'Wait, I'm Supposed to Become a Goddess?! But I'm a Guy!'

Gasps rippled across the crowd like a sudden breeze through still air.

“A space formation?”

“No way…”

“It has to be.”

“Something as ancient as this actually exists?"

"It is real! Incredible!"

Even Sayfein and his father couldn’t tear their eyes away from the sight.

Their stares locked on the faint distortions in the air near the massive metallic walls, where the outline of something complex shimmered faintly.

It was a semi transparent diagrams that would flicker occasionally.

"Even long-lost formations exist here..." the older man muttered under his breath, voice low and incredulous.

Their turn came next.

A sentry stepped forward, holding a flat metal plate out toward the carriage’s driver.

His tone was firm and casual. “Step down.”

The driver blinked, visibly thrown off.

His eyes darted to the side, flicking toward the father and son seated behind him, silently pleading for direction.

Sayfein leaned closer to his father, his brows drawn together. “Did he mean us?”

Snap!

The guard’s pen broke clean in two with a sharp click. His face didn’t flinch, but the sudden silence said more than words.

“Do I need to repeat myself?” the guard asked again, this time icier than before.

“Ah... yes, of course,” the older man stammered quickly. “Pardon my son.”

Without waiting, he grabbed Sayfein’s wrist and hopped off the carriage, ignoring the awkwardness of the drop.

No ornate steps, no delicate descent, just boots hitting solid ground under the looming gate.

Now fully visible, they stood beneath the towering arch, heads slightly inclined, postures respectful as the inspection began.

The middle aged-man approached, dressed in an elegant blue suit.

Not flashy, but each detail, tailored cuffs, the cut of the collar, the crispness of the lines, hinted at something far above ordinary.

His every step, every flick of the wrist, carried a subtle weight, like someone used to command.

His face was sharp, keen eyes, high cheekbones, and a jaw that looked carved out of stone.

The noble air around him wasn’t just in his clothing, it was in how people instinctively gave him space.

Beside him stood a boy, much younger, still holding onto his childish softness.

Round eyes, a flicker of innocent curiosity in every glance, the way he turned his head to look at everything all at once.

His presence practically screamed: pampered, sheltered, untouched by the world's uglier sides.

Anyone with half a brain would know, this kid had never seen real struggle.

Clak.

The guard nodded, metal board thudding softly against his chest as he marked something down and gestured toward them. “Your aura’s been recorded. You may enter… for a fee.”

“A fee?” the older man echoed, his voice lined with genuine confusion rather than protest.

He had watched the procession earlier, merchants, and all kinds of travelers entering freely.

Not once had he heard mention of a toll.

“We only charge the rich,” the guard clarified, the tone dry and matter-of-fact. “Not the common folk.”

The man paused. The words sank in slower than he liked to admit.

To these people, native nobles were just… people.

Not special. Not exempt.

Instead, a special treatment was given.

He swallowed hard, the message hitting deeper than the words themselves. 'To them, we're no different than the rest.'

Still, he wasn’t here to stir up anything. Even if he had the means to fight it, he wouldn’t. That would be suicide.

Better to pay the toll and move along.

‘Seems the lord of this territory has his own way of running things.’

Resigned, the two of them paid the entrance fee, calculated according to their landholdings and estimated wealth. It came to 100 tier-1 gold coins for every 10 kilometers of land.

With 33 kilometers under their belt and payment required per person, the final toll ran just over 600 tier-1 coins.

The older man winced as he climbed back into the carriage. He’d never felt his wallet so thoroughly mugged before.

It wasn’t about the sum, he had it. But it was the sheer audacity of paying that much for entry.

Hiss.

He exhaled slowly, mentally calculating how much a year of traveling in and out would cost him. His brows twitched.

‘Guess I’ll need to rethink the annual budget for this place.’

Soon enough, the carriage trailed down a winding road toward a distant silhouette of a town nestled beyond the first gate.

The journey didn’t take long.

They reached a second wall, much smaller, matching the scale of the inner town.

Just as they were about to pass through, the older man found himself praying under his breath.

Hopefully, the lord of this place wasn’t stingy enough to charge another entry fee.

Fortunately, his silent hopes were answered.

No second tax.

Once inside, their pace slowed as their eyes adjusted to the unexpected splendor of the place.

The street was wide, several times wider than any road they'd walked.

Paved with flawless white marble, the kind that felt wrong to step on with muddy boots.

