In the capital of Sanderson Territory, where Sanderson Castle, built almost three hundred years ago, stands, there is a luxurious and elegant office.

An older gentleman with graying hair and a neatly trimmed mustache and beard sits within. He exudes wisdom and authority, dressed in formal attire. He is seated at a lavish wooden desk adorned with intricate golden details, engrossed in reading or examining documents. The desk is cluttered with various items, including books, papers, writing tools, and decorative pieces.

Beside the desk stands a butler or servant, holding a white cloth or towel draped over his arm. The room features a refined and sophisticated design, with blue and gold accents, ornate wall decorations, and a large fireplace burning in the background. The entire setting exudes a sense of elegance and grandeur befitting an aristocrat

A knock on the door broke the silence of the office.

"Come in," Baron Sanderson commanded without looking up, his deep voice echoing through the quiet room.

"My lord, Knight Teri is here to give his report," said the guard outside the door.

"Let him in," the baron replied, placing his quill down and leaning back in his chair.

A moment later, a man entered with a sharp and confident appearance. His grayish-brown hair was neatly styled, and his striking green eyes stood out. His face was well-proportioned, with a strong jawline and a calm yet intense gaze that reflected discipline and authority. He wore a dark uniform with green accents, emphasizing his organized and professional demeanor.

Standing upright, his posture reflected the composure of someone accustomed to duty. He bowed respectfully and said, "Good evening, my lord."

"Evening, Teri," the baron responded, his sharp gaze now fully focused on the knight. "What news do you bring? Has the boy shown any suspicious behavior?"

Teri shook his head. "None, my lord. He’s been nothing but hardworking. The villagers in Mitra have no complaints about him. In fact, they seem to appreciate his contributions. He’s helped with hunting, farming, and even some construction work. As far as they’re concerned, he’s just a helpful, albeit unusual, outsider."

The baron frowned, deep in thought, his fingers tapping lightly on the desk. "And the investigation into his origin? Have we found any clues?"

"We’ve checked with the towns, ports, and even asked some fishermen," Teri said, his tone steady and professional. "No one recalls seeing a boy with black hair and black eyes arriving on the island. Merchants and adventurers alike haven’t reported anything out of the ordinary. His arrival remains a mystery."

Baron Sanderson’s eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering across his features. "Black hair and black eyes are rare in these parts. His sudden appearance on the island without any clear explanation troubles me. Keep him under surveillance. Watch him closely, but discreetly. If he shows any signs of being a threat to this territory, do not hesitate to act. If necessary, eliminate him."

The baron leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed. The boy's sudden appearance unsettled him. In his world, nothing was ever truly random. There was always a deeper plot at play—one that could easily destabilize his carefully maintained control over his lands.

Teri nodded solemnly, his face showing no hesitation. "Yes, my lord. I’ll make sure he remains under our watch."

The baron waved his hand dismissively. "That will be all for now. Keep me updated on any developments."

Teri bowed once more before leaving the room, the heavy door closing softly behind him.

---

Caelan sat at the piano, his fingers gliding across the keys as he played a familiar melody. The soft notes filled the air, and beside him, the twins sang along, their young voices harmonizing with his. Their parents sat nearby, watching them with proud smiles. Caylan glanced over, his heart warming at the sight of their joy.

But as he continued to play, the scene began to shift. The light in the room dimmed, and his family’s faces blurred. His grandfather appeared, urging him toward the garden for training. Caelan tried to follow, but the path grew darker, and no matter how fast he ran, he couldn’t catch up. His family grew distant, turning their backs on him as they walked farther and farther away. Panic surged through him, and he called out to them, but his voice was swallowed by the darkness.

With a gasp, Caelan jolted awake. His heart raced, and beads of sweat dotted his forehead. He blinked, disoriented, the remnants of the dream still clinging to his mind. It was always the same—a fleeting vision of the life he once had, slipping away beyond his reach.

Caelan rose from his bed, quickly getting dressed and gathering his belongings. As he stepped outside,he headed straight to the meeting point where the caravan members were already gathering. Upon arriving, he saw three identical wooden carriages lined up, each pulled by two strong horses. They were sturdily built, supported by large wheels, and had white cloth canopies providing protection from the sun. Barrels were attached to the sides of the carriages. The carriages were simple yet practical in design, clearly ready for a long journey.

He saw the village chief, Gibo, talking to his son, Oren, as well as Vlad and Ron, who were busy loading the goods they planned to sell—vegetables, herbs, fruits, potatoes, and spices. Caylan quickly approached to help with the loading.

“Good morning, Caelan,” Ron greeted him.

“Good morning to you too, Ron, Vlad,” Caelan replied.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

“Good morning as well,” Vlad said with a nod.

“Is this everything we’re selling in town?” Caelan asked while lifting the last sack of potatoes.

“Yes, the rest has already been loaded into the other two carriages,” Vlad answered.

“Oren, you’re in charge of everything,” the village chief instructed his son.

“Yes, Father. Don’t worry,” Oren replied with a smile.

“Take care, all of you,” said Celia.

“Caelan, let’s ride in the back of the first carriage,” Ron said.

Vlad and Oren climbed into the front of the first carriage, with Vlad taking the reins as the driver.

The rest of their companions rode in the other two carriages.

