Chapter 2- Knowledge

Before heading out, I needed to stock up on supplies with the one gold coin I had. I also had to ask Elvira where to go. Right now, I knew nothing about this world—I was like a lost lamb stepping out of its little home.

I retraced my steps to where I last saw Elvira and found her seated on a worn wooden bench, her gaze fixed on the sky as if lost in thought. As I approached, she turned her head slightly, acknowledging me before I even spoke.

"Elvira, it's me," I said, stopping a few steps away. "Do you know where I can buy supplies?"

She studied me for a moment before replying, "Depends on what you're looking for. If it's basic provisions—food, clothes, or tools—the general store down the main road has what you need. But if you want something more… specialized, like poisons or elixirs, there's a shop just to the right."

I nodded. "That sounds more like what I need. Thanks."

Her lips pressed into a thin line. "Be careful with that place. The old man who runs it—Osric—isn't just any merchant. He's a master of his craft but enjoys toying with customers. Make sure you leave with what you paid for."

With her warning in mind, I followed her directions and soon arrived at a small, worn-down shop. A faded wooden sign above the entrance read Osric's Oddities and Elixirs, the letters curling with age. A faint metallic tang hung in the air as I stepped inside.

The shop was dimly lit, walls lined with shelves packed with bottles of all shapes and sizes. Potions shimmered with unnatural light, flasks held dark, swirling liquids, and rare concoctions promised enhanced strength, intelligence, even longer life—all arranged with almost obsessive precision.

Behind a worn wooden desk sat an old man, hunched over a delicate glass vial, tracing its rim with gnarled fingers. His skin was weathered like ancient parchment, lined with deep wrinkles that spoke of decades spent among bubbling cauldrons and swirling fumes. Wisps of thinning silver hair framed his sunken face, and his mismatched eyes—one murky gray, the other piercing amber—gleamed with a mix of wisdom and mischief.

His robe, a patchwork of deep blues and faded golds, was stained with remnants of past brews, each mark a forgotten experiment. He moved slowly and deliberately, as if time itself weighed heavily on him. The scent of crushed herbs, mixed with something faintly acrid, clung to him like a second skin.

"Ah, a new face," he said with a raspy voice, a knowing smirk curling his lips. "Welcome to my humble abode. Name's Osric. What is it you seek?"

"I'm looking for a paralysis potion," I said. "Something to coat my weapon with."

His amber eye gleamed with interest. "A man who knows the value of an unfair fight. I respect that." He leaned back, tapping his fingers on the desk. "For an E-rank monster, one bottle will run you thirty silver."

"And what about a health potion?" I asked.

Osric hummed thoughtfully. "Restoring life's trickier than taking it. That'll be sixty silver a bottle."

I considered my options. "I'll take one of each."

He chuckled and reached behind the counter, producing two small glass bottles—one filled with dark green liquid, the other shimmering red. "A wise choice," he said as he set them down. "But be careful with that paralysis potion. Use too much, and you might freeze yourself along with your enemy."

I handed over the silver coins, and a sudden notification appeared before my eyes.

[System Notification: Inventory Unlocked]

You currently have a storage capacity of 20 items. Additional space can be unlocked using Astralyth stones or other rare materials.

I'd store the potions in my inventory for now. It was safer than carrying them around, and I'd keep my dagger on me—pulling it out of storage mid-fight would take too long.

With supplies secured, I decided to return to Elvira before heading out. I barely knew anything about this world. I needed information—understanding what was happening could give me an edge.

Absolutely. Here is your polished version with the tone gradually shifting from formal to more casual as Elvira and Vergil grow more comfortable in conversation. I've enhanced flow, clarity, and pacing while keeping the depth of worldbuilding and character interaction intact:

---

When Vergil returned to the garden, Elvira was still seated on the bench. This time, she watched him approach with a knowing glint in her eye.

"We meet again," she said lightly. "Did you need something else?"

Vergil hesitated before answering. "I want to know more about the world."

She raised a brow. "Shouldn't you already know that?"

His gaze dropped briefly, his voice quieter now. "I lost my memories. When I came to, I was already here."

Elvira studied him, her eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing his words. Then, with a quiet sigh, she stood.

"Poor soul," she murmured. "That explains a few things." She gestured toward her home. "Come in. If you plan to survive in this world, you'll need more than instinct."

