A Journey Unwanted-Chapter 459 - 448: Dream Again II

[Dream of the Defier]

"This uniform is still unbearably stiff…" Grimm muttered under his breath, his lips pulling into a dissatisfied frown as his gaze lowered toward himself. The sleek black officer's garb clung to him in a way that felt too tight in some areas. Red accents traced the seams, and the high boots he wore were polished to such a perfect shine. His white gloves were adjusted absentmindedly.

It did not suit him. Not with how young he looked, and his wild red hair refused to be contained, which did not help the matter. His shorter stature only made that disparity more apparent, the image of a cadet trying to fit into something that demanded more presence than his frame naturally gave.

"But I suppose there's no real alternative," he added quietly, more to himself than anyone else, exhaling through his nose as his fingers slipped into his pockets. "Full uniforms are required of cadets, and if I don't wear it properly, it just turns into a different kind of annoyance. Rules layered on top of rules, all of them equally tedious."

With that, he moved.

His steps were unhurried as he passed through the narrow alleyway and emerged into the open expanse of the capital's main street. The shift in scale was instant.

The capital of the Vel'ryr Empire stretched outward and upward, a city that made most others seem primitive by comparison. Where stone walls defined the rest of the world, this place rejected that entirely. Buildings rose high into the sky, crafted from dark alloy and glass, their surfaces smooth and sturdy. They were not adorned with unnecessary decoration, nor did they attempt to impress through extravagance—yet their height made them imposing regardless.

It felt like it belonged to another time entirely with how advanced everything was.

Light traced along the streets and towers, replacing the light of lanterns with something that seemed far more efficient. There was no wavering glow here or there. Above certain intersections and building entrances, holographic displays hovered in place, shifting and reforming every few minutes. Symbols, messages, and maps ignited into existence. Used more for information than spectacle.

The streets further complemented the city. They were wide, clean, and extremely orderly. The ground beneath his boots was smooth, devoid of the rough stone found in older cities. There was movement all around him—people walking, working, and passing one another—but it lacked the chaotic energy he had seen elsewhere.

No shouting merchants, no overcrowded stalls, and no pointless noise.

The citizens mirrored the city's nature. Their clothing was understated, some carrying compact devices that emitted dim light, their attention turning between the physical world and whatever those tools displayed.

Soldiers passed by in formation, their armor refined and sleek—far removed from the bulkier designs seen beyond the empire's borders.

Grimm continued through it without pause, his posture relaxed despite the rigid uniform he wore. There was no sense of wonder in his step and no curiosity in the way he carried himself. This was not new to him.

So he kept moving, there was no pause after stepping out onto another main street. His pace always stayed the same on these walks; one could say it was a pattern that came from doing the same walk over and over again until your body stopped needing to think about it. His boots struck the smooth ground in intervals, softened slightly by the material beneath—engineered to reduce noise, like everything else in the city.

The uniform still bothered him, though.

Not enough to show or to slow him down, but it was there. The stiffness across his shoulders, the way the fabric resisted every small shift in posture, the gloves dulling the sense of touch as well. He flexed his fingers once inside them. He imagined even heavy armor wouldn't be as annoying, or perhaps he was just too annoyed.

All the same, people moved around him in the same flow as always. No one bumped into him. No one stopped him. Even when someone came close, there was a slight adjustment to avoid contact without breaking stride. It was like a habit most of the time. Everyone here had routes they followed.

Things here worked like that.

Grimm didn't look at anyone directly, but he saw enough. Reflections in glass, shadows shifting at the edges of his vision, the movement of figures passing by. It was all predictable and familiar to the young man.

A group stood near one of the projection pillars up ahead, watching something scroll across a translucent display. Maps, maybe. Or updates. It didn't matter. They weren't reacting much—just taking it in, nodding slightly, moving on when they were done.

He passed them without slowing.

A small sound reached him then. Different from the usual hum of the city, there was movement ahead.

The flow of pedestrians shifted slightly, people stepping back from the central roadway. They were not hurried or alarmed—just making space for something.

Grimm's gaze lifted a fraction.

