“Meet me?
What on earth are you talking about?” Vladimir asked, frowning at his older counterpart.
“I suppose it’s a bit confusing, isn’t it?”
“Of course it is!
I don’t know you at all, old man!”
The older Vladimir understood the young man’s confusion.
Despite sharing the same name, they came from completely different backgrounds.
Young Vladimir Konovalov had yet to experience the grim realities of war, whereas the elder Vladimir had already tasted both its bitterness and its fleeting sweetness.
Young Vladimir’s eyes caught a small inscription on the veteran’s uniform bearing a name: Polushin.
“Polushin?”
“That’s right!
That’s my last name.
Sorry if the lettering is a bit hard to read,” Vladimir Polushin told young Vladimir Konovalov.
Even so, the elder Vladimir admitted that meeting his younger self had never frightened him.
Overcome with a quiet sense of nostalgia, he began to share his story with the boy.
Vladimir Polushin revealed that he had once been a crew member aboard a renowned vessel of its era—a Soviet gunboat named the Krasnoye Znamya.
Built before the turn of the 20th century, the ship bore the honorary moniker Khrabryy, which meant “The Brave” in Russian.
It measured roughly 72.26 meters (237.1 feet) in length, with a displacement of about 1,375 tons and a beam of 13.1 meters.
Its propulsion system consisted of two VTE engines, eight auxiliary boilers, and two propeller shafts, churning out 2,100 horsepower and an average cruising speed of 14.5 knots (26.9 km/h).
Looking back, the vessel the older Vladimir had served on was hardly fit for deep-sea diving expeditions.
At the very least, their focus had been entirely on naval combat.
Back then, he was just an ordinary sailor whose primary duty was checking the rigging and lines.
For five years, he had buried himself in his work without giving a single thought to the safety of his comrades.
Then, for the first time, Vladimir witnessed the unthinkable: his fellow crewmates began dying under mysterious circumstances.
There had been no suspicious signs when they first boarded the ship.
As it turned out, the captain had been ordered to quietly sabotage non-Russian crew members by tricking them into consuming a popular Russian delicacy laced with poison.
Naturally, Vladimir Polushin had been completely oblivious to the plot.
One by one, the crew fell victim to a painful tragedy, collapsing with foam bubbling at their mouths.
Shocked out of his wits, Vladimir Polushin had frantically vomited up everything in his stomach.
But the captain at the time had simply shaken his head, letting the grim process play out a little longer.
Before long, most of the crew were lifeless, leaving behind only Vladimir Polushin and five other sailors—all of whom were ethnically Russian.
In the end, their sacrifices hadn’t been in vain; through sheer grit and by any means necessary, the Soviet gunboat Krasnoye Znamya managed to stay operational until the end of World War I.
Yet, the harrowing scars of that experience never truly faded.
After finishing his tale, Vladimir Polushin looked down at the boy, who was staring back with a deeply troubled expression.
“But why…
why do you still feel so uneasy about the path you chose?”
Vladimir Polushin was genuinely impressed by the depth of the question.
For someone so young, Vladimir Konovalov possessed an uncanny ability to read a person’s facial expressions.
A warm smile broke across the veteran’s weathered face.
“Simply to survive, kid.
If I didn’t have anything to live for, why bother being born into this world at all?
Besides, we all need to carve out a purpose so that people will remember who we are.”
“Remember who we are?” Vladimir Konovalov echoed, turning the old man’s words over in his mind.
The poor old man smiled softly before adding, “Instead of wandering through life aimlessly, there comes a time when you need to set a primary goal.
It will grow and evolve as you walk your path, and that growth is what ultimately shapes you into a much wiser human being.”
The reality of those words hit Vladimir Konovalov like a physical blow.
Beneath the complexity of the old man’s speech, the boy absorbed the message as effortlessly as a sponge soaking up water.
From that exact moment onward, Vladimir Konovalov forged his own path: to become a sailor, just like Vladimir Polushin.
As Vladimir Konovalov snapped back to the present, a flicker of his childhood memory—and the birth of his dream to sail the seas—played vividly in his mind.
He had finally achieved it, even if the price had been steep.
He drew a deep breath, tilted his head back toward the sky, and stretched his arms out wide.
“I still have so much to learn about this world.”
~o0o~
Several hours before encountering Vladimir…
Huey Long and his bodyguards were exploring this unfamiliar world, brought here by a god’s summoning magic.
