In the end, I had to take a taxi home since I could barely walk straight. The driver charged me 20 copper coins—a blatant scam—but exhaustion dulled my will to argue.
As soon as I got back, I collapsed into bed, drifting into an uneasy sleep.
When I woke, the clock read 1:00 AM.
For a few minutes, I just sat there, staring blankly at the wall. My mind felt sluggish, my body heavy with fatigue. Eventually, I forced myself up and took a quick bath, letting the warm water wash away the remnants of sleep.
Towel-drying my hair, I moved around the room, picking up the scattered clothes I'd left behind. When I grabbed the hoodie I had worn to the festival last night, something crinkled inside the pocket.
A letter.
Slightly wrinkled from my careless handling, but unmistakable.
"Ah... Grandfather's letter."
I stepped out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing. Below, the city of Jawar was still alive with celebration, the festival's energy undiminished. It would last three days, and last night had only been the beginning.
With careful hands, I unfolded the letter. My grandfather's familiar cursive sprawled across the page.
Dear Grandson,
I hope this letter finds you well. It has been seven months since you last visited the family in the capital.
The kingdom's relations with our neighbor are in a critical state, especially with three heroes emerging from our kingdom alone. I have been assisting the emperor with political matters behind the scenes, so I will be unavailable for the next two months.
I can't keep lying to your parents, telling them you're on a study tour chasing some nonsense about mana signatures in the south. Your siblings asked about you before they left to train under their respective church priests.
The academy term begins in four months. Before then, I need you to return and make an appearance—at least before you enroll.
I've arranged for Lucas to oversee your medical checkup. Make sure to visit the Jawar's Enclave hospital branch—he often stops by there.
Now, putting those concerns aside, I have a request. If you plan to only show your face at the academy's entrance exam instead of visiting the family mansion, I want you to go somewhere first.
It's a place called Ruclin, far to the south, near the Yawendale Kingdom's border with us.
That town is where my ancestors came from. To be clear, this isn't about the Kralier family—it's my own lineage.
Nobody knows this because your grandmother assumed I was an orphan, but my full name was originally Henry Jones. My parents left me at an orphanage with a note saying I should visit Ruclin, as it was our ancestor's last wish.
I've looked into it, and they say it's a beautiful place. It's known for its vast fields of blue vanilla flowers stretching around the town, and it even has a breathtaking waterfall.
My request is simple: visit Ruclin. Maybe stay for a few days and clear your mind. The Viscount who governs the territory assures me it's peaceful, with little trouble ever reaching it.
I hope you'll go, Noah. If you choose not to, that's fine—just make sure you show up here on time.
Stay healthy and safe.
Dearly,
Your grandfather,
Henry Kralier
I folded the letter neatly, letting my gaze drift back to the view outside as I gathered my thoughts.
Never understood why he insists on writing letters when technology has come so far.
Ruclin, huh? I thought I knew everything about our kingdom, yet I'd never even heard of this small town.
I took the letter back to my bedroom, snapped a picture of it, and tucked it into my drawer. As I saved the image to my phone gallery, another notification caught my eye—an email from Lucas, sent two hours ago.
Subject: Experiment Update
I'll need two months to merge your blood with the Encalve family's pet familiar. If it works, it should extend your lifespan by a few months at least.
"I hope he knows what he's doing," I muttered, closing the email.
Thinking about the south always led back to the same ultimatum—an uncharted territory our kingdom had yet to fully explore.
The Yawendale Empire, formerly the Frivandale Empire, was the most dangerous kingdom to exist.
Three centuries ago, during the Century of Pride, Augustius Frivandale became the first recorded hero to wield elements beyond his divine blessing. Born a commoner elf, he climbed the ranks on skill alone, even before receiving his blessing. When he did, the gods granted him Light—yet he also commanded Darkness and Fire, elements he seemingly wielded by sheer will rather than divine favor.
After leading the conquest against the hybrids of the south, he seized control of the region, founding the Frivandale Empire.