Vergil followed her inside. The warmth hit him first—both in the literal and subtle sense. The house smelled faintly of dried herbs and old parchment. To the side, several tall bookshelves overflowed with worn tomes and faded scrolls, their spines cracked from long years of use. A sturdy wooden table stood in the center of the room, flanked by two simple chairs. In one corner, a small stone hearth crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the walls. A single cushioned chair—slightly faded—rested near the fire. Someone had clearly spent countless nights there, reading in silence.

"Sit down, Vergil," Elvira said, gesturing to the chair opposite her.

He did as told. Elvira moved to one of the bookshelves and selected an aged, leather-bound tome. Bringing it to the table, she opened it carefully and turned it toward him. The pages revealed a detailed, hand-drawn map—regions, borders, and kingdoms unfamiliar to his eyes.

Her finger slid toward the north.

"This world isn't kind to the ignorant," she said. "So listen well."

---

Huanglong Dominion

"We'll start with the Huanglong Dominion. It's known for its martial artists, pill refiners, and array masters. Martial artists pursue strength, refinement, and, often, immortality. Pill refiners use rare ingredients to create elixirs that enhance cultivation. Array masters, on the other hand, inscribe powerful formations—used for protection, assault, or utility."

She tapped near the heart of the region. "The capital is Tiansheng, ruled by the Heavenly Dragon Emperor, Huang Tianlong. He's been on the throne for centuries."

Vergil frowned slightly. "Is he still alive?"

"Barely," Elvira replied. "He's on his deathbed. That's where things get messy. Two years ago, he declared his youngest child—Princess Lianhua—as his successor."

Vergil leaned forward. "Youngest? That alone would stir unrest. Unless she's... exceptional."

"Oh, she is," Elvira said, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. "She's only sixteen, but she's already in the Boneforging Realm. That's with just six years of cultivation."

Vergil blinked. "That's… absurd."

Elvira nodded. "Exactly why it caused such a stir. Her brothers, Jinyang and Zhenlong, haven't made a move—yet. But no one believes they'll accept being cast aside forever."

---

Thaelon – Kingdom of Magic and Knowledge

She shifted her finger northeast to a land of forests and rivers.

"Thaelon comes next. The Kingdom of Magic and Knowledge. Its enchanted forests are home to magical elementals, spirit beasts, and even dungeons."

Vergil's gaze drifted across the terrain. "So it's a haven for mages."

"Exactly. They classify into spirit mages and elemental mages. And then there are Brewers."

"Brewers?" Vergil raised an eyebrow. "What, like potion-makers?"

"More or less," she chuckled. "But don't underestimate them. Brewers craft potions, elixirs, even battlefield tonics that can turn the tide of a fight. You've met Osric, right?"

Vergil nodded. "I have. Makes more sense now."

She tapped the city by the sea. "Thaelon's capital is Elunthor—built on a Leyline Nexus. It's a source of incredibly dense mana, and it's why Thaelon has risen so far in magical prowess."

"No king?"

"No. Thaelon is ruled by a council—brilliant mages, each a master of a different school of magic. The one at the top is Archmage Zaetharion Vaedros. Wielder of space-time magic. Rank 8."

Vergil gave a low whistle. "Sounds dangerous."

"He's got two disciples," Elvira continued. "Both sixteen. Veltharia Aelthorne—spatial magic specialist. Calm and analytical. And Arieth Valcryia—magic swordsman with fire affinity. Bold and a little reckless."

She leaned back slightly. "The Arcane Tournament is coming up in four years. Held once every few decades. Combatants from every nation. The prize? A legendary artifact."

---

The Sky Kingdom

Her hand moved east, across the sea.

"Now we come to the Sky Kingdom. Floating islands, massive peaks, windstorms—you name it. They're famous for wind mages and engineers."

"Engineers?" Vergil repeated.

"Yeah. They build flying constructs, enchanted gliders, even mana-powered airships. Their capital is Zephyrion—a floating fortress anchored by the Sky Nexus."

She looked at him. "Ever heard of the Stormchosen?"

He shook his head.

"It's a rare blessing granted by the Sky Nexus. Greatly boosts wind and storm magic, and gives resistance to storm-based attacks. Their latest one is Vaelric Stormveil—sixteen years old, prodigy, and heir to the throne."

