A few dozen guards guarded the large doors to a wide, open room. In its insides, an aged man sat in a red throne, which was located near the walls opposing the door.
The experienced eyes of the man fell on a group of mages. Most of them infused something into a gigantic magic circle through some smaller magic circles, each belonging to a singular mage. The main flat sphere shone with a bright, blue light that enveloped the room with the throne easily.
"Is this it...?" muttered a similarly aged woman, who stood by the occupied throne's side.
"I hope so." Replied the old man. He took deep breaths, in a feeble attempt to regulate his own breathing.
Pointless. Deep breaths wouldn't help him to keep his own excitement in check, but it had to be done.
Particles of blue light agglomerated at the center of the circle with strange symbols. They were quickly shaped into a form resembling that of a standing human body.
"It..."
The body of a light-skinned, brown-haired youth, wearing a white buttoned shirt, black jeans and a big, black hooded overcoat.
Everyone in the room observed the strange human, who had captured their full attention. The transmigrated one opened his brown eyes, scrutinizing the entire scene before him.
The mages that formerly stood in a circular formation, currently resting.
The armored guards surrounding him.
And the man dressed with a king's attire, sitting in the throne overlooking the room.
"This..."
His statement was met by silence.
The one wearing the golden crown rose from his seat.
He took another deep breath, and-
He got a coughing fit.
The elder's back encroached. Both the deep green robes, and their yellow trims, came in contact with the clean floor of the hall.
A woman in her mid-20's emerged from the former magician formation, holding what seemed to be a recipent containing some liquid.
She shoved the clear liquid down the monarch's throat.
Some other individuals, like the aged woman standing by his side, also managed to react. However, they weren't as fast or as prepared as the young lass.
The monarch released a few heaves. "Ha... Ahem. Thank you, Miss Verderift."
The mage, wearing a black and white jerkin that blended in nicely with her clear skin and black hair, nodded her head.
Randall took notice of that, and the others' reactions.
The monarch sat down again. He locked eyes with the stranger.
"Greetings."
'That's... English? Huh. Interesting to know.'
He remained mostly serious. "Hello... mister. Who are you? And where am I?"
Cold gazes of a few individuals landed on him. "Disrespectful," muttered one of the guards.
The whispers spread throughout the room with ease. "Silence, everyone."
The monarch's stern gaze only helped to shut the others up.
"Welcome, traveler. My name is Maximilianus Orwell, and I'm the ruler of the land we're both currently in: Fegendale."
The otherworldly human nodded.
'That doesn't tell me much. All I know is that I died, had my body "repaired," and ended up in this... place. I need more information.'
His mind went through some of the decorations he had seen in the few seconds of stay here. Large, custom-made windows, a structure built with stone, and some unmoving yellow banners hanging near the ceiling.
'Perhaps this is medieval? It sure has the looks for it.'
His gaze was directed at the monarch. "I wish to understand this situation, so I'd appreciate it if you allowed me to ask a few questions."
"Feel free to do so, young man."
His serene voice, slightly filled with a sense of authority, reached everyone's ears. Most of the present individuals curiously awaited the otherworlder's questions.
Something began tugging in the back of Randall's mind.
"... Are there demons in these lands?"
A pale figure in the crowd flinched.
"Yes. We're currently in a war with them."
'There are demons, and there IS a war... Haa, that white baloon lied to me.'
"I see... What about the circle from earlier?"
The whispers kept flooding the room. And Randall caught wind of every single one of them. He held back a sigh, but his eyebrows twitched slightly.
'Weren't they told to shut up? Why are they talking more than before...?'
"... Can we have some privacy?"
The monarch politely dismissed the present people in the room. Most of them followed his command without a doubt.
Yet, the black haired woman from earlier stayed put.
"Miss Verderift, that also includes you."
Her thin eyebrows sank into a frown, with two crimson eyes landing on the monarch's restless face. Sadly for her, glaring was all she could do right now.
"I'll be fine. Please leave us alone for a moment."
She walked towards the large, twin doors of the room with the throne. Her footsteps echoed with ease, but...
They weren't the only ones echoing.
A panting human figure soon bursted into the room. No knocking on the door beforehand or anything.
"M-monarch!"
The gaze of the one in the throne darkened considerably. His fists clenched, too. "I hope there's a good reason for intruding here like this..."
"One of our elven representatives is trapped in a sieged town!"
The crowned man's expression went from angry to serious. "Prepare the arrays!"
"Most of the arrays in the area are down..."
The monarch's expression sank.
He lifted himself up from the throne. Yet, someone had stopped him before he could do anything else.
"We'll go. You stay here."
Randall's head snapped in her direction.
"It's dangerous."
"Precisely. Fegendale can't afford to lose its leader in battle..."
The woman almost continued that statement, but opted to stop herself at the last moment.
"... Be careful. I don't wish to hear even more of the Flame Saint's nagging."
The woman nodded.
"And keep an eye on him. Keep him safe, if possible," he added.
Her eyes flared up with determination. "Yes!"
'... Maybe I can get something good off of this. Besides, seeing their actions speak rather than their words is always better...'