Bale's heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. His hands were slick with sweat as he gripped the reins, his knuckles white.
He knew what he was doing. It was the oldest, cruelest rule of the road: You don't have to outrun the monster; you only have to outrun the guy next to you.
The moment Reinhard hopped off the wagon and walked toward the Trolls, Bale saw his window. The monsters were distracted. Their hungry eyes were fixed on the brave, foolish boy in white.
"Sorry, kid," Bale choked out, his voice cracking. "I told you not to go. I warned you!"
With a scream of desperation, he snapped the reins hard. "Hyah! Go! Move, you useless bastards!"
The horses, sensing the terror and the proximity of predators, bolted. The wagon lurched forward violently, dust kicking up from the wheels as Bale tore down the road, leaving Reinhard alone to be slaughtered. He didn't look back. He couldn't. If he did, he might see the moment the Trolls tore the boy apart, and that was a nightmare he didn't need etched into his memory.
I will remember your name, boy. Curse your foolish luck not me.
….
Reinhard stood alone on the road, watching the dust cloud of the retreating wagon settle. He didn't shout. He didn't curse the merchant's name. He felt no anger at the betrayal that he just witnessed and got.
In Reinhard's eyes, Bale hadn't done anything malicious; he had simply done what a frightened human does when faced with overwhelming situation or something terrifying.
'At least I know the city lies in that direction,' Reinhard thought calmly, noting the path the wagon had taken. 'And Mr. Bale will be safe now.'
A low, guttural growl brought his attention back to the present.
The two Trolls in front of him were lumbering closer, drool dripping from their tusks. Behind him, the other two blocked the retreat. Their yellow eyes gleamed with malice and hunger. They saw a small, soft human, a snack before the main course.
Reinhard sighed softly. "I could leave," he murmured to himself. With his speed, he could vanish into the forest and leave these creatures biting at empty air.
But then he looked at the Goblins scurrying around the Trolls' legs. They were vile, hungry things. If he left them here, they would simply wait for the next traveler. The next wagon might not be so lucky. It might be a family with innocent people or kids.
"Hmm… I cannot allow that," Reinhard decided.
His hand drifted to his hip, brushing the hilt of the Dragon Sword Reid. The blade remained stubbornly locked in its scabbard. It deemed these opponents unworthy.
"Almost forgot due to this whole situation," Reinhard whispered. He glanced around. He had no other weapon. His eyes landed on a fallen branch near his feet, a sturdy piece of oak, perhaps as thick as a man's finger.
He bent down and picked it up. It was rough, covered in bark, and slightly crooked.
The Trolls paused. The Goblins cackled, pointing at the human who thought he could fight a War Troll with a stick. To any observer, Reinhard looked like a madman who had lost his mind to fear and was just doing anything to survive… even thinking of fighting with a slim branch of the tree.
Reinhard took a breath. He adjusted his stance, holding the branch like a fine rapier.
He reached out, not to his own internal mana, for his Gate was defective, but to the world around him. He acted as a conduit. The atmosphere itself responded to his will.
Even in this unknown world mana acted the same.
The crooked stick began to glow upon having mana thrust into it.
It wasn't a flicker. It was an eruption of pure, white brilliance. The mana saturated the wood, reinforcing it, sharpening it, turning a piece of forest debris into a beacon of devastation. It was like trying to kill an ant with a tactical nuke.
Reinhard swung.
There was no sound of impact. Just a flash that consumed the world.
Flash.
For a split second, the surrounding area was bleached white. The shadows vanished. When the light cleared, the road in front of him was empty.
The Trolls were gone. The Goblins were gone. There were no bodies, no blood. They had been simply... erased. Vaporized by the sheer density of the mana wave.
Reinhard turned instantly. The Trolls behind him, seeing their packmates vanish into thin air, turned to flee. Their primitive brains screamed that this was not prey, this was a predator beyond their comprehension.
They didn't make it three steps.
Reinhard moved. He was a blur of white motion.
Slash. Slash.
The remaining monsters collapsed, their lives ended before they hit the ground.
In less than ten seconds from the time he attacked, the road was silent yet again. There was no sound at all, not even winds flowing for some moments.
Reinhard looked down at the branch in his hand. It crumbled into ash, unable to withstand the power he had channeled through it but still maintaining its form till the task was all done.
"Thank you for your help," Reinhard whispered to the branch in his palm, letting it scatter in the wind.
