as Thereon left, he''d be gone too. There was no way he''d ever pay her back. The thought made his stomach twist. It wasn''t like he wanted to take advantage of her kindness, but what choice did he have? He had nothing, not even the faintest clue of how this world worked. The moment he found a way home, he''d leave this world behind, along with everything and everyone in it. And yet, she had trusted him. She led him to the back of the shop, where fabric rolls were neatly stacked and tailoring tools lined the wooden workbench in meticulous order. As Isla worked, carefully taking his measurements and jotting down notes, he allowed himself a rare moment of stillness. It had only been one or two hours since he woke in this world, yet it felt like a lifetime had passed. The awe of witnessing swordsmanship, hearing about magic, the unease of being stranded in a place so unfamiliar, the nagging fear for his sister back home, each emotion had struck him like waves crashing in succession, leaving him adrift in uncertainty. "You should be all set," Isla finally said, stepping back with a satisfied nod. "You can pick it up in the evening. I''ll make sure it''s sturdy and comfortable." She hesitated momentarily before adding, "My mother can cast some protection spells on it." There was pride in her voice, especially when she mentioned her mother''s magic. It was subtle, but Albrecht caught it. ''So maybe magic isn''t something everyone can use,'' Albrecht thought. Thereon''That explains why most people still rely on weapons¡­ maybe it''s for the best that Thereonis teaching me swordsmanship.'' With a final polite nod, he stepped out of the shop and into the streets of Vaelmont, leaving behind the warmth of the tailor''s shop for the unknown stretch of the town before him. The sun had risen higher, casting crisp shadows along the cobblestone streets. The air carried a mix of baking bread, burning coal, and faint traces of damp stone, the unmistakable scent of a town slowly coming to life. Albrecht took a deep breath. ''I should start exploring the town.'' His mind immediately countered. ''No¡ªfirst, I need to clean up the mess. In case they search the Inn for that criminal. I''m sure three dead bodies wouldn''t look that good.'' He turned his gaze toward the wooden building across the street, its sign swaying gently in the breeze. The inn. The windows were mercifully high, shielding the gruesome scene inside from prying eyes. Otherwise, anyone walking past would have seen the bloodstained floor, the shattered furniture, and the lifeless bodies that Thereon had left behind. The thought unsettled him. Albrecht wasn''t horrified, at least not in the way he knew he expected to be. Instead, a strange sense of detachment settled over him as though his mind had already begun normalizing the brutality of this world. ''I should be disgusted.'' But he wasn''t. At least not in the way he expected. Instead, his mind was already strategizing. Disposal, concealment, fallback explanations. Everything about the cleanup felt less like horror and more like solving a grim equation. He grabbed a mop from a side closet and began scrubbing the floorboards. The rhythmic motion was comforting, almost mindless. He had done this before, not with blood, but with grease, dust, and spilled drinks back on Earth. Mopping floors had been his part-time job after school. Albrecht glanced at the bodies where they had fallen. Three corpses, yet he felt no sense of urgency. No racing heart, no nausea. Just the lingering problem of disposal. ''On Earth, I''d be worrying about forensic luminol or blood spatter analysis.'' But this wasn''t Earth. No UV light, no chemical tests, and no police officers trained to read bloodstains like a book. But there was magic. ''Shit. Is there a spell for detecting blood?'' If there was, it meant cleaning wasn''t enough. He had to get rid of everything¡ªthe bodies, the stains, even the scent of blood itself. His jaw tightened. He didn''t know the laws here but knew how this would play out back home. Self-defense had limits. Killing someone over a shattered table and drunken threats would land you in prison. Yet Thereon had decapitated them without hesitation. No trial, no questions¡ªjust absolute force. ''This world has rules. Maybe different ones, maybe twisted. But rules can be learned. And anything that can be learned... can be mastered.'' Albrecht exhaled through his nose. It didn''t matter. Even if he planned to leave with Thereon the next day, being hunted for murder wouldn''t help him get back to Earth. It wouldn''t help him in returning to his sister. And so, he got to work. Chapter 5: Smoke and Silence Albrecht scanned the room, his