Al looked around like a gawking tourist, out upon the massive gathering of people. They locked their reverent eyes on the portcullis, where they saw three familiar heroes. The emperor and many of his imperial guards were also present, wearing steel plate armour. The distance was vast, but after Al activated a rune on his right shoulder, his vision expanded.

He could see them perfectly, as if they were right before him. Oddly, the sight was better than he had used before. The emperor wore his usual outfit, complete with his crown. However, the heroes had ornate robes that matched the three elements in color. The guards were all decked out in plate armour covering every part of their bodies.

Looking down at Roderick, he noticed that he and his son were saluting. Right fist to their chest horizontally. Realizing that they may prioritize their patriotism over their business deals, Al quickly spoke. "Roderick looks like the lane has opened up." His words pulled them out of his reverie long enough to notice the situation.

Prompted, they continued down the street. The young boy looked back with awe. The palace and its occupants faded into the distance. Their carriage arrived a few hours later in front of a large wooden building. The evening was well on its way, with the night not too far off.

The building was in the middle-class district, halfway between the upper district and the slums. Parting ways with the elder and his son, on a sour note. It was likely because of Al's chosen profession, yet they had a cordial goodbye. They left him on the side of the road as they faded into the distance.

Standing outside a modestly priced inn, the place catered for a variety of clientele. It was near the western gate and thus became the go-to place for travellers. Glancing up at the large nondescript building, the oak door was the most obvious feature.

Waiting for a short time, Al ventured in and looked around at the modest crowd of people. The interior was simple and wide, with several tables to the left and right. It looked more akin to a primitive restaurant or bar.

Several patrons dotted the area, drinking and dining. Directly in front were bar stools and everything. Gravitating to the booze, he arrived and seated himself on an available stool. Glancing to the side, he saw two individuals seated on their own.

Eavesdropping on the conversation, Al listened with mild curiosity. "Come on, James, expand your horizons. Up north, there is plenty to explore." A woman with long blonde hair pleaded.

The woman was seated to the left of a large, tanned-skinned man with broad shoulders. He was wearing full plate armour with wolf-shaped pauldrons. He had short brown hair and chiselled features. One could confuse him with a Greek statue.

The Greek God finally replied. "Sally, please, we have a good thing in the capital. Southern merchants pay good coin. Why should we go north?" From his tone, he seemed irritated. Al suspected this was not the first time they had this conversation.

Deciding to leave it be, he turned to the now glaring barkeep. He was an older man, probably in his mid-fifties, with some grey hair, a wrinkled face, stubble, and piercing brown eyes. Al didn't flinch and instead spoke calmly.

"I need a room. How much?" Representing himself as a man of few words, he inquired.

The innkeeper looked him up and down, scrutinising; he grumbled something inaudible. "A silver crown per night. Food is extra." His voice was gruff and stern, he made it clear he wouldn't budge on anything.

Al looked down at his pockets, fished out two silver coins and handed them over. The innkeeper took the silver, confused. The two coins were pure silver with no engraving or symbology. Raising both coins to his mouth and biting down, he sank his teeth into silver. Seeming to agree they were actual currency, he nodded.

They handed Al an iron key and directed him upstairs to his room. Before leaving, he heard a few words of a conversation between the pair. "Alright, alright, we will go north. You're such a thrill seeker. Maybe the Alvaron Ruins will scare you straight." Those words hung in the air, and Al left the two behind.

It didn't take long for him to settle into his room. The young woman who guided him felt confused when she noticed he didn't have any luggage. He didn't reply, instead entered and closed the door behind him. Falling into the pitifully hard bed, he groaned in discomfort. Laying down with his unblinking eyes, he stared at the wooden ceiling in a daze.

Withdrawing a leather-bound book from his soul inventory, or whatever it was called. He caressed his salvation lovingly. The grimoire he had stolen all those months ago had yielded much. He had a firm grasp of how summoning spells worked. Developing the hitchhiking spell from countless hours of research.

The mystical grimoire seemed to radiate with power. Somehow, the very pages were magical. Even without a single spell inscribed on those pages active, it still radiated like active spells. Summoning magic was truly a terrifying concept. To pull sentient beings across the void between worlds.

