With the first light of morning filtering through the vegetation, Joel climbed to the highest branch of the tree that crowned the hill where the shelter now stood. From there, with a privileged view that spanned kilometers, he could finally contemplate the true magnitude of the place they had arrived at.

  The forest below was dense and uniform, a green ocean rippling in the breeze. It grew uninterrupted in every direction, though its boundaries, to his surprise, were clear and well-defined. With the aid of his binoculars and his own eyesight, sharper than that of any ordinary human, Joel could make out the edges of the forest to the north, east, and west. The latter was the closest: no more than ten kilometers away, perhaps less.

  The terrain seemed much flatter than he had initially expected, with few natural features to obstruct his view. This allowed him to detect, among the open strips of land, what appeared to be small settlements, cultivated plots, and unmistakable signs of civilized activity. Furthermore, to the northeast, partially hidden behind a larger hill, he discerned the outline of what appeared to be a city.

  Joel hadn't expected to find signs of civilization so soon. For a moment, he questioned the wisdom of having set up the shelter near a seemingly populated area. However, with no recent traces of inhabitants in the vicinity—no smoke, no footprints, no noise—he concluded that, at least for the time being, the place was safe.

  Upon returning to the shelter, he informed the others of his findings, eliciting a mix of reactions.

  Nana was the first to act, immediately prioritizing the extension of her domain and devoting all her attention to further concealing the entrance to the shelter in the rocky hillside.

  Ariel and Alicia shared variations of the same feeling: unease. Ariel maintained a nervous calm, while Alicia displayed a growing paranoia at the idea of ??being so close to the inhabitants of this new world.

  Liam, on the other hand, was excited. The prospect of exploring a completely new world seemed to fill him with energy.

  Oscar, the owl, simply lowered his head in resignation when he was forbidden to explore outside the shelter, as he might attract too much attention, especially if there wasn't another similar bird species in the forest.

  Only Connor remained indifferent, engrossed in a book he held between his stumps and listening to music on his portable player, as if the situation were completely foreign to him.

  Joel wasted no time. He immediately began a systematic reconnaissance of the surrounding area, focusing on the western sector, and made sure to eliminate any trace of his arrival. He even retrieved the scouting equipment sent weeks earlier, now unusable but still potentially revealing his presence.

  As he advanced toward the edge of the western forest, the first signs of the local inhabitants began to appear: rudimentary traps for small animals, partially felled trees, scraps of clothing tangled in branches… even a pair of abandoned leather boots, ruined by the weather.

  After midday, Joel spotted the first inhabitants, clearly human at first glance. Specifically, a couple of lumberjacks cleaning a tree they had just felled. The two men were middle-aged, dressed in simple clothes, not very different from the peasants he was used to seeing in the previous world.

  From a distance, there seemed to be nothing supernatural about them… just humans working, breathing, living. Closer, the only noticeable difference from the inhabitants of Myrrial was the tanned tone of their skin. Otherwise, they were perfectly human.

  And for Joel, that simple normality carried enormous weight. A new world… but not so different after all.

  He considered approaching the two lumberjacks and trying to make contact, but after a few seconds of reflection, he decided against it. It was too soon to expose himself, and doing so so close to the shelter would be an unnecessary risk. Instead, he continued westward, intending to put enough distance between himself and the shelter before revealing his presence.

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  Adopting a relaxed pace, as if this world were completely familiar to him, he walked on until he found a narrow path winding through the less dense vegetation. As he traveled through it, more obvious signs of civilization began to appear: small, solitary houses, or clustered in small villages, all built with light wood and thatched roofs, surrounded by extensive fields of crops. At first glance, wheat was the dominant feature, gently waving in the breeze.

  Joel didn't stop. He continued on until he came to a much wider dirt road, its surface clearly marked by the deep ruts left by carriage wheels. Fruit trees, resembling orange trees, began to appear along the sides of the road. All the fruit at the base had been picked, but several still remained high in the canopies, round and orange, almost glistening in the sunlight.

  Without thinking twice, Joel bent his knees and jumped. In an instant, he propelled himself to the top of the tallest tree he could identify, one that must have been around fifteen meters high. With the agility of a cat, he settled himself among the upper branches, plucked one of the fruits, and peeled it as naturally as he would an orange.

  It looked like an orange, it smelled like an orange… and it tasted exactly like one. Juicy, sweet, with just the right amount of acidity that reminded him for a second of several of his lives on Earth. He allowed himself to savor the moment, relishing each bite like an unexpected luxury.

