In the midst of the vast, monotonous, and repetitive plains, a small caravan composed of dozens of people and a few horses and carts loaded with supplies made its way.
Most of the caravan members walked on foot, while the young leader Blear and Willard rode on massive horses, leading the group of warriors toward their destination.
The horses they rode were not ordinary. They had massive bodies, sharp horns protruding from the center of their foreheads, blood-red eyes, and sharp fangs, making them resemble monsters more than domesticated horses.
But the most peculiar feature of their bodies was the natural, solid armor made of their skin, which spread from their hooves to their bellies and stopped at their necks. The upper part of their bodies, their backs, were covered in fur, making riding them somewhat comfortable.
In the middle of the caravan, where the largest number of armed warriors were gathered, Sollivan's hands were tied to one of the carts, forcing him to walk hurriedly and stumble as his back slightly hunched from his inability to keep up with the caravan's pace. This caused him to be dragged forward involuntarily.
His broken hand was wrapped in thick, strange brown leather, tightly bound to prevent his fingers from moving, which somewhat alleviated his pain.
Nevertheless, his breathing was erratic and labored, and his body was drenched in sticky sweat that made his dirty clothes cling to his skin.
Despite his many attempts to steady his breathing, he couldn't hide his exhaustion. But the caravan didn't stop to rest, making his expression grow darker.
He looked around helplessly, scanning his surroundings. If it weren't for the occasional scattered trees, anyone in his position would have thought they were walking in place.
"Huff!"
'There are no hills or elevations, just a flat plain full of grass and a few trees. Even the beasts and animals are almost nonexistent. Throughout the journey, I've only seen a few birds.
This land is like an endless desert plain. Seeing this monotonous view for a long time would make anyone stuck here uncomfortable. But that's not the problem.'
He shook his head irritably and glanced at the warriors surrounding him, muttering.
'How much farther do we have to go before these people stop to rest? We've been walking for five hours at a very fast pace, but they haven't shown any desire to stop.'
He lowered his head and looked at their feet, observing their strange way of walking for a short while before letting out a sarcastic sigh.
'Ordinary humans can't keep up with trained warriors.'
He wasn't blind, and he knew they were using some kind of movement technique, like light steps. For him, the distance they had covered was extremely long and had exhausted his body.
If it weren't for his strong willpower, he wouldn't have been able to continue. But for the warriors around him, their pace was very slow, to the point that some of them complained about it.
...
Hours passed, and the sun began to set peacefully, but the caravan didn't stop.
Instead, they continued their journey at an even faster pace. Each step they took covered a great distance. As for Sollivan , he sat on one of the carts and silently watched their path.
A few hours earlier, he had reached his limit and could no longer walk, causing him to collapse and be dragged by the cart. The caravan finally stopped because of this, and after a brief consultation, they decided to place him on the cart and continue their journey.
They could have done this from the beginning, but Sollivan was just a prisoner who couldn't expect kind or respectful treatment. If he hadn't been slowing them down, they wouldn't have moved him to the cart.
Despite the rest he had gotten, his nerves didn't relax, and his expression grew darker.
His sharp eyes kept looking at the strange shape that had appeared in the distance on the plain. His body tensed and twitched involuntarily, but in the end, he could only mock himself.
'Can't things be a little easier? Ever since I came here, I've been jumping from one danger to another, facing problems beyond my capacity.'
He raised his head and looked at the crimson sky that was about to darken, smiling bitterly.
'It's all so ironic. I'd rather go back home and read books. One adventure in this life is enough for me.'
He fell silent, lamenting his uncertain fate, but despite that, he quickly regained his composure and turned to look at the warriors around him with curiosity.
He was no longer anxious—or rather, he hid his anxiety by letting his curious personality take over. He observed the warriors and examined their bodies carefully.
'I wonder, what is the name of their race? It's clear they're not human, despite the slight similarities between us.'
He thought for a moment, furrowing his brows with a complicated expression.
'Ignorance is a fatal weakness. I've read all kinds of books and manuscripts, but all my knowledge is useless now. That's why they say: A thousand miles of travel is better than reading a thousand books.'
He mocked his own ignorance, then cleared his mind and began reviewing everything that had happened to him, raising the questions he deemed appropriate.
'There are significant differences between us, and we share no connection or knowledge.
This puts me in a weak position, and I'll be seen as a threat. That's not the problem here. They're strong, and I'm weak, which makes me nothing more than a lamb waiting to be slaughtered.'
His mouth twitched as he thought about it, and he involuntarily swallowed a mouthful of saliva.
'No, it's clear they don't know what to do with me. Is this because of my blood? This complicates things even more. Maybe I'll become a slave. Ah, there's no use thinking about it. I can't find any solutions or answers. This is frustrating.'
He resisted the urge to scream in surrender, but in the end, he raised his head and let out a long sigh that all the warriors around him noticed.
