Chapter 7 - Fantasy

Alden didn’t dream of the fog that night.

It was a little disappointing.

But he still felt better. His injuries made significant recovery. It was like he hadn’t fully absorbed his gains from his previous dream.

Thinking about it, Alden took a moment to go over what he’d learned so far about that place.

First, that realm could only be visited once a day. Over the past few days, Alden only managed to visit that place one time for each day. Second, the energy contained in the glowing orb was beneficial to him. It not only healed his injuries, but also made him stronger. And third, the strange foggy realm only appeared after his transmigration.

The timing wasn’t a coincidence.

He laid in bed for a few more moments, letting the thoughts settle, then finally decided to get on his day. He cleaned himself off, got dressed, and made his way downstairs for breakfast.

The inn was already stirring with life when he made his way down. A few early patrons nursed drinks from the night before, slouched over their tables like they hadn’t moved in hours. A serving girl swept lazily near the hearth, occasionally nudging a snoring patron out of her way.

After enjoying a small meal, Alden walked towards the Arena’s direction.

The streets were busier than he expected for this early in the day. Vendors were setting up stalls, shouting over each other as they jockeyed for space in the narrow alleys.

By the time Alden reached the side entrance to the Arena offices, the noise had dulled to a low murmur. He passed a few other fighters loitering outside, some of them eyeing him. No one bothered him, though. They recognized the dirty rags and yellowed out bandages. He was one of them.

Alden reached the familiar management door and gave it a sharp knock before stepping inside.

Bill was there, hunched over a stack of scrolls and ledgers. The man glanced briefly at him before getting back to his papers.

“You’re early. Didn’t think you’d be back so soon after your last fight.”

“Hello, Bill.” Alden greeted the man, stepping forward. “I want another match. Maybe two. I need to climb the ranks.”

Now Bill looked up, one brow twitching behind his monocle. “Really? You lost the last one, remember? Came out full of bruises and almost died afterwards.”

“Yeah,” Alden replied. “But that was against a rank 5. And the crowd liked it anyway.”

Bill scratched his cheek, eyeing Alden with a skeptical look. “You’re serious?”

Alden nodded.

Bill shrugged and reached under the desk. A moment later, he slapped a card down in front of him. “Rank 3. That’s where you’re slotted now. If you want to climb, you need to start winning. And if you want to win, I suggest you pick your fights wisely.”

“I’m not looking for easy wins,” Alden said. “Give me someone solid.”

Bill’s lips twitched into something halfway between a smirk and a snort. “Solid, huh? Alright. I’ll see who’s available.”

Bill began thumbing through a stack of parchment slips. His lips moved as he muttered stats, names, and kill counts under his breath. Then he paused, tapped three slips, and slid them forward.

“Three choices,” he said. “First: Hagler. Rank 3. Dual hatchets, big swings, not much speed. He relies on brute force, and has been on a win streak lately. He’s got a bit of a following.”

Alden nodded at the information, but said nothing.

Bill shifted to the next slip. “Second: Denna. Pure martial artist. Strong kicker. She’s fast, efficient, and doesn’t like to toy with her food. She’s signed up for a rank maintenance match. If you beat her, she’ll drop to rank 3. If you’re looking for a good fight, then she’s the one.”

“And last…” Bill hesitated a second longer, then tapped on the third sheet. “Cutter. Rank 3 on paper, but he’s been fighting in death brackets lately. Weapon matches, mostly. He uses a claymore. Favors wide swings and breaking guards fast. Three confirmed kills in the arena. No disqualifications. No audience complaints. People love the brutality. He’s already signed up for a weapon match tomorrow. Slot’s open.”

Alden raised a brow. “Death match?”

“Yup,” Bill clarified. “The Cutter loooves blood.”

The room fell quiet for a beat. Bill leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “If you want to climb the ranks, you’ll need to prove yourself. And blood? Blood sells.”

