The next morning began the same way the others had.
Warm bread scent drifting from the bakery. The rhythmic clang of Boros’ forge. Herman already carrying crates twice his size with practiced ease. Martha arranging her storefront before the streets fully awakened.
Routine.
Familiar.
For the first time in years, Eon realized he had one.
And it was ending.
Not permanently, he told himself.
Just for now.
He helped Martha arrange the morning displays, securing cloth coverings before the wind could carry them away. She handed him a small wrapped bundle afterward.
Dried fruit and preserved meat.
“For the road,” she said simply.
No system notification appeared.
No floating reward window.
Just a gesture.
Herman had him move shipment boxes afterward, mostly tools and cooking supplies bound for nearby trade routes. When they finished, Herman tossed him a sturdy waterskin.
“Better than the cheap ones sold outside,” he said proudly. “Doesn’t leak.”
Again.
Not system-generated.
Earned.
At the bakery, the old baker gave him fresh bread still warm from the oven along with a small pouch of seasoning.
“You’ll get tired of dried meat eventually,” he muttered.
Even Boros, despite saying little, adjusted the straps on Eon’s arm guards personally before he left the forge.
Silent refinement.
Practical care.
The kind that only existed when someone expected you to come back alive.
Lastly, Eon went to the library.
Luna was there, as expected.
But something felt immediately strange.
She was not holding a book.
Instead, she sat behind the front desk with both arms resting atop it, staring out the window with visible boredom.
“You look wrong,” Eon said before thinking.
Luna looked at him flatly.
“That’s rude.”
“You’re not holding a book.”
“That’s because I finished the one I was reading.”
“…You can do that?”
“I’m reconsidering giving you access to the history section.”
A faint smile tugged at Eon’s face despite himself.
Then he reached into his inventory and placed a pouch onto the desk.
Fifteen gold coins.
Luna’s eyes widened slightly.
“That’s a lot.”
“Enough to fix up the library a bit.”
She stared at the pouch quietly for a moment before looking back at him.
“You earned this fighting goblins?”
“…Mostly.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
Eon glanced around the library.
Broken shelves. Torn pages. Water stains on older sections. Entire rows that leaned dangerously from age alone.
It deserved better.
“This place matters,” he said quietly.
Luna’s expression shifted slightly at that.
Then Eon added:
“I’ll bring back books too.”
“What kind?”
“About the other kingdoms from the Beginning Era.”
Luna tilted her head.
“You think you’ll find them?”
“I don’t know.”
But his thoughts drifted briefly toward the black box beneath his bed.
Toward the archives of House of Spiders.
Moonlicht and Vainglory had worked closely together once. Their king and queen had even married, uniting policies and trade between both kingdoms during AO’s middle years.
If Illusion Tree no longer remembered Vainglory properly…
Then maybe he could write it himself.
Not fiction.
History.
What Vainglory actually was.
What Moonlicht had been.
Luna watched him carefully.
“You’re thinking too hard again.”
“…Probably.”
“Dangerous habit.”
“Coming from you?”
“I never claimed to be safe.”
Fair point.
Later that afternoon, Herman approached him near the town gate carrying travel packs over both shoulders.
“You heading toward Specia?”
Eon nodded.
“Well, I’m delivering goods to Sofys first. Same road for a while.” Herman grinned. “You can come along. Free of charge.”
Eon blinked.
“…Really?”
“Caravan’s safer with extra hands.”
There it was again.
Not a quest reward.
Not system assistance.
Just people helping because they wanted to.
By sunset, preparations were finished.
The gates of Haven’s Reach stood open before him.
Martha waved from her shop.
The baker gave a short nod from across the street.
Boros remained near the forge entrance, arms crossed as always.
Luna stood near the library steps holding a book again.
Of course she was.
Eon adjusted the strap of his pack and looked once more at the town that had become more than a starting area.
Then he turned.
And began the journey toward the Capital City of Specia.63Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOUhWCxXzTO
63Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSpp80FPmTh
The caravan rolled onward beneath the fading light of evening.
For once, I did not need to fight.
No goblins. No sparring. No theories to test. Just the slow creaking of wheels, the rhythmic clatter of hooves, and the occasional murmur between merchants checking inventory.
It felt strange.
Herman sat near the front wagon, relaxed in a way only experienced traders could manage. Every now and then he exchanged a few words with the mercenary escorts guarding the caravan.
Hazy Skies.
