Arthur's carriage gently bounced as it drove through the busy cobblestone streets of Munn. The city was exceptionally crowded and noisy due to the army stationed outside its walls coming and going.

Convoys of merchants and tradesmen from all over the northeast territories bogged down the road, chasing opportunities to make extra coin while the surplus of people remained in Revan.

As he exited the carriage, the densely packed street reminded him of the block parties in his old neighborhood on Earth. Street vendors shouted out to passersby all along the avenue behind small wooden stalls packed with everything from food to ornate trinkets.

The various food and spices created a rather unique hodgepodge of smells. Unfortunately, the day was particularly sweltering, and as such, the scent of the numerous city-goers overpowered any pleasantness Arthur's pampered nose could detect.

To escape the smells, he dashed into a small shady alley before coming upon a small wooden plaque in the shape of an anvil. Two guards and a ghost followed closely behind. Waves of heat washed over him as soon as he entered the smithy, making it uncomfortable to breathe and seemingly sapping his energy with each step.

The source of the heat originated from a short, burly old man stoking a forge's flames a dozen feet away. Thanks to his bald head and long grey braided beard, he could easily be mistaken for a dwarf.

Dwarves did exist on Nithe, and at one point, they even had a reasonably large kingdom in the Brond mountain range that bordered eastern Sparnia. That was until Sparnia turned its sights on the dwarven kingdom a few hundred years ago and nearly drove them to extinction.

While Ollerin treated demi-humans as only a step above beasts, Sparnia didn't care to what race their enemies belonged to. Instead, they offered the same deal to both humans and demi-humans: unconditional surrender or death.

The dwarves stubbornly refused to surrender, and as a result, their race was all but destroyed in the bloody genocide that followed.

Of course, Sparnia didn't always seek such brutal ends for their enemies. However, it was said that they felt particularly humiliated due to how difficult it was to siege dwarven strongholds, and as a result, they took their frustrations out on the dwarves to make an example out of them.

The dwarf-like old man's name was Thoran, and when he heard the smithy door slam shut, he looked up from the forge and noticed Arthur.

"Ah! Young lord Arthur, forgive me. Once I stare into the flames, I forget the world. Hahaha!" Thoran laughed in a boisterous manner that only Kyren could contend with.

Arthur took a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. "I don't know how you're not dying from the heat in here, old man."

"Eh? It ain't too bad." Thoran placed the back of his soot-covered hand on his forehead to check for sweat but realized the mistake too late and smeared soot all over his face as a result. "Whoops. Hahaha! What can this old man do for ya today? Did those little blades I made for ya last time work well?"

Arthur couldn't help but smile at the silly soot-covered old man. On Earth, he was born too late to meet his grandparents, so Thoran's personality was refreshing to him despite only meeting him a few times.

"They did!" Arthur cheered as he unknowingly got caught up in Thoran's upbeat atmosphere. "It wouldn't be a lie to say they saved my life multiple times, and they're partly the reason I'm here."

Thoran smacked his chest with bravado. "Eh? Who dares threaten the life of the little lord? Point 'em out to me, and I'll give 'em a good whack with my hammers."

"Don't worry about that." Arthur laughed as he took a cloth-wrapped item from Foster and unfurled it before Thoran. "I'm alright, but the sheath was torn to shreds, and the blade became a bit warped. Is it fixable?"

"Gods! What did ya piss off a drake?" Thoran asked as he scanned the torn leather and bent blade.

"Heh..." Arthur awkwardly scratched his cheek. "Something like that."

Thoran turned his gaze back to Arthur, giving him a once-over with his eyes. "You're too damn young to be playing with drakes. They're nasty wannabes with an inferiority complex. You should stick with tufts if ya need a mount. They're docile as long as you don't challenge 'em to a head-butting match. Hahaha!"

Drakes were mini wingless dragons often used as mounts by elite cavalry in Nithe. Despite being called mini dragons, drakes were only small compared to dragons. They could grow up to eight feet tall and were deceptively fast, considering their bulky bull-like bodies.

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Dragons also existed on Nithe, which was why most mountain ranges were considered no-go zones. However, they rarely left their territories, and as long as people didn't bother them, they wouldn't interact with the outside world.

Finally, tufts were the gold standard when it came to mounts. Named after their rabbit-like fluffy tails, they looked as if a horse had bred with a ram and gained the eating habits of an omnivorous goat. They were easy to feed since they'd eat anything and were relatively docile toward humans.

Arthur smiled. "I'll stick with tufts for now on."

"Good. Besides the blade and sheathe, what else do ya need?"

Arthur looked around the room. "I was hoping you'd have some trinitite mail that could be tailored to me in the next five days, but I don't see the mail that was displayed the last time I was here."

