The transition from the Gilded Tomb to the outside world was not a gentle one. It was a violent spatial displacement, a tearing of the fabric of the universe that felt like being dragged through a keyhole while your bones were made of lead.
When the spatial turbulence finally subsided, the crushing pressure of the seal vanished, replaced by a sudden, jarring lightness. Rayn felt his feet touch solid ground—not the shifting golden sands of the tomb, but something hard, cold, and meticulously laid. Beside him, the air shimmered with an obsidian luster as Vespera landed with the grace of a falling shadow.
Before the local inhabitants could glimpse the terrifying majesty of her draconic heritage, Vespera's back arched, and with a soft, rhythmic shuck, her massive black wings folded into her spine, dissolving into the fabric of her shadow-dress. She stood there, a vision of dark elegance, her golden eyes scanning the horizon for threats with her powers.
Rayn, however, was not as quick to recover. The soul-bond and the sudden influx of Tier 8 energy had left his senses raw. He lay on the ground, the scent of coal and damp earth filling his nostrils.
"Master... Rayn. Wake up. The air of the mortals is thin here," Vespera's voice echoed in his mind, smooth as silk and cold as ice.
Rayn groaned, his eyelids heavy. He felt a warmth against his face—not the scorching heat of the tomb, but a soft, filtered sunlight. He slowly forced his eyes open. At first, the world was a kaleidoscope of blurry grays and browns, spinning in a dizzying dance. But as the Obsidian King Body processed the lingering spatial exhaustion, his vision snapped into a clarity that surpassed human limits.
He sat up, and his breath hitched. He wasn't in a forest. He wasn't in the ruins of Aetheleon. He was in a world that felt like a fever dream of progress and soot.
Rayn stood up, brushing the dust from his reinforced clothes. He found himself at the edge of a massive thoroughfare paved with meticulously placed cobblestones, slick with the morning mist.
Everywhere he looked, the world was alive in a way he had never seen.
Lining the streets were multi-story buildings of dark brick and polished mahogany. Gas-lamps of intricate brass design stood like silent sentinels at every corner, their flames flickering behind glass panes. He saw shops with wide windows displaying things that seemed both alien and familiar: intricate clockwork ornaments that ticked with a life of their own, beautiful rocks and gems polished to a mirror sheen, and rows upon rows of tailored clothes—waistcoats, long coats with velvet collars, and dresses with bustles that moved like the plumage of exotic birds.
"What is this place?" Rayn whispered, his voice lost in the cacophony of the city.
He looked up at the sky. It wasn't the bronze sky of the tomb. It was a pale, misty blue, but it was being invaded. From the tops of massive, blackened chimneys that pierced the clouds like the spears of giants, thick plumes of black smoke billowed outward. Beneath them, smaller vents released bursts of pure white steam, the two vapors swirling together in the atmosphere like twin dragons locked in an eternal struggle.
The air tasted of coal, grease, and the savory, heavy scent of butchered meat. To his left, a butcher shop displayed its wares with brutal honesty—fresh carcasses of strange, six-legged cattle hung from iron hooks, their crimson flesh glistening to show the passing gentry the quality of the kill. Horse-drawn carriages, their wheels rimmed with iron, clattered over the stones, carrying men in top hats and women holding lace parasols.
Vespera watched him, her expression unreadable. "You are shocked, Rayn. Does this primitive display of energy frighten you?"
Rayn turned to her, his eyes wide. "Primitive? Vespera, look at this! They are using machines to build their world. They have industry. This is... this is a level of technology that shouldn't exist alongside magic."
Vespera let out a soft, melodic laugh that sounded like silver coins clinking together. "Technology? Rayn, you are like a frog at the bottom of a well looking at the moon. When I was a hatchling on my home planet, Valthoria, we did not burn coal. We harvested the kinetic energy of entire galaxies to power our hearths. Our buildings did not just touch the clouds; they pierced the very firmament of the stars. Mountains were our gardens, and forests were preserved as holy sanctuaries where the wild animals lived in a bliss you cannot imagine."
Rayn froze. "Valthoria? A planet of advanced dragons?"
"It was our Master—the First King—who brought the 'Great Light' to us," Vespera said, her golden eyes distant. "He taught us that Qi and Mechanics are two sides of the same coin. He built cities that spanned continents, where the dragons and the smaller races lived in a harmony of steel and soul. Compared to Valthoria, this city is a pile of burning dung."
Rayn shook his head, trying to clear the mental image of a galaxy-powered dragon civilization. "We can talk about your history later. Right now, we are outcasts. We need to blend in."
They began to walk into the heart of the city. The people here were busy, their faces set in grim expressions of productivity. Rayn noticed that while they looked human, their Qi signatures were strange—weak, yet stabilized by something external.
Suddenly, a rhythmic, earth-shaking thud echoed through the street. CHUG-CHUG-CHUG-CHUG.
"Make way! Clear the tracks!" a man in a grease-stained cap shouted, waving a red flag.
Rayn didn't understand the urgency until he looked behind him. A massive, black beast of iron was barreling down the center of the cobblestone street. It was a Steam Locomotive, its brass pipes hissing and its massive iron wheels grinding against recessed rails in the road. It puffed clouds of soot-heavy smoke into the air, its whistle letting out a shriek that sounded like a dying god.
Rayn jumped back, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of the God Slayer. "A train? In the middle of a pedestrian street?"
The "Iron Dragon" roared past them, pulling carriages filled with coal and raw ore. The sheer raw power of the machine, the smell of hot oil, and the vibration in the ground left Rayn breathless.
