A moving train, the changing scenery outside the window, the roaring din of the carriage—always the most fertile ground for thought.

The carriage was packed.

Baron sat in a corner of the carriage on a long, hardwood bench. Outside the window, the streetscape of Fude City shifted from towering, pointed Gothic architecture to the resplendent, flowing lines of the Baroque.

He held a jug of beer, a Fude City specialty, which was said to be mixed with the pulp of an insect called "Wind."

It was something only found in the coastal cities of eastern Gillian, right along the Sea of the Cliff.

The story went that these insects only flew in with the sea breeze at dawn. The locals would wake up early, climb the highest local mountain, and raise their arms high, letting the sea breeze open their taut nets to their fullest extent.

But climbing the peak was not enough; they also had to pick the highest rock. 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

This was not a job for the strong and brawny. Only nimble youths, light and quick on their feet, could accomplish it.

Therefore, Fude City called this beer "Chaya."

In the ancient language of Gillian, "Chaya" means "youth." Thus, the beer was also known as "Youth’s Brew."

Baron took a sip. ’Tastes like fucking shit!’

’It’s all fucking marketing!’

’Fuck this Otherworld!’

’Life is so fucking shitty!’

His mind was a tangled mess because of the information disclosed by Allen’s parents.

The name repeated in his mind, a low whisper, like a butcher repeatedly hacking away at a piece of pork with a knife.

"Constantine... Baron Constantin..."

’Setting aside the panic of feeling like I’ve been doxxed, why would my name—my original body’s name—appear in this Otherworld decades ago?’

’Or is it really just a coincidence?’

’But if it’s a coincidence, then why, just as I was seeking power and trying to Promote my class to Bronze, did someone happen to deliver the Werewolf Blood needed for a Blood Hunter’s promotion?’

’Or was this all planned by that mysteriously vanished female reporter—or supposed reporter—from the Iron Thorn Gang?’

’But what was her motive?’

’Something’s wrong. Very wrong. On a scale of one to ten, this is an eleven.’

’When I needed to Promote, I just so happened to get involved through the late Allen... Thinking about it now, why did Allen show up right when I was being chased by the Iron Thorn Gang?’

’Isn’t this all too much of a coincidence? It had to be Allen, it had to be his father who fought in the Second War of Faith, and it had to be under the pretext of framing me that I was gifted the Werewolf Blood.’

’What’s that saying again? When coincidences pile up, they become fate.’

This unsettling feeling made the hairs on Baron’s arms stand up. His whole body felt prickly and extremely uncomfortable.

But he knew how weak he was now. Overthinking it would be useless.

He could only force himself to stop thinking about the potential machinations of the mastermind behind it all, and instead focus everything on increasing his own strength.

Only by being strong enough could he avoid being killed.

This was another truth he had come to understand in the days since he had transmigrated.

RUMBLE...

The train made a brief stop. The steam-powered iron doors slid open, and passengers bustled on and off.

The carriage grew even more crowded.

Baron sat in silence, taking a sip of the slightly sweet beer and fiddling with a Silver Coin in his hand to relieve some stress.

The newly boarded passengers unconsciously gave his area a wide berth, likely thinking his tattered black clothes and disheveled hair and beard made him look like some kind of vagrant.

They were completely unaware that the protagonist of the Hunting Competition they had just been chattering so enthusiastically about was this very "vagrant" they now looked down upon.

This was despite the fact that they were, more or less, holding papers detailing Baron making Gawain kneel three times, Baron taking on six opponents, the defeat of Brother Sorrowful, Zhan Jiale, or even the latest hot-off-the-press "A Short Biography of Demon Hunter L," which the *Fude City Times* had worked overtime to publish.

This, for a time, led many who read the latest paper to exclaim with righteous indignation:

"Damn that King Feinan!"

"That damn King Feinan! To think he’d make things difficult for a playwright like L!"

"King Feinan is brutal and tyrannical! When Chairman Liuxia becomes the Emperor of Prole, they’ll have to make him pay!"

Thanks to his keen Dragon Knight hearing, Baron caught bits and pieces of these conversations.

He could only lower his head in silence to hide his embarrassment.

’Sorry, King Feinan. To make my backstory more plausible, I had no choice but to let you take the blame.’

Just as Baron, the master of passing the buck, was anxiously wondering if he would face retaliation for making King Feinan take the fall...

A pregnant woman holding an infant stood before him.

"Excuse me, sir. I’ve been standing for quite a while. Could I possibly sit in your seat for a bit? Thank you."

Baron looked up, sized up the pregnant woman, then glanced around the carriage.

The carriage was indeed quite crowded, and all the seats were taken.

There was a gentleman in a suit, legs crossed, reading a newspaper with a magnificent cane in his right hand. The paper was full of stories about the wildly popular Hunting Competition in Fude City and other related news.

An elegant and beautiful lady was leaning back in a plush armchair reserved for the nobility, holding a small parasol to shield herself from the sunlight coming through the window.

There was also a child who looked to be of high status, dressed in splendid clothes, bouncing around wildly on a long bench with his parents and grandparents.

His shoe prints dirtied the bench, but no one came forward to reprimand him, nor did anyone say a word.

Baron thought for a moment and gave up his seat to the pregnant woman. He didn’t dwell on why, out of all the people in the carriage, she had singled him out to ask for a seat.

He mostly understood the reason. It was nothing more than a natural aversion to and fear of the rich—or rather, the powerful elite.

In truth, the carriage didn’t only contain the rich; there were also ordinary, working-class citizens like the pregnant woman.