Opening the book, he leafed through the pages. There were scattered sticky notes around. They had many ideas he should get to. The intricate spell work begged the question of who created these complex rituals. The wizards of Matesh were not that advanced, they couldn't have developed this. His first spell only explored the potential of this magic.

He suspected the kingdom's wizards had no clue how this magic worked. Despite it being outlawed, they still use it. Something about a previous summoned that nearly conquered the world. He recalled the Terran Kingdom, a nation founded by a traveller-made emperor. In the past, it was a true empire, but like all vast nations, it fell and fractured.

When he visited, he could tell earth culture influenced it. The place was basically Rome, which made me suspect the old summoned might have been from my world, but far in the past. But none of it matters unless I master this magic. I won't be able to get back there. He worried, the back of his mind telling him to give up and stay in this world.

But that wasn't an option. Nothing could stand in his way for the people he cared about. He made a promise to come back, to show someone every world he could find. He would show them his home, even if that place was a barren wasteland with magic. There was still much Earth could offer, not to mention the many other worlds out there.

Lingering for some time, he quickly grew uncomfortable and rose to a seating position. Placing the book back into his soul inventory, he cast an eye to the window. The world was just beyond that wooden frame.

He had come here to risk the unknown in search of an answer. Yet the mere notion of sitting still aggravated him. This was not who he was. He needed to experience, go far, and test his limits until the strain broke him.

With resolve burning furiously in his heart, he grinned. Placing his right hand over his chest, the air rippled and distorted. Sinking his hand into the rippling pool of distorted space, he withdrew a long, black hooded cloak from thin air. Looking down at the fabric, he again smiled.

Withdrawing several other pieces of attire, two leather shoes, dark grey pants and a black tunic. He quickly changed out of his modern clothes, stuffing them into the distorted space. Now wearing something more in line with this world's fashion sense, he was ready.

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He shifted his appearance to that of a thief in the night. His presence almost blended into the darkness, only the candle illuminated him. The black cloak and hood adorned his figure. He looked as if he had a cape and hood, like some dark avenger or an over-enthusiastic cosplayer.

Now he was ready. He moved over to the window, pushing it open with a soft creak. Looking out towards the night sky and the twin moons, he never felt more alive. Before leaping into the unknown, he placed his wrist on his forehead. A faint glow emanated from the tattoo and once the light faded, he withdrew, revealing his distorted face.

His appearance was indiscernible. No matter how hard you looked at him, you couldn't see it. It constantly shifted and morphed, as if underwater. With his identity secure, he stepped out of the window. The sight of the sparsely populated street emboldened his decision.

Reaching deep inside, he comprehended the power. The air seemed to ripple and writhe around him. His body became lighter. The restraints of the planet melted away as gravity became a memory. Slowly, his body ascended to float in mid-air, followed by a gust of wind propelling him into the night.

Escaping his confines, Al quickly ascended to the sky, his cloak flapping behind. Rising to just above the city, the expanse of land quickly came into focus. Stopping just above the city, he looked down at the barely lit expanse of buildings and alleyways. Once he had taken it all in, the air current rushed again. Flying through the sky, Al could feel a smooth sense of contentment. Above the clouds, he was free from all earthly burdens.

Even though he was no longer on earth, the thought caused a chuckle. After a time of traversing the skies, one would think he would be freezing. Fortunately, or more accurately, intentionally, he had a heat rune tattooed on his back. No matter how cold it got, his temperature would remain as warm as a toasty day of summer.

Deciding that his vision of clouds and more clouds quickly became a dull sight, he descended. Lowering himself beneath the fluffy white shapes, he landed gracefully atop a roof.

Normally, there would be a sound of clattering shingles. Of course, there would be if he allowed his feet to touch the roof at all. Levitating above, he looked around. He was no longer in the central district. He had flown towards the slums, strangely he felt more at home with the dregs of society.

It was probably the familiarity. He wasn't always a hero. In his past, he was immersed in crime and selfishness, far from such things. He was no master criminal or mob boss, just a pretty criminal in a gang.