It didn’t look like it was built for carts or horses at all, but for people. To walk, to stroll, to enjoy.

Street lamps lined the way, glowing faintly even under the daylight. Strange blue energy flickered gently inside them.

Flowers planted around the poles swayed slightly, basking in the warmth of the light like lazy dancers.

To either side, buildings loomed high, not just tall, but thoughtfully constructed.

Restaurants with intricate signs. Public baths larger than any estate's.

Arcades. Rental outfit shops. Things that sounded absurdly out of place, but somehow made perfect sense here.

Everywhere they looked, something odd caught the eye. And yet, it all seemed to work.

The flow of people, the relaxed conversations, the laughter, it all clicked together like a natural rhythm.

They parked the carriage to the side and stepped down onto the white marble.

It felt wrong, in a luxurious kind of way, to be using something so pristine just to walk on.

But no one around them seemed to care.

“Such wealth…” the older man murmured, his hands clasped behind his back as he walked slowly, his boots clicking lightly with each step.

Sayfein trailed beside him, neck craned, eyes sparkling. “This place is… weird, Father.”

“Oh?” the man replied with a sideways glance. “What’s strange about it?”

Sayfein’s reply was earnest, no sarcasm or humor in it. “It feels alive. Clean. Bright.”

He looked around again. “Compared to our town’s dusty roads, where people piss in corners and throw garbage on the streets, this place is a thousand times better.”

“Even the cities ruled by native lords can’t compare,” he added with a firm nod, admiration plastered all over his face.

They followed the crowd toward the town square, right in the heart of it all.

The square was enormous, far larger than the buildings that surrounded it would have implied.

It felt almost like the space was cheating somehow.

And maybe it was.

They looked at each other, and the same thought hit them both.

Another space formation.

The longer they stared, the more it seemed like the interior of this area was stretched unnaturally wide.

Maybe even ten times bigger than it looked from the outside.

They weren’t alone in that realization either. Other nobles had caught on.

The ones who knew anything about ancient formation techniques stood around with similar expressions of disbelief.

One by one, that pride they’d brought with them, status, position, influence, quietly chipped away.

Then, something shifted.

A distant tremble began to echo down the main road. Footsteps. Heavy ones.

A squad of towering shadow soldiers marched through the town, dark armor glinting under the soft glow of the strange lamps.

Their movements were unified, and yet rigid. A type of movement that appeared to be rather, unsettling.

The mood of the crowd changed instantly.

Commoners and nobles alike backed away, clearing the road. No one dared remain in their path.

The Dark Knights had arrived.

A full hundred of them, advancing without hesitation.

The marble floor trembled beneath their boots, and even the air seemed to be pushed aside, escaping them.

“L-look!”

“Tier 3! All of them!”

“And their class… it must be rare. I can’t even tell what it is!”

“Those are the lord’s summoned soldiers, right?”

“So it’s true. The rumors were true…”

“With this many tier 3s, even major cities would kneel."

The whispering grew louder, spilling from every direction.

“What are they doing?”

“Looks like they’re preparing for someone’s arrival.”

“A ceremony?”

“Maybe it’s their lord.”

“Or his wife?”

“The lord’s wife?”

The tension rolled with each passing second, like something big was about to happen.

It was only a little past ten in the morning, barely two hours since the gates had opened.

Already, the population had nearly tripled. People were still pouring in, many settling down with plans to stay for good.

Now, seeing this kind of military might?

Confidence in the place surged.

“We made the right call buying a house here.”

“I heard setting up a business here’s easy, too.”

“Really?”

“Must be. Just look at how well the private shops are doing.”

More chatter filled the air, layered over the steady stomp of boots and the rising excitement.

Then came another shift, subtle but noticeable.

People turned, eyes drawn toward the horizon.

No one knew for sure who was coming next.

Could be the lord. Could be his wife, her highness, Mize Adhart.

Among the crowd, a number of summoned townsfolk had already integrated enough to spread useful information.

“There are three generals under the lord, right? A wife, and hundreds of thousands of troops?”

“Yes, Father,” Sayfein said, nodding slightly. He’d been casually asking around, picking up pieces of info from the chatter.

“And…” he hesitated, lips pursed before deciding to share it anyway, “they say Her Highness Mize Adhart… is as beautiful as an angel.”

The older man blinked, caught off guard by that detail.

But before he could respond, everyone’s heads snapped up in unison.

Their attention turned skyward.

"What is that?"