That was the name of their mercenary band.
There were six of them in total. Leather armor reinforced with metal plates. Weapons worn from use instead of decoration. They carried themselves differently from the players I had seen around Haven Reach. Less noise. Less showing off.
More dangerous.
What bothered me most was the fact that I could not see their levels.
Up until now, every person I met had visible levels floating above them. Guards. Villagers. Players. Monsters.
These mercenaries showed nothing.
After thinking about it for a while, I came to a simple conclusion.
The gap was probably too large.
Even as a classless, I technically remained Level 1. The system likely only allowed me to view levels close to my own range. Anything far above that simply became unreadable.
Which meant these people were strong.
Very strong.
One of them eventually noticed me staring.
A woman with short gray hair glanced over from atop a wagon.
“You planning to fight the air, kid?”
I looked away immediately.
“…No.”
A few of the mercenaries laughed quietly.
Not mockingly.
Just amused.
The road continued.
As the hours passed, the landscape slowly changed. Forests thinned into wider plains. Trade roads became broader and more maintained. Smaller side caravans appeared occasionally, all moving toward the same destination.
Specia.
One of the central capitals of Illusion Tree.
Blessed by Specia herself, Goddess of Species, daughter of Almas, the Father of Light and progenitor of the gods.
Even among players, Specia held importance beyond lore.
Production classes could be advanced there. Rare professions unlocked. System functions unavailable in smaller settlements became accessible inside the capital. Auction halls. Higher tier crafting districts. Mercenary registries. Mage associations.
And currently, the Tyrants tournament.
I remembered the forum post.
Top five winners could join the guild directly.
First place would receive a custom crafted weapon.
For most players, that alone was enough reason to travel across entire continents.
The roads toward the capital reflected that reality.
Players moved in groups now. Adventurers wearing polished armor. Mages with ornate staffs. Merchant guilds transporting locked cargo crates surrounded by hired escorts.
A living artery leading toward the center of the world.
Illusion Tree did not have fast travel in the normal sense.
There were no instant menus or teleport buttons.
Instead, there existed warp gates within each capital city, along with teleportation skills and high grade magic scrolls.
But using them cost absurd amounts of gold.
Enough that only the largest merchant guilds or top ranked organizations could regularly afford them. Speed had value. Convenience had value.
And Illusion Tree made sure players paid for both.
Eventually, one of the mercenaries pointed ahead.
“There.”
I looked up.
And froze.
The Capital City of Specia stood against the horizon.
Massive walls stretched farther than I could properly process, layered with towering white stone reinforced by silver metal veins glowing faintly beneath the surface. Gigantic banners moved with the wind high above the battlements.
Beyond the outer walls rose the city itself.
Countless structures layered upward in tiers. Bridges connecting towers. Crystal lights illuminating entire districts even before night fully arrived. Airships floated near distant docking platforms while enormous statues of divine figures overlooked the capital from impossible heights.
At the very center stood the cathedral spire dedicated to Specia.
It pierced the clouds.
I had seen this place before.
Videos. Streams. Forum screenshots.
None of them mattered now.
Seeing something through a screen and seeing it with your own eyes were completely different experiences.
The scale crushed comparison.
The capital did not feel built.
It felt established.
Like it had existed long before players arrived and would continue existing long after they disappeared.
The caravan slowly approached the gates alongside dozens of others waiting for entry.
I could hear music somewhere in the distance.
Merchants shouting.
Steel clashing.
Laughter.
Arguments.
Life.
Beside me, Herman chuckled softly at my expression.
“Big, isn’t it?”
I nodded slowly.
“…Yeah.”63Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZ6BPsyGGVx
The line into the capital moved slowly.
Caravans were inspected one by one while guards checked permits, cargo manifests, guild registrations, and travel documents. The atmosphere remained orderly despite the sheer number of people entering and leaving the city.
I stood near the side of the gate for a moment, watching merchants argue over taxes while adventurers impatiently shifted in place.
Then I remembered the letter.
Right.
I reached into my inventory and pulled out the sealed envelope Boros had given me. Thick paper. Dark wax crest pressed firmly at the center.
The nearest gate guard glanced at it casually.
Then his expression changed.
His eyes widened.
“…Where did you get this?”
“Boros gave it to me.”
The guard immediately straightened.
Not politely.
Sharply.
The second guard beside him leaned closer, noticed the seal, and nearly choked.
“Wait. That crest is…”
His face lost color.
