“We’re almost there, right?” Raignald finally asked, glancing out the window.

Nastasia nodded after a quick look outside.

“Yes, just a few more minutes.” She paused briefly before turning to him. “By the way, before we arrive—since we got carried away with my story… what about you? Why did you really choose the path of a knight?”

“For quite a few reasons, honestly…” Raignald searched for a specific answer. “For one, I’ve never left this area. Not knowing what the other zones are like excites me. But,” he lowered his gaze, looking at his gear and the sword, “it’s always been because I wanted to be a warrior, to wield a sword and learn the art of mana. I don’t even know what I’m capable of yet, not even what my mana level is.”

“I see, then.” She looked at Raignald with a calm smile. “I’m happy for you, and I wish you the best of luck.”

“Thank you so much, Nastasia.” He lifted his gaze to her with a smile. “Same to you—good luck with your studies.”

The carriage came to a stop. Instead of the galloping of horses and the clinking of knights’ armor, now the sound of people chatting and strolling filled the air. Someone knocked on the carriage door three times.

“We’ve arrived at our destination, my lady,” announced a knight.

Raignald stood up, slinging the backpack over his shoulder and fastening the sword at his waist.

“Finally.” He smiled at Nastasia. “Thank you for bringing me; you really made the journey easier.”

“No problem, it’s the least I could do for a friend,” she replied with a smile.

The knight outside opened the door at Nastasia’s signal, and Raignald stepped down the small carriage staircase.

“Good luck, Knight Raignald,” Nastasia called out before the door closed.

The young man smiled, his heart filled with hope, knowing that someone believed in him—a friend who supported his future and path as a knight. Still, he felt a bit melancholic at the thought of parting from her for so long.

The carriage began to move again, slowly disappearing from Raignald’s sight.

“Well then…” he thought, turning his gaze toward the wall. He was astonished, his eyes wide as he looked up from the bottom to the top. He was only a few meters away, but it was tall enough to keep anyone from climbing over.

That was the visible wall. Beyond that, made of mana, was the wall that stretched to the skies, preventing anyone from flying over without permission.

“Eighteen years living here, and I’ve never seen it this close,” he mused ironically.

He then walked toward the wall, where some guards were stationed at the massive gates.

“Good day, sir…” a guard addressed him formally, sizing up the figure. Recognizing him, the guard’s eyes widened slightly. “Oh. Sir Raignald of Boletara.” He bowed his torso and head forward.

Raignald raised a hand and gave a small nod in return.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you near the gates. What brings you here?” the guard asked, frowning.

“In short, I’ve become independent, and now I’m following my own path. I’m heading toward the lower district,” Raignald explained with a faint smile.

“I see, sir. I won’t question you further. Happy eighteenth, and I wish you a good journey.”

The guard signaled to his companion on the other side, and together they moved toward the winches. Slowly, they opened the gates, revealing a passage that ran through the inside of the wall.

Raignald stepped inside, and the gates closed behind him. The passage had no sunlight, but was lit by mana torches hanging along the walls. A carpet ran along the center of the floor, leading all the way to the end, where another set of massive doors slowly began to open.

“It’s rare to see people pass through this place,” his mind wandered as he walked. “No one from the upper classes ever leaves their district. And surely, the few who walk this corridor are people from the middle district heading to the upper one.”

Finally, he passed through the great doors, and his eyes widened completely, astonished by the new sights before him.

In the skies, people flew on pegasus, brooms, carpets, and other winged species, such as fairies and more.

On the ground, the hustle and bustle was noticeable from afar; people of different species strolled harmoniously through the streets. The smell of fresh bread and food filled Raignald’s nose.

He simply admired the scene, standing still as if a new life were opening before his eyes, almost moved to tears.

“Welcome to the middle district, Sir Raignald,” a guard’s firm voice behind him emphasized the impact of the place.

The young man turned and bowed in thanks.

“What now? Where do I go?” still stunned, his mind wandered, trying to come to terms with it.

The area was much larger than he was used to, and far more lively. Without thinking too much, he quickened his pace, like a happy child exploring the streets. The knight behind him watched with a smile as he entered the streets.

The warm aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries floated among the crowd, along with the calls of merchants. People browsed and walked between the various stalls: fruits, vegetables, cheeses, and meat. And it wasn’t just food; the sound of clashing metal could be heard from distant blacksmiths. The song of minstrels filled the air, mixing with the chatter of the crowd.

“And this is just part of the middle district?” he wondered as he walked, his curious gaze admiring every corner. “It feels so much livelier than the upper district!”

His stomach growled at the smell coming from a nearby bakery. Without a second thought, he walked in.

“Excuse me,” a man said as he crossed paths with Raignald at the door.