Vergil smirked. "I'm starting to see a pattern with these prodigies."

Elvira snorted. "You'll find that in this world, power comes early—or not at all."

---

Aurelia – The Holy Kingdom of Light

Her expression sobered as her hand swept southeast.

"Aurelia," she said. "The Holy Kingdom of Light. Beautiful cities, white spires, radiant cathedrals. It's a theocracy—ruled as much by faith as politics."

Vergil's tone turned wary. "And who really holds the reins? The royal family, or the church?"

Elvira paused.

"The High Pontiff. Officially, he's the voice of the Goddess. Unofficially… he rules everything. Law, faith, the army, even the nobles."

"And the royal family?"

"They still have power—at least on paper. Their bloodline is blessed. The Princess of Light, especially... she was special. A living link to the divine."

Vergil narrowed his eyes. "Was?"

"She vanished ten years ago. During the First Demon War. Since then, the church's grip has tightened. The High Pontiff and his council have all but shoved the royals into the shadows."

He sat back slowly. "Sounds like a convenient disappearance."

Elvira gave a faint, humorless laugh. "Many think so. But without proof…"

She continued, voice turning cold.

"Aurelia's military is divided into three branches: the Radiant Templars—your frontline holy knights. Then there's the Inquisition—hunters of demons, heretics, and dissenters. Their methods... aren't gentle."

Vergil raised an eyebrow. "And the third?"

"The Seraphic Guard—bodyguards of the royal family. They're the only force not under the church's thumb. Each of them manifests wings of divine energy. But with the princess gone, their influence is slipping fast."

Vergil's tone was quiet now. "A kingdom crumbling under its own faith."

Elvira nodded. "Faith binds—but it also blinds. And some... aren't so loyal to the High Pontiff. Whispers speak of those still faithful to the old ways. To the true bloodline."

Vergil gave a thoughtful hum. "So where does the real strength lie? In their faith? Their armies? Or the shadows hiding rebellion?"

Elvira gave him a long look before answering.

"That, young man, is a question even the Goddess might struggle to answer.

"But anyway let's move on"

Absolutely. Here's your polished version with improvements to flow, clarity, punctuation, and pacing—while preserving your voice, tone, and narrative structure:

---

She then gestured toward a small, secluded country in the east on the map.

"Verithar—the Hidden Kingdom of the Void."

Her voice was quiet, almost reverent.

"The Kingdom of Verithar is completely unknown to the world, sealed behind a vast Void Barrier that conceals its very existence. No records, myths, or even whispers speak of it. Not even the most powerful beings in Eternia possess knowledge of its presence."

Vergil's gaze sharpened, brow furrowing as he considered the implications.

"That's highly unusual. Would they not seek trade or resources from other nations?"

"They once did," Elvira replied. "But eight years ago, all contact was abruptly severed. Since then—nothing. No emissaries, no messages, no signs of life. Whether they are embroiled in internal strife or preparing for something far more ominous remains uncertain." She paused. "Whatever the reason, it does not bode well."

With a sigh, Elvira lifted a finger and tapped the westernmost region of the map, where jagged mountains and sweeping plains marked the borders of a brutal kingdom.

"Soldara," she said steadily. "The mightiest kingdom in the west. A land where strength is law, and the sword is the only ruler that matters. Unlike other nations tangled in bloodlines and politics, Soldara is governed by a single truth—whoever is strongest sits the throne. And no one dares to challenge the current king."

Her finger drifted deeper into Soldara's territory, stopping at a name etched into the parchment in bold strokes.

"Raelgard Vaelstryx. The Unbroken Blade."

The fire crackled louder, as if the name itself carried weight.

"He seized the throne with his own hands—cutting down every challenger who stood before him. His mastery of the sword is unmatched. Every technique, every style, every battlefield—he has conquered them all. His rule is absolute, not through fear, but through proven, undeniable strength. And yet…"

She hesitated.

Vergil caught it, eyes flicking toward her. "And yet?"

Elvira's finger moved across the map, stopping at a desolate valley, its name burned into history.

"The Ten Thousand Sword Grave."

Silence followed, thick and reverent.

"Soldara's greatest treasure," she murmured. "A graveyard of warriors, a monument to every swordsman who reached the pinnacle of their craft. But more than that, it's a legacy. The swords buried there hold not just steel, but knowledge—techniques, styles, the very essence of battle. And deep within lies something greater: the final technique. A sword art said to transcend mortality itself. A technique that no one has ever mastered."

