Areth moved through the city of Olnalend with Rosavelle at his side. He observed the city as carefully as possible, because it would most likely cease to exist in the near future. Ironically, in the original story, the one who would destroy this very city was Rosavelle, who now followed him from half a step behind with quiet respect and restraint.
But Rosavelle was far from that point now. At present, she could only use the powers she had inherited from her mother, and even those she wielded in a limited capacity. She was not even aware of the power she had inherited from her father, a master mage.
So if Rosavelle would no longer be the one to destroy this city, then who would? Well, there were villains in this world other than Rosavelle. One of them was a young man who was steadily growing stronger. For Areth, however, that was a problem for tomorrow. For now, he focused on studying this rare city that would likely vanish within a few years.
How absurd it was that the founder of this city, now the capital of slave traders, had once been a slave himself. Yet what truly caught Areth's attention was that this information had never been mentioned in the novel. No matter how hard he searched his memory, he could not recall such a detail. After hearing it during a conversation with merchants, he had investigated further, only to confirm that it was true, which had surprised him greatly.
In truth, this meant that the world was real. He still did not know how or why he had come here, but one thing was clear: this world filled in the gaps left by the novel he had read, and it did so convincingly. For instance, the novel had never provided a detailed explanation of the world's power system.
Most novels had a defined power system, such as a leveling system or a cultivation system. But this world had nothing of the sort. So how could one determine who was stronger when comparing two individuals?
Simply put, it could not be determined with certainty until they fought each other.
At first, Areth had found this absurd. But upon reflection, he concluded that it was actually quite logical. In internet novels, there was an unspoken assumption that every fantasy world had to have a rigid and clearly defined power scale, as though it were a rule. It created the illusion that such a structure was necessary.
But in the modern world, when two boxers faced each other, was their level ever truly certain?
Sometimes, even unknown fighters defeated famous champions. Even Muhammad Ali had first made his name in such a match. Of course, public opinion could suggest a favorite, and statistics could provide some guidance, but in the end, once two fighters stepped into the ring, anything could happen.
The power system of this world functioned in much the same way. There were countless mages, warriors, and figures who were widely respected and considered powerful. Yet no one could say with certainty what their exact level was.
That said, the system was not entirely ambiguous. Areth knew that Rosavelle, walking behind him, possessed enough power to destroy an entire city on her own. That alone would place her among the strongest individuals in the world. So there were, of course, clear disparities in strength when the gap was large enough.
One of the things that existed in this world but not in the novel was uncertainty. The novel acted as if everyone already knew which mages were stronger and which were weaker. However, with just a bit of investigation, Areth realized that people in this world viewed powerful individuals quite differently from how they were portrayed in the novel. Sometimes, someone would speak in exaggerated terms about a certain individual, while another would claim the exact opposite.
Perhaps this was proof that the world was truly alive and real or at least something very close to it.
"My lord, do you know where this man called Valdren is? The one you're looking for?" Rosavelle asked, pulling Areth from his thoughts.
Seeing that Rosavelle, who until recently had hesitated even to speak, was now asking him a question gave Areth a quiet sense of satisfaction. Before answering, he let his gaze drift across the goods in the slave market around them. With each passing day, Rosavelle spoke more and moved more comfortably in his presence.
"I've heard he works in a place called the Green Tower. It's easy to find. Close to the city center," Areth replied.
As his eyes moved slowly across the slave market, his expression retained its usual measured indifference. Chained people, shouting auctioneers, bargaining merchants… it was all an ordinary scene. But the same could not be said for Rosavelle.
Walking half a step behind him, her gaze involuntarily met that of a slave. It was a small child. Despite the dirt on his face, there was still something unextinguished in his eyes… hope, perhaps, or simply stubbornness. It was difficult to tell.
Rosavelle's steps slowed for a brief moment.
Areth noticed.
"Don't stop," he said calmly, without turning back.
Rosavelle flinched slightly and hurried to match his pace.
"M- my apologies, my lord… I just…" Her voice trailed off as she failed to find the right words.
This time, Areth tilted his head slightly and glanced at her.
"You need to get used to it."
"…Yes."
Her answer was brief, but her eyes still drifted back to where she had seen the child.
Areth did not pretend not to notice.
