Wizard of another World

This was a small, confined bedroom with sturdy doors on either side secured by iron bars. The cobwebs in the corners, the dust on the floor, and the discarded kerosene lamp all testified to its long-abandoned state.

Suddenly, the void in the center of the room rippled like water, and a figure stepped silently through.

It was Carl!

Holding a broad sword, Carl cautiously surveyed his surroundings before slowly approaching the door and lifting the iron bar.

"Creak…"

The rusted iron door scraped against the floor, emitting a faint sound that caused him to pause momentarily.

'I really hate coming here!'

As he stepped out of the room and looked up at the sky, Carl's mood sank further, his rationality slipping away.

The gray fog obscured the sun, making it impossible to discern whether it was day or night.

The only thing visible was a shattered crimson star hanging in the sky, unmoving and unchanging.

Every visit was like this.

The "moon" of this world did not move with time; it had even usurped the authority of the blazing sun.

The shattered crimson moon and the static stars were constant reminders that he was no longer in his original world.

The cold, dim environment wasn't just reflected in the sky but also in the ever-present aura that seeped into his body.

This was Black City.

A place rich in blackstone.

From the spired towers, stone buildings, and intricate carvings, it was clear that Black City had once been prosperous.

The living standards of its residents had even surpassed those of Signo City.

However, when blackstone veins were discovered underground, the city gradually turned into a mining town.

The wealthy fled early on, leaving behind miners who toiled endlessly while enduring the invasion of underground miasma, living a precarious existence.

Carl tightened his cloak, gripping his broad sword as he moved forward. After just a few steps, his eyes narrowed.

The corpse of an animal—perhaps a wolf or a dog—lay in the middle of the road, surrounded by buzzing scavenger flies.

Though it was just a corpse, Carl was highly vigilant, taking a wide detour to avoid it before continuing on.

The road was marred by various gaping cracks, like scars on the earth.

It was said that excessive mining had caused these geological changes, transforming the once-flat terrain into a rugged landscape.

The cracks emitted smoke—sometimes scorching, sometimes chilling. A mere touch could make an ordinary person gravely ill, so people avoided them whenever possible.

There were also abandoned pits, dark and leading deep underground.

Empty alleys and desolate houses seemed to conceal eerie creatures, silently observing the living who passed by.

Carl's body tensed as he moved quickly and quietly, crossing two streets before spotting his destination in the distance.

"Phew…"

He let out a sigh of relief. At the signal of two black-clad men, he sheathed his sword and stepped into a bustling marketplace.

Laka Market.

A market in the above-ground district of Black City.

"Rat meat! Fresh, unspoiled rat meat—half a blackstone per portion!"

"Top-quality Karia longswords, sharp and lightweight, perfect for slaying half-dead creatures…"

"Clean water! Filtered and impurity-free! Ten liters for just one blackstone…"

The merchants' shouts were enthusiastic yet tinged with helplessness.

The living conditions in Black City were dire. Mining operations had severely polluted underground water sources, and food was in short supply. Only the higher-ranking mine overseers could enjoy fresh food.

Even rotten meat could make it to the dining table.

"Kolon!"

Carl approached a stall with familiarity, crouching down to ask:

"You mentioned a breathing technique last time—any updates?"

Despite being in a different world, there were many similarities—language, breathing techniques, even some writing.

Perhaps, long ago, these two worlds had been connected.

"It's you," Kolon, a wiry man with one eye gouged out by a raven, said with a grin, exposing his decayed teeth and emitting a foul breath that made Carl instinctively lean back.

"Breathing techniques are essential for an ordinary person to become a knight. No family with such a heritage would sell them easily."

"That's true," Carl replied evenly, placing a milk bucket on the ground.

"Fresh milk!"

"Gulp…" Kolon's throat moved as he licked his lips and smiled slyly.

"My friend, you always bring good stuff. I can't even remember the last time I had fresh milk."

"But…" Kolon shook his head and sighed.

"The person with the breathing technique doesn't want this."

"Oh?" Carl frowned.

"What does he want?"

"Shh…" Kolon leaned in and whispered,

"A way out of Black City."

"Carl, if you can get fresh milk, you're not an ordinary person. Can you help someone leave Black City?"

"Ha…" Carl rolled his eyes.

"What do you think?"

"I have my own reasons for getting food. If I were truly someone important, would I come to you for a breathing technique?"

Kolon fell silent.

True enough.

Someone of real status wouldn't lack a breathing technique.

After a pause, he said, "Madam Butterfly's caravan departs in half a month. Joining her caravan costs two thousand blackstones. That's the only way I know to leave Black City."

"Two thousand blackstones?" Carl's expression darkened. He had no such wealth and shook his head decisively.

"I don't have that kind of money."

"Then there's no way." Kolon shrugged. "I want to make the deal, but the guy only wants a way out. Food doesn't interest him."

"Hmph!"

Carl snorted, picking up the milk bucket and turning to leave.

"Wait!" Kolon stopped him and lowered his voice.

"Let me show you something good."

He sneakily pulled out a metal armlet from behind the stall and tinkered with it, producing a crisp click.

"Recognize this?"

"A wrist crossbow?" Carl asked uncertainly.

"Correct!" Kolon nodded emphatically.

"My friend, you're no ordinary person. Only nobles know about this stuff. I went through a lot to get it."

"This wrist crossbow was crafted by a master artisan. It adjusts to fit the arm and holds three bolts. Within seven paces, even a knight's squire would find it hard to dodge. If poisoned, it could even kill a knight."

"In addition to the three bolts, I'll throw in six extra bolts. You can reload it once it's empty."

Carl's eyes lit up.

Killing a knight was beyond his reach, but taking down a knight's squire was more than enough for him.

"Of course," Kolon added with a grin, "a bucket of milk won't be enough."

Without saying much, Carl pulled out five pounds of cured meat and pointed at a mantle clock on the stall.

"I'll take that clock too."

"Deal."

Kolon eagerly agreed, thrilled with the transaction.

"You've got an eye for quality. This mantle clock came from a noble's estate and has a layer of gold plating."

"Sadly," he sighed, "a few decades ago, this would have been worth a fortune. Now, clean water is more valuable."

Carl chuckled.

What he valued was the clock's gold plating. Even without it, the clock's craftsmanship—its gears, carvings, and design—had unique artistic value. In another world, it could fetch a handsome price.

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