Worlds Between: A Traveler's Journey ( ORIGINAL)

Fire!

Raging flames!

The inferno consumed everything.

Silhouettes frantically ran and helplessly struggled within the blaze, their anguished cries and screams piercing through the devastation.

In the end, all turned to ashes.

---

"Hah…"

Karl abruptly sat up in bed, gasping for air. Sweat streamed down his forehead, and fear lingered in his eyes.

The scene from a few days ago had once again replayed itself in his dream.

Taking a moment to steady himself, he wiped the cold sweat off his brow. Amidst the soft rustling of clothing, he donned a formal outfit and stood before the mirror.

His naturally wavy black hair fell to his shoulders. His brown eyes still held a trace of sleep-induced daze. However, the severe burn scars on the left side of his face marred his otherwise handsome features, rendering them difficult to look at directly.

Today was important, so he had put on a particularly expensive formal outfit.

The hybrid coat, resembling a traditional long suit, was smooth like silk yet had the texture of fur, highlighting the robust physique beneath it.

Karl Bergman, born in the Swick region of the Kingdom of Gondor, now lived in the southern district of Signo City, working as a city inspector.

His grandfather had followed Marquis Lawrence in countless battles, earning a barony for his bravery, which was then passed down to his father.

However, a fire a few days ago claimed his father's life, leaving Karl with burns and psychological trauma.

And then…

His soul was replaced by a transmigrator from another world.

That's right.

The current Karl was a transmigrator, unfamiliar yet vaguely familiar with this world and "himself."

"It's over. It's already over!"

He muttered softly to himself in the mirror, steeling his resolve. Then, he walked to the bedroom door, turned the handle, and stepped out.

---

**The Living Room**

A European medieval-style decor filled the room, albeit slightly worn.

An ornate cabinet with embossed carvings stood to the left, its bronze drawer handles matching the design of the doorknobs, as if from the same manufacturer.

The wooden floors, sturdy hardwood furniture, extinguished oil lamps, and a faint mixture of vanilla and lemon scents lingered in the air.

In one corner, a stack of linen served as temporary storage for flour and black bread.

---

"Honorable Baron Karl."

Jenny, carrying a plate of bread and milk from the kitchen, smiled brightly as she curtsied slightly, her tone playful:

"You're awake. Please enjoy your breakfast."

She was a young girl in her early teens, brimming with youthful innocence. Her skin was as smooth as milk, and her voice was crisp and delightful.

However, she seemed unaware of the inappropriateness of her words.

"Jenny!" Madam Mary, the landlady, called out sharply from behind, her tone laced with anger:

"Don't make such jokes!"

"Yes, I'm sorry." Jenny's smile vanished, and she looked apologetically at Karl.

"Sorry, Karl."

"It's fine," Karl replied, shaking his head.

"Go ahead and eat. I'm heading to the church first."

Karl wasn't a baron yet. Or rather, not officially. Inheriting his father's title required a formal procedure.

Inheriting a title also meant acknowledging his father's death, something he found hard to celebrate.

---

**The Carriage Ride**

"To the church."

"Three pence."

"Here."

"Sir, please sit tight!"

As Karl settled into the carriage, his mind wandered.

Three pence was enough for an ordinary citizen to enjoy a decent meal, and the church wasn't far away.

The driver's occupation seemed rather lucrative.

Driven by his innate diligence from his previous life and his unfamiliarity with this world, Karl habitually scrutinized his surroundings.

His gaze shifted from the coachman to the horse.

The carriage was drawn by a breed called *Tock Horses*, known for their gentle temperament and steady pace, highly favored by noble ladies.

Of course, they were not cheap.

Factoring in the cost of the well-furnished carriage, being a coachman required a significant upfront investment. It wasn't necessarily an easy job.

'Hmm… Soon, I'll be a baron. With my inspector salary, there's no need to fret over such trivialities like in my past life.'

'Even without lands, a baron's title alone guarantees a comfortable life.'

'It's just a pity this world lacks the conveniences of modern society or any signs of technological advancement. It's more like medieval Europe.'

'However, the church's authority is far more entrenched, even involving itself in noble inheritance. Ignorant…'

'Or perhaps not.'

Memories of peculiar events flashed through Karl's mind, causing him to shake his head. This world wasn't so simple.

---

The carriage stopped a short distance from the church—a mark of respect for the great Lord of Dawn.

The church spanned a vast area and exuded solemnity. Devout believers gathered in the plaza, engaged in prayer.

The spire stood tall, crowned with the emblem of a wheat sheaf—a symbol of the Lord of Dawn's dominion over fertility.

"Praise the Lord of Dawn…"

Karl slightly bowed as he passed others and entered the church through a side door, heading to Father Vick's office.

---

**Inside the Office**

"Father," Karl stepped forward respectfully.

"I'm here to complete the barony inheritance procedures."

"Karl Bergman?"

"Yes, that's me."

Father Vick's deep-set features and stern expression, paired with his formal black robes, emanated an imposing presence.

Looking Karl over, he spoke slowly:

"Your father died defending the people from the Fire Raiders, embodying courage and justice."

"Yes," Karl lowered his head, his voice somber.

"I am proud of him."

"However," Father Vick's tone shifted, "after a discussion among the priests, it has been decided that his title cannot be inherited."

"What?"

Karl's eyes widened in shock but quickly composed himself.

"I do not question your judgment, Father, but my father's bravery earned him commendations from the city lord."

"Noble spirit requires more than courage and justice; it demands piety." Father Vick clasped his hands together.

"Regrettably, we did not observe sufficient piety in him."

"No!" Karl protested, his tone resolute.

"My father always prayed before meals and abstained from meat and wine during the Holy Festival. His devotion was unwavering!"

Whether true or not, Karl had to defend his father's legacy.

The barony was crucial. Without it, he would merely be a commoner. Even his position as an inspector could be jeopardized.

Life for commoners in this era was nothing short of harsh—a thought that sent a shiver through Karl.

"Father, could this be a misunderstanding?"

"A misunderstanding? There is none." Father Vick shook his head solemnly.

"Karl, tell me—what month is it now?"

"The ninth… no, the Month of Fertility."

"Indeed." Father Vick sighed deeply.

"During this sacred month, even the city's serfs offer black bread to the church. Yet your father, despite residing here for years, contributed nothing."

Karl opened his mouth but had no rebuttal.

While it was true his family had paid the tithe faithfully, such an argument would hold no weight with the priest.

His gaze lingered on the priest's exquisite, expensive bracelet before Karl lowered his head, falling silent in thought.

*(End of Chapter)*