"The Master's influence is everywhere," Vespera muttered, unimpressed. "Even in this backwater, they mimic his designs."
Despite his Tier 8 body, Rayn's stomach chose that moment to let out a thunderous growl. The transition, the body refinement, and the spatial jump had drained his physical reserves.
The sound was so loud that several passersby—a gentleman in a pinstriped suit and a flower girl—turned and chuckled. Rayn felt a heat rise to his face. Even a Sovereign of the Rebellion couldn't ignore the basic laws of biology.
"It seems the Master is hungry," Vespera teased, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Don't start," Rayn grumbled.
They followed the scent of spices and roasting fat to a small, respectable-looking restaurant tucked between a clockmaker and a tailor. The sign above the door read 'The Brass Kettle.' Inside, the atmosphere was warm and dim, lit by elegant brass lamps that cast a golden glow over mahogany tables and velvet-lined chairs. Beautiful landscape paintings of rolling hills and steam-ships hung on the walls.
A waiter in a crisp white apron and a black bowtie approached them, bowing slightly. "Good morning, travelers. Welcome to the Kettle. Table for two?"
"Yes," Rayn replied, then paused. He looked at Vespera. "Wait... how do I understand him? And how does he understand me?"
Vespera tapped the Black Ring on his finger. "The ring, Rayn. It is a masterpiece for First Master. It contains a Core essence of translation in my body. It vibrates with the intent of the speaker and converts the linguistic waves before they reach your ear. To him, you are speaking his local tongue. To you, he is speaking yours. It is top-tier technology of the Soul."
Rayn was amazed. The more he learned about the "First Master," the more he realized the man was a genius of both science and sorcery.
They sat down, and the waiter presented a small menu. "Our specials today are the Triple-Fried Mountain Chicken and the Savory Pork Fried Rice with Poached Eggs. Both are favorites of the merchant guilds."
"Bring us both. Two orders of everything," Rayn said, his hunger peaking.
The food arrived in minutes, and it was a revelation. The chicken was crispy, seasoned with herbs that tasted of the earth, and the pork fried rice was rich, the eggs perfectly runny, coating the grains in a golden sauce. Rayn and Vespera ate with a focused intensity that silenced the rest of the room.
When they finished, the waiter returned with a small slip of paper. "That will be 1,000 Fazhos, sir."
Rayn looked at the paper. Thanks to the ring, he could read the elegant, loopy script of the local currency. He reached into his spatial storage and pulled out two heavy gold coins from Vespera's tomb. They were stamped with the image of a dragon's wing.
"Will these cover the bill?" Rayn asked, sliding them across the table.
The waiter's eyes nearly bulged out of his head. He picked up one coin, biting it gently, then weighing it in his palm. His hands began to shake.
"S-Sir... this is pure, high-grade gold. One of these coins is enough to buy this entire menu for a week, perhaps longer. This is... this is more than a month's salary for a clerk!"
Rayn waved a hand dismissively, his Tier 8 arrogance leaking through. "Take what is owed for the meal and a tip for the service. Keep the change. Consider it a downpayment for my future visits."
The waiter bowed so low his forehead nearly hit the table. "You are too generous, My Lord! May the Steam-Gods bless your path!"
As they left the restaurant, Rayn caught a glimpse of their reflections in a shop window. They looked like two refugees from a different age—his clothes were torn from battle, and Vespera's dress, while beautiful, was far too gothic and dramatic for a morning stroll.
"We need new clothes," Rayn said. "And we need to exchange some of this gold for the local currency. Carrying around dragon-stamped coins is going to attract the wrong kind of attention."
He stopped a passerby, a man with a crooked nose and a heavy coat. "Excuse me, where can I find a reputable gold exchange?"
The man eyed Rayn's ragged clothes, then spotted the gold coin Rayn was casually tossing in the air. A greedy light flickered in his eyes. "Oh, aye. Go straight down this lane, take the first left, and then the second dark corner. There's a man there... 'Old Silas.' He'll give you a fair price, he will."
Rayn nodded and led Vespera toward the alley.
Vespera leaned in, her voice a cold whisper. "Rayn, that man's heart-rate tripled when he saw your gold. We are being followed."
"I know," Rayn replied, a dark, mocking smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I haven't had a good warm-up since I reached Tier 8. Let them come."
They turned into the second corner. It was a narrow, claustrophobic space. The high brick walls blocked out the sun, and the ground was damp with stagnant water. It was a dead end—too narrow for a horse cart to turn around.
As soon as they reached the back wall, four men stepped out from the shadows. They were dressed in tattered leather coats, carrying brass knuckles and heavy lead pipes. The man with the crooked nose was among them, holding a jagged knife.
"Alright, 'My Lord,'" the leader sneered, spitting on the cobblestones. "Hand over the bag of gold coins and the girl, and maybe we won't have to break your legs. You're in the Low-Soot District now. The law doesn't come here."
Rayn turned around slowly. He looked at the thugs—men whose highest cultivation was barely a Tier 10 or even less, if that. To him, they moved in slow motion. He could see the pulse in their necks, the sweat on their brows, and the sheer, pathetic greed in their souls.
"You want my gold?" Rayn asked, a low, rumbling laugh beginning to build in his chest—a laugh that carried the vibration of the Obsidian King.
"We aren't asking, boy!" the leader barked, lunging forward with his knife.
Rayn didn't even draw his sword. He just laughed louder, the sound echoing off the brick walls like the herald of a coming storm.
"Vespera," Rayn said, his eyes glowing with a faint, predatory red light. "Watch closely. This is how we handle 'ants' in this new world."