The maniacal laughter ended. Yellow eyes glistened, tears mingled with blood streaming down his face, flowing over his neck and forming a horrifying pattern that spread across his body before falling onto the dark stone floor, scattering briefly into sparkling fragments.
A gaunt, pale man walked across the icy stone floor through a vast, boundless space, his hands feeling around the darkness for something.
He stopped before tens of thousands of metal fragments, bending to pick one up with a sorrowful expression.
His yellow eyes examined the metal object. It fit in the palm of his hand and had a faint mechanical button. When pressed, a voice began to play:
"Record… Record 45, Year of the Dragon Hunter 1002. My experiments are proceeding according to predicted theories, with the cooperation of countless historians and engineers from hundreds of locations across the continent—from the western seas to the distant snowlands. We have discovered the method… sizzle… sizzle… Ugh! Something went wrong. Someone sabotaged it! I have been betrayed! There is someone behind this! It will never end! Why were all members of the cooperative council executed? The lead engineers of the snowlands were murdered. The five kings of the central continent were killed, as was the king of the western lands… The worshippers' organization cannot be contacted. All radios of the sacred tree of the dungeon organization lost external connection. The year of celebration ends with the death of every human on this world. I will fix it! End of Record 45… Beep."
The pale man raised his hands to his face. His faint breathing was the only sound remaining after listening to the recorded message.
Yellow lights illuminated the darkness, casting hundreds of points of light across the room. Maps of various geographical layouts covered the space.
On the high ceiling, skies and stars were illustrated, filled with data and strange, elongated formulas.
"The past was terrifying. I cannot meddle with that place again. When the light ends, it may cease to exist if I do not act. How long have I lost my sanity and identity… What year is this? What era?"
"I cannot… no… I cannot!!" He shouted, clutching his head with both hands, eyes closed, controlling his heated breathing. The echoes ended as darkness enveloped everything.
…
After a cold sleep, dim light streamed down from an air vent near the ceiling. Dust filled the air. Disheveled hair was combed into place by thick hands, and his shirt tucked neatly under his pants.
Morning stretching began: the right arm raised, the left arm trailing. Dark eyes scanned the room, fists clenched, feelings shifted. Fear, confusion—every emotion was necessary today. He could not forget the painful experiences; they must be used to strengthen himself.
His dark eyes fixed firmly ahead, face expressionless, thoughts unstoppable. He examined the numbers on his palm, untangling mental confusion.
When solutions were not apparent, Victor began searching the papers on the wooden table. His hands moved cautiously, picking up documents.
Many sheets were ledgers with untraceable entries; some recorded travel expenses. One noted: "Travel from Reingen Street to New Fanren District costs only two silver coins by carriage number four, but four silver coins by other carriages. Differences are set for participants. Carriage networks on each street retain original prices for participants on number four."
Other documents mapped locations in the city, with symbols marking taverns or dead-end alleys in Venn's twenty-three districts.
Victor memorized these details but tore blank papers to record essential notes. He inferred Ophelia's brother's occupation was related to public transportation, explaining her extensive knowledge.
He further examined clothing and looked beneath the bed, finding formal attire distinct from ordinary wear. Clearly, the era of this world was markedly different from the normal world, as evidenced by the carriage records.
Victor paused, contemplating this backward world—its incomplete laws and low safety—an opportunity for actions he desired, including research on the heavens above.
He reflected and refined his ideas to match contemporary knowledge. Observing the fireplace maps and governmental forms allowed him to gauge the era, though with some ambiguity between Victorian times and the World War period.
These distinctions were critical in establishing his foundation and future. If he could leverage his abilities and access the supernatural, he could rest under the cerulean sky once more.
Victor's eyes sparkled with hope. The tense expression lifted slightly at the corners of his mouth. Study and discovery were akin to beginning a book to master it.
Ending his thoughts, he placed the newly written papers into his shirt pocket and grabbed a long black coat, dusted from long-term hanging. It transformed his bewildered appearance into a composed one. Black leather gloves concealed the mysterious numbers on his palms.
Victor ascended the wooden stairs confidently and opened the narrow hallway door. The fireplace had died down, and no one was present, including the kitchen.
However, a room opposite the basement door remained. He knocked politely, and upon turning the handle, found only an empty bedroom adorned with handmade carved wooden toys and stuffed animals.
