It was noon, and beneath the sunlight, the world was at its brightest.
A group of people trudged onward. In just one week, their number had fallen from three hundred by another dozen or so.
We can't go any farther. Everyone is exhausted, a middle-aged mage thought. He was the supreme leader of this group, leading the defeated families in their migration. His name was Haboba, a Level-Five Mage.
Haboba sat in the carriage, looking rather bedraggled, while the people around him staggered onward.
A hill rose in the distance. The caravan slowly made its way up its slope, nearing the summit.
Just then, a sudden uproar broke out ahead.
"What's going on?" Haboba shouted sternly, and the commotion immediately subsided a little.
Without a Level-Five Mage like him, this group would long since have been swallowed without a trace by the thick fog along their arduous journey.
"Lord Haboba, look ahead! Ahead!"
"What's all this fuss about?" Haboba said irritably. He jumped down from the carriage and slowly walked forward. Once he climbed past a boulder, the distant scenery suddenly came into view. For an instant, he too was stunned.
Below the hill lay a plain. It was well suited for development, but that was hardly surprising.
Grass and shrubs grew around the plain beneath the hill, with a forest farther away. That was not what astonished him either.
A magnificent palace stood clearly visible below the hill. Its interconnected buildings, soaring towers, and domed roofs gleamed in the brilliant sunlight.
After a moment, Haboba gazed at the palace and let out a deep, heavy breath.
"Lord Haboba, is that a city?"
"No, how could it be? What city has no walls?"
"But if a palace that magnificent isn't a city, what is it?"
Hearing their argument, Haboba drew