The knight opened the letter to confirm it truly bore Lady Martha’s seal.
He inspected it carefully, the wax catching a faint glint of light, but he did not bother checking the money pouch.
Satisfied, he straightened and continued, his voice carrying a formal edge.
“Young Lady Alina has said what I am now quoting for you.” He paused briefly before reciting, word for word:
“‘Elric, you are nothing but a disgrace.
Today, I have instructed my guard to take your money and recommendation letter from you because you do not need those.
As for the recommendation letter, you cannot use it anyway, as I have sent you to the Fiore Kingdom under the Tempest Empire.
You are not in the Volaria Kingdom as Mother arranged.
That land is ruled by her maternal family, so do not even think about running around asking for favors.
If you dare to reveal your identity as the banished son of Duke Austin, then you know what the consequences will be.
After all, my father has quite an image in the Tempest Empire.
As for me taking your money, it is to give you a reality check and remind you that from day one, go ahead and start begging.
Because after being blind, you can only live by begging for food.
So consider this as the last favor I do as your sister… a disgrace of my ex-brother.'”
The words hung in the air long after the knight finished, heavy and unmoving, like dust that refused to settle.
The boy simply listened.
No anger.
No reaction.
Just silence.
A faint breeze passed, brushing against his face, stirring his hair slightly.
So this is how it is…
The sister whose words he had just heard—he had never even met her.
Yes, the boy standing there was not the real Elric.
The real Elric was already dead.
Elric von Pendragon… was dead.
And the one standing in his place was something else entirely—a transmigrator who had, unfortunately, found himself trapped inside this body.
Elric simply turned.
From the boy’s memories—though he himself could not see—he knew exactly where he was.
Beneath his feet was the broad, scaled back of the eagle, each subtle shift of its body faintly registering through his soles.
Following those memories, he understood that he stood near the center of the creature.
He bent slightly, steadying himself for a brief moment.
This should be enough…
Then he jumped.
Without sight to guide him, the landing came harsher than expected.
His foot struck uneven ground, his body tilting forward as balance slipped from him for a split second.
He nearly fell, the world tilting into nothingness—but he caught himself at the last moment, one foot dragging slightly as he forced his posture upright again.
For a brief second, he remained still.
Then he stood straight.
The knight watched, a flicker of surprise crossing his face.
He had expected something else—anger, perhaps.
A protest.
Harsh words directed at Young Lady Alina.
Some kind of reaction.
But there was nothing.
No outburst.
No defiance.
Just quiet acceptance.
“…Hmph.”
In the end, it did not matter to him.
His duty had been to deliver the message and carry out Young Lady Alina’s orders, and that duty had been fulfilled.
Without another word, he gave a signal.
The scaled eagle responded instantly.
With a powerful beat of its wings, it rose into the air, wind rushing outward in a sharp gust as dust and loose leaves scattered across the ground.
Within moments, the creature carrying the knight ascended higher, its massive form shrinking into the distance until it vanished from sight.
Silence followed.
The young man stood there alone.
For a few moments—how long, he did not know—he remained still, unmoving, as if the world itself had paused around him.
Only the faint rustle of leaves and distant wind accompanied him.
So this is where it begins…
Then—
Sound.
Faint at first.
Voices.
Multiple people speaking, overlapping slightly.
The rhythmic clatter of wheels.
The steady, unmistakable sound of hooves striking the ground.
A caravan.
His ears picked up the direction almost instinctively.
Turning toward it, Elric slowly began to walk, his hands extending slightly ahead of him, fingers brushing against the air as if searching for shape and space.
Each step was measured, careful.
A tree stood in his path.
He sensed it at the last moment, his hand lightly touching the rough bark.
Without hesitation, he adjusted his course, stepping around it, guided entirely by memory and instinct.
Step by step, the sounds grew clearer.
Closer.
The voices louder, the creaking of carts more distinct.
He had gotten closer.
As he walked, dry grass and brittle twigs crunched softly beneath his feet, each step breaking the stillness of the surroundings.
The faint, uneven rhythm of those sounds reached the caravan ahead.
Several members of the caravan—and a few of its guards—turned their heads toward the source of the noise.
Toward him.
