Chương 35: Different Continent same Problems

The very next day after receiving my 2 Osmium and the Diamond Ore, I ran straight to the best blacksmith in town. His name was Luhfanosz a sun-kissed man in his late 30s with a short moustache and neatly trimmed short hair. He stood hammering away on a hot anvil, sparks flying with every strike. I pleaded with him to upgrade my weapon using the Diamond Ore. He looked at the ore, then at me, and burst out laughing.

"Upgrade? Boy, this ore alone could make you an entirely new weapon!" I explained calmly, "I was once a miner. Now I'm a vagrant. I don't want a new sword... I want to improve the one that's already carried me this far." Luhfanosz paused, staring at me harder. Then his eyes widened in recognition.

"Wait… are you Erumes Flamma? The one who got 3rd place in the Run to Glory?" He quickly wiped his hands on a cloth and shook mine firmly. His leather handshoes were still warm from the forge. For a short moment he fanboyed, excitedly talking about how he watched the final stretch and how crazy the last kilometer was. After calming down, he grinned and got serious again.

"Alright then. What do you wish? You want your current sword upgraded on the tip and edge?" I nodded.

"Exactly. Make the point flare out into two aggressive, pickaxe-like protrusions on the left and right. Keep the main blade's long cutting edge, but make the very tip needle-sharp for stabbing through armor gaps. I want the extensions to be perfect for hooking, ripping, and grabbing shields or limbs in close combat." Luhfanosz whistled appreciatively.

"Bold request. This ore is top quality. It'll turn your sword into something truly fearsome." He got to work immediately, and a few hours later the result was better than I had imagined. The diamond material caught the light with a faint, ethereal sparkle, making the weapon look both beautiful and terrifyingly functional, a premium hybrid that already sparked dozens of new combat combinations in my mind. Days later in Tabraca, we were enjoying the new, almost surreal lifestyle that came with sudden fame.

Fans constantly approached us on the streets, asking to speak with us or haggling for signatures on parchment paper. I found Galer reading the newspaper in the tavern, his face pale. He was shaking, not in anger, but in clear anxiety. The moment I sat down, he stood up, threw the paper to the ground, and said urgently,"We need to pack up and go. Now. While we still can." After reading the article on the front page, everything clicked.

The headline hailed the mysterious "Prism Sovereign" a powerful new talent who had dominated the final stretch of the Run to Glory. On the left was a sketch of Galer in his normal state, and on the right was a dramatic illustration of him fully transformed in his Vestuto: Prism Sovereign. The article praised his incredible speed, light techniques, and the regal crystal armor he had displayed. It mentioned that this special issue had been sent all around the Mare Nostrum. Galer's face was pale.

Monaser lay within that trade belt. He knew his father or at least someone close to the family was reading this right now. I remembered the night he had told me about his family, how his father only valued strength and prestige, how his siblings had been ordered to eliminate him, and how he had barely escaped with his life thanks to a loyal maid's warning. I tried to sound hopeful.

"But you Vestuto'd… you got stronger. I think you value your achievements, as weak, but you won. Your father would be most welcoming to you now, right?" Galer turned mad in an instant. His single visible eye burned with a stern, furious glare. He stepped close, placing a trembling finger hard on my shoulder, his voice dropping into a venomous whisper that sent chills down my spine.

"Youuuu… doooo not geeeet it, Erumes...." His breath was hot against my ear, each word dripping with pain and barely contained rage.

"My level… my Vestuto… my Animo… is still in the realm of being a joke in the Monaser region. Especially my father…" His voice lowered even further, almost a mutter, as if saying the name to loud itself was poison." Vortigern de Firius … is going to be pissed that his runaway trash son dared to show himself in the papers. Now we are in deep shit… in a literal sense." The raw emotion in his voice hit me like a punch.

The fear, the self-loathing, the years of being treated as worthless, it all poured out in that whisper. For the first time in a long while, I saw the broken noble son behind the strong fighter I had come to respect.

We quickly packed our things with trembling hands, stuffing what little we owned into our bags a few spare clothes, dried provisions, waterskins, and the few coins we had left. The room felt too quiet, the weight of the newspaper article still heavy in the air like an unspoken curse. We said hurried goodbyes to Monk Louzan, who looked at us with deep worry in his eyes and gave us a final blessing, whispering a prayer for safe paths ahead. He didn't ask questions. He didn't need to.

The fear on Galer's face said enough. We ran out of the city in the middle of the day, hearts pounding, the sun beating down on our backs as we slipped through the bustling streets and past the gates without looking back. No real destination in mind, only east, away from the spreading news, away from Monaser's reach, away from the shadow of Galer's family potential incoming grasps that now felt closer than ever. The weight of Galer's past chased us like a shadow we could never fully outrun.

Every step eastward felt heavier, as if the desert itself knew we were fleeing something far more dangerous than monsters or sandstorms. Galer ran in silence beside me, his single eye fixed on the horizon, jaw clenched so tightly I could see the muscle twitching. I wanted to say something to tell him we'd face it together, that I wouldn't let them take him, but the words stuck in my throat. For now, running was all we had.

We kept moving until the walls of Tabraca disappeared behind the dunes, the hot wind whipping at our faces as we pushed deeper into the unknown. After nearly an hour of hard running eastward, we spotted a lone figure resting in the shade of a lonely palm tree. It was Jabare Magkosi, the former champion who had taken second place. He was also traveling east. We tried to run past him in haste, but he used his Sand Wave to stop right in front of us, forcing us to slow down.

