Boom! Boom! Boom!
Outside Winterhold, the chaotic sound of explosions echoed continuously. The ground was blasted into countless craters, while blood-red flames, like the blooming petals of a man-eating rose, devoured the lives of the surrounding soldiers.
In an instant, the previously orderly ranks descended into complete chaos. Wails, shrieks of terror, and agonized cries fused into a cacophony. Many soldiers, clutching severed, bleeding limbs, scrambled desperately to flee.
Even though the pain from their injuries was bone-chilling, they all knew one thing clearly: if they remained here any longer, only death awaited them!
At the center of the blasts, Augustus and his men had already turned pale as sheets. The sudden eruption had caught them completely off guard.
Too many soldiers had died without even a chance to fight back. To make matters worse, they still had no idea what kind of attack had struck them!
The scale and devastation of these explosions — even forbidden magic might not be this terrifying!
"Retreat!"
"Retreat!"
Staring at the corpses strewn around him, and at his own bodyguards writhing and wailing on the ground, Augustus felt a humiliation beyond words — yet he ultimately chose to order a full retreat.
In truth, even before Augustus had officially given the command, the surviving soldiers — those who had survived the blast wave by some miracle — had already started fleeing on their own. Now that the order was out, no one hesitated. They turned and bolted, desperate to get as far away from this nightmare as possible.
But a retreat of tens of thousands of panicked, disorganized soldiers soon became another disaster altogether.
The warhorses, driven mad by the relentless explosions, reared and galloped wildly, trampling soldiers and other horses underfoot. The resulting cries were enough to chill the blood.
Many soldiers who might have survived ended up crushed under trampling hooves. Bones snapped, tendons tore, and they passed out from the pain, only to become stepping stones for the panicked masses behind them.
The scene was absolute chaos. No order. No control. Only a frantic, mindless rout.
"Damn that bastard!" Augustus cursed through gritted teeth.
Even as he withdrew, his eyes were locked onto the black-robed figure hovering silently in the sky.
If not for this man's sudden appearance, Winterhold would have fallen into his hands today — there was no doubt about it!
Yet now, despite mobilizing a force of a hundred thousand, not only had they failed to capture Winterhold, but they had also suffered devastating losses.
Would the Nascent Duchy even survive this winter after such a catastrophe? Augustus wasn't sure anymore.
Other high-ranking generals and strategists were likewise staring at the black-robed figure, their gazes filled with hatred and resentment, as if trying to sear his appearance into their very souls.
Their carefully planned assault had gone from sure victory to humiliating defeat — all because of him!
This was a disgrace. A stain not only on their personal honor but on the honor of the entire Nascent Duchy!
Meanwhile, as the broken army fled in panic, John cast one last glance at them, then turned and left without a trace of hesitation — just as he had arrived, like a breeze through the clouds.
A short while later, atop a distant mountain peak beyond Winterhold, John finally landed and let out a long, heavy breath.
He had acted cool and composed when he left — but inwardly, his heart had been hammering against his chest the whole time.
The murderous glares Augustus and the others had given him... he had seen them clearly.
Had he not intimidated them enough earlier with his overwhelming show of force, they would have attacked him on the spot — and his fate would have been grim.
Thus, when he turned to leave, John had secretly activated a special ability he had obtained earlier:
"Real Men Never Look Back at Explosions."
Another concept-level skill.
Once activated, no matter how terrifying the attacks from behind, as long as he kept his back to the danger and never looked back, he could ignore any incoming damage.
The effect lasted only five minutes — but that was more than enough time for him to withdraw safely.
Fortunately, Augustus and the others hadn't pursued him. Had they done so and held out past those precious five minutes, John would have been in serious trouble, with no better defensive methods at hand.
All in all, his intervention today had been risky but ultimately successful.
Winterhold — the town where he had lived for more than ten years — had been saved.
Having finished his business here, John now turned his gaze toward the far-off horizon.
His heart yearned for the vastness of the continent.
He, John, was coming!
…
Time flew by.
After a full day and night of traveling east, John finally passed through dense forests and towering mountain ranges, arriving at a small, unknown town.
Thanks to his silver-rank swordsman physique, his body could endure the hardships of high-altitude flight. Otherwise, the freezing winds alone would have turned him into an icicle.
Upon reaching the town, however, John immediately realized he had a new problem.
He had no idea where the capital of the Macedonian Kingdom was.
After all, this was the first time he had truly left Winterhold since arriving in this game-like world.
Once he learned how dangerous the outside world was, he had become extremely cautious, rarely venturing far from the town.
He only knew that the imperial capital lay somewhere to the east — but exactly where, or how far, he had no clue.
Still, since there was a town here, there should be maps for sale. He could inquire about directions, stock up on supplies for the road, and continue his journey without too much trouble.
Following the flow of people bustling through the streets, John soon found himself within the heart of the town.
The population was modest — nothing compared to the liveliness of Winterhold — but the town was neatly arranged, with a variety of small shops lining the streets.
As John surveyed his surroundings, his gaze was soon drawn to a particular shop marked by a special symbol.
Back when he had asked Celia about survival tips on the continent, she had told him about this:
If you needed information, lacked silver coins, or didn't have the right connections, you could always seek out a certain secret organization:
The Bathing Club.
Any establishment bearing the special clover-shaped insignia was one of their branches.
To the average passerby, these were just ordinary bathhouses — places to relax and wash away fatigue.
But for those who knew the right codes and secrets, they offered much more than hot water and massages.
Here, you could buy intelligence, accept missions, earn contribution points, and eventually rise through the ranks to access better intel and more lucrative assignments.
Thanks to organizations like the Bathing Club, Celia had been able to thrive and travel freely across the continent.
John double-checked the symbol outside the shop — unmistakably the clover mark Celia had described — and strode inside.
The moment he stepped through the door, a wave of moist, flower-scented heat engulfed him.
Inside, the place looked no different from any other clean, well-appointed bathhouse.
He approached the front desk. A pretty young woman with a sweet smile greeted him warmly:
"Welcome, honored guest. A basic bath is twenty copper coins. If you need additional scrubbing services, they are available for an extra fee."
John nodded and lightly tapped the counter.
"I require VIP service. Is there a suitable room available?"
At his words, the receptionist's eyes sparkled slightly. She gestured invitingly toward the staircase:
"Please, right this way, sir. Room 3 on the second floor is currently vacant."
John gave a slight nod and ascended the stairs, heading straight for Room 3.