Lucien slowly stirred from his slumber. A gentle nudge roused him, and as his eyes blinked open, the soft fabric of the tent ceiling greeted him. The early morning light barely seeped through the tent's canvas, casting a faint golden glow over everything. A familiar presence knelt beside him.
"Good morning, young master," said Marie, her voice as calm and warm as ever. Her smile was soft, carrying the kind of gentle fondness only time and care could cultivate.
Lucien blinked once more, adjusting to the light. "Morning already...?" he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.
"Yes," Marie giggled. "You fell asleep under the stars. We tucked you in. Breakfast is ready, and we should be leaving soon."
Stretching with a small groan, Lucien sat up. His snowy white hair was tousled from sleep, and he yawned before giving Marie a slow nod. "Thanks. I must've dozed off faster than I thought."
A short while later, Lucien sat beside a campfire surrounded by their elite escort. The savory scent of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spiced root stew filled the air. After a quiet breakfast shared with Marie, Knight Rex, and the six A-Rank knights, they packed up camp and mounted their enchanted carriages.
The magical steeds, wreathed in faint dark flames, neighed softly in anticipation. The sky had turned a calm blue, dotted with drifting clouds, and a soft wind whispered through the plains.
As the journey resumed, Lucien peeked out the carriage window again. The view began to shift—grassy plains turned into paved roads, scattered villages slowly gave way to bustling signs of civilization. Then, towering far ahead, like a fortress carved into the world itself, rose the first of the three legendary walls of the Empire.
Lucien's breath caught in his throat.
The gate loomed as they approached: a colossal structure of gleaming metal reinforced with pale blue mana crystals. Even from a distance, the might of the Empire could be felt in the way the earth trembled slightly with the sheer footfall of traffic flowing in and out.
Carriages passed by—some merchant wagons laden with goods, others bearing the banners of minor noble houses. Adventurers on horseback and traveling caravans joined the mix. Despite the crowd, everything was organized by platoons of imperial guards.
When the Velebrandt convoy reached the gate, they were halted. One of the imperial gate knights stepped forward, his polished armor catching the sunlight. Rex stepped down from his carriage, handing over a sealed parchment adorned with the Velebrandt crest.
The knight's eyes widened subtly as he read, then he saluted. "We greet the heir of House Velebrandt. May your stay in the Empire be safe and prosperous."
Around him, the other gate knights followed suit, saluting in unison.
Lucien felt a strange flutter in his chest—not fear, but awe. Knight Rex nodded at the guards and signaled the convoy to move.
The gates opened.
As the carriages rolled forward, Lucien pressed his face to the glass. What he saw made his eyes widen.
The Outer Walls of the Empire—colossal bastions of obsidian stone veined with silver-like mana conduits—stretched endlessly across the horizon. To any outsider, they looked like an impenetrable mountain forged by the kings of dwarves themselves, an awe-inspiring barrier between the imperial realm and the world beyond.
As Lucien gazed through the enchanted glass of his luxurious Velebrandt carriage, the sheer scale overwhelmed his senses. And this was only the beginning.
Once the mighty gates opened, what greeted them was a sprawling civilization in motion—a city of a million moving parts. The Outer Wall District, as it was officially called, was practically a nation in itself, housing the largest population of the Empire's citizenry. It was chaotic, loud, alive—and yet every inch was regulated by imperial tax collectors and city watch units that maintained the delicate balance of order and freedom.
Here lived the commoners: bakers, smiths, carpenters, seamstresses, dock workers, performers, farmers, and everything in between. Their homes were modest but functional, lined up in neat but densely packed rows that sprawled into clusters and neighborhoods. Smoke curled from chimneys, children chased dogs through muddy alleys, and hawkers shouted the day's deals with pride and passion.
Beyond the residential zones were endless markets, stretching like veins of commerce through every major avenue. These were not the polished boutiques of nobles, but loud, colorful, and flavorful gatherings of raw life. The scent of roasted meats, stewed grains, and fire-baked flatbread mingled with the smoke of incense and the sharp tang of boiled herbs. Every stall had a story: a hunter selling rare pelts, an old woman offering homemade talismans, a young man demonstrating a musical box powered by a wind rune.
Intermixed with these were workshops and minor guild halls, producing everything from wagons to wooden golems, herbal salves to beginner-level enchanted trinkets. Some guilds had grown large enough to occupy two or three entire blocks—especially those that dealt with construction, textile manufacture, or beast taming. Many were known to rise or fall in mere seasons, depending on imperial contracts or the fads of noble clientele.
