A few days passed, and I began to understand the situation more. I still lacked information about my transmigration, but I hadn't expected to uncover some mighty, grand secret in the first place, so I was not disappointed.
Anyway.
The world where I arrived was named Melisande, which meant "The World Of Dreams" in their language.
And, to be honest, it truly was mesmerizing, as compared to the withering land engulfed by the key forces of the War Of Broken Oaths. Instead of a wasteland encompassed by a sea of ice, I saw flourishing gardens and courtyards.
My vision flashed to my former life. In truth, I was somewhat glad that I had transmigrated. A second chance was a blessing, not a curse. It was only a matter of how I could make the most of another opportunity.
In Melisande, instead of lines of corpses and occasional oceans of blood, I saw smiles of satisfaction, and the vitality of youth.
It was refreshing.
But simultaneously, I knew all of this was only surface level. Underneath the calm, beautiful image of a prosperous world, there existed darkness, at a depth no commoner could peek into, but could definitely sink to.
Most didn't know to swim up and escape.
As I walked through the courtyard, a thin, loose fabric hugging my rather lanky physique, I felt at peace. The white and blue robes given to me by the servants were quite comfortable. I belonged to a prestigious family in Melisande.
Even at Stallard Hope Academy, the most prestigious academy in the Symons Empire, I was able to procure such luxury through my family's influence.
Apparently, I, Ryan 'Ashford,' rather than Hawk, belonged to the Ashford Family. My father, Theodore Ashford, was the mayor of the Ingrenier District, one that was held in high regard by the Imperial Family and the entirety of the Symons Empire.
Perhaps this was fate's way of rewarding me.
I wasn't certain.
Beyond that, I also learned that the residents of Melisande, regardless of which Empire they belonged to, were quite religious. There were temples and churches of many deities scattered across the lands.
The Olympian Gods, Nordic Gods, etc.
All the myths seemed to have been combined into one world.
Perhaps this was what they meant by "The World Of Dreams."
As I explored the courtyard, I suddenly saw a peculiar scene.
"Please, let me go!" A feminine voice screeched, yet her voice was not too loud. She seemed to be holding herself back, as if shouting was prohibited. The woman was around 30 years of age, dressed in a servant's outfit.
Her black hair was tied in a ponytail, and her grey eyes contained traces of moisture that trickled down her cheek. A broom lay beside her, while a rather muscular man dressed in a formal suit held her by the collar.
The man barely had any hair, and seemed to be at least 40-50 years of age. With an expression of frustration and slight mischief, he stared directly into the woman's eyes, as if attempting to hypnotize her.
Sexual harassment, perhaps?
Finally, the woman couldn't endure the man's actions, and let out an ear-piercing scream that resounded across the mansion.
Yet, no one responded.
In a massive residence filled to the brim with servants and managers tending to my every need, not a single person responded to the earth-shattering screech. It was as if the woman was no different than air.
However, what happened next was quite shocking.
Slap!
The man's hand swept across the woman's cheek, leaving behind a crimson imprint of a massive palm. The hint of mischief in the man's expression was quickly replaced by a sense of embarrassment.
"If you let out one more word, your son won't see the light of day again," said the man in a threatening tone, holding his hand up for another slap.
"I think that's enough," I finally spoke, exhausted by the situation. It weighed down on my moral conscience. Although I was no better, I wasn't in favor of attacking the helpless. It was only the strong I preyed on.
Most importantly, I wouldn't say I liked how the man looked at the woman.
With eyes full of lust.
As the two turned to face me, their expressions paled. I titled my head, confused. I could understand the man's reaction, but why was the woman disheartened by my arrival? Did she believe I was joining the harassment?
"Young Master Ryan…"
"Young Master Ryan…"
"Stop harassing innocent people," I told the muscular man, whose name I read was Harold. "Go mind your own business."
"Young Master?"
The woman–named Caroline–seemed truly shocked by what she was witnessing. Did I have that bad of a reputation in Melisande? What the fuck did my past self do to make it so hard to believe that I'd help someone out?
On the other hand, Harold seemed surprised that I'd decided to take action. He stood–frozen in nervousness as sweat trickled down his face.
"I–I apologize, Young Master."
"Apologize to her."
"I–I'm s–sorry."
Caroline just watched in awe at the scene, as if she were in a daze. Did I truly have that bad of a reputation? As Harold scurried away in a hurry, a few of the other workers peeked out, their foreheads lined with sweat.
"What're you guys looking at?" I asked with a deadpan expression, shooing away the bystanders. As I helped Caroline up, she continued to stare at me, seemingly in shock. I quickly told her to wipe the dirt from her dress before walking away.
It was an awkward incident.
One I'd rather not repeat.