Huey let out a quiet sigh.
As they hiked through the Semke Forest, there was no sign of any monsters—only harmless wildlife like rabbits scurrying through the underbrush.
Huey glanced to the right and closed his eyes.
“Sir, is it really true that otherworlders are heading this way?”
“Yes.
There’s no doubt about it.
My only issue is that analyzing their exact movements has been difficult.”
“And what about that video?”
“About that…”
He thought back to the footage he had discovered while trapped in the other world.
Huey Long began plotting his next move, just as one of his bodyguards stumbled upon a clue leading to a library.
Tucked away at a crossroads between the Kingdom of Ars and the Semke Forest stood an old, weathered building surrounded by towering trees.
A quiet sanctuary where deer, rabbits, and birds gathered, accompanied by the gentle bubbling of a gravel-strewn stream that stretched for nearly a kilometer.
Though narrow, the constant flow of fresh water made it a natural watering hole for the local wildlife.
Yumi Hitomachi and Allen McCarthy had been desperately searching for any books related to the otherworlders.
Without the information they needed, everything they encountered felt impossible to digest.
Allen, in particular, was starving for answers, having even gone so far as to ask townsfolk about the mysterious texts displayed around the city, only to be met with blank stares or head shakes.
Frustration had pushed them to the brink of giving up before Yumi wandered deeper into the Semke Forest.
“Allen-san!
Look what I found!” she called out.
“If you found a rabbit, it’s about time we made camp for lunch,” Allen replied lazily.
“It’s not a rabbit.
Come here!”
But after taking a few steps, he froze in awe at what Yumi had uncovered: a literal library.
Though Allen wasn’t much of a reader, he knew a valuable resource when he saw one.
“Incredible,” he praised the discovery.
“See?
I told you!”
The structure was neatly built with stone walls, bearing a wooden sign that clearly read Library.
Allen and the old man hurried forward, and Allen rapped his knuckles against the door.
“Excuse me!
Is anyone in here?”
There was no answer from within.
Yumi tried the circular brass doorknob, rapping on the wood three times.
“Hello?
Is anybody home?” Yumi called out, echoing Allen’s prompt.
“If nobody’s going to answer, we’ll just wait outside!” she added with a slightly raised voice.
Still, silence met their calls.
Allen and Yumi exchanged a sigh before slowly twisting the knob.
The door swung open with a harsh, ear-piercing creak that made them wince.
Stepping inside, Allen struck a match and lit a lantern to illuminate the dim interior, holding it aloft as he scanned Yumi and their surroundings.
“Do you think the librarians just abandoned the place?” Yumi asked nervously.
“Who knows?
If I were you, I’d search every inch of this place for a hidden door until I found one.
Though it’d probably be easier if a professional actor stepped in to play our parts instead,” Allen joked.
“Is that so?” Yumi asked naively.
“I’m just kidding,” he chuckled.
Yumi hadn’t understood Allen’s dry humor at first, but over time she had grown used to his sarcastic social commentary—it was almost like watching a stand-up routine.
Knowing Yumi had no interest in luxury goods or cosmetics, Allen respected her frugality, setting aside money for more practical needs, much like Rina.
Hiro, on the other hand, tended to blow his cash on personal splurges—though he usually backed down whenever Rina scolded him.
Shaking off the thought, Allen took the lead, with Yumi trailing closely behind, clutching the back of his shirt.
Her face was pale, and her entire body trembled as her darting eyes scanned the shadows, terrified that something might drop onto her head from above.
Every stray creak of the floorboards set her on edge.
“Don’t walk so fast!
I’m scared!”
“I’m right here with you.
What’s gotten into you?” Allen frowned.
Despite his words, she kept her tight grip on his fabric as they pushed deeper into the chill, unlit aisles.
The air grew colder, and their footsteps echoed heavily.
Suddenly, a scuffling sound drew their attention.
Allen swung his torch forward, catching a rat scurrying desperately away from the light.
Ignoring the rodent, Allen spotted a sturdy wooden door featuring a dark, circular handle.
He knocked once more.
“Who’s there?”
“Pardon us!
My name is Allen, a traveler, and this is my cousin, Yumi.
We’d like to visit the library.
Would it be alright if we stayed the night?” Allen asked politely.