Alden glanced at the slips once more, weighing them.

So far, he was leaning towards the Hagler. A weapon match would be dangerous, but he didn’t feel like taking his chances against a rank 4 opponent yet. As for the Cutter… it was still too early for a death match.

“Hagler,” Alden said. “Weapon match, right?”

Bill nodded. “Dual hatchets. No death clause. You’re free to kill if it comes to it, but it’s not expected. He won’t hesitate, though.”

“I got it,” Alden replied.

Bill gave him a long look and nodded. “Fight’s scheduled for tomorrow, midday. Pit Two. Good opportunity to make an impression if you don’t get chopped in half.”

Alden nodded resolutely.

As he turned to leave, Bill added: “And Silver? Don’t try to outslug him. Hagler’s stupid, but his arms are thicker than your torso. Be smart.”

Alden gave the man a nod. He appreciated what Bill was doing for him.

***********************

After visiting the Arena, Alden headed to the market for a bit of shopping. His clothes were getting too worn out, the fabric threadbare from fights and filth, and the bandages wrapped around his body had started to smell like death. It had to change. He wasn’t just a fighter anymore, he had plans. And he needed to look at least somewhat put together.

The people of this world dressed in a way that reminded him of the medieval movies he used to watch back home: simple tunics, cloaks, thick belts, laced boots. No zippers, no plastic, just wool, leather, and linen.

The common folk wore earthy tones and rough textures, while the wealthier ones strutted around in embroidered vests, polished boots, and silk-trimmed coats. There were even a few oddities that hinted at enchantment.

The town of Lint itself matched the mood. Stone buildings rose close together with steep gabled roofs and wooden balconies, some blackened with age, others patched up with mismatched materials. Narrow alleys curved between wide thoroughfares.

Parts of the town were still raw and soot-stained. But near the upper districts, the streets boasted fine cobblestone paths, carved fountains, and clean, angular architecture that felt more advanced than anything Alden had expected.

It was like living inside a fantasy world.

If only I’d been dropped inside a cultivation family.

Maybe then he could’ve enjoyed all this without constantly watching his back, worrying about coins, or being scheduled to bleed in a pit.

But the thought didn’t linger long.

Silver had done his best with what he had. Born into debt. Sold off to pay it. Fought until his body gave out. And even then, he didn’t give in. Alden couldn’t scoff at that. He owed the kid something.

At the very least, he could make this second life mean something.

After wandering around the nearest market row, Alden picked up a pair of cheap brown shirts, some dark breeches, new boots that didn’t pinch his toes, and fresh cloth to wrap his arms and torso.

Now cleaner and more presentable, he felt a little better. And more importantly, ready for the next part of his plan: getting information.

Due to Silver’s lacking upbringing, he was quite ignorant of the world. As a transmigrator, Alden didn’t feel comfortable blindly stumbling in the dark. One small misstep could cost him his life.

Thankfully, Silver knew how to read and write. There was a time when he had been taught. Not extensively, but enough to make sense of street signs, arena rosters, and the rare bit of literature that found its way into the lower rings of the town.

As he made his way to a quieter part of the town, he found what he was looking for: A book store. It was nestled between an herbalist’s shop and a tannery. The building sported a weather-worn sign that read: Thorn’s Book Store. And compared to the other shops, it looked less fancy.

Alden stepped in, making the chime attached to the door ring. Inside, wooden shelves leaned under the weight of battered tomes and loose scrolls. Behind the counter, a balding man with two monocles perched over his nose peered up.

“Haven’t seen you before,” the man rasped.

“I’m looking to read,” Alden said. “... about Cultivators.”

The man nodded along, seemingly used to the request. He reached under the counter, pulled out a slim booklet, and dropped it onto the table.

“Three bronze. No refunds.”

Alden decisively handed over the coins, then turned his attention to the booklet. It was thin, frayed, held together with twine. Still, he opened it, eyes scanning the first page.

