The overall color of this city was grayish white.
There were even floating islands and buildings in the sky.
At first glance, the feeling the city gave Charles was one of decay.
Not decay in progress, but decay already complete.
The city seemed to have suffered some kind of destruction, so thorough and absolute that it presented a bizarre, motionless state of perfect finality.
There were no flames, no smoke, no sound, no collapsing buildings—only the silence after destruction. Everything seemed frozen at the very moment the disaster began.
Yet this feeling astonished Charles, because from the outside, the city appeared to be largely intact.
In other words, what the eye saw and what one felt from this city were not the same.
The instant Charles saw the city, he knew he had come to the right place.
He cast several defensive spells on himself, then began approaching the city.
The city was utterly silent, quiet enough to be frightening.
But after nearly twenty days in this plane, Charles had grown accustomed to such silence. It did not frighten him.
He entered the city through a patch of ruins.
Sure enough, observing the city from afar and truly entering it were completely different matters.
Once Charles entered the city, everything here drew his gaze.
When he entered a street, the sight before him left him speechless.
Time here seemed to have congealed.
The paving stones in the street had been blasted upward, yet they had not fallen to the ground. Instead, they were frozen in midair.
A carriage had overturned, its cargo scattered, all of it hovering more than a dozen centimeters above the ground.
It was as if this place had suffered a time stop, retaining the momentum from when the accident occurred, but never falling.
Charles took out