A century later, our own kingdom, Baskin, was established under King William Baskin. But by then, Augustius Frivandale had disappeared, his fate an unsolved mystery. Without his strength, his descendants struggled, and eventually, another empire swallowed them whole—the Yawendale Empire.
Now, that empire was ruled by Eugene Yawendale, a figure shrouded in secrecy. Some claimed he was a vampire. Others, an elf. A hybrid, perhaps. But my grandfather, a man of deep knowledge, insisted Eugene Yawendale was human.
A human who had reached the pinnacle of power, just like our emperor, Cain Baskin.
Unlike other rulers, Eugene never sought alliances. His goal had always been singular: total continental domination. With the entire southern region under his control, his next obstacle was clear—Baskin, the kingdom that preached peace above all else.
The trouble with the neighbor must be Yawendale making negotiations difficult, I thought.
Shaking off my thoughts, I grabbed my hoodie and shorts, tossing them into the washing machine. I needed to get out for a bit, maybe find something to eat.
Ever since leaving my family's mansion in the capital, my sleep schedule had been completely wrecked. I slept through the evenings and wandered the city at midnight. If I had a night shift, maybe this would be productive. Instead, I just wandered from street to street, eating whatever caught my interest.
I took my wallet and checked that I had only two silver coins which would last me only for three days.
'Let's visit the bank and withdraw some money before going to the festival tonight'
I pulled on a spare hoodie and long tracks to keep warm, then stepped into the elevator.
Inside, I noticed the same man from yesterday—worn-out blue suit, tired expression. He gave me a brief nod and a half-smile before stepping out on the ground floor.
At the mailbox, I found it empty, unlike yesterday.
Getting a taxi during festival season was a nightmare. I got lucky last night, but today, it took nearly ten minutes to flag one down.
"Where to, boss?" the driver asked.
"Lanchester Bank."
The driver, who looked just as exhausted as I felt, mirrored my sluggishness but did his job without complaint. Within twenty minutes, we arrived at the bank.
I handed him twenty coppers—a bargain, in my defense—and stepped out, eyeing the medium-sized structure before me.
Painted entirely in white, the bank practically glowed even in the dead of night, like a high-intensity flashlight against the darkness. In stark contrast, guards dressed in black stood at their posts, watching the entrance with sharp, unwavering gazes.
Inside, to my mild surprise, people were still coming and going despite the late hour.
This is gonna take a while.
Clicking my tongue, I sat down in front of one of the counters. The employee across from me looked irritated—probably sick of the night shift—but still forced a polite smile as he got to work.
"Purpose of visit?" he asked, voice flat.
"Withdrawing money."
"Account number?"
"80876580."
His fingers clacked against the keyboard as he typed, then scribbled something on a notepad.
"Noah Kilgore," he confirmed. "ID proof?"
I reached into my purse and pulled out the fake ID my grandfather had given me before I left the mansion. It was the key to living anonymously among the common folk, away from prying eyes.
He scanned the ID under a verification camera. A green light flickered—confirmation that I was, at least on paper, the rightful owner of the account.
"How much are you withdrawing?"
Here comes the reaction.
"Two hundred platinum notes," I said casually.
He started typing, business as usual—until his hands froze. Slowly, he lifted his head, his expression shifting from neutrality to open-mouthed shock.
"Can you make it quick?" I said, irritation seeping into my voice.
It took him a few seconds to recover, but he forced a sheepish smile before returning to the transaction.
"Sir, do you prefer to withdraw the money now, or would you like to enjoy some coffee with our branch manager?"
I let out a slow, audible sigh. This was why I hated coming to banks. I would've used an ATM, but the last time I checked, they were out of service.
"I'd love to, but I'm in a hurry. So could you ple—"
BAM!
The bank doors burst open with a force that echoed through the building. Conversations halted. Every head turned.
Three masked men stood at the entrance, dressed in dark clothing, their presence heavy with intent.
"THIS IS A BANK ROBBERY! HANDS UP AND GET ON THE GROUND—NOW!"
I stared at them, unfazed.
This night just keeps getting better.