Contrary to what he had assumed earlier, Garth felt an odd sense of familiarity with the woman, though he couldn't quite place why. As he found himself captivated by her angelic features, he quickly turned away, heat rising to his cheeks. It was ridiculous—he was technically twenty years old at this moment—yet he was blushing like a boy half that age.
Frustration swelled within him. He had no business admiring another woman, not when his heart belonged to someone he would meet in just three days. That woman had become his wife in his past life. And right now, he felt as though he were betraying her simply by standing here. He needed to put an end to this encounter before it led to anything more.
Erecting himself, he bowed hastily. Though this wasn't a common gesture of gratitude in the Eastern Kingdom, it allowed him to avoid looking directly at her.
"Thank you for your help, miss, but I am completely fine!" His voice came out far louder than he had intended.
'Idiot,' he scolded himself.
The woman raised an eyebrow at his odd behavior. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, absolutely."
"...Alright then. My na—"
She had barely begun to introduce herself before Garth cut her off. He could already tell she was about to give her name, and he wanted no part of it. The sooner he severed any ties with her, the better.
His mind drifted back to the woman he truly loved, and a shiver ran down his spine. He had no doubt she would be furious if she caught him even speaking to another woman.
"We should get back to gathering before all the cores are gone, don't you think?!" He blurted out.
'Idiot,' he berated himself again.
"I—"
"You should head over there," he interrupted, pointing toward a random spot in the distance. "There are plenty of cores left to collect. Meanwhile, I'll be all the way over there." He gestured in the opposite direction.
Before she could respond, he spun on his heel and rushed off.
The woman remained in place, staring after him, utterly baffled.
Once Garth had put some distance between them, he wiped the sweat from his brow and exhaled in relief. Thankfully, his abrupt departure had worked. With his mind now clear, he refocused on gathering cores.
By sunrise, the Venators had finished collecting what they could. Each clutched their bags tightly, eager to return home with their spoils.
Garth's excitement grew with each passing moment. He would finally see his family again—the people he had lost so long ago. And, of course, her. The woman he loved more than anything.
The amount of cores he had gathered paled in comparison to the others, but he didn't care. He had knowledge of far more effective ways to gain wealth.
The army packed their belongings onto massive carriages, each flanked by several caravans. Leading the convoy were enormous golem horses, their enchanted bodies built for endurance rather than speed. Once everything was secured, the golems pulled the carriages forward at a steady pace, allowing the Venators to keep up on foot.
Three long days passed before they finally reached their destination. As the setting sun bathed the land in gold, the capital of the Eastern Kingdom came into view.
Kalikon.
The army gathered at the city's entrance, a massive tunnel-like structure that jutted out from the capital's outer walls. The tunnel, infused with magic, served as both an architectural marvel and a defensive measure, designed to scan those entering the city to prevent infiltration.
The Venators trudged through the passageway, its walls humming with arcane energy. After a long, twenty-five-meter walk, they emerged on the other side, where the evening sun greeted them once more.
Garth wanted nothing more than to rush straight home, but before he could, he had to endure a series of customs procedures. By the time everything was settled—including the distribution of pay—the sun had fully set.
Despite the cheerful atmosphere, frustration simmered among the Venators. As expected, the capital had seized the majority of the cores they had gathered, leaving them with mere scraps. Many grumbled about the unfairness of it all, but deep down, they had known better than to expect anything else from their rulers.
Garth clenched his jaw. He had forgotten about this—how selfish and corrupt the world had been before the great war. In his past life, humanity had banded together against a common enemy, sharing knowledge, resources, and strength in ways that had once been unthinkable. That unity was what had allowed him to grow so powerful, to learn cultivation techniques and alchemy secrets that would have otherwise remained hidden.
But now? Now, greed and self-interest ran rampant once again.
Annoyance flickered through him, but he shoved it aside. Dwelling on the past—or rather, the future—would accomplish nothing. He grabbed his small pouch of three cores and turned toward the one place that mattered.
Home.
As he walked through the city's Quasar rock streets, he took in his surroundings. The peace, the ignorance—the people had no idea what was coming.
He forced himself to focus. The world would crumble in a decade, but before that, several key events would unfold. He had to be prepared. Every step he took now would determine his chances of success.
His thoughts were momentarily interrupted by the synchronized flicker of the street lamps as they ignited with soft bursts of energy. The distinct aroma of Star stone filled the air—a mixture of sparks, mango, and salt. Most found the scent unpleasant, but to Garth, it was the smell of home.
Part of him wanted to slow down and take it all in, to appreciate this moment before everything changed. But the urge to see his loved ones was far greater.
So he pressed on.
As he ventured deeper into the city, his heart sank. The disparity between social classes was even worse than he remembered. The high-class districts—home to nobles and aristocrats—stood tall and pristine. The middle-class neighborhoods, housing merchants and skilled laborers, were well-kept and welcoming.
Then there were the slums.
Garth had been born into this last category, and now, he had returned to it once more.
If the city were divided by percentage, the middle class would make up thirty percent, the high class fifteen percent, and the lower class a staggering fifty-five percent. The capital had been designed so that visitors would first encounter the pleasant façade of the middle-class districts, while the true horrors of poverty remained hidden from view.
Garth slowed his pace as he observed his surroundings. The slums looked as though a storm had torn through them. Broken Quasar stones littered the streets, barely any lamps remained functional, and homes stood in various states of disrepair. People huddled outside, their bodies thin and weak, while swarms of flies and mosquitoes buzzed through the air.
Rage simmered within him. Had he really forgotten how terrible life had been here? Or had he simply chosen to forget?
It didn't matter. He would change it all.
With renewed determination, he navigated the slums by memory alone until he reached his destination.
His house stood before him, its structure battered and worn, yet still standing.
And then he saw her.
His heart pulsated.
Standing at the front of the house, carrying two buckets of water, was the woman he had loved more than anything—the woman he had married at twenty-seven.
He took in every detail. Her disheveled black hair which barely reached her neck, had a few strands of white stylistically peeking through. Her simple, soaked gown clung to her lean frame, accentuating her delicate features. She had never been particularly curvaceous, but her beauty had always been undeniable.
"Rachael..." he whispered.
As if she had heard him, she turned.
Her gaze landed on him.
And for the first time in what felt like a hundred lifetimes, he saw her again.