And as the minutes passed, as he turned each fragile page, his frown deepened. The information inside wasn’t just vague, it was meaningless. Every few paragraphs, the text skipped over techniques, facts, or referred to “forbidden methods” with no elaboration. It was like reading a redacted military file.

The booklet on Cultivation went back on the counter.

“Something wrong with it?” the old man behind the counter asked, not looking up from his ledger.

“It’s vague,” Alden said. “Half the pages are missing, and the rest feel like they were written by someone trying not to say anything.”

“That’s because they were,” the old man replied. “You think the people who know how to bend Qi into lightning, or tear men in half with a scream are going to leave that knowledge lying around? For a couple of bronze?”

A fair point.

Alden tapped his fingers against the counter, thinking about asking for a refund, but he thought better. This was definitely not the first time the shopkeeper had done something like this, it was Alden’s fault for not thinking things through.

Still, he didn’t come solely to learn about cultivators.

“What about history? Geography? I want to learn about the world. The town. The old… stuff. Anything more complete, really.”

That got the man’s attention. He leaned forward slightly, studying Alden. “You a scholar now?”

“Not exactly,” Alden muttered. “Just trying to educate myself.”

A few seconds passed. Then the man turned, rifling through the cluttered shelves behind him. His fingers traced along cracked spines and loose stacks before he finally drew out four volumes. He set them down in front of Alden one by one, their weight sending small puffs of dust into the air.

“Here. These two cover the history of the seven great nations and the collapse of the Orrath continent, and all that. That one’s a survey of the Eldranor Region. It’s where we are. And that thin one on top’s got some legends about the War of Gods and Immortals, if you believe in that sort of thing.”

Alden raised an eyebrow. “War of Gods and Immortals?”

“Local folklore. Supposedly happened around forty thousand years ago. World nearly ended. Sky cracked, rivers ran backward, horrors spilled out and nearly overran the continent.”

“That sounds fake.”

“So do talking bones, wraiths, and flying carriages,” the man snorted. “But you’ll find those in Lint if you look long enough.”

Alden wisely shut his mouth and paid the man, taking the books with him.

Out in the street, he looked for a quiet place to sit, eventually settling under the shade of a crooked awning beside a closed apothecary. People passed him without a glance.

He opened the top book. The one talking about the War of Gods.

The first few pages introduced the world as it once was: united under the Old Dominion, a civilization that wielded Qi like a natural law. They built sky-keeps, created walking cities, and fought wars across floating islands.

Alden blinked at the page.

Walking cities?

It sounded ridiculous. But the descriptions didn’t read like fairy tales. They were dry and stripped of dramatics.

The Old Dominion had ruled over half the known world, including the Orrath continent. Their scholars had codified Qi the way physicists had once mapped atoms. Their cultivators could reroute rivers, redirect lightning, and create barriers that still stood thousands of years later.

And then something happened.

The sky split.

After that, nothing was the same.

It didn’t call it an invasion, but Alden could read between the lines. Creatures described in shaky metaphors like: “tall as towers, eyes like suns, crawling backwards through the air” had poured into the world from… somewhere else. Places the book never named.

That was when the gods showed up and got involved. Or maybe they were already here. Or maybe they came through too.

Even that wasn’t clear.

What followed was called the Sundering. Continents were torn, oceans corrupted. The Dominion shattered. Qi became volatile. Unpredictable. Cities that once floated now lay buried beneath the earth. Whole regions were reduced to scarred wastelands.

By the end of the book, Alden had more questions than answers.

Still, that didn’t bother him much.

What bothered him was that there was a very real possibility of it all being true. Horrors. Wraiths. Flying carriages. Talking bones. The man at the book stall hadn’t been exaggerating. Those were real.

“Don’t dig too deep,” the last line of the book had warned. “And don’t follow what fell from the sky.”

Alden sighed, tucking the book under his arm, and nodded.

“Noted.”