mind shifting into problem-solving mode. There was no back door, no easy way to drag the bodies out without someone seeing. ''If I can''t take them outside, I need to make them disappear here.'' His gaze flickered to the fireplace to his left, unlit and barely used. Small, but big enough to start something. ''Not ideal, but it''ll have to do.'' He moved quickly, grabbing a burlap sack from beneath the bar and shaking out the old, rotting vegetables inside. Then, one by one, he stuffed the corpses inside, their limbs folding awkwardly, already stiffening from death. Albrecht reached for a bottle behind the bar, uncorking a high-proof spirit. He poured the liquid over the logs in the fireplace, letting the alcohol seep deep into the wood. Next, he gathered the thickest cloth he could find, wrapped his hand, and grabbed a burning candle from the bar counter. ''Here goes nothing.'' He dropped the flame. The fire erupted instantly, climbing the logs hotter and faster than a normal flame thanks to the alcohol. Thick smoke curled toward the ceiling, the scent sharp and acrid. Albrecht wasted no time. The bodies went in one by one, burlap sacks and all. The first body hit the flames with a dull thud, and Albrecht forced himself to watch as the fire devoured it, licking at the fabric, blackening flesh beneath. ''It''s not enough. Now it would be handy to know a fire spell¡­'' Bones didn''t burn easily. Cremation required extreme heat. A fireplace like this might not be enough. ''Or I just need something stronger.'' His eyes landed on a wooden barrel near the kitchen entrance. He opened the lid. It was Lye. A cleaning agent, soap ingredient¡­ and potential corpse disposal tool. He didn''t hesitate. Scooping a handful, he tossed the coarse white powder into the fire. The effect was immediate. The flames flared blue-white, burning hotter than before. The flesh blackened faster, and the bones cracked and softened under the heat. He added more. The flames raged, turning bone into brittle fragments and flesh into nothing but curling ash. For over an hour, Albrecht fed the fire, ensuring that by the end, nothing was left but white embers and scattered cinders. The bodies were gone, but there was still one last problem: the smell. Even with the windows cracked, the scent of burnt flesh and charred fabric lingered in the air. If someone walked in, they''d notice. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Albrecht moved quickly, grabbing another bottle of alcohol, this time, one infused with citrus and herbs. Pouring it into a kettle, he set it over the still-burning embers, letting the scent of rosemary, lemon peel, and spice fill the room. Within minutes, the stench of death faded, replaced by the comforting aroma of a warm, spiced drink. With one last look around, Albrecht stepped back. The tavern was clean. It smelled of herbs and burnt wood. And no one would ever know three men had died here. Albrecht washed his hands, scrubbing away the last flecks of soot and ash. He glanced down at them¡ªhis fingers steady. He had disposed of three bodies without flinching. No trembling. No hesitation. No guilt. If anything, he felt worse about scamming Isla than he did about watching three people die. ''Am I really this kind of person?'' Or had this world already begun to change him? With the tavern finally clean, Albrecht stepped outside. The crisp morning air was a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of the fire he had just used to erase three bodies. ''I need information. Maybe a map¡­'' Across the street, Isla''s clothing shop stood exactly as he left it. The main street stretched out to either side, lined with various shops and stalls, the architecture blending timber, stone, and metalwork. The town felt far more vibrant than it had in the early morning. The streets were now brimming with people. Many people were dressed like merchants, and a few carriages were pulled by horses over the cobblestone floor, seemingly carrying goods like fish and bread. Albrecht chose to head left from the inn, following a sign that read "Market Square." As he walked, the street gradually sloped downward, leading into a bustling marketplace. Two additional streets fed into the square from the left and right, merging with the lively scene. Beyond the marketplace, a river flowed between stone walls, separating this town section from another. A grand arched bridge spanned the water, linking the marketplace to a street on the opposite side that followed the river''s path. Small wooden boats bobbed along the edges, moored beside trading stalls and open-air cafes. This was a magical sight, literally. A performer captivated the crowd by performing