Atlas and Seraphiel appeared in the far outer side of the Angelic Continent.
The direction the carriage moved toward was the eastern-southern part of Celestara. Atlas sat inside the luxurious carriage and looked outside through the wide window. From far away, massive mountains could be seen stretching across the horizon, and the lower areas around those mountains were filled with thick forests.
The forests were not like the ones near Ormolio.
The trees looked taller, cleaner, and filled with more Spirit. So had pale-blue leaves, so had silver bark, and so had branches that moved slightly even when there was no wind. Between the trees, faint flying beasts passed by from ti to ti, but none of them ca close to the carriage.
Atlas watched everything quietly.
They had already been traveling for about an hour.
The carriage itself was different from what Atlas had expected. It did not move like an ordinary carriage pulled by horses or beasts. It floated slightly above the ground, and the wheels below it barely touched anything. Thin silver runes were carved under the carriage floor, and Spirit flowed through them continuously like a stable current.
Atlas could sense it now.
Before, he might have only looked at it and thought it was so noble luxury. But after increasing his Spirit and getting used to detecting Spirit movent, he could understand a little more.
This carriage was a crafted Spirit carriage.
It moved by Spirit.
No beasts, no physical pulling and no shaking from stones or uneven roads.
It floated just enough above the ground to make the ride smooth, and the runes adjusted its movent automatically. Even when the path turned or went over rough land, the inside barely moved.
Atlas looked around the carriage once.
The seats were soft, the interior was lined with silver and white patterns, and the air inside had a faint clean fragrance. There was a small table between him and Seraphiel, with tea, fruits, and a few light snacks placed on top. The floor was covered in a pale carpet, and the window fra itself had small runes that blocked wind and dust.
Atlas remained silent for a while.
Then he spoke while sitting opposite Seraphiel.
"So, what is the na of the craftsman?"
Seraphiel looked away from the window and smiled slightly.
"Veloran Azatelth."
Atlas’s gaze shifted toward her.
Seraphiel continued.
"You might wonder how odd that na sounds, but it is an Ancient na, so it is normal."
Atlas beca slightly confused.
"Ancient na?"
Seraphiel nodded.
"Yes, Ancient na. I guess you are not familiar with it."
"I am not." Atlas shook his head slightly.
"It simply ans the na is over a century old. Sotis much older than that. These kinds of nas are usually passed down from old families, ancient craftsn and soti they are so old it surpasses a thousand years or so."
Atlas listened quietly.
Seraphiel continued after a brief pause.
"As for Veloran Azatelth, no one truly knows how old his na is. So say it belonged to a craftsman line from before the current noble structure existed. So say he took the na from his master. So say he is older than he looks. No one has confird it, and he does not explain anything about himself."
Atlas nodded in understanding.
Atlas had never cared much about those things before because nas had never helped him survive, but after seeing how the Codex recorded Bloodlines and how Seraphiel spoke about ancient nas, he felt that there might be more aning behind certain nas than he had thought.
His mind moved to the Third Page for a mont.
[ Osmo ??? - Rank ??? {1% Unlocked} ]
The unknown na was still there in his thoughts.
He still did not know where Osmo belonged, but hearing about old nas made him rember it again.
Atlas looked back outside again.
’Nobles really live in luxury.’
His eyes moved toward the carriage’s runes.
’They even have a crafted Spirit carriage that does not require physical energy to run. It is moving completely with Spirit.’
Atlas did not feel jealousy exactly, but he noticed the difference. The gap between ordinary people and nobles was not only wealth. It was convenience, safety, access, and information. A noble could cross difficult terrain in a Spirit carriage, while commoners could spend days walking through forests where beasts might kill them.
That was why power and resources mattered.
Seraphiel noticed Atlas looking at the carriage.
"This carriage is from one of our household workshops. It is mainly used when we travel to places where ordinary carriages would slow us down."
Atlas glanced at her.
"It does not shake much."
Seraphiel nodded.
"That is one of its functions. The runes stabilize the base and reduce physical movent inside. It is not a high-combat carriage, but it is good for long travel."
"High-combat carriage?"
"Yes. So carriages are made for battlefield transport, noble escorts, ergency defenses, or ruin-site movent. Those are much more expensive and use stronger defensive spirit runes."
Atlas looked outside again.
Seraphiel looked at him for a mont.
"You seem more interested in the function than the luxury."
Atlas did not say anything more.
The carriage continued moving above the road, passing through wider paths and then slowly entering a more remote area. The buildings beca fewer. The number of travelers decreased. Even the official road eventually narrowed into a cleaner stone path that seed to have been maintained only for rare visitors.
Atlas noticed that.
"Does the craftsman live far from the city?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Seraphiel answered after thinking for a mont.
"Because he dislikes noise, nobles, rchants, commissions, ceremonies, Guild pressure, and almost everything that cos with being famous."
Atlas looked at her.
"So how are we eting him?"
"Because he owes Rosaria Household a favor."
Atlas narrowed his eyes slightly.
"A favor?"
Seraphiel nodded.
"Yes. Not mine, My father’s...It is old, but Veloran respects certain favors more than money. That is one reason I could offer to introduce you, but I cannot guarantee he will agree to craft your weapon."
Atlas understood that part.
The introduction was not the sa as success.
"What does he usually care about?"
"The material, the owner, and whether the weapon he makes will be wasted."
Atlas’s eyes sharpened slightly.
Seraphiel noticed and continued.
"He does not like crafting weapons for people who only want status. If soone brings him a rare material but lacks the ability to use the weapon properly, he may reject the commission."
Atlas looked down at his hands for a mont.
A weapon made from the Whirlstone.
If Veloran judged whether he could use it, then Atlas would probably have to show sothing. Strength, Spirit, control, or maybe the material itself. He did not know what kind of test a craftsman would use, but he expected sothing annoying.
Still, he had no choice but to do it.
He needed a proper weapon before going into the Abyss-Rank Ruin.
After that, the carriage remained quiet for so ti.
...
..
Two more hours passed like that.
The mountains beca much larger in the window.
The forest below them thickened, and the path the carriage followed beca almost hidden between large trees and stone slopes. The air outside looked colder, and faint mist gathered near the lower areas of the mountain.
Finally, the carriage slowed down.
Atlas looked outside.
They had arrived in front of a small hut.
It was not at the top of the mountain, instead It was the opposite.
The hut stood far below the mountain, near the base, surrounded by trees, stones, and a few strange tal structures half-buried in the ground. There were no grand gates, no expensive walls, no guards, and no sign that the greatest craftsman among Angels lived here.
The Spirit carriage slowly descended until it hovered only slightly above the ground.
Atlas and Seraphiel stepped out.
Atlas looked at the hut again.
It was small.
The wood looked old, the roof looked simple, and smoke rose from a thin chimney at the back. A few tools were scattered near the entrance, but not in a ssy way.
Then Atlas saw soone near the hut.
An Angel wearing completely normal clothes stood beside a stone table.
He had no noble attire, no craftsman robe, no grand armor, and no obvious display of status. His wings were folded loosely behind him, and he seed to be counting his fingers for so reason, muttering sothing under his breath as if calculating a problem only he understood.
Atlas stared at him.
This was the greatest craftsman among all Angels?
Seraphiel stood beside Atlas and looked toward the Angel.
Then she spoke.
"That’s him."
Atlas’s eyes remained on the man counting his fingers.
Seraphiel continued.
"Veloran Azatelth."
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