The firelight danced across the map, casting flickering shadows like phantoms of the past.

"Not even Raelgard?" Vergil asked, voice low.

Elvira shook her head. "Not even him. He has conquered the grave, claimed its power, and wields the techniques of fallen legends. But the final technique still eludes him. Not because he lacks strength… but because it demands something more."

She paused again, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips.

"That's why he took a disciple."

Vergil's fingers stilled on the map.

"A boy of sixteen. Arrogant. Gifted beyond reason. Raelgard believes this boy may be the one to inherit everything—including the final technique of the Ten Thousand Sword Grave. And if that day comes, Soldara's blades will grow even sharper…" She looked at him. "…and the world will tremble."

The fire crackled once more, filling the space between her words.

Vergil remained quiet, his gaze fixed on the grave's name.

"So who is his disciple?"

"Kieran Drayven," Elvira replied. "The youngest 4-star aura user in recorded history. Most warriors don't reach three stars until their twenties—four stars usually come around twenty-five, and that's for prodigies. But he…" She shook her head, "…he has shattered every expectation."

She traced her finger along the western edge of the map, expression unreadable.

"Tensions are rising in Soldara. For years, the western borders have held firm, but now… signs of unrest are surfacing."

Vergil listened silently as she continued.

"Patrols have gone missing. Outposts burned to the ground. No official declaration, no clear enemy… but Soldara has begun to move. Raelgard has summoned his top generals. Elite legions are being mobilized."

She tapped a place on the map near Soldara's western edge.

"We call it the Blademarch—when the Sword Kingdom prepares for war."

Vergil's eyes narrowed. "So war is inevitable?"

"Not yet," Elvira said, voice calm. "Raelgard doesn't act rashly. But Soldara's patience is not infinite. And then… there's Kieran Drayven."

Vergil raised a brow. "The Sword Sovereign's prodigy?"

She nodded. "Some believe Raelgard will send him to the frontlines—to show the world the strength of Soldara's future. If that happens…" she let her words trail off.

Vergil crossed his arms. "Then the world will have no choice but to acknowledge him."

"And Soldara will sharpen its blades for conquest."

Her finger hovered near the western border, then moved slightly further out, tapping a rugged region beyond the kingdom.

"The most likely conflict lies with the Drakoryan Clans."

Vergil's gaze sharpened. "Drakoryan?"

"A fierce warrior culture ruling the harsh lands west of Soldara. Not a unified nation—just scattered clans, each led by their own warlord. Normally, they war among themselves, but lately… something's changed."

She tapped again. "They've begun raiding eastward—small skirmishes at first. Quick attacks, few survivors. Now, full outposts are being annihilated, their defenders massacred with terrifying efficiency."

Vergil frowned. "And Raelgard still hasn't responded?"

"Not yet. But he will." Elvira's voice grew grave. "And when he does, it won't be a measured retaliation. It will be devastation."

She let the silence stretch.

"And for Kieran Drayven… it may be his first true trial. If he survives, he won't just be Raelgard's disciple anymore." Her tone dropped. "He'll be something far greater."

Then, Elvira rapped her cane against the stone floor and pointed toward a remote island in the southwest—isolated, half-shrouded in mist.

"The Dwarven Kingdom," she said. "Home to the greatest mystery of all: the Primordial Flame."

Her voice was hushed with reverence.

"For centuries, master blacksmiths have believed this flame holds the secret to the ultimate forge. A fire so pure, so powerful, it could create weapons that surpass even divine artifacts."

She exhaled slowly.

"Many have tried to wield it. The finest smiths of every age. But none have succeeded. The moment anyone reaches for the flame—they are reduced to ash. Not burned. Not harmed. Gone, completely."

Her grip tightened on her cane.

"Only the Forgeking may stand near it. But even he does not dare use it. The Primordial Flame remains untouched. Some say it is a gift from the gods. Others say it predates them. All agree on one truth—whoever masters that fire will reshape the world."

Vergil's arms folded across his chest, gaze distant. "So it just… sits there? All that power, and no one's ever used it?"

Elvira gave him a long look.

"Power like that isn't claimed, boy. It chooses. And so far, it has chosen no one."

