Chapter 7 - 07: Dying Wish VII
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John stood alone on the dirt path that wound down from the manor hill into the surrounding countryside. Behind him, the towering walls of White Manor vanished beneath the shadows of storm clouds. Ahead, the road stretched endlessly, wet from recent rain, lined by trees already turning black with mold.
He had nothing.
No pack. No coin. Not even a cloak to protect him from the wind. The Duke had not offered him a single item for survival. Only the clothes on his back and the ring on his finger remained.
But John did not stop walking.
His boots sank into the mud with every step. His stomach clenched with hunger before the first night fell. The second day brought blisters to his heels and aches to his legs. On the third, he collapsed beneath an old bridge, curled beneath a broken cart wheel to block the wind.
No one came. No one asked if he needed help. This world, just like Earth, had no time for those with empty names and empty hands.
He learned that quickly.
Villages sat like islands across the countryside, guarded by superstition and fear. Magic ruled everything. Farmers offered prayers to wandering magi. Inns had talismans carved into their walls. Strangers were treated like cursed things unless they could conjure sparks from their fingertips or show proof of Circle rank.
John had neither. One day, Thieves cornered him, only to find he had nothing worth taking but the ring in his hand.