The city opened wider with every step he took. Velmont wasn't just big—it was sprawling, layered, alive in a way no novel could've fully captured. Towers pierced the sky like silver lances, skybridges crisscrossed with glowing advertisements, and green walkways spiraled upward, alive with vines and flowers that shimmered faintly with embedded mana.
But Raviel didn't have time to marvel forever. He had a purpose. His gaze drifted toward one of the elevated rail platforms, where sleek, bullet-shaped trains slid into place with a low hum of energy. Their surfaces gleamed like obsidian, glowing faintly with shifting runes. Above the entrance, a faint hologram shimmered:
{ManaRail – Hashphere Line.}
Raviel hesitated. The system in his old world had been simple—metro tickets, cards, apps. But here, he only had Arctic. He joined the short line of passengers, watching them carefully. One by one, they tapped their wrists against the glowing interface by the gate. The barrier pulsed, scanning their Arcitcs, then opened with a soft chime.
So that's how it works.
When it was his turn, he pressed Arctic against the panel. The glass lit up, runes scanning his wrist.
Fare Deducted: 15 Zen. Destination: Hashphere District.
Raviel exhaled softly as the barrier slid open. "...Easy enough," he muttered, though his lips quirked at the faint irony. Even in another world, public transport worked the same way. Only here, instead of tickets and apps, it was mana-backed tech.
He stepped into the ManaRail car, finding a seat near the window. The interior was sleek and polished, runes etched into the walls to stabilize the ride. A faint vibration hummed under his feet as the train glided forward, silent and smooth, the cityscape blurring past in streaks of glass, steel, and green.
For a moment, he just sat there—watching, memorizing, analyzing. His mind was sharper now, unnaturally sharp. Intelligence wasn't just a number on his status screen—it was alive in him, turning every detail into a pattern. The way the runes flared in sequence along the train's walls. The faint hum of the energy core at the center of the car. The stabilizing enchantments that adjusted with every bump.
It was intoxicating.
But he didn't let himself get lost in the details. Not fully. He had a reason for going to Hashphere. The district was known in the novel as a mid-tier hub for supplies—potions, low-grade artifacts, basic training equipment. Health potions especially. And he needed those. If Eclipse Vault was going to bleed him dry again when he experimented, he couldn't risk doing it unprepared.
His reflection in the glass window stared back at him as the ManaRail sped onward. White curls, faintly tousled. Those unnatural purple eyes. A face too flawless, too alien to feel like his own.
Lightning and Void.
His hands curled into fists on his lap. Lightning was simple enough—he remembered the protagonist training with it in the early chapters. Conductive mediums. Generating sparks. Expanding control in bursts. But Void… Void was something else entirely, it was this body's innate affinity. Even the description had been chilling: manipulate forces in a ten-meter radius. At beginner level.
Forces. That could mean gravity. Pressure. Momentum. It wasn't just power. It was potential—limitless, terrifying potential.
He swallowed, chest tightening. If I can master it… I could rewrite battles before they even start.
But that thought only made him more uneasy. Why would someone with an innate affinity like Void—something so impossibly rare—be an Extra? Why wasn't Raviel mentioned at all in the novel?
His mind drifted to the desk photo again. Raviel—this body—beside his father and older sister. Both stunning, striking, beautiful enough to be carved into glass. But there had been no mother.
His eyes narrowed, brain firing in sharp connections.
Not an accident. Not omission. Details mattered, and the author of The Last Inheritor didn't place photos randomly. If she wasn't in that picture, then she wasn't part of the family anymore. Which meant only three possibilities:
She had died.
She had left.
Or she was alive, but in a condition that kept her absent—critically ill, unable to be photographed, hidden away.
Raviel leaned back in his seat, gaze distant as the city blurred past. He didn't have confirmation, but his gut screamed he was right. With an S+ intelligence, deductions came as naturally as breathing.
But whether she was gone, missing, or suffering, the hole she left behind explained something else. The sister's eyes in that photo—black, sharp, but softer at the edges. A mask of someone forced to grow faster than she should've. The father's expression—controlled, but hollow.
A broken family dressed in wealth.
He gritted his teeth. It was all pieces of a puzzle he had yet to see the full picture of. But one thing was certain: this body, Raviel Hatcher, was not as simple as the word "Extra" implied.
And as the ManaRail glided into Hashphere Station with a soft chime, Raviel's reflection in the glass stared back at him with quiet defiance.
He would stock his potions. He would test the Vault. He would train his affinities.
Because if he didn't… this city, this world, this future drenched in blood—would devour him whole.
The ManaRail slowed with a whisper, pulling into a wide, glass-paneled station etched with glowing runes. The doors slid open, and Raviel stepped out into Hashphere.
The difference hit him instantly.
If Velmont's heart was a mixture of nature and technology, Hashphere was its pulse—lively, crowded, and buzzing with energy. The air carried a faint tang of mana, mixed with the scent of roasted street food and faint herbs drifting from nearby stalls.
He lifted his gaze. Sleek potion shops lined the streets, their fronts decorated with crystalline vials that glimmered under shifting lights. Holographic boards floated above them, advertising:
Vitality Tonics – 20% off.
C-Rank Recovery Potion, Limited Stock!
Bulk Discounts for Guild Members.
People moved in waves—Awakened in casual wear, association guards in light armor, even merchants haggling with small guild representatives. He spotted guildhouses too, modest compared to the colossal headquarters of the founding families but still impressive in their way. Banners hung proudly from their fronts, symbols of beasts, blades, or arcane circles.
So this is a hub for mid-level Awakened… Raviel thought, eyes scanning every detail. The way mana lamps flickered faintly in sync with the city's central core. The way patrols passed every ten minutes, precise, measured. Even the way potion shop owners spoke in rehearsed tones, their words adjusted perfectly to attract both guilds and individuals.
It was efficient. Calculated.
But none of it held his focus for long. His gaze swept past the crowd, past the merchants shouting for attention, until it landed on a shop farther down the street. Not the largest. Not the flashiest. Just… unassuming. Its signboard flickered faintly, as though its owner didn't bother to keep it updated. Few people walked in or out.
And yet Raviel's chest tightened the moment he saw it.
That was the one.
He didn't know why—at least, not yet—but his instincts sharpened. Somewhere inside that small, quiet shop was the item he needed. The one he remembered from the novel. The one that could help him immensely if he could get his hands on it.
His fingers brushed the Arctic strapped to his wrist. His balance wasn't infinite, but it was enough for today. Enough for health potions. Enough for… that.
Drawing his hood up to shadow his too-striking face, Raviel began weaving through the crowd. People parted instinctively, some staring openly at the white-haired boy with violet eyes, but he ignored them. His focus was fixed.
Step by step, past potion vendors and guild recruiters, he closed in on the modest little shop. The further he walked, the louder his heartbeat grew—not from fear, but anticipation.
If the item was really there, then maybe… just maybe… he wouldn't be walking into this bloody future unarmed.