The moment the Airship crossed a certain boundary over the strait, the climate began to change in a peculiar way. By the time the passengers noticed, they were already enveloped in clouds and mist, having arrived in the southeastern region of Istani.

Storm City. The city’s name came from what ancient Adventurers called it: "the place the storms guided us to." Its formal name, inherited from the Jabber Language, is supposed to be "Ventebol."

Nowadays, everyone just calls it Storm City in the common tongue. Let the stuffy old scholars and the royal court bicker over that hard-to-pronounce ancient name! In reality, if a city in the Istani Kingdom were truly plagued by constant storms, it would have been difficult for it to grow to its current size. "Wudu" would be a more fitting name.

But who cares?

The airship port Rorschach saw was yet another style, different from those in the Holy Kingdom and the Empire. It was a chaotic and audacious super-hub, with the Airship platforms built right over the sea. The island nation didn’t welcome the continent-traversing flying Giant Beasts. The Istanis stopped these Airships at the mouth of the Tamas River, requiring travelers to disembark from the sky and then head upstream to the Royal Capital.

"Papers." The customs officer was a Half-Elf. He had a slender build, and his voice was cold and tinged with languor. As Rorschach took out his identification, the Half-Elf’s thin lips subtly expressed his impatience.

Rorschach’s identity, however, was interesting enough to make the Half-Elf raise an eyebrow. "An Imperial Mage... studied for a year at the Tower of Stars in Valois?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?" Rorschach activated his Mage Badge.

A purple light illuminated the Half-Elf’s pale irises. He reacted as if he’d been handed something scalding hot, hastily stamping Rorschach’s papers and processing his entry.

"No problem. Have a pleasant journey."

"Thank you."

Thankfully, the rest of the journey to Storm City wasn’t long. The Tamas River was possibly the river with the worst water quality Rorschach had seen in this Otherworld. As the boat traveled upstream, more and more foam appeared on the dark surface of the water. When the density of household waste reached its peak, the captain bellowed at the passengers, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Storm City!"

Rorschach’s first order of business after entering the city was to find lodging. He chose a hotel closest to the Magic Guild. Its clientele was mostly well-off, and the corresponding decor and amenities were to Rorschach’s satisfaction.

However, the process of checking in ran into a small snag.

When he entered, the lobby manager greeted him with a beaming smile and naturally took Rorschach’s luggage. Since his valuables weren’t in his bags, Rorschach accepted the service.

The manager: "Excellent, we have one last vacant room..."

At the same time, the receptionist: "I’m sorry, sir, but we have no more vacant rooms."

Huh? Rorschach hadn’t expected the manager and the young lady at the front desk to give completely opposite answers.

"Don’t we still have that one room?" the manager whispered to the receptionist, flipping open the record book.

"But that guest never checked out..."

"She hasn’t been back in two months! The deposit ran out long ago... We’re running a business here. We can’t hold it for that woman forever."

The receptionist was still hesitant. "But that guest is a Mage. What if she comes back and makes trouble for us?"

"Isn’t this guest a Mage, too?"

’You guys need to work on your whispering. I heard everything!’ Rorschach moved to take back his luggage. "If you’re full, I’ll just find another hotel."

"No, no, sir. Here’s the situation. There’s a room that a guest never checked out of. We’ve held it for the previous guest for two months, and we’ll have it cleaned up for you right now."

"Is that all right?"

"No problem at all!" The hotel was wary of temperamental Casters. Even after the guest had disappeared without checking out, neither the manager nor the receptionist dared to clear out the room—not until today, when another Caster came looking for a place to stay.

Seeing that Rorschach hadn’t made up his mind, the manager quickly added a crucial piece of information. "I’m afraid you won’t find a vacant room at any other high-end hotels, either. A lot of people have come from the Holy Kingdom, and they’ve already filled them all up in Storm City. Ours is no exception."

