Worlds Between: A Traveler's Journey ( ORIGINAL)

In a cramped, secluded bedroom, two sturdy doors with iron bars bolted them in place on either side. Cobwebs in the corners, dust on the floor, and an abandoned kerosene lamp all testified to how long it had been since anyone lived here.

At a certain moment, the air in the center of the room shimmered like rippling water, and a figure stepped silently through.

It was Karl.

Clutching his broadsword, Karl cautiously surveyed his surroundings before approaching one of the doors. He lifted the iron bar securing it.

"Creak…"

The rusty door scraped against the ground, making a faint noise that caused him to pause for a moment.

*I really hate coming here…*

Exiting the room, he glanced up at the sky, and without the absolute calmness from earlier, his mood began to sink.

A dense, gray mist obscured the heavens, making it impossible to discern whether it was day or night. A shattered crimson star hung fixed in the sky, unchanging as always.

Every visit was like this.

Here, the "moon" didn't move with the passage of time and seemed to have usurped the sun's rightful domain.

The broken crimson moon, the static stars—all were telltale signs that this wasn't his original world.

The gloom and dreariness extended beyond the skies; the chilling aura pervaded everything, seeping relentlessly into his body.

This was Black City.

A place famed for its abundant black stone deposits.

From the Gothic spires, stone architecture, and intricate carvings, one could infer Black City's past prosperity. Ordinary citizens here once enjoyed a higher standard of living than in Karl's hometown of Signo City.

However, the discovery of black stone veins beneath its surface gradually turned it into a mining town.

The affluent fled early on, leaving behind those who became miners. Not only did they toil under harsh conditions, but they also endured the encroaching subterranean aura, living precarious lives.

Tightening his grip on his gear, Karl cautiously advanced. After taking only two steps, his eyes narrowed.

In the middle of the road lay the corpse of an animal, possibly a dog or a wolf. Swarms of carrion flies buzzed around it.

Though it was merely a dead body, he remained highly alert. Making a wide detour, he avoided it and continued forward.

The path was littered with jagged cracks of various sizes, resembling scars on the earth.

Rumor had it that excessive mining had caused subsidence, turning what was once level ground into a treacherous landscape.

From some fissures wafted bursts of steam, alternately scalding and frigid. Even a brief exposure could cause severe illness in ordinary people, so Karl took great care to steer clear.

Occasionally, abandoned mining pits opened like gaping maws into the darkness below.

Desolate alleys and vacant houses seemed to harbor lurking, eerie presences, their invisible eyes tracking the movements of the living outside.

Karl moved quickly but quietly, his body taut with tension. After crossing two streets, he finally spotted his destination in the distance.

"Whew…"

Exhaling in relief, he sheathed his broadsword at the signal of two black-clad sentinels, stepping onto a bustling, vibrant street.

This was Laka Market, the largest open market in Black City's surface district.

"Fresh rat meat! Not a hint of rot! Half a black stone per portion!"

"Premium Calia longswords—sharp and lightweight! The best choice for slaying those half-dead creatures…"

"Clean water! Filtered and pure! Only one black stone for ten liters…"

The hawkers' cries filled the air with a mix of enthusiasm and resignation.

Life in Black City was grim. Mining had severely polluted the underground water supply, and food shortages were dire. Only the mine overseers had access to fresh food. Most others couldn't even dream of it.

Even spoiled meat made its way onto dining tables.

"Karl!"

Karl walked confidently to a familiar stall and squatted before its owner. "Kolon," he said, "last time, you mentioned a lead on a breathing technique?"

Though these two worlds were vastly different, they shared many similarities—language, breathing techniques, even their writing systems.

Could these worlds have been connected in the distant past?

"Ah, it's you," said Kolon, a wiry man with a single eye. The other was covered by a patch, a souvenir from a raven attack.

Recognizing his visitor, Kolon grinned, revealing a mouthful of decayed teeth. His fetid breath made Karl instinctively lean back.

"Breathing techniques are the key for ordinary folks to become knights," Kolon said, shaking his head. "No family with such a legacy would ever sell it lightly."

"I know," Karl replied, setting his milk jug on the ground. "Fresh milk."

"Gulp…" Kolon's throat bobbed as he licked his lips. His single eye gleamed as he crooned, "My friend, you always bring such treasures. I can't even recall the last time I had fresh milk."

"But…" He hesitated. "The person with the breathing technique isn't interested in food."

"Oh?" Karl frowned. "What do they want?"

"Shh…" Kolon leaned in conspiratorially. "A way out of Black City."

Karl snorted. "And you think I can help with that?"

"Well…" Kolon trailed off, scratching his head. "You can get fresh milk. Surely, you're not just anyone. Can you arrange an escape?"

Karl rolled his eyes. "If I were that influential, would I be here?"

Kolon fell silent.

Fair point. A truly privileged person wouldn't need to scour the market for breathing techniques.

After a moment, Kolon sighed. "There's a caravan departing in two weeks. Madame Butterfly's group. Joining her convoy would cost two thousand black stones."

"Two thousand?" Karl's face darkened. He didn't have a single black stone to his name.

"No way I can afford that," he said flatly.

"Well, then there's nothing I can do," Kolon said, spreading his hands. "I'd love to make this deal, but the guy with the technique is only interested in leaving, not eating."

"Hmph!"

With a snort, Karl picked up his milk jug and turned to leave.

"Wait!" Kolon called after him, grabbing his arm. "I've got something else. Take a look."

From behind the stall, Kolon retrieved a metallic contraption and fiddled with it, producing a sharp clicking sound.

"Recognize this?"

Karl squinted. "A wrist crossbow?"

"Exactly!" Kolon exclaimed. "Friend, you've got a keen eye. This isn't something a commoner would know. It's a masterpiece by a skilled craftsman—adjustable to fit snugly on your wrist, loaded with three bolts. Within seven steps, even a knight's squire wouldn't escape unscathed. Poison the bolts, and you might even kill a knight!"

Karl's eyes lit up.

He didn't dare dream of slaying a knight, but being able to deal with a knight's squire was enough.

"Of course," Kolon said with a sly grin. "Milk alone won't cut it for this beauty."

Without a word, Karl reached into his bag, pulling out five pounds of salted meat. He pointed to a clock on Kolon's stall.

"That clock too."

"Deal!"

Kolon's grin widened as he handed over the crossbow and the clock. "Excellent choice, my friend. This clock is from a noble's estate. The surface is gilded with gold."

"Pity," he added with a sigh. "A few decades ago, something like this would've fetched a fortune. Now it's worth less than clean water."

Karl smirked.

The clock's gilding had caught his eye, but even without it, its craftsmanship and artistry were exceptional. In the other world, it would undoubtedly fetch a handsome price.