Keal Ardent walked through the crowded market, where stalls lined the streets and the air was filled with the mixed scents of food, spices, and smoke. Merchants shouted their advertisements while customers bargained loudly, their voices blending into a constant buzz.
Keal's appearance stood out in the crowd—his clothes were modern, while everyone else wore garments more like the Victorian era. Yet no one seemed shocked; in fact, it was as if such differences were common here. Still, Keal felt oddly comfortable. This place looked so much like his own world, and the fact that no one paid attention to his unusual appearance put him at ease.
"This place looks a little different, but it's almost exactly like my world… wow, this is awesome," Keal murmured, a calm smile on his face showing how comfortable he felt here.
A clothes stall owner shouted, "Come, come—take a look at these fine clothes! Pure cotton, silk, and velvet fibers, soft as a dream, cool and comfortable on the skin! And listen—buy now and get twenty percent off! Don't miss your chance, save your money while you can!"
Keal glanced at the clothes from a distance. Even from where he stood, the faint scent of the fibers reached him—silk, cotton, and more. The smell felt familiar, oddly grounding. "So even here… the same scents as back home. I shouldn't be surprised if things like this exist in this world."
The clothes looked like something out of the Victorian era—tailcoats, high collars, polished boots. It made a certain kind of sense if this city clung to old traditions… But then why?
Keal frowned. The three men he had followed earlier wore garments of a different cut—still antiquated, yet not quite the same. And the guards he had seen before? Their uniforms carried a sharp, almost sterile design, as if they had stepped straight out of the future.
A strange dissonance gnawed at his thoughts. If they possessed technology advanced enough to create hover buses and sprawling steel structures, why cling to fashions long buried by history?
Vendors and shopkeepers lined the streets, their stalls overflowing with a baffling mix of wares. Some were mundane—simple trinkets, food, tools Keal could easily recognize. Others, however, shimmered with a strange, alien luster. Devices of unfamiliar design, their purpose utterly beyond him. He couldn't even guess how they were meant to be used… or where they belonged.
Keal wandered deeper into the market, his steps slow and cautious. Amid the glitter of strange devices and the hum of hawkers, a modest bookstall caught his eye. Physical books—real paper and ink.
Curious, he reached for one and lifted it gently. The faint fragrance of old pages rose to meet him, warm and familiar in this world.
His gaze swept across the stall: comics, novels, collections of poems, and stories of worlds unknown. One comic book, in particular, drew his attention. Without thinking, he picked it up, its cover vivid beneath his fingers.
"Last time, when I read a comic… I don't even remember," Keal muttered to himself, turning the book in his hands. "The cover looks good… feels like a fun read. But I won't buy it, even if I want to. I don't have a single coin from this world, I don't even know what currency they use."
Who was supposed to tell him? How many secrets—and how much of the future—did the device GOA2.0 truly hold as it rested on his wrist? Keal had no idea what kind of treasure he was carrying. A treasure, yes—but not one that belonged to him.
The shop was supposed to be its true owner… but was that really the truth? If they weren't, then how had it ended up inside the VR controller box he bought? Was it just a coincidence? Then who was the real owner of this device? Would Keal discover it himself—or would he end up handing it back to the shop employees like a fool?
His eyes caught a title—Alterra. "Alterra… isn't that the name I heard when I pressed the button and teleported here?" he murmured under his breath. With that thought, he picked up the book titled Alterra and placed the comic book aside. Flipping through its pages one after another, his fingers paused at the very end—there, on the last page, was a map. A map of Alterra, drawn in delicate, faded ink.
From the book and the map, Keal gained a glimpse of this world—Alterra. It was a vast land divided into seven continents. One of them was called Kohima.
Kohima was home to six major nations: five were large and sprawling, and one was small yet central. The five great countries were Olevia in the north, Xianling in the south, Zorqah in the east, Howra stretching across the west and south, and Magadha spanning the north and west. At the very center of Kohima lay the sixth nation, Kythor—small in size.
These five surrounded the sixth nation entirely, their borders marked by towering a colossal wall marked their borders—an immense barrier that also circled the mysterious land at the center.
Now he understood—the country he had spawned in was Magadha, and this city, Mon, was its capital. Mon lay close to an abandoned zone, and that colossal wall he had seen marked the border between Magadha and Kythor.
Each country had its own culture and distinctive attire. In Magadha, people dressed in Victorian-style clothing, while Kythor embraced futuristic designs—and its cities reflected that advanced aesthetic as well.
That explained the strange mixture of clothing he had noticed earlier, and why no one paid him any mind when he wandered into the market.
"Hey, kid, these aren't for free to read," the stall owner called out. "Buy it if you're that desperate to read."
"No, thanks," Keal replied casually. "I was just checking if there's anything interesting, but nothing seemed special."
Under his breath, he muttered, "How could I tell him I don't even have money to buy it… hehe."
"It's your first time here, isn't it? I don't recall seeing you before," the stall owner asked, eyeing him curiously.
"Yeah. Actually, I'm a traveler—I started my journey from the east."
"You mean Zorqah? You do look like you're from there. Funny thing, I'm from Zorqah too. A long time ago, I moved here and started this business. If you need anything, just ask—for you, it's free," the stall owner said with a grin.
"Really?" Keal's eyes lit up. "Actually, I lost my map, and it's been difficult to travel without one. If you don't mind… I'd like to take this book."
"Of course, why not?" the stall owner replied warmly. "People from Zorqah are always welcome here. Whenever someone from there comes by, I make sure to give them a free gift as a welcome."
Keal accepted the book with a nod. "Thank you, sir. I'll never forget your kindness."
Clutching it under his arm, he turned and began walking deeper into the market. Good people are everywhere… no matter where you go, you can always find them. That's nice.
Behind him, the stall owner called out, "Thank you for coming! Have a good day—and next time, make sure to buy something for real!"
He stepped further inside. The market grew dim, lit only by a few scattered lamps that barely pierced the haze. Under their pale glow, the fog curled and drifted, obscuring what lay ahead.
Keal slid the book behind his back and tucked it beneath his T-shirt, concealing it from sight. Then, with cautious steps, he moved deeper into the murk.
"It feels like night… and a little eerie," he muttered to himself.
Outside, the market was lined with small stalls and shops, but beneath that outer layer lay the true marketplace—a long, straight pathway enclosed within a two-story building. That was why it felt like night inside. A few narrow staircases led up to the second floor, their steps vanishing into the dimness above.
Keal walked along the path, his vision clouded by drifting fog that clung to the air. Only vague shapes were visible ahead, and a faint, musty scent lingered—this place smelled less like a market and more like an old warehouse.
Keal glanced at the device on his wrist, checking its cooldown timer. Only two hours and twenty minutes had passed.
3:40:21…
He exhaled softly and continued walking. From ahead, two figures passed by, their footsteps echoing faintly in the dim corridor.
"Only two hours and twenty minutes have passed… and I still have three hours and forty to go," Keal muttered, disappointment clouding his face and weighing down his thoughts. "It feels like time has frozen, crawling slower than ever. This cooldown just won't end. I'll head home when it's over… but I don't even know if it'll work. All I can do is hope."
He exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing the cold railing as he stepped closer to the dim staircase leading to the upper floor—where the four distant shadows were whispering among themselves.