The day stretches once more amidst the tide.
The sound of waves crashed against the transport ship from the Central Continent.
The vast eastern seas unfolded into view—enormous, crystalline blue expanses of water surrounded the ship on all sides.
Within the field of vision, hundreds of ships could be seen, heading in opposite directions from the one carrying passengers from the Central Isles.
These were vessels of the Eastern fleet—smaller in size, they could almost be considered personal ships compared to those of other continents. And yet, despite their size, they were numerous and elegant. Their red and gray woodwork, accompanied by coiled rooftops shading their crew, was striking. A nearly invisible mechanism allowed manual sail control—at a glance, the sails looked like simple cloth draped over the roof, but when activated, they spread outward in a precise direction.
It was a display of the beautiful engineering behind Eastern personal travel.
All the ships gathered around the larger Central Continent vessel, forming an arrowhead to guide it toward the main maritime port.
The shimmering sea began to narrow. In the distance, a colossal marble wall rose like a skyscraper, encircling the coastlines of one of the countless islands now in sight.
This was the Islands' Elevator—a monumental structure serving as both a defense mechanism and a customs checkpoint for foreigners and native inhabitants.
This architectural marvel featured dozens of entry and exit points along its vast marble wall, operating with a clear system.
On one side, the elevator lifted foreign vessels to the top level, guarded by islanders who would inspect them. On the opposite side, the descent system allowed departing ships to lower through a simple mechanism that linked both paths.
It played with water pressure and differential levels—while one chamber filled and rose, the other lowered by releasing water, and so on through four levels, allowing entry and exit to occur simultaneously.
Every port in the East followed this system—unlike the Central Continent, which lacked borders not due to a shortage of resources... but due to the absence of any centralized authority.
This was the Eastern Isles—the only continent with a semi-functional unity.
Their history justified such a system. After the calamities brought upon them by the Marine Ancestor in their war against the Sky of Calamity, the islands had learned to cooperate and protect themselves as one.
The Central Continent's ship entered through one of the massive gates, guided by the Eastern vessels along with others from nearby regions.
One by one, they were lifted and processed by the wall's staff—it wasn't as slow as one might expect.
Thanks to over 4,000 personnel stationed above, the inspection process was impressively efficient.
Fungi was already awake during the inspection, sipping tea from a small cup while gazing from above at the Eastern maritime port beyond the wall. He had finally arrived—after days of sailing and even more traveling before crossing the seas.
A mixture of emotions swirled within him. This was his first experience outside his homeland. He had journeyed between islands in the Central Continent many times, but to set foot in a place more organized and diverse than where he came from... it was exciting.
He didn't truly know where the Kingdom of the Marine Ancestor was, but it didn't matter much. From what little information he'd heard from travelers who visited his sect, the Eastern Isles had clearly marked roads.
It was hard to get lost, and supposedly even a mere mortal could travel on foot without danger.
That didn't mean there weren't other threats—perhaps just as deadly—but for Fungi, it made no difference.
As far as he knew, the real dangers weren't on land.
After a few minutes, the inspections ended, and the ships continued on, guided by the smaller Eastern vessels toward the maritime port where everyone disembarked.
Fungi stretched and took a deep breath before exhaling, holding back a bit of awe at the sight of the port.
There were clear differences from the Central Isles. The caravans and local shops had their own sections and pedestrian roads.
The shops were nearly identical in shape—square stalls lined up side by side—but adorned with plants: vines, moss, flowers... all contrasting beautifully with the marble used in the buildings.
Caravans were parked like sardines in a can, organized into six rows, with the largest vehicles in the front and back, medium ones just before the last row, and the smallest in the center. Each had enough space to avoid crowding and allowed people to move freely.
The pedestrian streets had small streams flowing on each side, not to be crossed, but just a clear line of gently running water along the edge.
The pavement was made of white tiles, square-shaped, with barely visible lines between them. Though the roads weren't very wide, they allowed multiple caravans to pass comfortably and had designated parking zones.
Interestingly, the caravans here had curved "saltbox" rooftops—hard to stand on but giving an elegant aesthetic. The front cabins resembled bullets or train noses, sleek and aerodynamic.
Everything screamed effort, care, and attention to the experience of foreign visitors.
Fungi walked the streets, bamboo hat on his head, looking around while trying not to lose focus. He reminded himself why he came here—but hey, just because a Supreme being wanted to kill you didn't mean you couldn't enjoy the scenery, right?
He had always wanted to travel since childhood, but being tied to his sect and master denied him that freedom. At least now, thanks to his little rebellion, he could enjoy the world—even if his plan wasn't exactly working.
He hadn't even completed the first step: mastering the Water Route.
He'd spent the whole voyage practicing with the marine serpent—trying to stabilize its shape, adjust speed and power—but it always collapsed after a while.
He'd tried feeding it more water... but that made things worse.
He didn't want his multi-use tool to fail during a critical moment. Yes, it was impressive to modify a spell from a foreign route and get decent results—but to Fungi, that was still mediocrity. He wanted perfection. Still, it was better than nothing.
Snapping out of his thoughts, he followed the crowd and his instincts, searching for a transport line toward the Marine Ancestor's kingdom. But without knowing the exact destination, he had to ask around—a lot.
His unique appearance caught attention. Apparently, people in the East weren't used to someone so pale...
After a few hours of wandering, Fungi ended up in a local shop that seemed to handle passenger transport. Unlike when he left his sect with not even a coin to his name, now—thanks to selling an heirloom in that camp—he had a decent amount of gemstones to pay for his trip.
But Fungi raised an eyebrow—and ended up disappointed.
It was too expensive. Maybe it was because he was at the borderlands. It wouldn't be strange for foreigners to be overcharged. Still, even after offering his entire gem pouch, it was rejected without hesitation.
At first, he thought it was just bad luck—but after trying at multiple places, he realized the problem was his currency.
In theory, money followed a simple rule: bronze, silver, gold, and gems. But using materials as currency had a huge flaw—value varies wildly between regions.
In the Central Continent, precious gems were scarce and highly valued. But in another land where they were abundant... his "wealth" meant nothing.
It was a chaotic system. There was no global standard. Each continent had its own economy. Only universally rare or heavily sought-after materials—found on specific islands—held consistent value.
Fungi sighed. He hadn't accounted for this. Still, he hadn't run out of options. He thought about working as a mercenary again or using the insignia gifted by the Noble of the Blades to gain status.
Neither worked.
People in the East didn't look kindly upon Central Continent travelers. Some even looked at him with disdain.
As for the insignia—he regretted trying. He had no wealth to back it up, and it might have brought unwanted attention.
As the day ended and night fell, Fungi was left with nothing. No money. No place to sleep.
Sighing, he climbed atop a local roof unnoticed, pulled out his storage cube, and retrieved a clay cup.
He poured himself some herbal tea, heating the water using the Water Route. Sitting there, he stared at the ocean horizon, at the massive wall dividing this world.
He took a slow sip of tea, pulled out some old clothes to use as a blanket, laid his head on his storage box—padding it with more clothes so the edges wouldn't hurt him—and finally rested.
It had been a good first day...To begin his journey.