’It seems quite a few nobles and other timid folks from Valuva fled to Istani with their entire families...’ Rorschach never thought the upheaval in the Holy Kingdom would affect his ability to find a room. Unwilling to continue his tiring journey, he accepted the last vacant room.

He waited in the lobby for a short while, sipping tea, and was finally shown to his accommodations after being notified.

The young man took the key and opened the door to a nice suite, fully equipped with floor-length curtains, a thick carpet, a fireplace, and a bathtub. Rorschach sniffed the air carefully. There was no unusual smell, only the citrusy fragrance of what was probably a cleaning agent.

’Good. It’s not one of those cases where the previous tenant went missing, and their body was later found under the bed, in the bathtub, or inside a closet.’

"This will do. I’ll book it for ten days." Rorschach paid the deposit, letting the manager breathe a long sigh of relief. Ten days was the deadline Rorschach had set for himself. He was uneasy about the construction of his Mage Tower proceeding without his supervision and needed to return to Bayern as soon as possible.

He opened the window to air the room out... but a pungent odor immediately assaulted him. In fact, his nose had been bothering him ever since he disembarked and set foot in Storm City. Now, a gust of foul wind carrying atmospheric pollutants delivered a critical hit to his mucous membranes.

"ACHOO!"

’Looks like I’ll have to keep an Air Filter Bubble active at all times.’

After putting away his luggage, Rorschach contemplated his next move.

How should he begin his investigation? Rorschach himself had no idea, but a tourist guide left in the room gave him some inspiration.

"The Istani Museum?"

Rorschach found the museum’s address and a description. It exhibited many archaeological discoveries, flora and fauna specimens, and strangely-shaped artifacts. In a world with Divine Spirits and miracles, the information contained within artifacts could very well have supernatural elements. Due to the great extinction in the Symbolic Realm after the collapse of the Old Empire, the principle of "the older, the stronger" was, in a sense, correct.

"It’s still early. Let’s make the museum the first stop!"

Rorschach set off in a horse-drawn carriage for hire. The city’s streetscape was even drearier than the Imperial Capital’s. In particular, the vast majority of people’s clothing was predominantly black, which was a bit jarring for Rorschach, who was used to the styles of the Holy Kingdom.

’In Valuva, even the sans-culottes are more fashionable than this.’

Rorschach had just finished his internal critique when he arrived at his destination. The museum was built in the stone architectural style of the Old Empire. The base of each door pillar was carved with Herculean figures, as if they were bearing the weight of the entire edifice.

The widest main exhibition hall housed the most visually striking exhibit—the skeletons of two White Dragons.

Their very existence was a legend in itself.

The skeletons were meticulously suspended in the center of the hall, their massive skulls hanging high, as if ready to unleash a deafening roar at any moment. Every one of their bones shimmered with a cold, pearl-like luster.

All visitors who saw these two skeletons, one large and one small, would find their breath catching for a moment. Just from these lifeless remains, they could feel the terror of being overshadowed by a White Dragon in flight. The curator had posed them in a lifelike stance, their outstretched skeletal wings and deep, hollow eye sockets sending a chill down one’s spine.

What struck Rorschach the most, however, was the aura of death emanating from the skeletons. Beings as mighty as the Dragon Race—creatures that were the very personification of natural law and power—could not escape death. Their remains had even been turned into specimens by creatures far weaker than them.

He noticed a descriptive plaque also suspended in the air. Rorschach craned his neck. "’A pair of White Dragon mates, donated by the Tower of Storms...’" ’Couldn’t they have put the plaque on the ground? It’s exhausting craning your neck to read it...’

Rorschach moved as he read, wanting to see the details of the dragon bones from another angle, and promptly bumped into someone. With his head still tilted up, he instinctively felt that he had run into a "child."

"Sorry!"

When Rorschach looked down, he realized the other person was a Dwarf...

"Singrev?!"

"Rorschach Mage!?"