Having passed through the coastal thickets, Reyn emerged onto a wide road.
He remembered that this was one of the main roads leading into the city; Longsand lay a few kilometers to the north. It was fully light now. Along the road trudged peasants with carts loaded with fresh vegetables and provisions—they were hurrying to the city market. There were also pedestrians like Reyn—all rushing about their business, earning a living.
Walking along the road, Reyn noticed that his new body was quite sturdy and enduring—far stronger than in his previous life, for sure. It seemed the three years at the academy hadn't been wasted.
Whether it was a benefit of the transmigration or simply excellent health, the wound on the back of his head seemed to be healing rapidly and barely hurt anymore. If not for the slight tenderness when touched, Reyn would have thought it fully healed.
Along the way, Reyn mentally glanced at the "Scarlet Flower," and it immediately unfolded into an interface before his eyes. One look was enough to notice the change.
"Hm? The charge has increased by one notch! So restoring strength is equivalent to recharging."
This discovery delighted Reyn to his core—now he didn't have to fear running out of energy.
"Seems like the healthier my body is, the higher the charge."
Reyn pondered this, but immediately deemed it not entirely logical. Judging by his current state, even at full recovery, the charge probably wouldn't exceed ten percent. So how to get it to a hundred? And what would happen when the battery was fully charged? Too many questions demanded answers.
Lost in thought, he heard some movement behind him.
Reyn turned around. A black automobile was moving along the road, clearly hurrying toward the city. The driver kept honking continuously, shooing away dawdling carts and pedestrians. Flanking the car on both sides and behind were four servants clad in light armor, with long swords at their belts. They skillfully kept their horses at the proper distance from the vehicle to avoid collision, but not too far, ready to protect their master in the car at any moment.
Chaos reigned on the road. Peasants hastily pulled their carts to the roadside, people parted ways. Reyn quickly jumped aside as well.
Soon the automobile sped past, kicking up a cloud of dust. The riders thundered after it, leaving a scatter of horseshoe prints on the ground.
Watching them go, Reyn felt a strange sensation. He knew industry in this world was fairly advanced, especially in steam mechanisms—perhaps even better than on Earth. But seeing an automobile driving down the road escorted by riders—this sight seemed a bit... out of place. As they would say in his previous life—stylistic dissonance!
When the automobile passed by, he managed to get a good look. Outwardly, it resembled Earth's cars, but there were small differences in the details. The windows were richly decorated and curtained, making the interior impossible to see. White smoke billowed from the exhaust pipe in the back, odorless and steam-like—the machine ran on a steam engine.
"Impressive that they've advanced steam automobiles to this level—and the speed is decent."
Reyn's memories held no instances of him riding in an automobile. Cars were among the most high-tech products, costing exorbitant sums, affordable only to aristocrats, the wealthy, or Superhumans. An ordinary person might never get a chance to ride in one their whole life. He hadn't seen who was in the car, but without doubt, they were either very rich or very noble.
The closer he got to the city, the wider the road became, the more travelers he encountered. Endless fields stretched along the verges, where numerous peasants were already at work.
These were the outskirts of Longsand. Besides fields, there were factories, plantations, pastures, and private estates of the nobility.
Soon the massive city came into view.
From afar, countless buildings merged into a single urban expanse stretching to the horizon; the closer to the center, the taller the houses grew. Though there were no skyscrapers like those in Earth's megacities soaring hundreds of meters skyward, Longsand matched them in bustle and population density. It was one of the Empire's most prosperous cities, with over a million inhabitants!
Longsand had no city walls, but its defenses were quite formidable. Reyn immediately noticed that every few hundred meters in the city rose prominent stone towers thirty to forty meters high, topped with what looked like gun platforms. Weapons were mounted on the towers, covered by waterproof tarps. Reyn knew those were steam ballistae under the tarps—extremely powerful weapons whose range, rumor had it, reached five hundred paces. Formidable city defense in this world.
There were no walls, but checkpoints stood on the main roads leading into the city. Since dawn had broken only recently, there weren't many entrants, and the guards at the checkpoint didn't inspect every cart or person, only occasionally stopping someone for a brief questioning.
Reyn often left the city and saw no reason for concern, so he calmly headed toward the checkpoint.
"Halt," a fully armed guard blocked his path, eyeing Reyn.
Reyn instantly understood: his clothes were still not fully dry and looked rumpled, drawing the guard's attention.
"Sir, I left before dawn today. In the dark, I lost the road and accidentally fell into the river," Reyn hurriedly explained, pulling a white card from his jacket pocket and handing it to the guard.
