When Cael jumped inside the vortex, everything went black for a moment. Then, he opened his eyes — He found himself falling through a wormhole surrounded by clockwork. Panic surged through his veins as he tried to grasp anything to hold on to.
"W-where the hell am I?!" He exclaimed.
At the end of the wormhole, he saw a white dot. "Is that the other side?"
Cael braced himself for impact as he wrapped his hands around him.
Upon reaching the white dot, he was sucked out of the wormhole, landing on the solid ground below on his back.
"W-woah!"
Thud!
"Oof..."
He rubbed his back as he took in the environment around him. This place — this wasn't the France he knew; they were back in the medieval era.
Cael's jaw dropped as he tried to process what had just happened.
Suddenly, he felt a humming sound from his bag. He opened it to find the gospel glowing; he had never seen it react like this before.
Cael opened the inside to find that most of the pages were now completely blank except for the first page. On it read — 'May 8, 1429'.
"Medieval time... did I really—?"
As panic started to overwhelm him, he suddenly heard footsteps, the sounds getting closer each time. Cael turned around to see the figure now behind him — it was Reynald.
"You look frightened. Get used to it, there's more to come."
He extended his hand to him. Cael accepted his hand as he helped him to his feet.
"Where is this, Reynald? Why did the book say it is 1429?"
He stepped aside, allowing Cael to walk towards the edge of the hill.
"They say seeing is believing. Take a look for yourself."
Cael looked at him with uncertainty, but it wasn't the best time for debate. He stepped forward, and he saw a battlefield ravaged by fire, as the air was filled with the smells of gunpowder and rotting flesh of decaying bodies.
Reynald stood beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
"Friend, welcome to Orleans 1429. The bloody Hundred Years' War."
Cael's pupils shrank, and he looked at Reynald with confusion and uneasiness. He couldn't believe his own eyes and doubted Reynald's words. This had to be a setup, an illusion perhaps.
"You're lying... how did we end up here, are you saying we—"
He cut Cael's words mid-sentence.
"—time travel. Yes, that's exactly what I'm saying."
Cael stepped away from Reynald and started pacing around. He tried to search for any hints of deception. But everything seemed real. This can't be a dream.
"No... but this is not possible..."
Reynald walked beside him.
"Not possible? You're right. This isn't possible, not without the gospel."
He opened his bag and pulled out the gospel and the quill. He started writing something on it.
"Speaking of which, we need a disguise. We can't have locals staring at our attire strangely."
Reynald tore the page he was writing on in two. He then threw the papers into the sky as they suddenly grew larger in size, turning into white clothes that enveloped both of their bodies like magic.
Their seemingly modern clothing underneath slowly dissolved and turned into a fifteenth-century white cloth — a layered wool and linen garment.
Cael looked down at the unfamiliar clothing style — confused. "What is this?"
"Is this your idea of disguise?" He asked.
Reynald shrugged. Although Cael could swear he saw a faint smirk etched on his face.
"Better than walking around naked, no?" Reynald replied, fixing his garment to make it look neater.
Suddenly, Cael heard footsteps approaching — many of them, accompanied by the sound of clanking armor. He turned to see a group of French soldiers walking toward them.
Reynald placed his hand on the hilt of his sword — they were strangers in this era, and any wrong move would not end with pleasantries.
One of the soldiers who was riding a horse approached them first. Judging by his attire, he is either a noble or a military officer.
"What are these civilians doing here in the warzone? Search them!" The officer commanded.
It seemed that the disguise worked surprisingly well. But now they were facing a greater problem — comply or die. Cael looked at Reynald, his hand was still on the hilt of his sword, yet the overly confident persona remained the same.
—Penning a new chapter…