In a humble town with no walls to shield it from monsters or enemies, life moved with a relative calm. The streets were narrow and winding, paved with uneven cobblestones that occasionally gave way to patches of sand or dirt. There were no neatly planned roads, only alleys that bent at odd angles, leading to small squares or dim corners.
The houses were exceedingly simple—built from stacked wood or hand-collected stones, with roofs made of straw or dried clay. The windows were small, and many doors were made from hard wood with basic locks. There were no towering structures or elaborate architectural designs; rather, the homes blended naturally into their environment.
The townspeople led modest lives, most working in agriculture or handicrafts. A few shops offered local goods such as pottery, handmade tools, and home-cooked food. Some stalls sold medicinal herbs or primitive magical potions used in daily life. The market was small, bustling during daylight hours with vendors trading goods in a loosely organized manner.
There were no dedicated defenses—no forts or walls surrounding the town. Life relied on personal vigilance. Still, people often gathered in the central square for trade or to spend time together in the evenings.
Transportation was usually done on foot, or by using animals like horses or donkeys to carry heavy loads. The road connecting the town to surrounding areas was simple, often cutting through farmlands or light forests.
In short, life in the town was primitive and straightforward, focused on farming and daily crafts. There was no architectural complexity or structured organization—just people living in harmony with their natural surroundings.
A man wandered through the small town amidst the crowd. Although he did nothing to draw attention to himself, every passerby glanced at him—if only for a moment—before continuing on their way.
He walked toward one of the stalls, where an old woman was selling jewelry made of colored glass.
"How much for these bracelets?" the man asked, picking up a pair—one made of fiery red glass, the other of icy blue.
"Just one copper coin," the old woman replied kindly, smiling as she gazed at the young man before her.
A tall man, his steps flowed over the ground like the wind weaving through autumn branches. His golden hair, once radiant like a crown, now fell freely across his shoulders, kissed by threads of sunlight that seemed to return a glimpse of his former glory.
He wore a simple kimono of deep navy, fastened by a faint golden obi—not gleaming like real gold, but reminiscent of forgotten triumphs buried beneath the sands of time. His wide sleeves swayed with the breeze, as if concealing the secrets of a thousand battles.
From his left hip hung a sword in a pitch-black sheath, unadorned. Its hilt was wrapped in a faded red thread—a memento of some vow once made, or perhaps a name he wished to forget.
On his feet were traditional straw sandals, frayed at the edges. His steps made only the faintest sound on the dusty roads, like the footsteps of someone used to endless travel.
And in his eyes… a dim glow, like the flame of a candle fighting against the wind. He wasn't seeking a fight—but if a warrior happened to meet his gaze, that faint light alone might be enough to make him drop his sword.
The man slipped a copper coin from his kimono sleeve, placed it gently on the table in front of the old woman, picked up the pair of bracelets, and tucked them back into his sleeve before continuing on his way—without even noticing the old woman thanking him for his purchase.
That man was none other than Akira. A little more than a decade had passed since his arrival in this era. He had been living in the mountains with Velgrynd and Velzard, but two years ago, Akira decided to experience the life of a Rōnin—wandering from place to place while training in the art of the sword, since he could currently rely only on his physical strength.
But contrary to his expectations, Velgrynd and Velzard did not allow him to travel alone. They decided to accompany him. Over the past two years, the three of them had traveled the world, occasionally helping victims of war. The Super-Sorcery Kingdom was exploiting its magical and technological advancements to wage war against other nations, under the banner of the Great Sorcerer Emperor Jahil, who sought to unite the world under his rule.
Though Jahil was nothing more than an insect to them—and they could have crushed both him and the Super-Sorcery Kingdom effortlessly—they chose not to act. Even Veldanava had ignored Jahil's actions, and it simply wasn't their role to intervene, especially since they had no desire to do so.
Surprisingly, the Rōnin lifestyle—or in Akira's case, the life of a wanderer—was quite enjoyable. They had no worries. They slept when they wanted, ate when they pleased, visited different places, and met all kinds of people along the way.
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