He let the dust flew off his hands. There was no point in walking leisurely anymore. He knew the direction.
He leaned forward slightly.
Boom.
A small crater appeared in the road where he had been standing. Reinhard was gone, a streak of white lightning racing toward the horizon.
….
Few Moments Later:-
Reinhard stood in line before the massive gates of E-Rantel, the Fortress City.
The walls were imposing, built to withstand sieges from monsters and men alike. The line of travelers was long, merchants, farmers, and mercenaries waiting for inspection. When Reinhard finally reached the front, the chatter of the guards died down.
The guard at the desk, a weary man in chainmail, looked up. He was prepared to be rude, to bark orders as he did with everyone else. But the words died in his throat.
The man before him was... radiant. His clothes were immaculate, contrasting sharply with the dust-covered peasants in line. His sword, even sheathed, looked expensive as hell and not to say a masterpiece even to his eyes..
The guard straightened his posture instinctively. "Name?" he asked, his tone surprisingly respectful.
"Reinhard," the redhead replied with a polite tone. "Reinhard van Astrea."
The guard paused, quill hovering over the parchment. Van Astrea. A surname.
In this world, surnames were a badge of status. Commoners didn't have them. Only nobles, knights, or those of great renown carried a family name. The guard racked his brain, trying to recall a House Astrea among the Kingdom's nobility, but came up blank. Still, he wasn't about to question it. The man though for sure was of nobility.
"Are you a noble, sir?" the guard asked, eyeing him up and down.
"Yes," Reinhard answered simply.
It wasn't a lie. The Astrea family was a line of Sword Saints. Even if he was in a different world, and even if his family was in decline.
The guard nodded, relaxing slightly. A foreign noble, then. "First time visiting E-Rantel?"
"Yes. I happened to come here for... various unknown reasons," Reinhard said, offering a vague, charming smile. "I admit, I am somewhat lost. Have you perhaps heard of the Kingdom of Lugnica?"
Reinhard knew it was a futile question. If Lugnica existed here, he would have already been in the kingdom if he was there. Furthermore, his presence alone, Reinhard van Astrea crossing a border, would be an act of waging a war. The fact that no alarms were ringing confirmed his suspicions.
The guard frowned, scratching his chin. "Lugnica? Never heard of it. Is it far to the East? Or South?" He shook his head. "Doesn't matter. Are you perhaps here to become an adventurer? We get a lot of noble third-sons trying to make a name for themselves."
Reinhard considered this. He needed an identity. And a way to gather information and try to find his way back home… so it worked.
"Yes," Reinhard said. "That is my intention."
The guard nodded, scribbling on the parchment. "Right. Standard procedure. There is a toll fee for entering the city."
Reinhard blinked. He patted his pockets, feeling the empty pockets.
"Ah," Reinhard said, his smile becoming apologetic. "I am afraid I do not have any money on me at the moment. If it is alright, I can pay it tomorrow? Or perhaps after I complete a request? As of now, my pockets are empty."
The guard stared at him. Usually, this was where he would kick someone out. No money, no entry.
But he looked at the sword on Reinhard's hip. The scabbard alone was probably worth more than the guard's entire house… no, three of his houses. He looked at the noble bearing, the honest blue eyes.
This wasn't a beggar. This was a rich kid who forgot his wallet. If the guard made a scene, and this guy turned out to be royalty from a neighboring nation, his head would roll.
The guard sighed, rubbing his temples. "Look... I'm not supposed to do this. But you look like you're good for it. And I don't want the paperwork if I arrest a noble or any trouble that comes with messing with a noble."
He waved his hand dismissively. "If you plan on becoming an adventurer, just go straight to the Guild. Register there. Once you have your plate, you can take a quest and earn some coins. Just... pay the toll next time you come through, alright? Consider this a one time only."
"You have my deepest gratitude," Reinhard beamed, placing a hand over his heart. "I will not forget this kindness. I will head to the Guild immediately."
The guard opened the small pedestrian gate. "Yeah, yeah. Move along."
Reinhard stepped into the city of E-Rantel. To him, it seemed the guards were incredibly kind, understanding souls who sympathized with a lost traveler.
He was oblivious to the fact that he had essentially "status-checked" his way into the city through sheer charisma and expensive clothing and him being from a noble house.
….
A/N: Hahaha, well, how was it?! Hope you liked it. Don't forget to add this to your library and comment. See you all in the next chapter.