Again, absolute silence.
Yumi and Allen exchanged a nervous look.
The ponytail-clad girl tried desperately to swallow the lump of fear stuck in her throat, though she had no idea how to actually calm her racing nerves.
“Fine then!
I’ll open it myself,” a gruff voice called out.
The door clicked and swung inward from the inside.
Through the gap, Allen caught sight of an older gentleman—roughly four years older than Allen himself—surrounded by children and two women playing together.
The man radiated the undeniable authority of a seasoned military veteran.
Silver streaked his thick, untamed hair and long beard, and his strong jawline framed a fierce expression.
He looked every bit like a retired, legendary high-ranking general.
Both Allen and Yumi felt a strange sense of familiarity.
They had seen this old man’s face before—at the tavern just a week ago.
Yumi remembered greeting him with a smile back then, and he had nodded back politely.
Allen, on the other hand, had simply dismissed him as a random old man.
“What is it?
Do you recognize my face?
Or have we crossed paths before?” the long-haired veteran asked, raising an eyebrow.
“No, no.
I don’t know you at all.
Right, A—”
Allen stepped forward, completely ignoring the basic etiquette of a visitor.
Yumi hurried after him, hissing a frantic whisper in his ear.
“Allen-san, you should at least show some respect!”
“Relax.
He’s just an old general.
Right?”
“Oh?
So you recognize my scent, do you?” the veteran chuckled, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
The long-haired man let out a hearty laugh, amused by the fact that someone his own age was treating him with such casual disregard.
He stepped closer to Allen, scrutinizing the young man’s posture.
“So…
what is it you’re actually looking for?”
“I’m searching for historical records regarding the Kingdom of Ars.
I feel like an absolute idiot wandering around without knowing anything about this world’s history,” Allen explained, scanning the endless rows of leather-bound titles. Get faster updates on novelping dot com.
The veteran chuckled again.
He dragged a heavy wooden step-ladder over, stepped up onto it, and reached high toward the top shelves.
Allen craned his neck, spotting a book bound in a striking gold cover, embossed with intricate carvings and the tiny footprint of a bear.
He wondered briefly where such an odd artifact had come from, but pushed the thought aside.
“What is that?” Yumi asked, tilting her head.
The old man successfully retrieved the heavy tome and handed it down to Allen.
“Happy reading, sir,” he said with a wry smile.
Allen accepted the book and began flipping to the first page, joined by Yumi, who peered over his shoulder out of sheer curiosity.
The text detailed how humanity had spent millennia locked in a desperate war against the demons.
Every ten years, a brave hero would rise to defeat the strongest demons and even the Demon King himself, yet none had ever managed to eradicate them completely.
To this day, the two factions remained bitter enemies.
Compounded by endless territorial disputes between human factions, civilization had fractured into dozens of rival kingdoms, leaving only three major powers standing: the Kingdom of Ars, the Torquis Empire, and the Amerta Union.
The Kingdom of Ars traced its origins back to a legendary Paladin named Robertus Ars, who had wandered the realm alongside five companions in search of the Demon King.
Those companions were Gale, Luna, Tom, Fahrenheit, and Clementine.
Together, the six of them overcame countless trials against the demonic armies.
Thanks to his charisma, Robertus earned the deep reverence of the common folk.
Yet, tragedy struck when Robertus lost someone he held dear: Gale, his childhood friend and closest confidant, who fell in battle against the Demon King Azazel.
That loss left a gaping hole in his heart.
Soon after, Tom, Fahrenheit, and Clementine also perished at Azazel’s hands.
In the final confrontation, Robertus sacrificed his own life so that Luna—the woman he loved—could escape the Demon King’s fortress.
From the ashes of that sacrifice, the Kingdom of Ars was born, built to strengthen military and political might while keeping Azazel at bay.
Unbeknownst to most, Luna was carrying Robertus’s child when she fled.
She kept it a strict secret until she gave birth to a boy nine months later, naming him Robertus in honor of the man she loved.
To this day, the Kingdom of Ars was ruled by Boris Arbertus Ars, though his hardline policies had earned him the quiet resentment of his ministers, who schemed to have the crown prince marry Princess Olivia—a plan the King continuously delayed while he obsessed over preparing for a massive final invasion against Azazel.
Meanwhile, the Torquis Empire carried a much bloodier legacy.
