Fire!
Blazing fire!
The flas devoured everything.
Shadowy figures ran frantically within the Fierce Fla, struggling helplessly, their voices raised in piercing screams and wails of agony.
In the end,
all turned to ash.
"HUFF..."
Carl sat up abruptly from the bed, breathing rapidly, his forehead dotted with sweat, a look of panic still in his eyes.
The scene from a few days ago had reappeared in his dream.
After composing himself and wiping the cold sweat from his forehead, accompanied by a rustling sound, he changed into formal attire and stood before the dressing mirror.
His slightly curly black hair fell to his shoulders. His brown eyes still held a touch of the daze from just waking, and the left side of his face bore a severe burn scar. The scar disrupted the symtry of his defined features, rendering his otherwise handso face difficult to look at.
He had specially put on expensive formal wear today because he had important matters to attend to.
The blended long coat, reminiscent of an antique Western suit, possessed the smoothness of silk and the texture of fur, further accentuating the robust physique beneath.
Carl Bergman, born in the Swick region of the Gando Kingdom, now resided in the South District of Sigerno City, and was a city patrol officer...
His grandfather had once followed Marquis Lawrence on campaigns south and north, earning a barony for his valor, a title later inherited by his father.
A great fire a few days ago had claid his father’s life, and he himself had suffered so burns and psychological trauma.
Then...
His soul had been replaced by a transmigrator from the Otherworld.
Indeed,
Carl was now a transmigrator, equally unfamiliar with and yet acquainted with this world, including ’himself’.
"It’s in the past."
"It’s all in the past now!"
Muttering these words to his reflection, Carl composed himself, went to the door, turned the handle, and opened it.
The living room ca into view, its classic dieval European decor apparent in its worn state.
A cabinet adorned with carvings stood on the left side of the room; the antique bronze pulls on its drawers matched the doorknob, likely from the sa manufacturer.
Wooden floors, hardwood tables and chairs, an extinguished kerosene lamp, and the scents of herbs and lemon suffused the air.
In a corner, a pile of linen of unknown purpose served as a temporary storage spot for flour and rye bread.
...
"Respected Baron Karl."
Jenny approached from the kitchen with a slice of bread and milk, her smile beaming as she slowly bent her knees toward him. "You are awake, please have breakfast."
This was a girl in her teens, at an age of innocence and naivety. Her skin was as smooth as milk, and her voice distinctive, crisp, and pleasant to the ear.
However, she was seemingly unaware that her words were not appropriate.
"Jenny!" The voice of the landlady, Mary, followed from behind her, tinged with a heavy dose of anger. "Don’t make such jokes."
"Yes."
Jenny’s smile faded. "Carl, I’m sorry."
"It’s alright." Carl shook his head. "You go ahead and eat; I’m off to the church."
He was not a baron, or at least not yet, as there were so formalities to be completed to inherit his father’s title.
Inheriting the title ant his father had passed away, which was hardly a cause for celebration.
"Going to the church."
"Three pennies."
"Here you go."
"Sir, please make yourself comfortable!"
As he took a seat in the carriage, Carl’s thoughts raced.
Three pennies could afford a decent al for a common citizen, yet the journey to the church was not far.
It seed that being a coachman was a decent profession.
Driven by the instincts of a forr wage-earner and his unfamiliarity with this world, he habitually scrutinized his surroundings.
His gaze shifted from the coachman down to the horses.
The carriage was pulled by Duoma ponies, a small breed known for their docile nature and steady gait, much beloved by noble young ladies.
Of course,
the price was far from cheap.
Besides the Duoma ponies, the ticulously appointed carriage itself was also quite costly.
Considering this, becoming a coachman would require a substantial initial investnt, so it wasn’t necessarily an appealing prospect.
Hmm... I’m about to beco a Baron, and the inco of a city patrol officer isn’t low either. There’s no need to be as penny-pinching as in my previous life.
Even without a baronial estate, the title of Baron alone is enough to allow to live a decent life.
It’s just a pity that life here isn’t as convenient as in modern society, nor are there any signs of budding technology. It’s more like dieval Europe.
On the contrary, the Church’s power has beco more secularized; even the inheritance of noble titles has to go through the Church. How ignorant...
Then again, it might not be ignorance at all!
The ’peculiar’ scenes from his mory made Carl shake his head slightly. This world was not so simple.
The carriage stopped so distance from the church, a customary show of respect for the great Master of Dawn.
The church occupied a vast area and had a solemn design. Devout worshippers were holding prayers in the square.
The spired towers were the most striking feature, their wheat sheaf emblems symbolizing a part of the Master of Dawn’s authority.
Abundance!
"Praise the Master of Dawn..." Carl bowed slightly as he passed soone coming from the opposite direction, then entered Priest Vic’s office through a side door.
"Priest." He stepped forward and said respectfully, "I am here to handle the transfer formalities for the barony."
"Carl Bergman?"
"Yes, it’s ."
Priest Vic had deep-set features and a stern face. His black, standard-issue robe lent him an air of intangible authority.
Looking at Carl, he began slowly, "Your father died resisting fire thieves and protecting civilians, a testant to his noble character of bravery and justice."
"Yes." Carl lowered his head, his voice subdued. "I am proud of him."
"However..." Priest Vic’s tone shifted. "After deliberation among several priests, it has been decided that his title cannot be inherited."
Hmm?
"Why?" Carl looked surprised, then quickly composed himself. "I don’t an to question your decision, Priest, but my father’s dauntless bravery was comnded by the City Lord himself."
"The spirit of nobility requires not only valor and justice, but also piety." Priest Vic clasped his hands. "Regrettably, we did not observe such piety towards the Master of Dawn in him."
"No!" Carl declared earnestly. "Before every al, my father would lead in prayer. Around the Holy Sacrifice Day, he would abstain entirely from at and alcohol. His piety is beyond question!"
Whether it was true or not, these words had to be said.
The barony was crucial to him. Without it, he would be rely a commoner.
Even his position as a patrol officer would likely be unstable.
In this era, commoners held a status only slightly above serfs; in his view, their living conditions were dire.
The re thought made Carl’s heart clench.
"Priest, could there be so misunderstanding?"
"Misunderstanding? There is no misunderstanding!" Priest Vic shook his head, his expression solemn. "Carl, what month is it now?"
"Septem—" Carl quickly corrected himself. "The Month of Abundance."
"Indeed." Priest Vic sighed, a look of reflection on his face. "The Month of Abundance. A ti when even the city’s serfs bring offerings of black bread. Yet, in all his years in Sigerno City, your father never once made a contribution."
Carl opened his mouth.
Although they hadn’t given offerings to the Church, they had always paid their tithes on ti, never falling short.
But he suspected such an argunt would be useless with Priest Vic.
His gaze paused on the exquisite, clearly valuable bracelet on the priest’s wrist. Carl silently lowered his head, lost in thought.
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