On the way to the city, he had checked everything he had on him. Besides his clothes, not a penny—only a key and this strange card. The card was the size of an ID, made of very durable, nearly indestructible material. It bore a black-and-white photo portrait of Reyn and brief details about him. Most importantly, there were dozens of small holes on one side; the card was inserted into a large, complex reader that verified authenticity via those holes. Reyn's card was issued by the academy and served as a pass. An academy pass was quite valuable, not everyone could get one—a status symbol of sorts—so it worked flawlessly in many places: show it, and you're through.
Sure enough, seeing the card, the guard immediately dropped his vigilance. Confirming the photo matched Reyn, he stepped aside at once.
Reyn pocketed the card and proceeded into the city.
The main street was very wide—several carts could pass each other. Gas lamps stood every ten to fifteen meters. Carts and automobiles moved down the center, pedestrians along the sidewalks.
The stone-paved street buzzed with life. Houses crowded both sides, most with stone bases supplemented by wood and a bit of brick; some two or three stories, others up to five or six, with red tiled roofs—the architectural style remarkably uniform.
The street teemed with people rushing about their business. All sorts passed by: postmen delivering letters, housewives shopping, apprentices hurrying to work, carters with overloaded wagons, frolicking children. The roadside houses belonged to ordinary townsfolk, but there were plenty of shops too: clothing stores, restaurants, grocers, smithies, bookstores, markets, taverns, inns, newsstands... Representatives of every trade bustled to and fro, the whole city breathing with life.
Walking the streets of this exotic city, Reyn looked around curiously. He recalled medieval European cities. But the differences were stark. First, sanitation here was top-notch: well-designed drainage ditches ran along the roads, and the streets were smoothly paved stone, never turning into mud after rain. And certainly no one dumped slop straight onto the street, as in Europe—even in Paris, the center of civilization, you could easily get a chamber pot's contents on your head.
Second, the architectural style here was radically different from medieval Europe. Reyn wasn't an architecture history expert and couldn't pinpoint the differences exactly. But intuitively, Longsand's buildings felt more majestic. They favored large stone blocks as the base material, adorned with carvings and statues, aiming for spaciousness and light, giving a solemn, monumental look. This style bore strong religious influence, reminiscent of baroque yet also ancient Greek in its grandeur and monumentality.
Suddenly, an aroma wafted from some eatery on the street, and Reyn's stomach growled traitorously, interrupting his musings.
He patted his empty pockets and mentally cursed: "Damn! They killed me and robbed me too, took all the money. I'll settle that score."
Swallowing saliva, Reyn quickened his pace toward his apartment. From the memories, the old Reyn had stashed some money in a wall crack—his old savings. Not much, but enough for now.
Reyn's apartment was in the Los district, nearby. Los residents were ordinary townsfolk, only slightly better off than slum dwellers, so rent was low, and he could afford it.
In just over ten minutes, Reyn reached his building. Entering the stairwell, he climbed to the third floor and, reaching the last door in the corridor, pulled out the key and opened it.
The room was small, sparsely furnished: a bed, a table with chair, and a wardrobe against the wall. Next door was a tiny bathroom.
Reyn peeled off the unpleasantly sticky damp clothes clinging to his body and tossed them into the bathroom. On the table lay a bag of bread bought yesterday. He grabbed it and started stuffing it into his mouth.
He had never felt such hunger in his life, as if he hadn't eaten for days. Chewing the cold, stale bread and washing it down with a glass of water, Reyn devoured it like a starving wolf, rapidly emptying the bag. That bread was meant for three breakfasts, but he was still only half-full and could have eaten as much again.
But at least the hunger receded somewhat, and his strength began to return gradually.
Having sated himself, Reyn stripped off his last remaining shorts, entered the bathroom, and luxuriated in a cold shower. Then, toweling off, he emerged feeling fresh and invigorated.
Approaching the wardrobe to change into clean clothes, he suddenly noticed a half-human-height mirror hanging on the door, clearly reflecting his current appearance.
He froze, scrutinizing himself in the mirror.
The new Reyn stood about 1.8 meters tall, lean but proportionally built, with noticeable muscle definition—the result of three years of academy training. And most importantly, his manhood was quite impressive. Reyn glanced down and smiled contentedly.
The only flaw was the bruises covering his skin—purple and livid—not for the faint of heart, as if he'd been brutally beaten. That's why, upon waking after transmigration, he'd felt pain all over. As for the head wound, he found a small mirror in the table drawer and, positioning it before the large one, finally examined it using both reflections.
The wound had healed considerably. Parting his hair, he saw only a blurry indentation crusted with blood, relatively round. The edges sharply contrasted with the surrounding skin—clearly from a heavy blow with a blunt object.
Reyn set the small mirror down. His gaze darkened—he knew what had happened.