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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Cyno
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My escape went remarkably smoothly. Though search parties from the ducal household frequently passed by, none recognized me beneath my tattered clothes and hastily woven reed hat. Who would suspect a filthy wanderer to be the Archduke’s heir?
Only once did a knight stop me for questioning. Kneeling with my face pressed to the ground like a peasant, I answered in a trembling voice. The knight moved on none the wiser.
‘Ah, bliss.’
White clouds drifted across the blue sky as I lounged in the back of an oxcart driven by an old farmer. A blade of grass between my teeth, I lazily swatted away insects. After three days heading southeast, spring’s warmth had fully embraced the land.
My hand brushed against a basket, and my eyes sharpened. Inside were perfectly baked barley loaves—plenty for the old man’s needs, with ample to spare.
‘Overeating is unhealthy anyway.’
I stealthily pocketed two loaves. The first bite released an earthy aroma of stewed vegetables, lightly salted. An uncommon delicacy.
“Grandpa, these are delicious!” I called out, sitting up.
The old man cupped his ear. “Eh?”
“The bread! Your wife must be quite the cook.”
Grinning toothlessly, he chuckled. “Aye, my old gal’s still got her touch.”
Rolling my eyes, I lay back down.
Soon, the cart reached a fork in the road. The left path led to Lorai Village, the right to Hopfar. Though both routes eventually reached my destination, I disembarked when the cart turned left.
Lorai housed a military garrison under Viscount Granser. Best avoided.
“Take care, Grandpa.”
Deaf to my farewell, the old man drove on. Adjusting my bundle of firewood, I took the Hopfar trail.
“Finally.”
Nestled against the Dwain Mountains, Hopfar was a rural village notorious for monster attacks—yet bustling with activity. Its hidden trails served as smuggling routes to the Kingdom of Caligo.
The Yosrahim Empire, worshippers of the Light God “Ru,” stood in sharp opposition to Caligo’s devotion to the Dark God “Nox.” Though such conflict was ancient, recent wars had left the borders closed—save for the wink-and-nod tolerance of black-market trade.
The Empire’s pragmatism stemmed from its history. Merely two centuries prior, it had been a neutral power, battered by both sides before aligning with the Light. Traces remained, like its national flag depicting sun and moon—symbols of the neutral Balance God. Demands to change it were steadfastly ignored. Strength bred such defiance.
‘Our Empire has backbone.’
Hopfar thrived as a smuggling hub precisely because its treacherous terrain deterred prying eyes. Even other Light-aligned nations turned a blind eye to this open secret.
Entering the village, I blinked.
‘Is this a village or a city?’
Taverns, mercenary guilds, even a magic communication outpost—Hopfar had everything but a formal garrison. Officially stationing troops here would draw too much attention, so local militias and hired swords kept order.
Still, I kept my reed hat low. Count Maier would’ve surely plastered posters of my face even here. Imperial spies also lurked, hunting Caligo’s agents.
“Hey there, handsome—” A haggard prostitute called from the red-light district. I walked past without a glance.
Even as a notorious womanizer, I had standards—and no coin.
Reaching the smuggler’s trail, I was stopped by ten mercenaries. They wrinkled their noses at my stench of manure.
“Where you headed?”
“Logging.”
“Why this path?”
“Heard there’s an io wood grove nearby. Best firewood around.”
The mercenary nodded. Only seasoned woodsmen or long-campaigning mercenaries knew io wood’s value.
“ID, then.”
I widened my eyes innocently. “I’m not of age yet. Won’t get mine till next year.”
After scrutinizing my youthful face, he waved me through. “Don’t wander too far. Dangerous out there.”
Another mercenary gagged. “And for gods’ sake, bathe next time. Reek like cow shit.”
Once on the mountain trail, I checked for pursuers. None. A clean escape.
With my bundle discarded at a cliffside, I sprinted uphill.
“Yozo, I’m coming!”
Trees blurred past. Startled rabbits froze as I tore through their domain.
I was fast—already cresting my second peak—but not as swift as in my past life. This body lacked the mana reserves and conditioning of my prime.
Yet my mana grew daily. A curious phenomenon.
Mana bridges the physical and spiritual. My current mind, however, wasn’t that of a novice but a Master swordsman’s. This imbalance forced my mana to expand rapidly to stabilize.
At this rate, I’d regain my past power within ten days—strengthening my body in tandem.
“Rest time.”
Deep in the mountains, I paused. Preserving stamina was crucial—the Dwain range teemed with monsters.
Ironically, according to the Codex of Creation, monsters shouldn’t exist here. The gods had sealed all dimensional rifts to Chaos and Void. Their persistent presence proved the barriers were failing.
Yet humanity remained oblivious. Monsters predated recorded history by millennia—a blink for gods, but long enough for extinction to become mundane.
Our doom wasn’t coming. It had already arrived. The “Age of Ruin” would merely be its grand finale.
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Good luck for MC to get his companion