The nobility of the lower ranks also had their place here. Scattered across the district, small yet distinct estates housed Baronets, Barons, and Viscounts—families of middling prestige who had been granted title and land either through inheritance or exceptional merit in military, research, or trade. Their homes, while far humbler than a ducal residence, were still impressive: manors surrounded by iron fences, often with personal shrines, ornamental gardens, and hired guards in polished breastplates.
Each of these nobles owned a modest parcel of land within the Outer District, granted according to their rank. Their influence formed the backbone of imperial administration—acting as local lords, tax overseers, or militia commanders, depending on their designated jurisdiction.
This area was also responsible for the bulk of non-magical agriculture and livestock—fields and barns hidden just beyond the urban sprawl, stretching into farmsteads and ranches supported by irrigation channels and solar-mana hybrid lights for enhanced growth. These farms ensured a stable supply of food for the common population, allowing the central Empire to flourish without scarcity.
Even here, the brilliance of the Empire could not be denied.
Massive public forums and amphitheaters allowed for communal gatherings, guild competitions, and even low-tier magical duels for entertainment. Temples to lesser gods and minor Elyssiran shrines could be found on nearly every block. Open arenas hosted training sessions for local militias and aspiring adventurers alike.
The Outer Wall was a paradox—crowded yet breathing, crude yet wondrous. It wasn't as polished as the empire's heart, but it was alive. It beat with the spirit of the common man, the sweat of craftsmen, the courage of entry-level adventurers, and the dreams of merchants who sought to climb the social ladder.
To Lucien, this was more than just the first ring of the Empire.
It was proof that the world outside the Velebrandt Estate was vast, layered, and utterly enthralling.
"So this... this is the outer ring of the Empire..." Lucien murmured to himself.
He recalled his mother's words from long ago, about how the Empire was divided by three grand walls, each serving a unique role in society.
The Outer Wall—this was where they now found themselves. It was a land of commoners, bustling with life and trade. Farmers brought in their non-magical crops and livestock from the surrounding lands. Merchants fought for territory in crowded markets. Blacksmiths clanged away at steel, and taverns spilled light and laughter into the streets at all hours. Lesser noble ranks—Baronets, Barons, and Viscounts—held small estates here, each ruling over modest plots. It was a world of industry and survival, of daily dreams and constant struggle.
The Middle Wall District—known colloquially as the Golden Belt—was a world entirely separate from the hustle of the outer city. As the carriage passed beyond the massive second gate, everything changed.
The air seemed cleaner, less humid from industry and livestock, and tinged instead with perfumes and flower pollen. The cobbled roads were smoother, laid with enchantments that repelled dust and filth. Streetlights embedded with luminescent mana crystals glowed gently, even in broad daylight, as if to subtly remind visitors that this was the domain of wealth, sophistication, and ruthless competition.
To Lucien, it was like stepping into a marketplace of kings.
Towering establishments lined the avenues—boutiques, high-end magical item shops, enchanting studios, golem tailoring services, alchemical parlors, and even theater halls backed by aristocratic patronage. Every storefront had a unique enchantment or visual flair to catch the eye. Some displayed miniature illusions of their products in floating glass. Others had talking signboards or subtle charm-magic that whispered offers to passing customers.
This was where commerce became warfare, and prestige was currency.
Dozens of merchant clans, many of them older than some noble lineages, fought day and night for supremacy here. Every meal served, every gem traded, every garment tailored, could shift the social scales. The streets were often lined with processions of caravan guards, mana-fed wagons, and peddlers offering exotic goods imported from elven forests, dwarven forges, or even the edge of the Abyssian frontier.
Among the buildings, banks stood like fortresses, run by merchant guilds with enough wealth to loan out to entire baronial households. The Mercantile Guild of Eldwyn, Golden Thorn Consortium, and the famed Rothar Exchange all had their marble-pillared headquarters here.
Even the commoners of this district were not so common.
They were artisans, magical scholars, professional adventurers, contract mages, or retired nobles who had chosen to invest in trade rather than politics. Their attire was refined, woven with silk or soft leather, and often embedded with small but functional enchantments—rings that cooled the body, brooches that hid scent, glasses that improved vision slightly at night.
Interspersed among these wealthy commoners were estates belonging to the higher-ranking nobility—Counts and Marquises—each of whom owned several blocks of land. These estates were more like private palaces, complete with fountains that spouted illusionary dragons or phoenixes, security golems that shimmered with plated runes, and indoor gardens that mimicked entire ecosystems.