magic, his hands weaving through the air as shimmering streams of water spiraled around him. With a graceful motion, he sent droplets soaring, where they froze midair, forming intricate crystalline shapes that sparkled under the morning sun. A flick of his fingers shattered them into a glittering snowfall, only for the ice to reform into a magnificent sculpture, a towering dragon of frost, before dissolving back into mist. With one final motion, he conjured a swirling vortex of water, splitting it into dancing orbs that floated around the onlookers before vanishing into thin air, leaving only a refreshing coolness behind. Albrecht stood before a blacksmith''s stall, his eyes scanning the weapons displayed on thick wooden racks. Swords, axes, lances, and daggers gleamed under the morning sun, their polished edges reflecting the flickering forge fire nearby. A worn sign nailed to the front of the stall advertised weapons for sale and repair service, with the blacksmith hammering away at an anvil behind the counter. His gaze drifted toward the price tags scratched onto small plaques. The cheapest sword, a simple iron blade with a leather-wrapped hilt, was listed at 14 silver coins. The more refined ones, decorated with engravings, hovered at around 50 silver coins. The most expensive one, a longsword with a faintly glowing edge, was priced at two gold coins. ''Weapons aren''t cheap.'' It was Albrecht''s first real glimpse at the world''s economy, and without money, he was at a severe disadvantage. Fortunately, he didn''t have to search far to find something even more valuable than a sword: information. Just behind the blacksmith stall, a small shop caught his eye. Unlike the open-air markets, this one was a proper stone-and-wood building with a carved wooden sign hanging above the entrance: "Wanderer''s Quill ¨C Bountys & Maps" ''Perfect.'' he thought, stepping inside. Chapter 6: Stolen Knowledge The interior was dim, lit only by a few oil lamps. There were no windows, giving the space a closed-in feeling. Shelves and racks lined every inch of the shop, some nearly overflowing with parchment, books, and scrolls stacked in chaos. Behind a wooden counter, an older man with thin spectacles sat at the back of the room, flipping through a small ledger. His posture seemed pretty relaxed as if he didn''t expect any business. A large bounty board stood near the entrance, its surface covered in aged parchment notices pinned in overlapping layers. Most were hunting requests for slaying wolves or bears, and some even for monsters like goblins. A few stood out among them: contracts not for creatures but for people. Mercenary work, high-risk assignments, offering many silver or even one or two gold coins for loyalty, discretion, or brute force. Some bore the seals of noble houses, others the marks of private guilds. But his gaze landed on a freshly posted wanted notice, the ink barely dried. The parchment was crisp, and the writing was precise and formal. [Wanted Notice] Name: Unknown Age: Estimated to be at least 50 years Appearance: Elegant Swordsman attire decorated with Valorian insignias. Silvery-gray hair and a well-groomed beard. Committed Crimes: Multiple Counts of Murder, Unlicensed Swordsmanship, Treason Bounty: 30 gold (Dead or Alive) Issued by: Central Continents Special Affairs Division Notice: This individual is highly dangerous. Any person found harboring, aiding, or withholding information regarding his whereabouts will be subject to immediate arrest, interrogation, or execution for conspiracy against the Central Continent. Those who provide reliable information leading to his capture will be rewarded accordingly and may be granted clemency for any prior offenses. [Wanted Notice] Albrecht adjusted his stance, rolling his shoulders slightly, easing into a casual posture before heading toward the counter. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was pretend everything was fine. He stopped before the shopkeeper, keeping his voice steady. "I''m just passing through and lost my map. How much for a new one?" The shopkeeper glanced up, his gaze lingering for a second before gesturing lazily toward a nearby wooden stand. "Most maps go for three silver coins," he said. "But if you''re planning to travel, I''d recommend the Roads of Valoria instead. It details the roads and settlements of Valoria, including Vaelmont, and much else of use to a traveler." Albrecht gave a thoughtful nod, pretending to weigh his options. "Mind if I take a look?" The shopkeeper barely glanced up, already sounding bored. "Very well, but don''t crease the pages." He sighed and waved a hand toward a nearby shelf stacked with travel guides. Albrecht