The world was unexpectedly vast, nearly defying human imagination.

Undeniably, humans were the largest race here, holding the most territory.

Take the Sunlight Empire alone: its lands covered nearly one-sixth of the continent—a clear testament!

Distances between cities were often immense.

Remote regions, far from imperial oversight, still bore the empire’s name, yet their inner workings were poorly documented.

Of course, their schemes weren’t discussed here.

With such vast lands, convenient transport between cities was essential.

Walking? Only teleporting or flying powerhouses could easily traverse distant cities; ordinary people found it extremely difficult.

Paths weren’t all smooth roads—most were rugged and dangerous.

Land travel proved treacherous, so humanity turned its gaze skyward.

Magic-powered airships, crafted by human engineers and dwarves, were now among the fastest and safest options.

Simple to build and energy-efficient, they became the most common transport.

Yuri’s goal was the Lunar Capital, millions of miles from the Lost City.

Naturally, the magic-powered airship was the best choice.

Boarding wasn’t as simple as wanting to, though.

Fares were low only for nearby cities.

From the Lost City to the Lunar Capital, costs would be steep, plus extra expenses en route.

Boarding also required ID: a unique Divine Moon emblem magically branded onto one’s body.

It functioned like an ID card, proving legal citizenship.

With no money and no ID, Yuri couldn’t board legally.

But illegal methods abounded.

Now, the girl strolled leisurely across the bridge of this sky-blue airship.

The vessel sat quietly, faint white patterns flickering across its surface.

The bridge bustled—lively yet crowded.

Today’s crowd was unusually large for some unknown reason.

As the commoners’ passage, it couldn’t compare to nobles’ exclusive lanes.

Relations between commoners and nobles here were incredibly complex.

Ordinary folk toiled a year for a few hundred gold coins; a lowly knight title earned dozens monthly without effort.

Knight-captains earned far more.

The nation didn’t support them for nothing—they stood first against riots or monster disasters.

"Nobles stand above commoners, yet below them," the ruler reportedly said.

Thus, open noble disdain for commoners was rare here.

The emperor acknowledged commoners’ importance; denying it was treason.

Upper nobles formed the nation’s framework; commoners were its inseparable flesh and blood.

"Surprisingly, a rather wise ruler. Though, not entirely..."

Watching sudden commotion, Yuri let out a soft chuckle.

Nobles had exclusive passages, and open disdain was uncommon—but only among older generations.

For hereditary noble families, heirs raised in luxury? Disdaining commoners wasn’t surprising.

Different positions bred different worldviews; disdain arose naturally.

Not absolute, but true for many.

For example...

"Hey, how am I supposed to board with so many people?"

Before the bridge, a well-dressed young man stood quietly.

Around twenty, he scanned the clueless commoners with undisguised disgust.

Beside him, a middle-aged man in white uniform wiped his brow urgently. "Young Master Anas, I deeply apologize for the passage malfunction. I’ll clear a path immediately."

He gestured to the staff behind him.

Uniformed workers exchanged glances, then quickly dispersed the crowd.

The crowd would thin soon—he could’ve waited minutes.

But would he? No.

His imposing entourage puzzled onlookers, yet no one dared interfere.

Let him pass; it wasn’t worth trouble.

Being shoved aside annoyed them, but his status silenced protests.

Smoothly, staff cleared a two-person-wide path down the bridge’s center.

In such crowding, this was impressive.

Yet the noble youth remained dissatisfied.

His brows furrowed, but he suppressed his near-tangible disgust and walked on, flanked by attendants.

Commoners’ gazes—puzzled, mocking, annoyed—locked onto him.

After a few steps, his body stiffened.

Forced to share a passage with "lowly" commoners and endure their stares, his patience frayed dangerously.

Had his father not warned against trouble abroad, he’d have snapped already.

He took a deep breath, quickening his pace.

Silently, he vowed to make the airship’s captain regret this.

Just as he neared the end—

"Fool."

A crisp, barely audible whisper sounded as if in his ear.

The youth froze, eyes sweeping the crowd before locking onto another’s gaze.

The speaker made no effort to hide, watching him calmly.

Then, in his slightly narrowed pupils, her lips parted silently, repeating, "Fool... fool."