A week later.
Under the escort of the Knight Order, Sang arrived at Central.
It was the dawn of a day at the tail end of high summer. Sang had been sleeping inside the carriage compartment when a low whisper suddenly drifted in from outside.
The knights of the order never reported anything to Sang. No one reported to a piece of clothing, after all.
The one speaking to him now was Yilin. She kept her voice low. “Sang, we’ve arrived.”
The moment he heard those words, Sang snapped awake from his drowsy haze. He scrambled upright and stuck his head out the carriage window. The sight that greeted him sent a jolt through his body.
By now, the carriage had reached a nearby hill overlooking the Central Hub. The elevation wasn’t much—about five hundred meters—but it was enough to take in the whole of Central below.
Beneath the dawn glow.
There sprawled a grand city that seemed to rise alongside the sunrise itself, magnificent and vast, steeped in the weight of history. It put every ancient capital from his original world to shame, no matter how storied they were.
Even so, perhaps because it was early morning, a faint haze clung to the city amid its radiant splendor. It was as if Central had draped itself in a veil of shadow, transforming into a dreamlike metropolis caught between light and darkness.
Central wasn’t so much a single city as an aggregation of districts, sprawling across a vast expanse. It was primarily divided into the Inner Ring and the Outer Array, separated by a massive circular wall like something out of a tale of giants. Without question, the Inner Ring was where the Blood Race nobility resided, while the Outer Array housed humans.
On top of that, the Outer Array—where humans lived—was further segmented into three fan-shaped districts.
Sang had already heard about Central’s layout from Yilin. Duke Cape divided humans into three classes, marked by the numbers 1, 2, or 3 on their identity cards.
Class 1 represented the elite: families that had earned viscount or baron titles, or those with a knight in the household. Class 2 consisted of ordinary folk. Class 3 made up the dregs of society.
Duke Cape was a terrifying vampire. He understood a fundamental truth: to rule a race sustainably, the best approach was to redirect conflicts and make internal divisions irreconcilable.
Compared to the aloof Blood Race nobility, Class 3 hated Class 1 far more. And Class 1 carried an inexplicable sense of superiority.
That was precisely why.
Sang felt all the smaller by comparison. Against these native rulers of this other world, he—a mere modern high schooler—remained utterly insignificant.
Oh.
Right.
By the way, Yilin was Class 2.
One more thing bore mentioning: across this Blood Race-dominated continent, territories were mostly autonomous fiefdoms ruled by local nobles. Dividing people into three rigid classes was a practice unique to Duke Cape’s domain and his followers.
That said.
In recent years, with the rise of human rebel groups like the Hunting Organization, more and more Blood Race nobles had started imitating Duke Cape’s approach.
“It’s really so dark…”
As young Sang muttered to himself, the carriage—still under the Knight Order’s escort—pulled up to the gates of the Third District. Yilin was just a traveling physician. Her duties ended here.
She had to part ways with Sang.
Before leaving, she gave him one final checkup. Once it was done, she pressed three pieces of candy into his palm and smiled gently. “Sang, the road ahead will be tough. You’ll have to walk it alone. But no matter what, you have to stay alive.”
Don’t underestimate those two weeks together.
As the only two humans among the travelers, they had been each other’s sole confidants. Over that time, they’d grown close—almost like the bond between him and Sister Lilian.
Sang wasn’t one for dramatics. Even if this goodbye might be permanent, he had to leave with a smile. With a goofy, honest grin, he said, “You can call me Watermelon! Goodbye, Yilin Sister.”
“Goodbye, Watermelon.”
Then.
Under Sang’s watchful gaze, Yilin set off toward the Second District. Yes—as mentioned, she was Class 2 and lived there.
Less than ten seconds after she left, the carriage lurched into motion again.
Sang peered through the gap in the carriage window, staring blankly at Yilin’s receding figure. His right hand clenched tightly over his trembling left. He said nothing, but he was terrified. Still, he had no choice but to turn his back on freedom and the past, heading toward the Central Hub in the Inner Ring.
As for why they entered through the Third District’s gate.
Nothing complicated about it. The gate simply faced east, and Kaen Town—where Sang was from—lay on the eastern edge of the continent.
In short: it was on the way.
In the end, Sang was just a so-called “living sacrifice”—little more than an item. He was treated with a modicum of care, but ultimately unimportant. There was no welcome ceremony, not even a token one. It was like a routine delivery by courier, pressing straight toward the heart of Central.
There loomed an imposing yet austere building, profound in its plainness. A massive white domed structure, devoid of color—just pristine white. Atop the dome rose a high tower piercing the clouds, likely over a thousand meters tall.
In this other world, with its backward technology, how had such a structure even been built?
Without a doubt, that was Sang’s destination—the True Ancestor’s abode. Lacking an official name, the locals simply called it the Heavenly Key.
The “key” from “key to the heavens.”
From afar, that white tower spearing the sky did indeed resemble a key unlocking the path to the heavens.
Back to the present moment.
Sang’s carriage was rumbling along the roads of the Third District. Through the window slit, he stole glances at the outside world—a final chance to relax before facing his fate head-on.
However.
The sights offered no comfort. This wasn’t some picturesque medieval European town with classical architecture. Instead, there were vast stretches of squat, dilapidated buildings. Beyond the main thoroughfares, most roads were crumbling and uneven—little more than dirt tracks. The air reeked of rot.
Carriages were rare in the Third District, let alone a luxurious noble carriage like Sang’s.
As a result, it drew scorching, fearful stares all along the route.
When the carriage passed through Central Street, Sang spotted throngs of impoverished people—even more wretched than the farmers back in Kaen Town. The children were especially heartbreaking: not just skeletal and malnourished, but with hollow, lifeless eyes.
Physical decay was one thing. The true horror was spiritual annihilation.
Sang was an optimist at heart, but he wasn’t heartless. The scene moved him deeply.
Even so.
There was nothing he could do to help. He could barely save himself. The most he could manage was to survive first—then pass intelligence to the Hunting Organization.
Codename: Caged Bird.
And that was only just beginning.