'Everything will be revealed soon.'
...
His gaze fell on the small, strangely shaped city ahead of them.
At its center stood a massive structure resembling a tall, primitive cylindrical tower. It had no features—no windows, no pointed peaks, no protruding shapes—just a stone cylinder, with some blue grass growing on it, altering its color in some places.
But the rest of the city's components weren't visible due to a massive wall surrounding it on all sides. There were a few small towers designated for archers, but they weren't very tall or well-crafted.
For Sollivan , who had seen the architectural beauty of the Golden Lion Kingdom, this city seemed crude, dilapidated, and extremely primitive. Even the Red Bell City where he lived, which he despised for its backwardness, seemed advanced in comparison.
The materials used in the construction were random and inconsistent. A large part of the wall was made of square yellow stones stacked together, but in some sections, it was built of wood or patched with clay and bones.
Even after examining the massive wall, he didn't think much about it. He didn't have the luxury of enjoying the scenery.
When the caravan reached the city's large iron gate, his heart began to pound, and his body tensed. His thoughts fell silent, and the only thing left in his mind was a single sentence repeating like an alarm.
'Whatever lies beyond this gate, I must survive.'
In the tall towers beside the gate, the guards watched the caravan of warriors with confused faces full of questions. They glanced at each other in bewilderment, and none of them dared to leave their posts.
The young leader Blear and Willard saw this but didn't do anything.
They remained standing in their places, looking at a specific spot. After a few moments, a large, burly man with a thick beard and disheveled hair appeared.
His face was marred by a massive scar that ran from the middle of his head to his chin. His face looked fierce and terrifying, but contrary to his appearance, his eyes were calm and clear, out of place with his demeanor.
"Open the gate," the fierce man ordered in a calm voice, then left his position without looking back.
Creak!
The iron gate slowly opened, revealing the interior of the small city, which consisted of hundreds of small houses—or rather, hundreds of large tents made of beast hides and wood.
The tents were arranged in an orderly manner, forming neighborhoods and streets, with some empty spaces here and there. A wide street divided the city into two sections, starting from the large gate.
The group of warriors and Sollivan entered through the gate and walked down the wide street. Whenever the passersby saw them, they made way and stood to the side with their hands clasped over their chests and their heads held high.
Even Sollivan , drowning in fear, couldn't resist the urge to enjoy the strange and fascinating sight of the city.
When he saw the people's actions on the sides of the road, he immediately realized it was a form of respectful greeting filled with reverence.
He looked at the young leader riding his horse with pride and dignity, like a crowned prince. Then he remembered some of the warriors' conversations about him.
'They referred to him as the young leader. Does that mean he's like the royal heir here? What an honor to be captured by their prince personally.'
Despite his sarcasm, his expression remained dark, and it grew even darker when he saw the caravan approaching a large, arched tent in the center of the city. Due to its enormous size, the tent looked like a small palace.
As for the stone tower, after entering the city, its location became clear to Sollivan. Contrary to his expectations, it wasn't located in the center of the tribe but at its end, outside the wall surrounding the tribe, isolated from the rest.
'The feeling of helplessness refuses to leave me.'
The caravan stopped in front of the large tent's gate, surrounded by strong warriors wearing thick leather armor.
Their armor wasn't well-crafted, and even the armor of low-ranking guards in his kingdom was better. But it was clear that the materials they used were of very high quality and expensive.
Sollivan wasn't a master of the Arcane or someone who had strengthened his body, but he had seen many strong people in his life. He immediately realized that the guards of the large tent were extremely powerful individuals, the elite warriors of this tribe.
"Get down," Willard stood by the cart and pointed at him with a stern expression.
Without hesitation, Sollivan climbed down from the cart and stood politely and respectfully.
But contrary to his polite demeanor, Willard grabbed his arm with a strong grip, making him groan, and dragged him hurriedly toward the tent's gate. The guards in the area watched them with sharp, hawk-like eyes, but they didn't do anything and remained standing like stone statues.
Blear walked at the front, and as soon as he reached the gate and was about to enter, he paused for a moment, causing Willard and Sollivan to stop as well.
He turned slowly and looked at the warriors who had accompanied him, then ordered in a very stern voice.
"No one is allowed to leave until the leader decides on this matter.
If any of the information you've witnessed leaks out, you will be executed. Is that understood?!"
All the warriors nodded and thumped their chests with their clenched fists.
"Understood."
Their voices were as strong as their bodies, making Sollivan's ears ache.
Despite hearing his followers' response, Blear didn't show any reaction. All he did was look at one of the guards at the gate.
"Make sure they carry out this order."
Unlike the other warriors, the guard didn't overreact. He simply nodded faintly and returned to standing like a statue.
They began walking again and entered through the large gate, arriving at a long hallway with some closed wooden doors on the sides. But at the end of the hallway was a large door guarded by two tall figures.