nodded, stepping toward the shelf while subtly glancing back. The old man had already returned his attention to his ledger, flipping through its pages with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings. ''Good, he''s Distracted.'' The travel guides weren''t particularly thick, their leather-bound covers stacked neatly in rows. Instead of simply grabbing one, Albrecht slid out two, tucking one smoothly into the pouch clipped to his belt before pulling the other into plain view. Turning back toward the counter, he casually flipped through the pages, letting his eyes scan the text while keeping his expression neutral. Even from the first few lines, he could already tell this was worth having. The pages laid out territorial divisions, giving Albrecht a clearer understanding of where he was. The town of Vaelmont, his current location, belonged to the Kingdom of Valoria, a land of multiple towns and cities ruled from its capital, Valenheim. But Valoria itself was only a small part of a much greater domain. It was one of many territories under the Central Continent, an empire that spanned an entire landmass. Unlike Valoria, which governed itself internally, several cities were marked as directly controlled by imperial rule, suggesting that the empire held tighter authority over certain regions while allowing others a degree of autonomy. Turning the page, Albrecht came across a large, two-page spread, a detailed map that extended across the book''s spine. It depicted not only the Central Continent but also distant empires and independent regions, each separated by vast oceans. His eyes traveled north first to an imposing mountain range stretching across the upper section of another continent. Two notable locations were marked. One was a settlement named Frostveil, positioned in the western reaches of the mountains. It appeared to be one of the few places habitable in the frozen north. Further east, and deeper within the mountains, was a place called the Stronghold of the Swordsmen of the North. The book didn''t say whether it was a fortress, an independent order, or a remnant of some warrior tradition, leaving its purpose vague. Another site stood out beyond the mountains, far to the east: the Northern Magic Tower. It was marked alone, far removed from any surrounding cities or towns. Its placement suggested it was either meant to be isolated or protected by inhospitable terrain. Albrecht''s gaze shifted further south but still east across the map, where something caught his attention. The name Morgrek was written in bold letters, yet unlike the other regions, there was no further information. No towns, roads, or borders. Instead, a crude skull symbol sat beside its name, an ominous warning that spoke for itself. Closer to the Central Continent but still to the east was Sylvalis, a land labeled as an empire. However, unlike Valoria or other nations on the map, there were no markings for individual kingdoms or cities. The only thing present was a single enormous tree symbol at its center, labeled the World Tree. Whether Sylvalis truly lacked major settlements or if the map was incomplete remained unclear. Moving south, Albrecht noted the presence of several small, unnamed islands scattered in the southeast. There were no details about them, just empty ocean land patches. But to the southwest, something more significant stood out. A kingdom occupied a large island shaped like a crescent moon. It was labeled the Kingdom of Lunaris, and its unique geography resembled the celestial body it was named after. Albrecht studied the map carefully, taking in the names and territories, letting his mind piece together the world around him. He wasn''t just in a small kingdom. He was standing within an empire that was only a fragment of a much larger, more intricate world. Beyond the Central Continent were unknown empires, distant strongholds, and places where even the map offered no guidance, only symbols of caution. There was still too much he didn''t know, but one thing was certain. This world was far bigger than he had first imagined. Now, he just needed to leave without raising suspicion. With a quiet sigh, he closed the book with an air of indifference, tapping the cover against his palm as if contemplating whether or not it was worth the money. "Hmm¡­" he muttered under his breath, tilting his head slightly as though unimpressed. Then, he turned back toward the shelf, returning the book to its spot. He turned back to the shopkeeper, casual, uninterested. "Guess I''ll pass," he said with an easy shrug. "Not really what I was looking for." The old man barely glanced up from his ledger, adjusting his thin spectacles. He gave a lazy