A smirk tugged at Vergil's lips, though curiosity flickered in his eyes.

"Then maybe it's waiting for someone like me."

Elvira chuckled dryly. "Ambition is admirable. But don't mistake fire for warmth. The Primordial Flame gives no second chances."

Vergil's gaze didn't waver.

"I wonder if Predation will work on it…" he mused silently.

"…It might be worth checking out."

She let the words settle before shifting her hand eastward, her finger coming to rest upon a different region.

"And here," she continued, "is where we stand—Vaeloria, the Neutral Kingdom."

Her fingertip circled Vaelithor, the capital, before she spoke again.

"Unlike the kingdoms of kings and emperors, Vaeloria follows no sovereign. It stands apart—untouched by divine mandates or royal bloodlines. We do not seek war, nor do we bow to power. Instead, we exist as a sanctuary for those who wish to forge their own path, free from the chains of politics and conquest."

Vergil studied the map, his gaze sharp.

"A nation without a ruler. That's either bold or reckless."

Elvira gave a knowing smile.

"It is neither. Vaeloria is not ruled by birthright, but by merit. The Council governs—composed of the strongest minds, the most capable warriors, and those whose wisdom has been tested by fire. Leadership here is earned, not inherited. One's worth is measured not by name, but by what they can achieve."

She gestured to a mark just outside the capital.

"And this is the Academy of Hunters. Unlike the institutions of other kingdoms, it does not limit itself to a single discipline. Mages, aura users, divine warriors, and cultivators train together, refining their craft. The most gifted young prodigies from across Eternia come here, drawn by the academy's reputation. And in just two months, those prodigies will begin their two-year training here."

She exhaled, her expression turning serious as she pointed north—beyond the Huanglong Sea—to a massive landmass rivaling the size of the Nine Kingdoms.

Her finger hovered over the vast, darkened continent.

"Now for the final continent," she murmured.

"This is the Demonic Continent."

Her expression was unreadable.

"Once the heart of their empire—where demons ruled without opposition. But after the Demon War ended ten years ago, they retreated… disappearing into the depths of their cursed land. Since then, nothing. No attacks, no sightings. Just silence."

Vergil crossed his arms.

"So they're gone?"

Elvira gave a slow shake of her head.

"Gone? No. Silent? Yes. And that silence is what unsettles me most. Some believe the demons are biding their time, recovering. Others say their retreat wasn't by choice—that something forced them into hiding."

Her fingers drifted back toward unmarked wilderness regions.

"And then there are the whispers… of shadows in the dark, of people vanishing. Some claim remnants of the demons never truly left—that they walk among us, hiding. Waiting."

She looked up at him, voice quieter now.

"We may have won the war, lad—but tell me, can you ever truly kill the darkness?"

Vergil leaned forward, his eyes reflecting a contemplative glint.

"Light and darkness are two sides of the same coin. Both reside in the heart of every human. We carry our own angels and demons. So tell me—how can one ever truly destroy the darkness?"

Elvira regarded him for a moment before nodding in approval.

"You have a sharp mind, young man. Hold on to that wisdom—someday, it may be the only thing that keeps you standing."

"I'll remember that," he said, then rose from his seat.

"I should get going now."

"There is one more thing I need to explain before you go."

She leaned back, eyes narrowing.

"Tears."

Vergil's brows furrowed.

"Tears?"

"They're usually temporary—brief rifts that release small numbers of monsters. But some are permanent, leading to other worlds. Fallen worlds. If left unchecked, they can release armies. They're ranked from Tier 0 to Tier 7. But it's getting late, so I'll tell you more another time."

Elvira gave him a small nod.

"Take care, Vergil. If you ever need help, you're always welcome back for more guidance."

"Thanks, Elvira."

As Vergil stepped outside, a notification flickered in the corner of his vision:

[System Notification: Relationship with Retired Mage Elvira increased to ★★☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆ (2 Stars)]

"Two stars?" he muttered.

"Yes. Your responses gave her a better understanding of your personality, pushing it to one star. But your final answer to her question… was the key to reaching two stars."

Vergil blinked, thoughtful.

'Wait… Retired Mage? I saw that title in the confidants tab. Maybe I should ask about mana techniques once we've built deeper trust. Asking now might raise suspicion.'

He turned toward the forest path ahead.

"Now… should we make our way to the forest?"