Elric stepped forward, his pace steady despite his closed eyes.
The faint rustle of cloth accompanied his movement.
When he was close enough, he stopped and spoke, his voice calm and respectful.
“Greetings to all of you, gentlemen.
I came here from a faraway place.
As you can see, I am a blind person.
Could you please guide me to the nearest city?”
A brief silence followed as eyes fell upon him.
The man who appeared to be the leader of the caravan turned fully in his direction, studying him from head to toe.
His gaze lingered on Elric’s clothes—simple, worn, and of an older style.
Plain cotton, slightly faded, carrying the quiet signs of long use.
A traveler… or something else?
After a moment, the man spoke.
“Hello.
I am Peter, the caravan leader of this group.” His tone was neither warm nor cold—simply measured.
“Are you a refugee who has come here seeking refuge?”
Elric inclined his head slightly at the question.
“Yes, exactly.
I came here from a very faraway place in search of work.”
There was no hesitation in his answer.
Peter watched him for a second longer, weighing his words.
In the end, his expression eased just a little.
At worst, just another unlucky soul…
“Very well,” Peter said, nodding once.
“I will guide you to the gates of Sidian County.
We are headed there ourselves—it is very close now.
You could say we are almost at the gate, just a hundred or two hundred meters away.”
A faint breeze passed between them, carrying the scent of dust and worn leather from the caravan.
Elric gave a small nod.
“Thank you very much.
I am grateful.”
Then the caravan began to move forward, wheels creaking as they rolled over the uneven ground.
The steady rhythm of hooves followed, blending into a slow, continuous motion.
Elric walked along with them, keeping close, guided by the layered sounds around him.
Step by step, they advanced.
Soon, they reached the gates of Sidian County.
(A/N: Image in the comments.)
The distant murmur of voices grew louder, mixed with the occasional clank of armor and the shifting of metal.
The air itself felt more crowded, heavier with movement and presence.
Peter turned slightly toward Elric and spoke, his tone practical.
“We are currently in the line for caravan entry.
Since you are not a member of the caravan, you should join the line for individual entry.”
Elric gave a small nod.
“In which direction?”
“To your left side.”
Without hesitation, Elric turned and walked to his left.
His steps remained careful but steady, his hand slightly raised as he navigated forward.
As he approached the line, the shifting of bodies and faint murmurs became clearer.
When he drew near, a man standing there looked at him—and a visible expression of disgust crossed his face.
“Why the hell are you coming here to cut in line?” the man snapped.
“Go back.”
Elric did not react.
He simply nodded.
Turning slightly, he relied on his senses—the direction of voices, the spacing of footsteps—and slowly made his way toward the back of the line.
The ground shifted subtly beneath him as he walked, dust brushing against his feet.
He stopped when he judged he had reached the end.
Then he waited.
The line moved forward at a slow, uneven pace.
Each step brought a faint shuffle, a brief pause, then another step.
Behind him, more people arrived, their presence forming a growing pressure at his back.
Elric moved forward with the flow.
From time to time, a few people—cheeky and impatient—slipped past him, cutting ahead without hesitation.
Their movements were quick, deliberate.
They took advantage of his blindness, confident that he would not notice.
Elric said nothing.
It doesn’t matter…
He continued stepping forward.
Time passed.
Finally, his turn came.
A guard stood before him, his presence firm and unmoved.
The faint clink of his armor accompanied a brief shift in posture.
He did not spare Elric’s condition a second thought.
“Show your entry permit.”
Elric paused for a moment before replying.
“Uh… I don’t have any entry permit.”
An entry permit—required for every county, every city within an empire or kingdom.
It served as proof of identity, a form of authentication.
Every citizen possessed one.
For commoners, it was forged from iron—simple, durable.
As one’s status rose, so did the quality.
At the highest level, nobles carried theirs as golden plates.
The guard exhaled lightly but remained patient.
“Then you are considered a foreigner,” he said.
“If you wish to enter the county, you must pay one silver coin as an entry fee.
Only then will you be allowed inside.”
A faint pause followed.
Elric spoke again, his voice calm, unchanged.
“I don’t have any money with me.
I came here to find work… is there another method?”