Fersian was a village located at the far northwest, known for its lumber trade from the towering trees that concealed the White Mountain Range.
For Santos, the only appeal was the White Mountain Range. Beyond the impressive forest were rare creatures and materials he often risked his life to collect. But that was in the past. Today, Fersian was no longer a village—it had grown into a bustling city with more than one trade making it what it is now.
The city had two-story buildings, with the most prosperous businesses boasting four stories. There was an adventurers' guild, a town hall, the local security barracks, and the mayor's mansion.
Another thing that caught Santos' attention was the church near the center.
Could it be that the church is near the forest because no one else wants to go there?
The city was fortified with high and thick walls, something Santos noticed upon seeing soldiers patrolling the battlements.
As he approached the gate, he saw caravans with escorts and the occasional adventurer leaving the city.
There are definitely monsters out there. Could it still be the cold corpses?
In the past, Fersian was besieged by hordes of undead. Despite this, the Holy Empire sent soldiers and adventurers to deal with the threat. Over time, the source of the walking dead could never be determined due to the dangers of the forest surrounding the mountain range. Many theorized it was caused by a dead dragon or a powerful Overlord of Death.
In the end, it was concluded that the mountain range was too dangerous for small groups. Santos recalled Zephyr the Explorer attempting an incursion with more than 300 people.
Zephyr the Explorer, the eighty-ninth of the One Hundred, was renowned as a free spirit and libertine. With his blond hair, green eyes, and a distinctive goatee paired with his radiant smile, Zephyr was celebrated as the greatest explorer of all time, credited with discovering the City of the Dead in Gracia's ancient capital and the Lost City of the Sky.
Santos remembered him accompanied by Khan and Maria Antoinette, brimming with excitement to venture into the White Mountain Range.
Standing like a sentinel lost in thought, Santos decided he would head to the White Mountain Range. He stopped at the city's southern gate, deliberating on his next steps: join a group headed north or venture out alone.
First, I'll check the guild.
Retracing his steps took a few minutes.
The guild building was made of wood painted a yellowish hue, its windows open, and its entrance devoid of doors. Guilds were known for always being open to all at any hour, though the second floor was restricted to outsiders.
Santos entered and took a moment to appreciate the interior. It resembled a tavern: to the left were semi-private booths, with a bar and circular dining tables toward the back.
To the right was a large board featuring a map of the northern area, with pinned notes describing critical missions. A bit further back was a notice board and a reception desk staffed by three women.
In the center, a hallway led directly to stairs behind the reception, with a small balcony above it.
Santos strode confidently toward the reception desk, listening to snippets of intriguing conversations along the way.
"Did you hear? This time, the horde has fewer undead than the last."
"Hope I score a good loot this time; all I got was a broken sword."
"Rumor has it the famous Radiant Knight is lost in the mountains, and that's why—"
None of the chatter particularly interested Santos. Finally, he reached the desk and spoke to a middle-aged woman who seemed in a foul mood.
"Good day. I'm looking for missions or expeditions heading north."
The woman, clearly irritated, eyed Santos from head to toe.
"Hmm, seven groups left this morning to hunt strays. If you hurry, you might catch them."
That's it? Just like that? I…
The woman extended her hand with an impatient expression.
"Your license. I need to log your participation."
Of course, they'd ask for it.
Santos retrieved a peculiar, iridescent card from his belt pouch.
The previously irritated receptionist hesitated, her expression shifting. For her, individuals bearing personalized identification cards with embellishments were either extremely important or famous.
"Here it is. Anything else you need?"
The woman swiftly returned the card with newfound respect.
"No, that will be all."
Could he be a noble or someone of great importance?
What the receptionist didn't know was that these personalized cards were primarily attributed to the legendary Reciardos.
Her irritation turned to disbelief, then awe. She returned the card to Santos with almost reverent haste.
"It's—it's an honor to assist you. If you wish to head toward the White Forest, you must speak to the Father at the northern church. If you'd like a guide, we can arrange one for you. If you prefer, I can personally escort you now—"
"Wait, what?! Hold on—"
The receptionist dashed around the counter and approached Santos.
"My name is Martha. I'll be your guide wherever you wish to go."
Santos found himself at a loss for words to refuse.
Martha, now brimming with energy, led Santos to the church, talking non-stop about places, people, and even her own life.
Throughout the journey, Santos only uttered "Yes" or "I see" to keep the one-sided conversation flowing.
At the church, the soldiers who had bid Santos farewell were astonished at his return. One immediately ran to fetch the Father.
While Santos grappled with the spirited Martha, he was unaware of the stir he was causing.
He who shines like gold.
The words echoed through the church halls, alleyways, and shops, carrying awe, hope, and devotion. Those who witnessed his emergence from the Mirror of Water couldn't deny what their hearts whispered. And those who heard the stories relived the emotions of the first Reciardo's arrival: the man they saw wasn't just anyone.
Santos, the legendary Golden Knight, the first of the One Hundred, had returned.
The rumors spread quickly throughout the lower hillside city. From the bustling market to the humblest homes, everyone spoke of the man who emerged from the sacred waters. His name became a constant murmur, a prayer, a reminder of tales they thought were merely bedtime stories.
He who shines like gold, they said.
The echo of his name ignited faith, but also uncertainty. What did his return signify? Was it a harbinger of glory or calamity?
Meanwhile, Santos, unaware of the commotion he had left in his wake, walked through the church. He felt the weight of his backpack and, even more so, the weight of a destiny he couldn't remember choosing.