"Five days?" Thoran rubbed his chin, smearing more soot onto his face. "What's the rush? Are these two pretty boys not protecting ya enough? I'll really whack someone if ya need it done, little lord."

"Heh. I like this guy." Kyren chuckled.

"No, the pretty boys guard me well enough." Arthur laughed. "I'm actually heading out in six days with the army stationed outside the city. So I need the work done as soon as possible."

Thoran's smile stiffened as his expression grew more serious. "You're going to war?"

"Yes, but it's not all doom and gloom. I'm a noble, remember? So I'll be stationed in the back, far from the actual battles."

Thoran pursed his lips and thought for a moment with a saddened expression. "War's a sad thing, little lord. Don't let anyone convince ya otherwise. There's no glory to be had when young boys are hacking each other to bits... Look at me rambling on... Anyway, I got some trinitite mail ready-made in the back. Come, let me get ya measurements."

Gone was the silly smile Arthur likened to a grandpa. It saddened him, but he obliged Thoran's request and got his measurements taken. One didn't reach Thoran's age without experiencing a few wars, and it was clear he wasn't a fan of conflict despite his rugged persona.

"Aye, I'll have it ready for ya in time. Ya can leave it to me." Thoran said as he finished writing down Arthur's measurements.

In response, Arthur thanked him and said his goodbyes before exiting the smithy.

"Young master... Was he a dwarf?" Foster asked as they walked through the tight alleyway to the main avenue.

Arthur scanned Jeren's face before responding to gauge his thoughts on demi-humans. He seemed uncaring toward the question, but still, Arthur decided it was best to lie. "Of course not. The dwarves are basically extinct, aren't they?"

Of course, Arthur never flat-out asked Thoran if he was a dwarf, and even if he did, Thoran would likely lie since demi-humans weren't allowed to own property in Ollerin. However, Arthur believed that if he wasn't an above-average-height dwarf, he probably had some dwarven ancestors who mingled with humans in his family tree.

Arthur understood why most humans on Nithe had an instinctual disdain for demi-humans. They were considered "other" and couldn't be tied to the same metaphorical ship that humanity was sailing; therefore, they could only be seen as competitors.

A similar situation played out in Earth's past with humans and Neanderthals. Be it by war or breeding, early humanity wiped them from the face of the Earth. It was an instinctual drive to remove competitors from humanity's evolutionary niche, and a similar thing was still playing out on Nithe as the planet's population continued to surge.

Of course, Arthur didn't ascribe to Nithe's views on demi-humans because he had experienced another world and could objectively see it for what it was.

As they exited the shady alleyway, the sounds of the busy street picked up, and the assortment of strange smells assailed his nose once more. Arthur rushed to his carriage, feeling nauseous, but suddenly froze a few steps away.

"How strange..." A deep, aloof voice that sounded as aged and wise as time itself seemed to pierce through the boisterous crowd before reaching Arthur's ears.

Instantly, the busy avenue turned silent as time appeared to slow down and speed up at random intervals. Arthur's skin felt prickly as if the entire world had locked its eyes on him, and an all-encompassing pressure seemed to fill the atmosphere.

Arthur unknowingly held his breath as his subconscious mind determined that under no circumstances should the being behind him be alerted to his presence. His eyes shot around the busy street as he remained as still as a statue, but the world appeared unaware of his current plight.

"A boy with a broken soul..." The deep voice spoke as if reading its wandering thoughts aloud.

When those words reached Arthur's ears, his chest tightened like a vice. The likelihood that the being behind him hadn't noticed him fell to zero, so Arthur turned to face the source of the voice.

He felt it down to his bones; attempting to flee or fight was meaningless before such a being. All he could do was pray that the being was benevolent and surrender to whatever fate followed.

A feeling of helplessness that surpassed his first encounter with nihility washed over him as his eyes met the stranger's. An old man who looked like a mix between a wise sage and a lowly beggar stood motionless as the concept of time continued to break down and restart around them.

The stranger's black eyes seemed primordial and cold. As if they had borne witness to the universe's birth, and when the time came, they would be the sole witness to the universe's death.

Arthur felt his consciousness being pulled toward them as if his spirit was drawn into the inescapable event horizon of a black hole. It was as if all directions led to the stranger's eyes—as if it was only an eventuality that his spirit be consumed.

As Arthur desperately fought to keep his consciousness intact, the force tugging on it suddenly disappeared. The stranger's long white beard, which stretched to the hem of his muddied gray robes, lightly shook as he tilted his head to one side. "Curious..."

Time suddenly sped up, and the stranger appeared to fade from Arthur's sight, almost as if he was looking at the stranger through an out-of-focus camera.

The rest of the world remained clear, yet the stranger blurred to nothingness before Arthur's very eyes as if everything he had experienced had been a lie.