Chapter 5: Streets of Kesseln — Dust, Ink, and Stone
The air was dry by noon.
He walked.
The Wandering Swordsman moved through the alleys of Kesseln like water flowing between stones. His robe dragged across uneven cobblestone. Bare feet muted his steps. No destination, just direction.
A dog barked somewhere behind him. Children yelled, chasing after a ball made from bundled cloth. From the rooftops, old women hung dyed fabrics in sun-stained silence.
He passed them without looking. But he saw everything.
Kesseln was not a city of wonders. It was real. Cracked bricks. Painted signs flaking away. Old metal grates whistling as wind funneled through them. Smells of vinegar, sweat, and frying oil.
He crossed a bridge. Beneath it, the river choked with weeds.
Then he stopped.
A scroll shop.
The wooden sign above the door read "Ashlem's Cartographorium & Oddities."
He entered.
The interior was cramped, but warm. Stacks of parchment, old atlases, brittle ink jars on dusty shelves. A small oil lamp sputtered in the corner.
Behind the desk, an old man with half-moon glasses didn't even glance up.
The clone stepped forward and picked up a curled scroll labeled:
"Global Summary — Trader Edition."
He unrolled it.
Extracted Notes — As Translated From Trader Gairon's Account, 17 Years Ago
Elarian: The central landmass. Diverse. Balanced. Kingdoms ruled by bloodlines, scholars, and knights. Known for stable trade routes, magical academies, and political tension that never quite explodes.
Vastraal (East): The Martial Continent. Mountains that breathe steam. Cities carved into cliff-faces. Cultivators born and raised here treat battle like scripture. Their Qi flows deeper than rivers. Their bodies grow beyond human.
Zephyros (West): Land of Awakeners. Power is inherited, born, or triggered by trauma. Children toss fireballs in tantrums. The gifted rule the poor with a smile. It is the continent of miracles, and nightmares.
Netherveil (South): A cursed land. Unmapped. Monster-ruled. Mana storms, twisted forests, cities that collapse overnight. Few go. Fewer return. The continent speaks only in screams and silence.
??? (Far Beyond Storms): The traders call it the Origin. Some say it's the source of all Systems. Others say it's dead. A sea of broken stars guards its path.
The clone stared at the scroll for a long moment. Then placed it down.
Outside, the sun had begun to tilt westward.
Market Square.
He passed through.
Booths lined the stone road. A man yelled about Vastraalian blades that could split metal. Another sold Zephyros-imported fruit that glowed faintly. A boy with glassy eyes begged nearby, an empty plate beside him.
The clone didn't stop. But he listened.
"Did you hear? Someone's returned from the southern border. Their body was... twisted. Like a statue of meat."
"Fake news. They always say that to keep people out."
"No, he's in the cathedral now. Muted. Drained."
He turned his head. Toward the cathedral bell tower in the distance.
Then walked again.
The Adventurer Post
He found a notice board just beside a stone-tiled building with rusted insignias. Posters flapped in the breeze:
"Expedition to East Marsh. Guide Wanted. Payment in Kind + Token Access." "Missing person near Gravewind Ruins. Reward: 200 silver." "Zephyros Scout Passing Through. Requests Local Maps."
Inside the post, young men in half-armor argued over a bounty.
"If he's from Netherveil, then he ain't human." "Doesn't matter. Contract says dead or alive."
The clone moved past them, unnoticed.
The Cathedral.
Tall. Cold. Empty.
Inside, seven statues stood in silence. Each bore a weapon. A banner. A mark.
A plaque beneath them read:
"To the Seven Awakened — May Your Power Judge the Worthy."
A monk swept the floors without looking up. In a side room, muffled sobs. He didn't enter.
He stood there. Reading. Remembering.
[Genesis AI — Environment Recognition: +3 XP] [Memory Drift Triggered]
A battlefield. Five banners. A broken spear. His own hand covered in blood.
Gone.
He left.
By the time he returned to the outskirts, dusk had crept over the rooftops.
He sat on a stone ledge overlooking the lower district. Fires began to spark in windows. Someone played a flute nearby. A dog barked again.
He didn't smile. He didn't frown.
Just breathed.
The world was bigger than he thought.
And it was only beginning to notice him.