The cold breath of autumn crept into the room as morning arrived.
Danir slowly opened his eyes.
For a moment, he stayed still, staring at the ceiling—quiet, thoughtful—before finally pushing himself up from the bed.
The room was silent.
Too silent.
He stood and walked toward the small table by the window, where a pitcher of water rested.
Pouring a cup, he drank it in one go, the cool liquid clearing the last traces of sleep from his body. He used the remaining water to wash his face, letting the chill sharpen his senses.
Then he turned to the window.
Outside, the world was painted in pale gold and fading green.
The wind carried fallen leaves across the streets below, whispering of change.
Danir watched for a while.
Thinking.
After a few minutes, he turned back and knelt beside his bed.
From beneath the sheets, he pulled out a small pouch.
The faint clink of coins echoed as he opened it.
Silver. Bronze.
Not much—but enough.
"I guess this will do…" he murmured.
His grip tightened slightly.
There was no hesitation left in his eyes.
With what little savings he had, Danir made his decision.
He would leave the Eastern Continent—
And make his way to the Middle Continent.
He packed quickly.
His gear, his potions, his essentials—everything was arranged with quiet efficiency.
He slipped into his Granger attire, the familiar fabric settling against him like a second skin.
Then he stepped outside.
The morning air greeted him, crisp and alive.
As he walked toward the stables, he pulled out a rolled piece of parchment.
Alec's gift.
The enchanted map.
As soon as he unfolded it, the parchment came to life.
Light shimmered across its surface, forming shifting images—lands, forests, mountains—each marked with precise detail. Names appeared clearly, distances measured, paths outlined as if the map itself were guiding him.
And there—
A small glowing mark.
Moving.
His position.
Danir's eyes widened slightly. "Whoa…"
"It's like a GPS from my world…"
He paused, watching the map adjust as he moved.
Then a faint smile formed.
"…No. This is way better."
With a simple touch, routes could be traced.
Destinations marked.
Distances calculated instantly.
It didn't just show the world—it understood it.
Danir let out a quiet breath.
A map like this cost two gold zens—an amount most adventurers could only dream of. Many parties pooled their earnings just to afford one.
It wasn't just a tool.
It was survival.
A guide through life and death.
For nobles, royals, and aristocrats… such things were nothing.
Easily bought.
Easily replaced.
But for someone like him—
This was something to be treasured.
Something to rely on.
Danir rolled the map back carefully and secured it.
His path was set.
No more boring, repetitive quests.
No more waiting.
This time—he was moving forward.
Danir mounted Rigor, and together they made their way out through the Westgate of Blossomdale.
The road stretched far ahead, leading toward the western coast of the continent—toward the port where his journey would truly begin.
The wind brushed against his face as Rigor galloped steadily along the dirt path.
For a while, everything felt… peaceful.
Too peaceful.
Then—something caught his attention.
A figure.
Sitting by the roadside.
As they drew closer, Danir slowed Rigor.
It was a woman—middle-aged. A busty middle-aged beautiful woman with her dress torn and barely holding together, exposing more than it should.
She looked exhausted… vulnerable.
Almost helpless.
Danir frowned. "What is she doing out here…?
This road wasn't safe. Not for someone like her."
"Hello, wandering adventurer…" the woman said weakly.
Her voice trembled, her eyes pleading.
"Could you… take me to the nearest town?"
Danir hesitated just for a second.
But in the end… he couldn't bring himself to leave her there.
"…Get on."
He extended a hand.
The woman climbed behind him, wrapping her arms around his body as she settled onto Rigor.
Her warmth of her d-cup breasts pressed against his back.
Then—she leaned closer.
"Do you like it aren't you? you perverted young man!" she whispered softly into his ear.
Danir's eyes narrowed slightly.
Something felt… wrong.
Too late.
A sudden glint of steel—a dagger.
It came fast.
Too fast!
Clang!
The blade struck—but not where she intended.
Danir had reacted just in time, catching the dagger with his palm.
Pain exploded through his hand.
"Ghh—!"
The force knocked him off balance, sending him crashing to the ground.
Dust rose as he landed hard.
His palm bled, the sharp sting pulsing through his nerves.
He looked up.
The woman no longer looked helpless.
Her expression had changed—cold, mocking.
Dangerous!
"…So that's how it is?!" Danir muttered, gripping his injured hand.
"You're a bandit!"
The woman smirked. "You naive little pervert."
She turned quickly, attempting to take Rigor and flee.
But Rigor didn't move.