Blear's stern expression and fierce aura, which radiated strength, became subdued and filled with respect. His strong steps became lighter, as if he didn't want to disturb the sanctity of the place.
Sollivan saw the changes in him and sneered inwardly with resentment.
He wanted to curse Blear and Willard , who was hurting his shoulder, at the top of his lungs, but he resisted that overwhelming urge to avoid hastening his death. He continued walking with dignity and calm, even though he was being dragged forcefully by Willard.
His eyes burned with intense anger, but his face was filled with fear that he tried to hide. He wasn't acting or pretending—it was the truth of his feelings. No matter how strong his willpower was, he wasn't an unshakable person.
He passed by the guards at the large door, and at that moment, he felt his blood pulse strangely.
But that feeling quickly faded after they passed through and entered a large hall in the middle of the palace tent. The tent was well-lit despite the absence of any flames.
Sollivan raised his head and looked at the large, glowing stone emitting a pure white light at the top of the hall.
'A glowing stone.'
This stone wasn't unfamiliar to him. He had seen it in his uncle's palace and in the palaces of powerful families. Although glowing stones weren't extremely rare, they were still expensive, especially one of this size, which he had never seen before.
He didn't stare at the stone for long, then quickly looked around and examined the hall, decorated with the finest types of soft leather and covered with a very smooth carpet. Finally, his gaze fell on the end of the hall, where a large throne stood slightly elevated as a sign of high status.
But he didn't contemplate the throne for long, because as soon as he saw the person sitting on it and their eyes met, his blood began to boil again.
This time, the boiling was so intense that he felt a great heat in his body.
His thoughts stopped, and he couldn't calm himself. He didn't understand what was happening to him, but his eyes didn't leave the person sitting on the ornate throne.
It was a noble-looking man in his late thirties, exuding a powerful and noble aura. He looked at Sollivan with sharp eyes that seemed to pierce deep into his soul.
Like the others he had seen before, this man wasn't ordinary—he seemed even more peculiar. His horns were extremely long and sharp compared to the others, and his scales were a deep crimson. Unlike the others, his scales weren't just on his forehead and neck but extended down to below his eyes. Even his irises were brown with a reddish tint.
His face was chiseled with a masculine structure, and his eyebrows looked sharp like swords. Although he didn't say anything, Sollivan , frozen in place, felt a slight suffocation just by looking at him.
He didn't understand the reason and didn't have the chance to think about it because he was trying to calm his strangely burning body. After several seconds, he finally managed to lower his head and calm himself. He looked at the ground, his face drenched in sweat, and didn't dare to raise his head again.
His emotions and thoughts churned in silence. At this moment, he was certain that he couldn't do anything. Whatever his fate was, he had to stop all desires to resist and accept it.
...
While he was lost in his inner turmoil, the young leader Blear stepped forward and stood before the throne, thumping his chest with his strong fist.
"This young man greets the Supreme Leader."
He lowered his hand, opened his fist, and patted his chest more gently, then greeted again.
"This young man greets the High Priest."
His second greeting was directed at a strange man standing behind the emperor's throne.
Unlike the others, the High Priest wore a black robe that covered his entire body and head, revealing only his pale eyes, which remained fixed on Sollivan in a strange manner. Even hidden behind his robe, he couldn't hide the widening of his eyes.
After a brief moment of stillness, the High Priest's eyebrows furrowed, and he glanced quickly at the Supreme Leader, who remained fixed on **Sollivan**. He didn't do or say anything, like the others, and waited silently for the Supreme Leader to speak with his rigid expression.
None of the attendees were surprised by this strange development, as the Supreme Leader was the person with the purest blood in their tribe.
It was clear that the reaction his blood had upon sensing primordial blood was the strongest among them. After a long silence, the Supreme Leader finally spoke.
"This is truly unbelievable."
His voice was strong and eloquent in a strange way.
But after saying these few words, he fell silent again for a few seconds before saying in a slightly harsh tone
"High Priest Otieno, examine his body."
It seemed as though the High Priest had been eagerly waiting for these words.
He hurriedly walked forward without responding to the king and stood in front of Sollivan , who didn't dare to raise his head again, fearing he might lose control of his body once more.
Everything that had happened to him since arriving in this world was so strange that he couldn't keep up with it all. Even now, he couldn't think clearly.
Before he realized it, he saw a tall, dark shadow standing in front of him. He felt the grip on his shoulder loosen as **Willard** released him and took a respectful step back.
He finally raised his head and looked at the tall, dark figure before him, seeing only his strange black eyes.
But this time, his blood didn't react. On the contrary, he felt a cold shiver deep in his soul. Vaguely, he didn't understand the reason for his dark feeling and strange fear.
Before he could say anything, he saw a pale, thin hand with slightly unnaturally long fingers gripping his uninjured wrist. Despite the icy coldness he felt and the terrifying tremors overwhelming his heart, he didn't dare pull his hand away.