Five days had passed since James left the ruins of Alvia. The old carriage the Felhart family used as a mobile home wasn't spacious, but it was enough for four strangers to sit, eat, sleep, and live together without issue.
It was the beginning of winter, and the air was growing colder. The first snow had yet to appear. Ann Felhart had told him she didn't like the snow because it made the horses lazy. The journey would slow down, as they would have to let them rest more often.
However, they did encounter rain on the first night. Grant decided to stop at an old wooden shed by the road. It was a damp and truly cold night. If not for the quilt the Felharts had shared with him, James thought he would have surely frozen to death.
When he thought about what state he would be in now if he had left Alvia without the Felhart family…
No, that's not quite right… If not for the Felhart family, he would already be dead.
On the third night, there was a small incident. They found some sort of wreckage blocking the road. Its body was rotten but still warm, and the blood seeping into the soil had not yet dried. No one said much, but James saw Elen set it on fire until only a charred stump remained.
On the fourth night, something in the forest screamed, then fell unnaturally silent. James never asked what it was, and no one in the carriage answered, as if nothing had happened.
Throughout the five-day journey, James often saw Ann sitting with her knees hugged to her chest by the window. Her gaze was fixed on the road ahead. Though there wasn't much of interest in the passing scenery—dry trees, abandoned fields, fog clinging to the grass—she watched it as if reading a silent story from the world.
She once spoke softly while looking at the treeline.
"I like to travel… Maybe it's because of the Felhart blood."
She didn't elaborate, and James didn't ask, but he was beginning to understand.
The blood of wandering hunters might be more bound to the road than to a home.
Sometimes, during the quiet afternoons, if Ann felt bored, she would turn and tell him a story. Her stories weren't beautiful fairy tales or poems from an old world, but thrilling tales of her travels.
A strange mission in a valley filled with poisonous fog.
Tricking information out of a drunk guard in a border town bar.
Or the time she had to climb a tower in the middle of a storm to save a stranger hanging from a half-broken rope.
She told these stories with a flat tone, not with excitement or exaggeration, yet they were so captivating that James had to listen intently to every word.
It wasn't just entertainment; through her words, he began to understand the world named Edelron more deeply. Not from a textbook, but from someone who had actually walked its earth.
Sometimes she would toss him a piece of bread without a word. Sometimes she would shift to give him room to stretch out and sleep without being asked.
There were no words like "I'm worried" or "you should rest," only quiet actions that spoke louder than words.
James didn't know her well enough to call them "close."
But in a world where he had never trusted anyone before…
'Someone who doesn't say much, but still shares their food'… that might be the best definition of 'trust'.
During the daylight hours, James would often take the same book and place it on his lap. It was a book Ann had handed him before they set out, with a slightly sarcastic remark.
"Read this, before you become an idiot in this world."
He opened the cover. On the old, yellowed page, a single line of text appeared:
"The blood in a human body is not a mere accident of birth, but a sliver of the great tree named Edelron."
He read it again… and then again.
The written language was not one he knew, yet it wasn't entirely foreign either.
He began to understand—Lime, the body's previous owner, had learned this written language. Images of a teacher's voice, the sound of spelling out words, and an ink-stained penmanship notebook flashed in his mind.
He wasn't translating this book.
He was remembering it—with another person's brain.
He read the next page.
"When the world was without light, bloodline was the first spark of life's struggle.Some were bestowed by the spirit of fire, some distilled from the memory beneath the stone.And some bloodlines... were never recorded."
James froze, his heart catching on the last phrase.
It was as if someone was talking about the very thing inside him.
The Void-Born Apex Bloodline.
The bloodline that came with a System.
No textbook mentioned it.
No one was supposed to have it.
He read on until he found a simple table on the next page.
Bloodline Classification by Tier:
Tier 5 – Common Bloodline: Widespread, no latent power.
Tier 4 – Special Bloodline: Possesses certain unique traits.
Tier 3 – Noble Bloodline: Often has a specific symbol or mark.
Tier 2 – Royal Bloodline: Appears in regional ruling families.
Tier 1 – Divine Bloodline: Appears in old legends.
Tier 0 – Origin Bloodline: Unpossessed. Unconfirmed. Unverified by the Central Association.
James read it slowly.
The words "Unpossessed" reinforced what he already knew.
He was holding something that "should not exist in this world."
On the afternoon of the fifth day, the low-slanting sun signaled the end of the day. The carriage climbed a low ridge that served as the final gate before entering a valley. Ann, sitting by the window, pulled the curtain aside. Her elegant eyes narrowed slightly before she spoke softly.
"…We're here."
James looked up, and the image of the city of Felnia slowly came into view.
Stone walls, packed as tightly as the teeth of a giant beast, looked sturdy but not grand. Countless repairs were visible on almost every stone slab.
A watchtower stood tall at the far end of the city's curve. Its pointed roof was streaked with black soot, indicating long and continuous use.
Outside the walls, wagons were lined up, and small wooden sheds were interspersed with canvas tents. There was a mix of refugees and caravans waiting to enter the city.
Horses walked slowly along the gravel path, led by people not far away. Some carried wooden buckets, others held bundles of straw.
A small child followed behind its mother without a cry.
There was no laughter, no crying—only a quiet urgency.
James saw a group of people stopped by a wooden shed. A large man in a leather jerkin nodded to an elderly woman before handing her some water without a word.
Not far away, a man in a dark cloak sat under a dry tree, mending his own boots. The faint sunlight caught his rough hands. Beside him, a young boy slept under a tattered blanket.
Felnia didn't welcome them with warm lights… but with walls that still stood.
And the shadows of people who still had hope.