Three weeks later, a traveler on horseback appeared in a small village. He wore common clothes and a cloak, no armor or weapons, revealing that he was neither a warrior nor a ruffian with delusions of grandeur. A farmer, perhaps; a manual laborer would be ideal.
The village itself had no name and housed only a few dozen people. A small family handled political matters, but everyone contributed as best they could to security and order. In that sense, the traveler's arrival was an unexpected surprise. Whether it would be a pleasant one or not would depend on getting to know him.
He stopped in the middle of the village, and ten men surrounded him. Despite their appearance as simple peasants, they were virile and held truly dangerous blades. One of them even carried a war hammer.
An eleventh man emerged from what appeared to be the leader's house at the center of the village. He was old, yet still seemed dignified enough to lead. He walked with a hunched back and the aid of a cane, but his eyes showed as much confidence as a tiger's.
"To what do we owe the honor, stranger?" the old man asked, getting straight to the point.
The young man removed his hood and slowly dismounted, showing no threat. His face bore scars that looked recently closed, along with purple and red marks that suggested he had taken a severe beating not long ago. His hair was medium-length, straight, combed back, chestnut in color. His skin was fair, though not as pale as birch — he clearly spent time in the sun and was healthy.
"My name is Kon. I'm just a traveler, heading north."
"And what drew you to my home?"
"Just curiosity," Kon replied without hesitation.
"Curiosity?" The old man seemed surprised. "I expected you to say things like 'food, water, and shelter,' but curiosity? Unthinkable. Have you never seen a village in the middle of nowhere? There are many in the State of Spring."
"There certainly are. This is my first time leaving home, so I can't neglect my knowledge of the world."
"Hah! I don't believe you! That battered face of yours is proof you're a troublemaker! You must've gotten into trouble recently… wherever you came from," interrupted the man with the hammer. He seemed the fiercest of the group.
"True! And troublemakers usually bring more trouble. We already have enough problems with old Norman and his sons!" said another man, holding a woodcutting axe.
"Silence, friends, please! Hey, boy, where do you come from?" the old man asked as he calmed his men.
"Fallen Blossoms."
Kon's answer made the men's ears prick up, and suspicion arose. For days now, rumors had spread of a major disturbance in a city a hundred kilometers away, involving a wealthy family head and a common citizen.
"Who beat you?" the old man asked calmly, though anxiety rose in his chest.
"Harald Rei," Kon replied without hesitation, as carefree as ever. Yet recalling the name of his assailant stirred a certain fury within him. More than ever, he wanted revenge. Still, he remained calm.
The others — and the old man — were shocked. Now they felt fear, not repulsion. Some even trembled. The only one who remained truly calm and unchanged was the man with the hammer. In fact, he seemed offended.
"Get off the horse. If you are who you say you are, you could sweep our humble village away with a breath!" demanded the man with the hammer.
"Dillon! What are you doing?! He's that Kon who left Harald Rei on the brink of death!" said one of the men holding a hoe.
"Quiet! I won't believe it so easily. Anyone can pretend to be anyone, after all," Dillon snapped, stepping back and signaling his companions to do the same. The center of the village was now clear.
Kon looked around. Beyond the men forming the village's defense, the people—wives and children—watched anxiously from the safety of their humble homes, peeking through windows and doors.
The young man dismounted and patted his horse, which moved away. Kon remained standing ten meters from Dillon, who stared him down bravely. While some thought it unfair and feared Dillon would cowardly kill the boy, others worried for their homes.
Fallen Blossoms was not a large or even medium city, but the names of the families that governed it were well known in nearby regions. When news of the House Rei incident spread by word of mouth, it didn't take long for neighboring areas to hear. Gossip flew on the wind.
Posters with Kon's likeness had not yet been distributed; people only knew some of his physical traits. That was why Dillon still had doubts, while his companions already anticipated disaster.
Kon was unconcerned, unarmed, and didn't even keep heightened attention toward the man with the hammer. Dillon grew more furious than ever at this attitude and charged, bringing the hammer down in a violent strike aimed straight at Kon's head. He missed.
One moment the young man was there; the next, there was only a lingering image that vanished like a ghost.
"I'm here," Kon said from behind Dillon, striking him with a punch that sent him flying out of the village before he could even register shock.
Dillon rolled like an armadillo for several dozen meters before friction finally stopped him. He neither died nor suffered serious injury; Kon had restrained his strength—beating weak people was not his style.
Dillon was nothing more than a peasant with some spiritual affinity. He could pray for strength and health and receive it, making him superior to ordinary men and nearly placing him at the level of a spiritual soldier. Consequently, he was the strongest man in the village and its main protector. The hammer he wielded had been forged for combat — abnormally tough and brutal — but without spiritual or magical energy.
Seeing their invaluable protector defeated by a single punch left no doubts: he was indeed Kon, the one who had left Harald Rei on the brink of death.
The dozens of villagers fell into complete frenzy, all terrified.