  Taking advantage of the height, he let his gaze wander over the horizon. Not far away, he spotted a much larger road, where carriages and pedestrians passed regularly. A little over a kilometer away stood a sizable village. It had two-story buildings, mostly made of wood reinforced with stone, with smoking chimneys and a population that spoke of a thriving and prosperous community.

  Joel didn't rush into anything. Before taking a single step toward the village, he took a moment to ensure his clothes resembled those of a local peasant as closely as possible. He adjusted his tunic, slightly soiled the folds, and conjured up a simple straw hat. He had seen several workers wearing them to protect themselves from the sun, so it seemed the perfect choice to disguise the overly pale tone of his skin, an inevitable consequence of his years under the eternal gloom of Myrrial.

  He also prepared a small assortment of gold nuggets and silver rings. Not so many as to attract unnecessary attention, but enough to attempt a first exchange for the local currency, if the precious metal had any value in this new world. With luck, he might acquire some useful goods.

  Setting off, he soon reached the road he had spotted from the top of the fruit tree. And there, for the first time since his arrival, he felt the true pulse of civilization. Men and women came and went in both directions: some on foot, others in carts pulled by horses, oxen, and donkeys, transporting people and a wide variety of goods. He even caught a glimpse of a couple of finer carriages, drawn by domesticated deer, splendid creatures with coppery coats.

  The clothing was diverse, loose, and colorful, making it easy to distinguish between peasants, artisans, and even individuals of higher social standing. The air smelled of earth, manure, human sweat, and freshly cut wood; a simple mixture, yet one that spoke of daily life.

  It was then that Joel perceived something that caught his attention more than any new landscape: presences. Not grave dangers, at least not for him, but individuals with a particular aura, a firm posture, and controlled breathing that betrayed superhuman abilities. Probably warriors or people with true power.

  Under other circumstances, he would have sought Ashoka's opinion to analyze them thoroughly, to distinguish levels of threat, but the monk had already begun exploring his spiritual world. So for now, he had to rely solely on his instinct… an instinct that, fortunately, he had developed to absurd levels during his years surviving in anonymity.

  Fortunately, he still had the advantage granted by the wooden medallion, which concealed all traces of his powers. Likewise, he knew how to go unnoticed, to transform into a shadow, an irrelevant face in the crowd. The trick was to move naturally, mimicking others, as if he were the most ordinary inhabitant of the place.

  Those individuals, seemingly possessing abilities bordering on the superhuman, perhaps comparable to the strength of a level 1 or even 2 mage, moved with a confidence that betrayed years of discipline. Joel observed them escorting heavy carriages and patrolling the road in small groups, almost always mounted enormous horses, animals trained to have no fear of blood or the din of conflict. Some traveled alone, blending into the ordinary traffic like armed shadows, each with such a distinctive bearing that it was impossible to mistake them for mere civilians.

  What distinguished them most was not their vigilant posture, nor the contained energy that seemed to envelop them like a second skin, but the arsenal they carried in plain sight. Longswords, razor-sharp to the point of absurdity, spears inscribed with runes that Joel couldn't decipher, ornate maces, double-bladed axes. Steel weapons, polished and personalized… so intimate that it was clear each one had been forged for its wielder and him alone.

  In the four worlds, mages rarely relied on steel. For them, weapons were merely crude extensions of physical strength; they preferred artifacts, carefully designed catalysts for channeling, amplifying, and shaping magic. Except among novice mages or in mortal armies, the diversity of weapons he saw here was simply unimaginable. It was a different, almost tribal, language of war, deeply personal.

  And perhaps that's why Joel's heart reacted before his mind. It wasn't just curiosity: it was an unexpected familiarity. The feeling of standing before warriors who fought in a way he understood.

  He immediately interpreted that the fighters of this world seemed geared toward a close, direct, tactile style… similar to his own, but with a cultural and technical depth he hadn't seen anywhere else. This ignited a spark he hadn't felt in a long time: that of an apprentice observing potential masters, a strategist discovering new territory to study, adapt… and perhaps even surpass.

  For the first time since his arrival, he felt something akin to true excitement. Perhaps, in this broken and ferocious world, Joel could find new inspiration to refine, or reinvent, his own fighting style. And that idea, more than any threat, quickened his pulse.