Instead, the horse reared violently, shaking her off and throwing her to the ground.
A sharp thud echoed as she hit the dirt.
Rigor stepped back—loyal, unmoving.
The woman clicked her tongue and lunged again, dagger flashing as she attacked.
Fast.
Precise.
A skiver.
Danir's Amulet of Power glowed faintly—green.
Intermediate rank.
But even then—Danir could see it.
Flaws.
Gaps in her movement.
Predictable patterns.
Despite the pain in his hand, he moved.
He dodged.
Step after step, narrowly avoiding each strike with calm precision.
"Hey," Danir said quietly.
His voice carried a cold edge.
"You don't know who you're dealing with."
He looked at her—calm, yet filled with restrained anger.
"I'm a merciful person."
A pause.
"I'll let you live this time."
For a brief moment—she froze in fear of Danir's hidden strength as well as to the weight in his gaze.
"Nature's Touch."
A soft green light bloomed from his hand.
Warm.
Gentle.
The wound in his palm slowly closed, the bleeding stopping as the pain faded. He also heales her minor bruises.
Without another word, Danir walked past her.
No anger.
No pride.
Just quiet control.
He mounted Rigor once more.
Didn't even look back.
And just like that—he left.
The road stretched ahead once more, leading him toward the western coast.
Toward the port town—Eastbay Docks.
When Danir finally arrived, he expected nothing more than a quiet coastal town—something small, like the settlements back in Pearl-Shire.
But the moment he laid eyes on it—
He stopped.
"How can they call this place a town when it was as big as a city?" He thought.
His gaze swept across the horizon.
The place stretched far and wide, bustling with life.
Rows of wooden houses stood tightly packed together, mixed with larger buildings that towered over the docks.
Smoke rose from chimneys, voices echoed through the streets, and the constant movement of people made the entire place feel alive.
It wasn't just a town.
It was a city in disguise.
The docks were even more overwhelming.
Ships of all sizes filled the harbor—massive trading vessels, fishing boats, and smaller ferries rocking gently with the tide.
Sailors shouted orders, ropes creaked, and waves crashed rhythmically against the wooden piers.
The air carried a distinct scent—
Salt from the sea.
Rust from metal.
And the strong, unmistakable smell of fish.
Unlike Blossomdale, where nobles and adventurers dominated the streets, this place belonged to a different kind of people.
Fishermen.
Sailors.
Working commoners.
Their clothes were simple, their hands rough—but their movements were practiced, confident.
Adventurers were few.
Nobles even fewer.
Danir took it all in, quietly observing.
Then his eyes settled on a man sitting on a bench near the docks.
White trousers. White collared shirt. A tricorn hat resting neatly on his head.
A ferryman!
Danir approached him.
"Good day, sir," he said politely. "May I ask about the cost of traveling to the Middle Continent?"
The ferryman glanced at him briefly before answering. "Five hundred bronze zens."
Danir nodded, processing it quickly.
"And if I bring my horse with me?"
The man adjusted his hat slightly.
"Then it'll cost you one silver zen."
Danir let out a small breath.
Still manageable.
"But," the ferryman added, "the last trip for today already left. You'll have to wait until tomorrow."
Danir clicked his tongue softly. "…I missed it."
His mind immediately traced it back.
The bandit.
That single delay had cost him a full day.
With no other choice, he turned away from the docks.
The sky had already begun to dim, the orange glow of sunset reflecting across the sea.
That night, Danir found a nearby inn to stay in.
The room was simple, but enough.
Sitting by the faint light of a candle, he once again opened Yuri's diary.
Page after page, he read—absorbing every detail, every lesson written within.
Until—
Without realizing it—
Sleep took him.
The diary still open in his hands.
The dawn broke slowly over the horizon, and morning spilled into Eastbay like a tide of pale gold.
Danir woke to the thunderous blast of a ship's horn, its deep cry echoing across the docks and rattling the windows of the inn.
The sound jolted him upright, his heart racing as the memory struck him—the ferry.
Without wasting another second, he sprang from his bed and hastily gathered his gear. His hands moved quickly, almost clumsily, driven by urgency. The cold morning air brushed against his skin as he rushed downstairs and made straight for the stables.
"Come on, Rigor," he muttered.
Rigor neighed sharply, as if sharing his urgency. Within moments, the two of them were racing toward the docks, hooves striking hard against the wooden paths and stone roads, cutting through the bustling morning crowd.
The harbor was alive.