"Are people from villages always this stupid?" Kon muttered to himself, frowning in confusion.
The elder—the same old man from before—was the leader of those people. He approached Kon, this time with far more respect and caution.
"C-companion Kon! It's an h-honor to have you in o-our humble home…" the old man stammered, searching for the right words.
"There's no need for so much formality. I don't want fights; you're clearly weak. There's no advantage in hurting the weak," Kon said, explaining his mindset upfront.
The elder sighed in relief. He ordered the others to retrieve Dillon's unconscious body, take him home, tend to his minor injuries, and ensure proper rest. And so they did.
Kon remained in the middle of the village with the elder while people continued to peer from windows and doors, anxious about how things would unfold. The elder's calm demeanor reassured them.
"As I said, I'm heading north. I was just going to ride through here and then leave — no trouble. I have no interest in staying," Kon explained.
"I understand. But if I may ask — why the north?" the old man inquired, intensely curious about what went through the infamous Kon's mind.
"I have unfinished business," the young man replied vaguely. The truth was that he had been riding north for three weeks without knowing why. He could say it was because of the royal capital or the cloud barrier, but that would be a lie. The only specific mention of the north had come from that damned prison guard…
As if he had any authority over me! Kon thought. Fury quickly welled in his chest, which he calmed with a deep breath.
"Eventually, I intend to cross the Wall of the Impious Storm," Kon added.
The old man choked on his own saliva and instinctively glanced back.
Rising endlessly upward and outward at the far north of the continent stood a wall of white clouds, cotton-like — calm and gentle clouds. One could not see the end of this unnatural barrier, and behind it lay the Sixth Continent. People from small, ordinary towns might not understand much, but they knew that only the monarchy of the royal capital had the authority to conduct activities involving crossing the Wall of the Impious Storm.
What Kon was declaring was that he was heading toward the royal capital to somehow secure passage through the cloud barrier.
When someone says something absurd, the listener tends to laugh or ignore it—but the village elder could only breathe heavily. The rumors, then, were true: Kon's motivation for everything he had done was indeed the royal capital.
Young men made heroic, grand promises every day, but none of them picked a fight with a wealthy family head the way Kon had. The elder anticipated extraordinary events and, suddenly, felt not fear of Kon, but admiration.
"Companion Kon, we'll soon be slaughtering some lambs and chickens for our monthly celebration! Why not spend the night — or a day, or even a week — with us? Your horse needs care too, its hooves cleaned or a bath. You are my guest of honor," the old man said, his face radiant.
Kon thought of refusing at first, but then considered how he might gain experience from it. The people were weak, but knowledge did not choose by strength alone. He accepted.
The old man smiled as never before.
The place was lush and green, like most of the State of Spring. The ground was relatively muddy where there was no grass due to recent rains. The houses were simple — wooden, with roofs of straw and large dried leaves. Only the elder's house had stone in its structure. The people were still working to gather more materials so that, gradually, all houses might resemble the elder's.
There were pens for cattle, sheep, and chickens. There were also areas for crops, and not far away a river ran with crystal-clear water, where one could even see fish swimming.
Kon watched the people at work. With the assurance — given by the elder himself — that Kon posed no danger, they grew more at ease, though none came too close.
The area for the monthly celebration the elder mentioned lay at the foot of the tree the people called sacred. It was the only tree in the region with red leaves and white wood. They believed it had healing properties and that those healed by it were blessed for a time. The sacred tree stood outside the village, a few hundred meters upstream.
Kon asked why they hadn't built their "city" closer to the tree, and the elder replied that it was out of respect for travelers; he didn't think it right to claim for themselves something nature had freely given to the world.
Still, they were supposedly the ones who had found it first. Thus, every month they celebrated around it — a celebration of gratitude and prayers for good things.
They lit a great bonfire, brought barrels of wine and beer, slaughtered and skinned lambs, prepared chickens, seasonings, and — of course — musical instruments. Everyone in the village knew how to play an instrument; it was taught from childhood, a tradition they would not break.
Kon sat beside the elder at the foot of the sacred tree. He wasn't accustomed to drinking alcohol and had no appetite for it, but he didn't refuse when offered. He ate meat, listened to stories, and finally came the musical moment. But they did not begin to sing before the elder recited the mantra:
"Beneath the sacred tree we stand,
Its roots hold health in quiet land.
Each leaf a blessing, soft and bright,
Each breath a gift of living light.
We honor bark, we thank the sky,
For strength that grows as days go by."
A simple, respectful poem. Only after that did the instruments and the singing of the vocal masters begin.
A man, a woman, a child, another man — many could sing. Soon the night became a visual and auditory spectacle. Kon was impressed. The celebration did not compare to that of Fallen Blossoms in scale, but its simplicity and vigor were inspiring. It was beautiful to witness. He felt lucky to arrive on the very day of the event, eager to learn new things about the world he was about to explore alone.
The night continued without interruption.