These noble families did not simply bask in luxury.
They controlled trade routes, influenced legislative bodies, and sponsored magical research institutes that developed everything from potionless healing to weaponized barrier runes. Some even maintained private armies strong enough to resist smaller duchies—though doing so would immediately draw the ire of the Imperial Court.
In many ways, the Middle Walls were the lungs and heart of the Empire, pumping mana and coin into every organ of the nation. This was where social climbers rose, and where the fall of a single guild could cause a week-long fluctuation in the economy. It was a place of dreams—and ruin.
To the young Lucien, it was overwhelming. Inspiring.
And it made the Velebrandt Estate, grand as it was, feel strangely... quiet.
As the carriage moved deeper toward the Inner Wall Gate, Lucien couldn't help but feel the pulse of this living machine—a hive of ambition, vision, and glittering greed—and he knew: this was a place he'd return to. Someday. When he was strong enough to make his name echo here too.
Then there was The Inner Wall—a name spoken with reverence across the Empire—were the very heart of imperial power and innovation. As Lucien recalled his mother's stories, he couldn't help but marvel at the magnitude of what lay beyond those final towering gates.
This was where the Imperial Castle stood: a titanic structure of white marble and enchanted steel that shimmered beneath the sun and moons. Within resided the ruling sovereigns of the Empire—the Emperor, his maternal grandfather, still strong despite his age; the Empress, regal and wise; and the Crown Prince, Lucien's uncle, the one destined to ascend the throne.
Here also resided one of the Six Ducal Households, House Obrechtz, the Warden of the Veilscar. They were not like the other noble lines scattered across distant corners of the Empire. No, House Obrechtz remained entrenched within the Inner Walls, acting as the Empire's internal safeguard—the eyes, ears, and blades that quelled rebellion, dismantled conspiracies, and enforced law. To Lucien, they were akin to the "police stations" of his old world, if those stations were commanded by master tacticians and elite spellblades in tailored coats of mithril.
Flanking these bastions of power were the resort mansions—lavish, imperial-funded residences built for the other five Archduke Houses. Though rarely occupied, they served as official accommodations whenever the ducal households were summoned to court. Constructed with prestige in mind, each one reflected the heritage of its House, from sky-themed spires for House Solcrux to abyss-resistant obsidian walls for House Velebrandt. Most of the year, however, these estates stood silent, watched over by imperial caretakers.
The Inner Walls also cradled sacred institutions like the Church of Elyssira's Awakening Cathedral—a grand dome of gold-leafed runes and spiritglass where children from noble and common backgrounds alike underwent the ritual to awaken their mana at the age of ten. Lucien's time was fast approaching.
And then… there was innovation.
The Imperial House of Magical Engineering stood as a miracle of arcane progress. Inside its many domes and vaults were blueprints and artifacts that Lucien once thought belonged only to his past world. Airships drifted through the sky thanks to their work. Cooling orbs, artificial heating arrays, and even projection crystals were conceived here—tools that echoed the comforts of the old Earth he had left behind.
Some rumored that even objects beyond imagination were crafted there—prototypes of magical locomotion, voice-transmitting crystals, and battle automatons that mimicked the movements of living knights.
Lastly, nestled among all this splendor were the homes of powerful Marquis Houses, families whose ancient wealth rivaled even that of the ducal lines. These were noble clans whose influence had spanned generations, shaping the Empire's trade, art, and arcane research. Their palatial homes were as grand as any ducal resort, and their scions were often prodigies with enough political weight to shift the tides of the court.
Yes… the Inner Walls were the Empire's beating heart—sacred, dangerous, brilliant, and beautiful.
And Lucien Velebrandt would soon set foot within them. It was surreal.
Even knowing his lineage, even being the son of a princess and heir to a mighty Archduke, Lucien felt small amidst the weight of such grandeur.
And yet, excitement bubbled within him.
"All this..." he whispered, watching the city move like a living, breathing organism. "...and we're not even at the heart yet."
He leaned back into the plush velvet of the carriage, feeling the rhythmic hum of the mana engine and the magical runes embedded within. Everything was surreal. The anticipation of his awakening, the journey he'd embarked on, the sheer scale of what awaited—all of it mixed together in a cocktail of nerves and wonder.
Knight Rex's voice broke the silence from outside. "We'll be passing into the Middle Wall shortly. Prepare yourselves."
Lucien took one last look at the vibrant streets.
The real adventure, it seemed, was only just beginning.