"If you dwell on everything you see," he continued, his tone neither harsh nor gentle, "you won't be able to move forward. You can't help everyone. Accept that."
Rosavelle remained silent for a few seconds. Then, unusually, she lifted her head slightly and spoke.
"But… do I have to accept it?"
The question was more direct than expected. This time, Areth actually stopped. In the middle of the crowd, amidst the noise, it felt as though a brief silence had formed. He tilted his head slightly and looked at her.
The corner of Areth's lips moved, almost imperceptibly.
"No," he said at last.
"You don't have to."
Rosavelle's eyes widened slightly.
"But if you don't… you'll suffer," Areth added, resuming his walk.
Rosavelle lagged behind for a step, then quickly caught up. This time, there was a faint, strange expression on her face. Not quite sad, but not entirely at ease either.
"I… I'm not very afraid of suffering," she said in a timid voice.
Areth did not look at her.
"I know."
That answer surprised Rosavelle. For a moment, she didn't know what to say. Then, unconsciously, she smiled faintly. A small smile, almost imperceptible.
They continued walking.
The crowd of the market gradually began to thin. The stone roads became more orderly, and the buildings grew taller and more refined. They were approaching the city center.
In the distance, a structure rose, clearly distinct from the others.
The Green Tower.
It was slender, tall, and strangely smooth. Under the sunlight, it gave off a faint green shimmer, as though it were made not of stone, but of something else entirely.
Rosavelle gazed at it in admiration.
"It's… truly beautiful," she said sincerely.
Areth glanced at the tower from the corner of his eye.
"Beauty is often used to conceal things."
Rosavelle inclined her head slightly at that comment, but this time she did not object. Still, she could not take her eyes off the tower.
"The person who works there… what kind of person are they?" she asked, her tone a bit more at ease.
Areth thought for a few seconds.
"Most likely dangerous."
Rosavelle's steps slowed again for a brief moment.
"For us?"
This time, Areth smiled slightly. The smile was clearly visible.
"If he perceives us as a threat, yes. So be careful."
The smile did not last long. His face soon returned to its usual indifferent expression.
As they approached the Green Tower, the nature of the crowd around them changed noticeably. The noisy merchants and the clinking of chains gave way to a calmer, more measured atmosphere. People spoke more quietly here, moved more carefully. Most wore simple yet high-quality robes. Some carried books, others had scroll cases at their waists.
Without realizing it, Rosavelle lowered her voice.
"This place… feels different."
"Knowledge is always another face of power," Areth replied. "And those who approach power become more cautious, whether they intend to or not."
When they reached the entrance of the tower, massive doors greeted them. Made of dark green stone, their surface was covered in fine lines that seemed almost alive. Upon closer inspection, it became clear that they were magical inscriptions. They were not static… they flowed, shifted, as if rewriting themselves.
The entrance hall was vast. Shelves stretching to the ceiling rose in a circular arrangement, continuing upward in layered tiers. Thin bridges and spiral staircases connected these levels. A few books floated slowly in the air, as if carried by unseen hands.
At the very center of the hall stood a semicircular desk.
The woman seated behind it raised her head.
Her thin, silver-framed glasses had slid down to the tip of her nose. Her hair was tied into a tight bun, and her face carried a professional calm. Her eyes lingered on Rosavelle for a brief moment before shifting to Areth.
"Welcome," she said in a measured tone. "Are you looking for something, or are you here for research?"
Areth went straight to the point.
"I will be meeting Valdren. I need to speak with him about a book."
One of the woman's eyebrows rose slightly.
"Master Valdren does not usually accept visitors."
"I believe this meeting will be an exception."
The woman studied him for a few seconds. Then she touched the slender crystal before her. It glowed faintly for a moment.
"Regarding what?" she asked.
"A certain goddess… and her powers."
This time, the woman's gaze sharpened.
"Who?"
Areth did not hesitate.
"Tiamat."
The woman nodded, then turned around and touched the crystal on the desk behind her, lingering there for a moment. When she turned back, she waved her hand dismissively without meeting Areth's eyes.
"He will receive you. Third floor, east wing. But…" she paused briefly, "…do not take too much of his time."
Areth inclined his head slightly.
"That will be sufficient."
Rosavelle quickly mirrored the gesture.
Then they headed for the stairs.