grunt of acknowledgment, more interested in his reading than in some random traveler''s decision not to buy a book. "As you will," the shopkeeper muttered, flipping a page. That was Albrecht''s cue. Without rushing, he walked toward the exit, keeping his posture relaxed, his hands empty, and his steps measured. A thief didn''t need to be fast¡ªjust convincing. He reached for the door. The moment he pushed it open¡ª A sharp, piercing noise split the air. It was a horrible shrieking sound, like metal scraping against the glass, ringing through the small shop with an unnatural, almost vibrating resonance. The shopkeeper''s head snapped up. His spectacles slid down his nose as his eyes went wide with realization. "Thief!" the old man roared, slamming his ledger shut as he jolted to his feet. Chapter 7: Escape Albrecht was momentarily frozen, not because of magic but due to panic. In the meantime, the man thrust his hand forward, and from the counter, a faint glyph flared to life, a swirling inscription of glowing blue runes pulsing with magic. ''Not good.'' Albrecht didn''t have time to think. He bolted. The door slammed open as he launched himself into the marketplace. The alarm''s shriek didn''t stop¡ªif anything, it grew louder, echoing through like a siren. "Stop him!" the shopkeeper yelled. People turned. Heads swiveled. Some pedestrians stepped back in shock, while others looked ready to intervene. Fortunately, the marketplace had become more crowded despite the wanted criminal being on the loose. His only cover was a sea of moving bodies, merchants calling out deals, and carts rolling over the cobblestone. Albrecht lowered his posture, slipping into the mass of people. He didn''t run. He walked. Fast enough to make progress but slow enough to avoid suspicion, weaving through the shifting crowd. The shopkeeper''s shouting voice faded behind him, the alarm still screeching, but he was almost at the end of the marketplace. Just a few more steps, and he''d reach the bridge, the canal splitting the town in two. The buildings on the other side looked dense, the perfect place to hide in some alleys. Then, a heavy hand clamped down on his left shoulder. Albrecht tensed. He turned slowly, heart pounding, as he came face-to-face with a heavily armored man. The guard''s steel breastplate gleamed under the morning sun. Its surface was engraved with an imposing insignia: two eagle heads intertwined, their sharp beaks crossing like a symbol of authority and unwavering vigilance. "Stop right there, thief!" The man was big. Broad-shouldered, well-fed, with a thick beard and a sharp gaze that immediately locked onto him. ''Shit'' was all Albrecht thought in that moment. The guard''s grip was iron-tight, preventing Albrecht from moving forward. His fingers dug into the fabric of his vest, his strength undeniable. Albrecht didn''t have a weapon. Even if he did, there was no way he could fight a trained guard or soldier in the middle of a crowded marketplace. But he still had one advantage. By now, a large group of people had gathered, forming a loose circle around him and the guard. Some watched in silence, others whispered among themselves, speculating about the scene unfolding before them. From somewhere behind him, a woman muttered under her breath, loud enough for him to hear. "Hmph. Probably some disgraced noble turning to thievery. Just look at him." A few chuckles rippled through the bystanders. ''Is that supposed to be an insult or compliment?'' he thought. His lips twitched, but he forced himself to stay focused. ''Fine. You want a show?'' With a dramatic sigh, he lifted his hands in surrender. "Alright, you got me," he said, turning slowly. The guard''s grip loosened slightly, his confidence taking over. He reached for the iron cuffs on his belt, shifting his hold for just a second¡ª And that was exactly what Albrecht needed. In an instant, he moved. He threw his weight sideways, twisting his shoulder downward just enough to slip completely free from the guard''s grasp. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. The armored man reacted immediately, lunging forward¡ª But Albrecht was already gone. The moment his feet hit the ground, he shoved past the circle of bystanders, their startled yelps and gasps barely registering in his ears. He darted forward, legs pumping, racing toward the bridge. The guard roared in frustration, shoving past onlookers as he lurched forward, his heavy armor clanking with every step. But maneuvering through a dense crowd in bulky armor was anything but easy, each movement sluggish. "Stop that man!" He even unsheathed his sword, but Albrecht was already weaving through the marketplace, slipping between carts and merchant stalls. A nearby vendor grabbed a wooden crate and swung it into his path. Albrecht twisted mid-stride, narrowly dodging it. The crate slammed against the ground behind him, splintering open, apples rolling everywhere. Next, a thick boot shot out from the side. Albrecht barely had time to react. He jumped, his momentum carrying him just far and high enough to avoid getting tripped. ''What''s with this damn civil courage?'' he thought, gritting his teeth. The bridge was right there. He could already hear the rush of water beneath it and smell the damp stone of the canal walls. But just as he neared the arching stone passage, a second guard stepped forward at the far end. He was equally armored and blocking his only path forward. ''Shit. I shouldn''t have gone for the bridge.'' If he stopped now, he was caught. If he turned back, the first guard would seize him. Only one option left: the canal. With no time to hesitate, Albrecht went left toward the bridge railing. He pushed off in one fluid motion, launching himself into the open air and into the canal below. The cold shock of the water hit him like a punch to the chest. The dark water swallowed him whole, muffling the distant shouts from above. For a brief moment, he just sank, the weight of his soaked clothes dragging him downward. Then instinct kicked in. He kicked hard, forcing himself upward, breaking the surface with a sharp gasp. The canal was deeper than expected, and the current was stronger than it looked. The stone walls on either side were smooth and slick with algae, rising too high for him to simply climb out. ''Damn it, no ladders?'' He had to act fast before drowning. Albrecht turned to swim toward the right bank, aiming for the tighter district with its winding alleys. But just as he propelled forward, something slammed into him from behind. A small merchant boat. The force knocked him under, the water closing over his head in an instant. The world blurred into murky green and brown, the depths swallowing him. For a moment, he felt weightless, his limbs useless against the sudden rush. He fought against the drag, twisting his body, but then his left shoulder smacked hard against the canal wall. Pain jolted through him, a sharp burning throb spreading down his arm. He barely stifled a grunt, bubbles escaping from his mouth. He kicked furiously, breaking the surface again, gasping for breath. And that''s when he heard someone. "Over here! Grab my hand!" A woman''s voice, sharp and urgent, cutting through the noise of the city. Albrecht''s eyes snapped toward the right side of the canal. A woman stood at the water''s edge, perched on a low wooden platform extending slightly over the canal. She was leaning forward, one arm outstretched toward him, fingers spread wide. She was further ahead, and he was still drifting too much to the left. ''Move, damn body.'' Fighting the pain in his shoulder, Albrecht angled his body, bracing his foot against the wall, and pushed off with everything he had. The sudden force propelled him sideways, sending a sharp ache through his already battered muscles. His muscles burned, water sloshing into his mouth as he pushed further, forcing himself toward salvation. Just a few more strokes, he was almost there. He threw everything into one last push. Their hands met. Her grip was strong, fingers locking tightly around his wrist. With a sharp yank, she hauled him upward. The wooden planks groaned beneath them as he toppled on top of her, drenching her in cold water from his soaked clothes. Albrecht, still catching his breath, realized his face was mere inches from hers. Her golden blonde hair was now splayed out beneath her, strands sticking to her damp skin. She blinked up at him, her striking eyes locked onto his. Albrecht swallowed. "¡­This isn''t my fault." She raised an eyebrow. "Then get off me." "Right. Yes. Of course." Albrecht tried to push himself up, but he was unable to do so. It was not just from the wet clothes dragging against him. It was not just from the awkward position. But it was because something was terribly wrong. His vision blurred, the edges of the world fading into white-hot agony as he instinctively clutched his ribs. Something was wet. Sticky. It wasn''t water. It was blood. His blood. A lot of it. Albrecht gritted his teeth, his breath shallow as he forced himself to look down. His entire right side had been ripped open. Muscle, flesh, and sinew had been carved away. His ribs were fully visible, pale against the dark mess of blood soaking the wound. For a second, he thought he saw something moving. Something inside him. His own organs shifted unnaturally, barely held together. ''Fuck''