This was Caelan’s first time traveling beyond Mitra Village, and he couldn’t help but feel a mix of excitement and apprehension.

The wagon began to move, slowly advancing along the uneven dirt road. Caelan sat at the edge of the wagon beside Ron. From where we were seated, we could see the surroundings and the two wagons trailing behind us. As I took in the scenery, I couldn’t help but marvel at the view—the massive trees and towering mountains resembled landscapes painted on a canvas. We traveled in silence, the only sounds being the creaking of the wooden wagons and the clatter of horses’ hooves against the stones, echoing through the tranquil forest.

It was nearing noon when they arrived, the vast rice fields stretching out before them. The stalks swayed gently in the breeze, their golden-yellow hues glinting in the sunlight. It was a breathtaking sight, the rows lined up neatly in diagonal patterns, with subtle variations in color and density adding to their charm.

Ron leaned closer to Caelan and said, "We’re here at Havern Village. It’s the largest and closest village to Sanderson city."

I leaned forward, peering out from the front of the carriage. A sturdy wooden fence encircled the expansive village, giving it a sense of security and permanence.

As our carriage rolled closer, the guards at the gate waved in recognition, their familiarity with Oren and Vlad evident.

"Welcome back!" one of the guards called out cheerfully, raising a hand in greeting. "Looks like you’ve brought in a good haul this time. Got more goods than usual, I see!"

Oren chuckled, nodding. "Yes, the harvest was much better this month. We’re lucky."

"Well then, head on in," the guard replied, stepping aside to let the carriage pass. "Safe trading!"

The guards granted them entry without issue. As the carriage moved through the gates, Caelan glanced around, taking in the sights. Havern Village wasn’t much different from Mitra. The houses, built with sturdy wooden beams and topped with thatched roofs, shared the same rustic charm. The people were equally warm and welcoming—children darted around, laughing as they played on the dusty roads, while adults busied themselves with fieldwork or tending to livestock.

Yet, there was something different about this place. Perhaps because it's much larger and near the capital of the Sanders

Our carriage stopped in front of a two-story wooden house with a thatched roof, giving it a cozy and rustic look. A muscular man was sitting on the porch of the house.

He had a strong and well-built physique, with a neatly groomed beard and medium-length, slightly messy brown hair tied back in a small ponytail. He was wearing a light blue shirt with rolled-up sleeves, revealing his forearms.

We immediately got off the carriage. Upon seeing Oren and Vlad, the man greeted them right away.

“How are you, Oren and Vlad? It looks like you had a good harvest this month. Last time, you only brought two carriages,” the man said as he glanced at our carriages. Then, he looked at me for a while.

“You’re right. We were lucky this month,” Oren replied.

“Who’s this boy? It’s the first time I’ve seen him,” the man asked.

“This is Caelan. He’s a guest in our village. He came from a small tribe in a distant part of the continent,” Oren answered.

Because I couldn’t speak the common language used throughout the continent, the people of Mitra Village assumed I came from a small, remote tribe with little contact with others. I didn’t correct them since they could never know the truth—that I came from another world.

“Caelan, this is Serge, the village chief of Havern Village,” he added.

I was slightly surprised to learn that he was the village chief because he didn’t seem much older than Oren.

“Hello, I’m Caelan. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I said politely.

“Hmm… Hahaha! This boy is handsome and has good manners. He’s nothing like the kids who grew up in the countryside. Are you sure he’s from a small tribe and not an aristocrat?” Serge remarked.

“Caelan is good at hunting, and aristocrats aren’t like that,” Ron said.

“Really?” Serge asked, sounding doubtful.

“Yes,” Vlad replied. “Thanks to him, hunting has become much easier for us,” he added.

“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Serge said, seeming convinced.

“Come inside and have lunch,” Serge invited us warmly.

As they stepped into the simple home, the delicious aroma of roasted fish filled the air, making their stomachs growl in anticipation. On the table was a large pot of steaming rice, the white grains shining with a touch of oil. But it was the fish that truly caught their attention—two perfectly roasted fish on a wooden platter, their golden skin crisp with a smoky scent. Unlike the usual dried fish from Mitra Village, this fish was a rare treat, something they hadn’t expected.

The group sat down at the table, and Serge, ever the gracious host, served generous portions of fish and rice. Each piece of fish was perfectly roasted, the tender, flaky meat with just the right amount of smokiness. The subtle sweetness of the fish paired well with the light, fluffy rice, making for a perfect meal.

Vlad, his mouth full, grinned. "You really know how to treat us, Serge. This is amazing."

Serge smiled warmly. "I’m glad you like it.

Ron, enjoying his bite, looked up in surprise. "This... is nothing like the fish we usually eat in the village. It’s so much better."

Vlad nodded, his eyes lighting up as he took another bite. "Definitely. Being near the port has its advantages. This tastes far better than the dried fish we’re used to."

The group ate, chatting happily between bites. Serge, always attentive, refilled their cups and made sure everyone had enough to eat. The warmth in the air wasn’t just from the food, but from the easy camaraderie they shared in this simple moment.

After finishing the meal, Serge and Oren briefly discussed the trade goods between Mitra Village and Havern Village. Once an agreement was made, the group stood up from the table and headed to the carriages to unload the goods.

After they unload the goods They left Havern Village and continued their journey toward the capital.