Misturk, this city, embodied a textbook example of a classic Western-style fantasy world.
The architecture lining the streets carried the flavor of Earth's medieval Europe, yet it was far more refined and luxurious.
To be honest, it couldn't really compare to the futuristic mega-cities of the wizarding world, which had elements bordering on science fiction.
And when stacked against a place like the Abyssal Core City of the Lava Wastelands—where just the outer walls towered tens of thousands of meters high—it didn't stand a chance.
But overall, it wasn't bad.
The city's street layout and infrastructure were all quite well-developed.
At the very least, you didn't have to worry about the kinds of medieval public health nightmares found on Earth—like stepping in human waste or getting a bucket of it dumped on your head from a second-story window.
After all, this world had advanced over the years. Basic sanitation was a given.
Pick any two kingdoms at random and their history could very well stretch further back than all of recorded human civilization on Earth.
The reason these civilizations had managed to endure for so long, uninterrupted, came down to one simple truth: the upper class held absolute power, both politically and physically.
With the aid of supernatural abilities, even an ordinary knight could cut down hundreds of commoners singlehandedly.
Given that kind of power imbalance, the lower classes had no chance of overthrowing their rulers.
Phrases like "anyone can become a noble or general" just didn't apply in this world.
Some people really were born superior.
Stronger, faster, more gifted—right from birth.
Even without training, they could single-handedly dominate a battlefield.
Because of that, social mobility here was practically nonexistent. A blacksmith's son became a blacksmith. A coachman's son became a coachman. Only a lucky few with extraordinary talent ever managed to break free of their fate, and that chance was vanishingly slim.
One percent? One in a thousand? One in ten thousand?
No one really knew.
Still, it was a bit more flexible than a rigid caste system built on religious dogma—at least there was a sliver of hope.
With such a massive population, it was only natural that a few commoners would rise to prominence.
And those rare examples served as silent motivators for the masses, like a carrot dangled in front of a mule, giving them just enough hope to keep moving forward.
Standing on a clean stone-paved street, Orsaga casually scanned his surroundings and estimated that the city's population must number in the millions—comparable to many of Earth's modern metropolises.
Following his usual principle of "happiness first," he decided not to stir up any trouble just yet and instead took a stroll to explore.
Perhaps it was still too early in the day, as most shops along the street hadn't opened yet.
The few that had were mostly breakfast stalls or merchants prepping their goods. After a quick lap around the area, Orsaga found it all rather dull.
Figuring he might as well sample the local food, he bought some unknown breakfast item, found a spot to sit, and propped up his legs casually.
Maybe it was his posture or his natural aura.
Even though he was trying to keep a low profile, there was something about the way he sat that made him look annoyingly confident, drawing curious glances from passersby.
Not that he cared.
He calmly munched on his food while leisurely observing the crowd.
From what he could tell, while this city was ruled by a human kingdom, only about half the population was actually human. The rest were made up of various intelligent non-human races or mixed-blood hybrids.
Such diversity was usually a recipe for disaster.
Even if you removed the threat of conspiracies and hidden agendas, the vast differences in culture and lifestyle alone could ignite serious conflict.
Take diet, for instance. When a strictly herbivorous race shares space with a strictly carnivorous one, things tend to get tense.
Not to mention the layers of mutual disdain and discrimination.
In many ways, it was even harder to resolve than religious conflict, as it cut down to the most fundamental differences.
Yet surprisingly, despite this volatile mix of races, the city remained fairly orderly and stable.
Somehow, these vastly different species managed to coexist—more or less.
From the memories he'd extracted from souls of those he'd previously slain, Orsaga knew that this fragile peace was forged more than a century ago during a massive invasion from the Abyss.
Before that, the world of Myling had always been locked in constant warfare and hatred among its many races.
Even the gods weren't exempt—deceit and rivalry ran deep among the divine.
Hatred was passed down through generations, making it a kind of eternal legacy—short lives, but long grudges.
Harmony? Not a chance.
But all of that changed the moment the Abyss invaded.
Unlike the disorganized, self-serving wars of the native races, the creatures from the Abyss had one simple, unified goal: annihilate all life in any realm they touched.
Wipe out the natives. Wipe out their friends. Hell, if they could wipe out each other in the process, even better.
Wherever they went, death followed. Rivers dried up, lands were scorched, and the "kill, burn, loot" strategy was just them getting started.
Initially, many local factions underestimated the threat. But after suffering staggering losses while fighting alone, they realized they were hopelessly outmatched.
Reluctantly, they were forced to set aside their disgust and join forces with longtime enemies.
The exact details of this alliance were messy—full of betrayal, political scheming, and backstabbing.
So messy, in fact, that the whole ordeal could've filled a novel of its own.
One major sticking point was leadership: who would take charge of this shaky coalition?
After all, the more people involved, the more power struggles emerged. That was inevitable.
"Death comes later. Power is now. And people live in the now—so how could later ever be more important than now?"
This quote, spoken by a monarch during one such power struggle, became a legendary saying and was even added to the historical highlights of the era.
But geniuses often attract envy, and so tragedy was inevitable.
That same monarch—whose words had become immortalized—ended up beheaded by his own subordinates.
Of course, that had nothing to do with his famous quote. It was because he had a habit of seducing his followers' spouses.
His subordinates simply took advantage of the chaos to strike at the perfect moment.
Bottom line? Back then, everything was in complete disarray.
To expect species that had been at each other's throats for tens of thousands of years to suddenly link arms and fight as one was pure fantasy.
Even with a blade pressed to their throats, they wouldn't budge.
Everyone kept up appearances while sabotaging one another behind the scenes. You hold me back, I hold you back.
In the end, it was the gods—unable to stand the utter mess any longer—who personally descended and forced the alliance through sheer divine might.
Only then did the current situation slowly come together.
Much to the disappointment of the Abyssal creatures, who could only sigh and mutter that their time had passed.
In a strange way, it was thanks to these relentless invaders from the Abyss—these "dedicated volunteers" willing to sacrifice everything—that the world finally achieved a level of interracial unity it never had before.
Thinking of all this, Orsaga let out a soft sigh and muttered,
"Maybe… they really were ambassadors of peace."
__
T/N:
Hello everyone! My Patreon is just $3 — a perfect opportunity to access 70+ advanced chapters and support the translation.
🔗 patreon.com/user?u=79514336
Or simply search Translator-Sama on Patreon