For a brief second both guards simply stared at me as if trying to reassess everything about my existence.
Then panic started.
“Get Captain Relmar.”
“Now.”
One of them hurried off while the other remained standing unnaturally stiff beside me.
“…Sir, please wait here.”
Sir?
That was new.
A few nearby players noticed the reaction immediately. Curious glances started drifting toward me.
The guard noticed too.
“…Do not open the letter,” he said quickly. “And please do not hand it to anyone except authorized personnel.”
“…Okay?”
A few tense minutes later, another figure arrived wearing polished silver armor trimmed with deep blue cloth. Unlike the other guards, his level was visible only as question marks.
Strong.
Very strong.
He stopped in front of me.
“…You are the bearer?”
“I guess?”
His eyes dropped to the seal.
Then he exhaled slowly.
“…By the gods.”
Without another word, he motioned forward.
“You will follow us.”
Before I could even ask questions, four armored knights formed around me.
Escort formation.
The gates opened.
And suddenly I was walking directly into the capital under military escort.
Players immediately started staring.
Some moved aside instinctively. Others whispered among themselves.
“What’s happening?”
“Who is that?”
“Did he trigger a world quest?”
“No way. He’s Level 1.”
The escort ignored all of it.
I tried to ignore it too.
The deeper we moved into Specia, the more overwhelming the city became.
The stable district came first. Massive enclosed structures capable of housing creatures far larger than horses. I caught glimpses of wyverns resting behind reinforced gates while handlers directed enormous reptilian beasts through transport lanes.
Then the Adventurers Guild.
A colossal circular building overflowing with players and natives alike. Request boards covered entire walls while armored parties moved in and out nonstop carrying monster materials and damaged equipment.
Farther ahead stood the Mercenary Quarter.
Unlike the guild, it felt quieter. Sharper. Companies gathered beneath banners carrying insignias from different regions. Veterans sat around outdoor tables inspecting contracts while heavily armed guards watched the streets with professional indifference.
Then came the Magic Tower.
I almost stopped walking.
It rose impossibly high above the district, layers upon layers of floating platforms orbiting the central structure. Arcane circles rotated slowly around its upper sections while streams of glowing mana flowed like rivers through transparent channels.
Mages flew between platforms.
Actually flew.
Further districts passed afterward.
Alchemy halls releasing strange colored smoke into the air.
Cooking avenues filled with scents strong enough to make my stomach react instantly.
Crafting plazas where entire buildings existed solely for specialized production professions.
The capital felt endless.
Alive in a way Haven Reach never could be.
Eventually the streets widened again.
The escort slowed.
Ahead of us stood a massive academy complex surrounded by towering white walls lined with silver trees.
Specia Academia.
Even I knew the name.
The most prestigious educational institution in the capital. Perhaps the entire continent.
Nobles studied here. High ranking mages. Future commanders. Elite craftsmen.
And apparently…
Me?
The gates opened before we even arrived.
Students turned to stare openly as the knights escorted me inward across a long marble pathway leading toward the central building.
I could feel dozens of eyes following me.
Then the doors ahead opened.
An elderly woman stepped out calmly.
Silver hair tied neatly behind her back. Dark academic robes embroidered with gold symbols. Thin glasses rested near the edge of her nose.
The moment she saw the letter, she sighed.
“Oh, Boros…”
The knights immediately bowed.
“Headmaster.”
She waved them off casually before her eyes settled on me.
Sharp.
Far too sharp.
This was not an old scholar weakened by age.
This was someone dangerous pretending otherwise.
“…So you’re the one he finally sent.”
“Yes.”
A faint smile appeared on her face.
“That fool.”
She extended her hand.
“Give me the letter.”
I handed it over carefully.
She broke the seal.
Read silently.
Then closed her eyes for a long moment.
“…Unbelievable.”
“What is?”
Her gaze lifted toward me again.
There was amusement there now.
And disbelief.
“Do you know what this letter says?”
I shook my head.
The Headmaster laughed softly.
“A formal recommendation from Boros Vainglory himself.”63Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhBvQUAG1k9
Vainglory.63Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgsTK64gD0w
Meanwhile she continued.
“He writes that if anyone under this academy fails to teach you properly, he will personally come here and ‘rearrange the faculty into decorative wall ornaments.’”
“…Oh.”
She folded the letter neatly.
“And this,” she added calmly, “is considered him being polite.”
ns216.73.216.45da2
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