For 300 years, the land had been torn apart by brutal civil wars between rival factions of relatives—the Stalmit Clan and the Orvan Clan—fighting endlessly over land rights and supreme power.
The bloodshed only halted when Erwin, the youngest son of the Orvan Clan, stepped forward to broker peace.
When both sides ignored his pleas, Erwin realized diplomacy was useless and adopted a ruthless stalemate strategy: he deliberately provoked both factions to accelerate their conflict while quietly supplying food and political immunity to anyone willing to defect to his side.
By the time the exhausting two-day war left both the Stalmit and Orvan clans shattered in strategy, physicality, and morale, Erwin struck.
His faction was stronger than ever, while his rivals crumbled.
Realizing Erwin was the true threat, the two warring clans belatedly tried to unite, but their starving soldiers—already promised land and military status under Erwin’s banner—refused to fight.
Facing absolute defeat, both clans surrendered unconditionally.
True to his word, Erwin completely overhauled the military, political, and legal systems, founding the Torquis Empire.
Thousands of outcasts from the old clans were taught modern doctrines under Erwin’s iron fist, and he never hesitated to execute dissidents.
As a result, the empire had surged forward so rapidly in the past three years that the Kingdom of Ars was now struggling to keep pace.
Both superpowers had been locked in a cold war for roughly a year, primarily driven by a mutual obsession: mastering the ultimate biological asset known as the Otherworlders.
Both nations continuously summoned beings from other worlds, despite the severe toll it took—namely, cutting the summoness’s lifespan down to roughly ten years.
Once a war concluded, these summoned individuals were required to bear children with native partners from either Ars or Torquis, after which they were drafted directly into the military or government elite.
“I see.
Fascinating,” Huey Long muttered, stroking his chin as he mentally archived the historical data.
It was a blatant cheat, but an effective one.
Armed with his [Copy File] ability, he could instantly duplicate the contents of any text he read.
Even so, Huey Long felt a twinge of dissatisfaction regarding the accomplishments of these otherworlders.
“Brilliant, Lord Huey!
You truly have a gift for mastering such rare skills!” praised one of his loyal subordinates.
Without missing a beat, Huey continued copying data, hitting the delete function on a holographic video display to wipe his digital footprint and destroy any evidence of his presence.
Yet, something still felt off.
He tapped his chin, deep in thought.
Those individuals shouldn’t even exist—the video footage he had pulled up earlier wasn’t entirely real, or at least, it wasn’t 100%.
As Huey ventured deeper into the library, he suddenly spotted a figure in the distance: an elderly man with a long beard, holding an orange-fletched arrow.
He wore long sleeves with a sash draped across his chest, arrow gripped firmly in his right hand.
He wasn’t alone; roughly fifteen armed guards surrounded him, silently spreading out to secure the perimeter.
Why am I walking into a situation like this?
Huey thought to himself.
With a quiet sigh, the man in the black suit unzipped his briefcase and handed out four Remington Model 51 pistols to his bodyguards.
“Stay sharp.
We don’t know who we’re dealing with, so don’t do anything rash,” Huey instructed his squad.
The guards pulled back the slides, chambering their rounds with practiced care.
Huey raised his right hand.
“[Invisible]…”
However, the [Invisible] skill couldn’t hold up for long inside the area’s ambient protective barrier.
Huey suddenly felt a sharp, blue-white surge of electricity flooding his brain, bringing an uncomfortable wave of neurological backlash.
“Are you alright, sir?”
“I’m fine.
Move ahead.
I’ll cover our rear.”
His guards nodded in unison, leaving Huey alone behind the cover of a thick tree trunk.
The four guards advanced with their Remington Model 51s drawn.
Taking a breath, Huey brought up his shattered smartphone and checked his status window:
Name: Huey Long
Age: 22 Years Old
Race: Otherworlder
Level: 5
Job: Scriber
Ability: [Lip Service] [Justice Sense] [Alternate Video] [Suitcase Storage]
Skill: [Copy File] [Invisible]
He kept the Remington Model 51 gripped tightly for self-defense; he refused to let history repeat itself, remembering the pathetic end of his past life where he was assassinated before he could fulfill his ambitions of regional conquest.
As the screen flickered back to life briefly, a single name flashed across the broken display: Vladimir Konovalov.
It seemed fate was intent on pushing him directly toward the man bearing that name.