Rosacer slowly opened the book. Its cover was old and archaic. In bold letters, the title was etched: "Sculptor and Sculptress", but there was no author's name.
He turned it over before opening it, checking the back cover, but no author was listed. The writer had remained anonymous.
The pages of the book read:
[I have traveled through many kingdoms and empires, yet I have never found a place as beautiful as the Dahakṣetra Empire.
The land is beautiful, filled with greenery and fertility, with riverbanks enclosing it. The people here are lively and full of spirit. I wish to travel here once more after completing my journey through the other eastern regions.
Today, I met the famous Sculptor and Sculptress. I would be lying if I said I came to this country merely for sightseeing. I came for them.
The sculptor is an old man, with long hair and an unkempt beard. The sculptress, however, is a beauty. She is not especially young, yet her face is clear and youthful, bearing no sign of aging. Her almond-shaped eyes hold an amber hue, framed by long eyelashes that often send me into a trance. I barely managed to keep myself moral. Her hair carries a faint shade of brown blended with blonde. She looks fierce and seductive at the same time. Something about her silently screams desire.
The old sculptor's name is Tejasvin, and the sculptress's name is Tamasya.
Though I did not dare ask about their relationship, it was quite evident, at least to my eyes, that it extended no further than their work.
Tejasvin has been creating a sculpture of an unknown face, one I have never seen before. It is regal and royal, unlike the brutish visages shaped by war. When I asked him whom it depicted, he replied that it was a conqueror from another land.
The sculpture's head was large and round, with barely any hair. Thick strands clung to the sides, while a few thin locks stretched across the top, barely connecting one side to the other. Deep bags surrounded his eyes, and his body was large and corpulent, rounded in shape.
The sculptor had named it "Kingston Nowill."
I knew that name, though I had never seen the man himself and could not say whether he truly looked like this. Kingston Nowill was the minister of the Rise Empire.
I spoke further with Tejasvin and Tamasya. I also attempted to grow closer to Tamasya, but she pushed me away without hesitation. The immediate rejection made me question my own charm.
Soon after, I left Dahakṣetra and traveled toward the other eastern countries. Yet I am certain I will remember them and this empire. The people were lively, and their culture was unlike any I had seen before.
Two years later, the Rise Empire launched an invasion of the Dahakṣetra Empire.
I heard from another man the speech of General Lohaketu of Dahaksetra Empire.
"A conqueror has come for your land. What are you going to do about it? I call upon my men to raise their arms to protect the dearest love they hold, their land. Do not wince in pain or regret the night. Fight for me as you fight for the empire."
"Long live Dahakṣetra."]
Then the pages turned into random gibberish, likely the result of old age. Rosacer closed the book. He now knew a piece of important history.
"So, the Sculptor and the Sculptress were originally from the eastern continent, and then they traveled to the western continent. But was it because of the war, or did they leave before it?"
Rosacer did not ask the system at first. He possessed very little information, and the system would likely not elaborate much. Still, for formality's sake, he asked.
In the same familiar manner, the system appeared and relayed only the basic information he had already read from the book. As for the time when the Sculptor and Sculptress migrated, it remained silent, as if it too did not know.
Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door.
Alert, Rosacer quickly drew his gun and prepared to burn whoever stood outside. However, with very little power left, all he could manage was a weak flame, useful only as a distraction.
A voice spoke from behind the door.
"This is the clerk."
Rosacer waited, considering whether he should respond. In the end, he did.
"What do you need this late at night?"
A steady voice replied, "My book."
Rosacer didn't wait.
The window suddenly burst open, and a man leapt through it. Though it was only the second floor, the street below was shrouded in mist, and he landed with a wobble, struggling to steady himself.
He lunged around the corner, ready to flick his wrist—but something gripped him mid-motion, stopping him in an instant.
An old man stood before him, spectacles perched on his face, his narrow eyes betraying the emotions hidden within. It was the clerk.
In a hoarse voice, deep and calm, the man asked, "How did you like my book?" A smile rested on his face, as though he were expecting feedback.
Unable to free himself, Rosacer instead decided against using his gun and asked, "Did the war cause them to leave?"
The old man finally released him, a deep frown creasing his face. "Maybe. You believe they fell the Ernest Empire, don't you?"
Rosacer said nothing. The man's eyes gleamed as he praised him. "Looks like I am not the only one. I am glad to meet someone who still retains curiosity about the world outside."
"My name is Marvin Neil," he said, raising his hand toward Rosacer.
Rosacer did not take it. The man let it hang awkwardly for a moment before slowly withdrawing it, letting out an uneasy laugh.
"I can see the animosity," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the city, "but it's been a long time since I met someone who isn't like them."
"I am a traveler," he continued, sighing. "I used to travel a lot, documenting cultures and traditions. A bloody fallen king shoved me into the dungeon—the Karmic Catacombs—for his amusement… or perhaps resentment." He avoided Rosacer's gaze. "I might have slept with his wife…"
Rosacer thought inwardly, 'Then you deserved it.'
He remembered hearing from a blacksmith in the southern sector about a traveler who got lost in the mist city. Perhaps this man was the very same one the blacksmith had mentioned.