He wanted a rematch the next time we returned to Tabraca, to keep the rivalry alive for next year. Galer answered quietly, not meeting his eyes, staring at the ground instead.

"I might not return to Tabraca anytime soon." Jabare's playful grin slowly faded as he studied Galer's face. The former champion's sharp eyes narrowed, picking up on the tension, the urgency, the shadow that had fallen over his rival. For a moment, the desert wind was the only sound between them. Jabare opened his mouth, then closed it again. He didn't pry. Instead, he gave a slow, understanding nod.

"Fair enough," he said, his voice losing some of its usual energy.

"We all have our ghosts chasing us sometimes." He glanced at both of us, then offered, "If you're heading east and prefer a route that's not too active with folk travelers… for certain reasons… I can guide you. I know the quieter paths through this region better than most. Less eyes, less questions." Galer and I exchanged a quick look. We had no problem with that. In fact, it was exactly what we needed right now.

"We'd appreciate that," I said. Jabare clapped his hands together once, the confident former champion's smile returning, though softer this time.

"Then let's move. East-southish it is." Now running in an east-southish direction with Jabare leading the way, we headed toward the war-ravaged region named Ghaddu. The former champion set a strong but steady pace, his presence somehow making the endless dunes feel a little less lonely and a little less dangerous. It used to be a smaller kingdom, but seven years ago it was conquered by Taharj, a somewhat smaller neighboring region.

The news had spread like wildfire across Hespericum at the time — a newly risen state defeating and absorbing a larger one. But as we ran through the region now, the reality was far grimmer than the headlines had suggested. The people had not fared well under their new rulers. Burned and crumbling buildings made of clay stood with little to no color, slowly withering away under the sun, a clear sign that no investments or care were coming.

The roads were ancient and cracked, and on the tall palm trees lining them, we saw the bodies of dissidents hanged with their eyes and mouths crudely sewn shut. A horrific warning. abare's voice grew tight with anger as he explained.

"Those are the ones who spoke against the ruler. The ones he finds get hanged like this. In his opinion, sewing their eyes and mouths shut ensures they cannot see or speak in the next life. Truly vile… like scum behavior." Galer and I spoke in unison, voices low and bitter.

"What a vile scum lord…" I added quietly, "No matter which continent in the Terrarum, war is surrounding us everywhere…" Galer nodded in agreement, his single eye dark.

"Yes. Not every nation gets a benevolent ruler. Sometimes you get a madman who rules with an iron fist." We continued running through the devastated region, the evidence of decay all around us. Villages and towns showed almost no signs of life or investment. Even the few remaining people were mostly old... the young and able-bodied had been taken further away for "work," we were told. We took a small break at a modest old resting place that offered great mint tea from the region.

The owners served us silently, their eyes darting nervously, clearly too scared to speak much. Even Jabare kept his usual fiery temper in check, drinking quietly. As outsiders, we had no right to go crazy over the injustice… sadly, that was how things were across much of the Terrarum. With that heavy thought lingering, we finished our break and continued our journey, eventually reaching the mountainous region named Tybesti Mountains. It used to be a rich ore-mining town once.

As we approached the entry to the mountainous terrain, night was already falling. We decided to make our campfire there, keeping us somewhat safe from beasts and the strong winding currents. But the moment we had branches ripped and the campfire nearly ready to light, we noticed something strange. The closed mines, shut for over fourteen years... had just torches lit up at the top. I then asked Jabare, 'You told us those mines are inactive because they connect to the underground and lots of beasts came out...

during the active years. That's the reason this nation lost its income and became easy pickings for other regions to swallow up and fall into obscurity, right? Jabare looked at me suspiciously, confusion clear on his face.

"Yeah… I don't know… but I need to investigate that." Coming along with him, we climbed up the mountain. Galer joined us after seeing us heading toward the top where the lit-up fires shone brightly. We reached the line where the miner cave used to be. Torches burned, and hidden barracks stood nearby. Soldiers of the Taharjian Region, in their distinct uniforms, were whipping the workforce, thousands of young children hauling Osmium Ore.

"That's Osmium Ore," I whispered to them, my stomach twisting at the sight. Adults were also loading carts with a strange red-black stone that shone brightly in the darkness, even brighter than the lit torches. Jabare's eyes widened in disbelief.

"They are working on this… really?! I need to report it to my king. This is clearly a violation of the treaty…" He quickly scribbled a message on a piece of parchment. Then, calling upon his Sand Wave, the rippling sand wrapped the paper and carried it slowly down the 3, 900-meter-high mountain, disappearing into the dark. Jabare explained to us, frustration boiling in his voice, "Our nations made a treaty forbidding the abuse of natural resources for at least thirty years.

It was meant to keep their nation small and guarantee peace for a longer period. These guys… for how long have they violated the treaty? And they're even using children instead of their own people to mine the ore. This will have consequences… yet I can't act on it alone." We turned to his frustrated face.

"You can just sand veil your face and take off your clothing, they don't know us, and we have no treaty with them. So let's punish this scum and beat them down." The frustrated Jabare's face lit up, returning to his energetic, original style. He masked his face with sand, changed his clothes into a sand combatant, and took Galer's knives as weapons. After hiding his own clothes and wide sword behind a small rock, we ran at the Taharjian soldiers, declaring a beat-down.