Chapter 23: The City of Steel and Smoke
The hiss of pressurized air escaped beneath the platform as the train came to a halt.
Ashen stepped out onto the marble-paved station of the Capital City — a place they called Cindervault.
Steel towers clawed at the skies, their surfaces glittering like silver under the sun.
Hover-drones buzzed in the air, some scanning IDs, others simply projecting advertisements.
Ashen narrowed his eyes, the sheen of the city far more jarring than anything he remembered from his past life.
"This amount of technology… wasn't available in my previous life," he muttered under his breath.
Even though he'd grown used to some of the modern infrastructure since reincarnating, this place felt different.
Far more advanced than the quiet border village he had been living in.
His black coat fluttered in the wind, slightly out of place in a crowd of civilians wearing suits, casual wear, or uniforms stamped with city crests.
Then, his eyes landed on something peculiar.
A large, glass-fronted, colorful rectangular box standing quietly beside a wall.
It blinked.
Ashen tilted his head slightly.
He stepped closer and observed its insides: rows of cylindrical bottles and flashy packaging, each labeled with strange logos.
"A mana container? No… food storage?" he guessed.
He crossed his arms and circled it once, then stood before it again.
Just then, a man in a black suit passed by. Ashen tapped his shoulder.
"What… is this?" he asked, gesturing to the box.
The man raised a brow. "You serious?"
Ashen nodded, face calm and sincere.
The man sighed, muttering just loud enough for Ashen to hear,
"Country bumpkins…"
He then replied in a clipped tone,
"It's a vending machine. It has drinks. You put in money, it gives you one."
Ashen blinked.
"Clear explanation?" he asked, tilting his head.
The man exhaled sharply and walked off without another word.
Ashen looked back at the machine.
"Vending… machine." He studied it again, then pulled out some coins Ryven had given him earlier.
"Let's test it."
With a metallic clink, the coins slid into the slot.
A moment later, with a whir and clunk, a chilled bottle dropped into the tray below.
Ashen bent down, picked it up, and examined the label.
"Lemon Frost… artificial flavoring, carbonated… The cultivation world would call this poison."
He twisted off the cap and took a sip.
He immediately coughed.
"Definitely poison," he muttered, setting the bottle aside on top of the machine.
A notification suddenly popped on his phone — a message from Ryven.
[Tournament Begins: Cindervault Arena, Sector 7. Arrival Time: 30 Minutes.]
Ashen stared at it blankly.
"Tournament? Wait… that tournament?"
His memory flashed to the phone call just days ago.
He'd been half-asleep, lying beneath a tree, sword resting on his shoulder.
Ryven had rambled something about "glory," "showcase," "balanced bracket," and "sponsors."
Ashen had yawned.
"Yeah, yeah. Sign me up," he had said. Then he'd hung up.
Now he stood in the middle of the busiest city on the continent.
Surrounded by skyscrapers, vending machines, teleporting platforms, and mana-powered trains.
"...I didn't know I signed up for something this big," he muttered.