He shook his head, letting the memories fade. Slowly, he came to realise that nothing was going on. The streets below were a ghost town. Growing bored, he leaped from rooftop to rooftop.

Traversing easily, the sound of screaming stopped him. Moving towards it, he arrived just above a narrow alleyway. Taking stock of the area, it appeared to be a neighbourhood for the poor.

Rundown buildings dotted most of the sprawling slums. Al appeared above a condemned bakery. Of course, none of this was of immediate concern. The sight below pulled his interest.

In the centre of the alley were five figures, three adults and two teenagers. The adults seemed to be all men, each rough-looking, the kind you don't want to meet in a dark alley. Despite them looking like a bunch of gangsters, they all wore familiar garb.

The distinct leather armour, though rundown and barely maintained, the sight of the imperial emblem was noticeable. This revealed them to be imperial watchmen, dedicated to keeping order in the capital. However, their current actions seemed to stand in contrast to their noble purpose. Listening in, Al heard every word.

"Come on, Joan, don't be like that. We have had a good thing going." The watchman with dirty blonde hair said.

Either this world had hair die or that's dirt in his hair. Al leaned forward, crouching down to listen closer, picking up some more conversation.

"The deal was simple; as long as you keep up the payments, I won't report your brother to the inquisitors."

Despite not being scrutinized, the two resembled a young teenage boy being guarded by a slightly older girl. The young girl, Joan, stepped forward, meeting the watchmen's gaze.

Her slightly high-pitched voice burst forth in a rage. "Please, we have no more coin. You have raised the price thrice now!" Her words seem to denote a plea for mercy, yet her tone presented anger and righteous indignation.

The dirty blonde licked his lips, delivering his next words laced with a subtext. "You know, Joan, you can always pay us with something other than coin. If you know what I mean?" The offer was an obvious double entendre.

Visibly shocked, an expression of absolute disgust crossed her face. She shot back with her own. With an expression of absolute disgust crossing her face, she retorted, "Never in your life, you disgusting pig! I'm old enough to be your daughter!"

It seemed her words had triggered a reaction. One watchman, standing left of the blonde. The brunette, a muscle-bound giant of a man, raised his fist. His intention was obvious. Within his fist was a steel short sword. Hopefully, it was merely intimidation, not an execution.

Of course, Al preferred not to take that risk. Raising his hand with outstretched fingers, as if grasping thin air. The web-like tattoo branched out from his wrist to the edge of his fingernails and glowed.

Gripping tightly, the sensation of flesh quickly replaced the sensation of air. The giant halted his action, no longer able to descend his blade. Confusion crossed the man's face. He glanced at the still arm.

He groaned in frustration, desperately trying to free himself from an invisible force. The two other watchmen noticed his struggles, and both looked at him, confused as well. Suddenly, the clattering of metal rang out as he lost grip on his weapon.

The giant looked down before glancing at his sprained wrist. One could see a hand-shaped bruise wrapping around the aching appendage.

Before anyone could comprehend the situation, Al leapt lightning fast. Grasping the watchman by the neck and gripping him with telekinetic force, he ripped the man from the sweet embrace of gravity.

Before he could even acknowledge the situation, the swift elevation caused the few synapses in his brain to freeze. His environment quickly changed, the familiar alleyway leaving his senses.

Arising high in the sky, the twin moons now in sight, his situation quickly dawned on him. Ready to scream, he took in a huge breath, only for his windpipe to seal from external pressure. Glaring at the floating man, his fear seeped across his mind like tendrils of death.

Looking down at the figure's glowing hand. It was wizardry, that was certain. Turning his gaze back to the man holding his life. "First time flying. Don't worry, everyone freaks out the first time." With the finality of his words, the watchmen's world descended.

Plummeting to the ground with nothing to keep him afloat, descending rapidly, the appearance of his death as a roof quickly approached. Suddenly he felt a tug on his back, reducing the momentum, only slightly.

He still descended, crashing onto the neighbouring roof. A loud crash reverberated, and pain unlike any he had ever felt branched throughout his body. The suffering was short-lived. His consciousness faded into black. Leaving the sight of the floating stranger, high in the sky.