Sailors shouted orders, ropes creaked under tension, and gulls cried overhead as ships swayed gently on the restless sea. The scent of salt, fish, and damp wood filled the air. It was chaos—but a living, breathing kind.
And just in time—Danir and Rigor made it.
He dismounted quickly and approached the ferry, handing over a silver zen without hesitation.
Soon after, both he and Rigor were guided aboard—the boy stepping onto the wooden deck, while Rigor was led toward the ship's lower stable.
For the first time in his life, Danir stood upon a vessel that would carry him across the vast Middle-Eastern Sea—Thalassea.
The name itself felt grand… endless.
He lingered near the railing for a moment, watching the waves crash softly against the ship's sides.
The ocean stretched beyond sight, vast and unknowable. It stirred something in him—excitement… and a faint unease.
Then—
"Hello, Captain sir. I'm the one who spoke with you yesterday," Danir said as he approached the man he recognized.
The ferryman turned, his presence calm yet commanding.
"Yeah, I remember you, kid," he replied with a small nod. "Welcome aboard."
Danir gave a respectful nod. "What's your name, sir? I'm Danir… Danir Granger."
The man studied him for a brief moment before answering.
"Leonil Faradic."
Danir froze—just for a second.
"A Faradic…?"
A faint memory surfaced. A name he had heard before… back in the academy.
"So… your father is the Black-Horseman, right?" Leonil added casually.
"Yes, Mr. Faradic," Danir replied, though his mind was already connecting pieces together.
Then he asked, almost instinctively—
"Do you know Leopoldo Faradic?"
The captain's expression softened, just slightly.
"Yes," he said. "He's my son."
Silence.
Danir stood there, stunned.
Out of all the people he could meet… fate had brought him here—face to face with the father of the boy who once stood as his rival… his obstacle… perhaps even his reflection.
Yet the man before him was nothing like the arrogance Danir had expected.
He was composed.
Honorable.
Grounded.
Danir couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions—surprise, respect… and something else he couldn't quite name.
"…I see," he finally said, his voice quieter now.
With nothing more to add, Danir gave a slight bow before taking his leave.
He made his way toward his assigned cabin, the wooden floors creaking softly beneath his steps. The gentle sway of the ship had already begun as it prepared to depart.
Below deck, Rigor was being settled among the other animals—safe, but restless.
As for Danir…
He sat on the edge of his bed inside the cabin, staring blankly for a moment.
The journey had begun.
Not just across the sea—
…but toward something far greater.
Danir experienced his first dinner aboard the ship's dining cabin, surrounded by strangers who shared the same quiet rhythm of the sea.
The wooden tables creaked gently with every sway of the vessel, lantern lights flickering above as plates of warm meals were served.
It was something he had never experienced—not even in his past life.
And somehow… it felt enough.
Simple, yet strangely fulfilling.
He sat across Captain Faradic, the two sharing a table as the murmurs of other passengers blended with the distant crashing of waves.
"Captain… may I ask what level you are now?" Danir asked, curiosity glinting in his eyes.
"I'm level 150… Ferryman," the captain replied calmly. "I've spent nearly a quarter of my life sailing these waters."
Danir froze for a moment.
Level 150…
The number alone felt distant—almost unreachable.
A quiet sense of awe settled inside him as he stared at the man, realizing how vast the world truly was… and how small he still stood within it.
Their conversation soon faded into silence, both returning to their own thoughts.
After finishing his meal, Danir stepped out into the ship's open lobby, drawn by the cool night air. The wind brushed softly against his face, carrying with it the scent of salt and something deeper—something alive.
He walked toward the railing… and what he saw made him stop.
The ocean beneath them shimmered.
Countless glowing planktons drifted along the surface, illuminating the waves like scattered stars fallen into the sea.
Every ripple of water danced with light, turning the vast darkness into something almost magical.
Danir rested his arms on the railing, eyes wide.
For a moment… he forgot everything.
The battles.
The struggles.
The uncertainty.
There was only the sea… and its quiet, endless glow.
The days aboard the ship passed in repetition—meals, silence, the sound of waves, and the endless horizon stretching beyond sight.
Two days of sailing felt both long… and fleeting.
Until finally—they arrived.
"Midbay Docks."
As the ship slowed and anchored, Danir stepped out, guiding his gaze beyond the bustling docks… and then he saw it.
On a few steps ahead of the docks…
Was the mermaid's kingdom called as Thalassia.
Danir stood for a moment as jaw dropped wide open in awe while looking at the beauty of the kingdom's structures.