She was not home in the morning, prompting Victor's worried search.
Alone in the forest, danger was natural. Wolves or bears could be nearby, especially in open grasslands filled with sheep.
He dashed out of the small wooden house, eyes scanning the surroundings, starting with the vineyard garden.
A drop of sweat fell into his eyes as the morning light reflected off the dew on the grass.
Ophelia, in a cerulean dress with a white trim, multiple soft layers, and a pale pink bow above the hip, stood holding a basket, cheerfully gathering produce.
She looked at Victor with a smile, offering a grape, which he accepted silently.
Previous thoughts calmed. One hand covered his eyes. He scoffed at his earlier mind, chewing the sweet grape, remaining silent about his past actions. He simply observed her and enjoyed the fruit.
After Ophelia finished filling a large basket, she changed clothes and prepared to guide Victor to the nearby town.
She handed him a blank notebook with a quill and ink bottle in a leather pouch, worn on a belt. She began writing something in her own notebook.
"I offer you this notebook. I hope you can record your feelings when you are alone. It will help you, as it has helped me all along."
Victor received it silently. The notebook symbolized emotions he had never considered expressing.
"Lastly, you must have money with you. This is essential. I apologize for being intrusive, but I want to help as much as I can. In the Republic of Venn, currency is the Venn, divided into silver and gold coins and banknotes. Notes come in 1, 10, and 40 Venn. Ten silver equals one gold coin; ten gold equals one note. There are special notes I haven't mentioned, but they are unnecessary for now, held only by nobles or officials."
She placed four gold coins and ten silver coins in his hand without giving him a chance to refuse. The total was half a banknote. Though he did not know its exact value, the gesture warmed the cold morning air.
He pocketed the money and followed Ophelia into the beautiful, open forest. Morning mist trailed from their breaths.
The rough, visible path led them down a hill to a wide plain with villages along rivers connecting to a great city.
Through light fog, tall buildings rose before them, modeled on London's architecture: steep roofs and a large clock tower encircled by high walls.
Victor froze in awe as they approached the high walls.
The brick walls were adorned with azure giant-winged bird banners, wings spread sharply, radiating light over the white city.
Around the large metal gate, soldiers in tight blue-and-white uniforms, reminiscent of French troops, patrolled, shouldering rifles, controlling dozens of wagons.
Victor and Ophelia stopped before a stern-faced soldier with deep-set eyes staring at Victor's dark ones.
Two more soldiers approached, frisking them.
The blue-eyed soldier chewed something and spoke:
"Hmm… mumble… hmm! I know the woman, but this man… never seen him… Detain him!"
Victor stepped back, trying not to resist but unwilling to be captured silently.
"I…!" Before he could speak, Ophelia handed the soldier her notebook.
"In that case, I suppose I must trust you! Hmph! Give me your name, young man. It will be recorded in the immigrant registry. Behave, or the law will deal with you! Release him!!"
"Victor… Victor Weber!"
Soon, the soldier wrote briefly and let him enter the city.
A thought struck him: the ease of entering this city was unbelievable. His name was registered immediately without further personal questions—Venn's security defied explanation.
He internally scoffed at the system, though one major factor was Ophelia.
"Why is it so easy to enter the city?"
"Two years ago, many refugees came from Ravenis, and many still wish to escape to the Republic of Venn. This makes the matter sensitive here. Anyone confirmed by a trusted person can enter easily."
"Thank you… I haven't properly introduced myself. I am Victor Weber."
"I am Ophelia Dengart. Nice to meet you."
As her smile lifted, Victor hugged her briefly, then waved. His five outstretched fingers clenched into fists, confidence flooding his mind. He looked up at the sky divided into three layers.
Black hair blew in the cold wind across crowds in formal attire, along brick streets lined with tall buildings and market stalls, leaving no room for squares or activity areas.
Shops were lavishly decorated, showcasing their unique identities. Some displayed dozens of potted plants suitable for coffee shops; others had mannequins in elegant attire, drawing attention.
At every street corner, a soldier was posted, with observation everywhere. Victor's previous scorn transformed into cautious curiosity.
This was the beginning of questioning Venn's strange atmosphere of vigilance.
Still, his first walk through the Republic of Venn had to be calm, maintaining composure and walking politely.
…