Then he saw them.

The vehicles came into view one after another, moving in a tight line. They were large, black and armored—built low and wide, their surfaces smooth and heavy. They didn't look fast, but speed did not seem to be their main function. They were large enough that they made everything else move aside.

Military transport.

Or something close enough.

Grimm didn't stop, but his pace slowed just enough to let one pass in front of him. His eyes tracked it briefly, catching the reinforced windows along its side.

Inside were people.

Seated close together, restrained in place by something not immediately visible. Their shoulders were slumped, and their movements minimal.

Their faces were what held his attention.

It was not fear or anger, just emptiness. They held tired, hollow expressions, with eyes that weren't really focusing on anything. Some stared forward, others down. None of them spoke.

"Prisoners," Grimm noted idly. "Captured and transported to be processed."

Another vehicle followed with the same arrangement.

"War with the smaller nations is still going on, I see," he added.

He watched one more pass before his gaze lowered again, his steps returning to their usual pace as the convoy continued on.

There wasn't much to think about.

("It always looks like this in the end,") he thought. ("People talk about reasons or causes. But it always ends here.")

He didn't feel anything about it.

No discomfort or sympathy, it was just his observation on the matter.

("They fight, they lose, they get moved somewhere else. That's all it amounts to.") His thoughts stayed level. ("There's no complexity to it or any real variation. It's just the same pattern repeating.")

A brief pause.

"It's not even interesting."

That was the part that stuck to him always, whenever he was reminded of the wars.

If there had been something different about it—something worth noticing or that broke the pattern—maybe it would have held his attention longer.

But there wasn't.

So he moved on.

The city shifted gradually as he walked.

It wasn't sudden, the structures didn't change all at once. It was smaller than that—the materials, the spacing, and the presence of certain details that weren't there before.

Glass became less common, and alloy became thicker with edges sharpened.

Grimm's gaze moved slightly as he passed into a different district, taking it in without really stopping to examine anything closely.

The buildings here weren't meant to be looked at. They were built to hold and endure. Some had faint marks along their surfaces—scorch lines or shallow impacts. Not damage, exactly. They were signs of repeated use.

A low sound came from one of the larger structures nearby. The sound of loud machinery, the testing of weapons or other production. Something along those lines.

Grimm didn't need to know exactly.

The atmosphere felt different too.

There was less movement here; the people who walked through this area consisted of soldiers passing by him in pairs, their armor more refined than what he had seen earlier. Their attention was forward, and they didn't look at him.

He didn't look at them.

A short distance ahead, a wide training field came into view—partially enclosed, with reinforced barriers lining its edges. He could see movement inside.

Drills no doubt or maybe something else.

He didn't stop to look.

The gate to his particular destination stood further ahead.

There were no visible guards standing in front of it, but the design made it clear that it didn't need them. The surface was seamless, broken only by a small access point to the side.

Grimm approached without hesitation as his hand slipped from his pocket, pulling out the card. It was smooth and thin, unremarkable in design. Just another tool. He held it for a moment, his eyes lowering to it briefly before he raised it to the scanner. A soft light flickered along with a brief pause.

A small noise sounded.

The gate responded immediately after, splitting open with a smooth motion. Grimm stepped through without waiting.

The space beyond seemed different the moment he crossed into it.

The ground beneath his boots changed slightly, it seemed much firmer. He walked forward, his gaze moving across the area.

Cadets were already training.

Some repeated strikes in place, their movements precise but stiff all the same. Others worked in pairs, going through drills that looked rehearsed to the point of being automatic. Instructors stood nearby, watching and correcting when needed, but never raising their voices.

Grimm's steps didn't slow.

A cadet with a sleek black rifle nearby adjusted their stance under instruction, repeating the same motion again. And again. And again.

He exhaled faintly, barely noticeable. His hand slipped back into his pocket as he continued walking deeper into the area.

The sight here was all too familiar to him, no unpredictability or variation to be found.

Just repetition.

"It's boring."

The words were said without resistance.

Still, he kept walking.

Because whether it interested him or not, this was where he was supposed to be.