“No problem,” Raignald tried to reply, but the man was already lost in the crowd.

Inside the bakery, a few people were there; one was being served by the baker, while two others waited patiently in line. Raignald took his place at the end of the queue, respecting the order without hurry.

His eyes scanned the shop and noticed a woman near the oven, busy preparing freshly baked orders, her face slightly sweaty from the heat.

After the first customer, the remaining customers were attended to immediately. Their orders were simple loaves of bread, which were already prepared.

“Well, you look at this. A new face!” boomed the baker from the counter.

His arms were crossed, muscular, and his skin glistened slightly from the accumulated heat. His neatly trimmed black beard connected with his hair, though it was hidden beneath a white cap. His skin was white but a little darker, and his eyes were black.

“You’ve caught the smell of our art, huh?” he looked at Raignald enthusiastically, eager to treat him well. “Come on, come back to our world and tell me what you’re ordering!” he laughed.

“Oh, my apologies,” Raignald finally spoke, pulling himself out of his thoughts. “What should I order? Well…” He placed two fingers on his chin, lost in thought.

“One moment, I already have food in my backpack, thanks to Abdullah,” he thought to himself. “But, oh well, no harm in getting something extra.”

“You look very sleepy, young man.” The baker slightly tilted his torso, looking directly at the young man. “I recommend one of our specialties, the blue grape pie. Thanks to mana, the grapes used are enhanced, offering benefits like energy. Better than coffee!”

“Blue grape pie? Well, I’ll take one of those then, please.” Raignald asked with curiosity. Though he had tried grape pie before, he had never heard of a mana-enhanced version.

“Coming right up! You’ll be licking your fingers, my wife knows how to add that perfect touch of flavor. Right, Mirella?” he exclaimed, looking toward the woman near the oven.

“That’s me!” she called out cheerfully from her spot. “And I just finished the pie, what a coincidence.”

Carefully, she brought the pie over to the counter so Raignald could see it. His stomach growled louder, the scent was sweet and warm, but there was something special about it; even the appearance was striking: the blue of the grapes was brilliant, like diamonds.

The baker carefully wrapped the pie and sealed the package with the name of his bakery, “Warm Morning.”

“Our specialty, for a new customer. The price would be ten silver coins, but I’ll knock it down to five, so you come back again!” he laughed heartily.

“Wow, thank you so much, but that’s not necessary,” Raignald smiled, knowing he had a card with quite a bit of money. “I’ll pay you the ten silver.”

“Now, that’s something new! A new customer with a heart of gold.”

Raignald took the card from his pocket and tried to figure out how to use it, turning it from side to side. The baker, impressed, lightly tapped the counter with his palms.

“Is that what I think it is? The high rank card! You’re one of the rich ones!” he exclaimed, gazing at the card with excitement.

The woman peeked curiously from behind the oven, approaching while drying her hands on her apron.

“Ah, yes,” the young man smiled, a bit uncomfortable knowing he was drawing attention. “The problem is, I don’t know how—” he was interrupted as a kind of transparent screen appeared from the card, displaying numbers.

On the screen, the number fifty was next to the special currency icon of the kingdom, the apocalo. Beside it, three zeros accompanied the icons of the gold, silver, and bronze currencies. This meant that Raignald had, “Fifty apocalos?” he thought, his eyes wide in astonishment.

In the kingdom of Apocalis, transactions were made with three types of currency: gold, silver, and bronze. One hundred bronze equaled one silver, and one hundred silver equaled one gold. However, there was a special currency: the apocalo, a unit of value so exclusive that it was only used by the highest ranks. Each apocalo was worth a thousand gold coins.

Silver was the most common and widely used currency. Simply put, Raignald had the equivalent of five million silver coins.

“How do I take the money out?” Raignald thought, shaking the card as a quick solution. Then he remembered how his father did it: the coins appeared in the palm of his hand with just a gesture.
Raignald tried to imitate him, thinking about the amount he needed, ten silver coins. It worked: in the palm of his hand, with a metallic clink, the coins appeared. He smiled, satisfied.

He checked his card again: now he had forty-nine apocalos, nine hundred ninety-nine gold coins, ninety silver coins, and zero bronze coins. He still had plenty left to use.

“Here you have, sir.” He placed the coins on the counter.

“It’s nice to have a high-class customer; it’s been a while since I’ve seen one.” The baker put his palm behind his head, rubbing his neck while letting out a laugh. “You can take the pie and gobble it up!”

“Thank you for shopping at ‘Warm Morning Bakery!’” he exclaimed, in tune with his wife.

Raignald, smiling, placed his hand on his chest, lowering his head slightly as a gesture of thanks.