Moen seemed to have stepped into another world.
The night was thick and heavy, devoid of the faintest glimmer of light.
The entire city seemed to have been tossed into an Abyss, where no sunlight could reach. Everywhere he looked, faintly discernible, malevolent ghostly figures lurked in the shadows.
Rain continued to pour. Thanks to the city's exceptional drainage system, no disaster had occurred yet, but puddles in the streets had risen to the height of one's ankle.
Walking through these foreign alleys, Moen felt as though he were wandering in the realm of the dead.
Every so often, a distant explosion echoed in his ears; occasionally, a flash of fire blazed briefly in the distance before being swallowed by the deep darkness once more.
The Silence Agency’s ultimate assault on the dark god cultists was underway as planned. Had the dark god itself not accelerated its plans, those cultists might have been completely caught off guard, leading their schemes to an irreparable collapse.
But this was, after all, part of the dark god’s grand design—it wouldn’t be so easily destroyed. In fact, during the early stages of the operation, because some members of the Silence Agency were unknowingly corroded by the influence of the moon, the agency suffered a subtle but significant setback.
Nevertheless, as a specialized institution designed to counter the dark god, the Silence Agency adeptly handled the contamination. After a ruthless and cold suppression campaign, this organization—until recently restrained within Belland—finally bared its cruel fangs.
Even in the rain, Moen felt as though he could smell the distinct tang of blood.
Tonight, countless corpses would again be tossed into Belland’s sewers or directly reduced to ashes by fire.
But Moen had no time to pay attention to the fierce battle between the Silence Agency and the cultists. Instead, he even felt a hint of gratitude for the chaos they caused, which allowed him to infiltrate deep into the cultists' stronghold with such ease.
The air grew increasingly cold, thick with an ominous chill that made even his trained physique involuntarily shiver.
"Looks like I'm heading in the right direction."
Moen tilted his hat brim lower and continued walking briskly onward.
But he didn’t get far before his footsteps faltered.
Unable to suppress a low sigh, he muttered, "It seems it won’t be that easy, after all."
By the edges of the alley, the once tranquil and charming streams had transformed under the torrential rain into raging currents.
And suddenly, from the murky waters, a grotesque claw extended. It gripped the riverbank, which was barely holding against the raging flows, and pressed down violently.
As the ugly talon dug into the green stone of the bank, leaving a deep gouge, a lizard-like creature covered entirely in scales emerged from the water.
That creature’s head swayed eerily. Its cold, vertical pupils locked onto the only living person in the street, exuding an aura of savage hostility that sent chills down one’s spine.
Moon Beast.
Despite its relatively small size—neither its stature nor power could compare to the worm-like abomination the Banshee had unleashed from the Red Flame Gang to kill him—Moen remained cautious.
After all...
It wasn’t alone.
Following Moen's gaze shifting across the scene, more monsters slowly emerged from the darkness. Their grotesque, malformed bodies—products of some careless creative slip by their divine creator—didn’t inspire relief. Instead, they brought forth an icy dread.
"So this is what Professor Mela meant earlier by ‘things crawling up from below,’ isn’t it?"
A glint of understanding flickered in Moen’s eyes. He finally realized how the cultists had held their ground against the Silence Agency's overwhelming offense.
These Moon Beasts… It wasn’t just the ones immediately in front of him—this entire area had likely already become the lair of these vile creatures.
It was no wonder that the atmosphere here felt so wrong. With these monsters lurking, the local residents had likely already been...
"Such troublesome nuisances," Moen muttered irritably, fingering his spatial artifact.
“We can't let you get by so easily, can we?”
A sharp, grating voice like the scrape of tin suddenly pierced through the rain-soaked silence of the alley. Moen displayed no surprise as he glanced toward the shadowy depths ahead.
From the darkness, a skeletal figure cloaked entirely in black robes emerged, steadily walking toward him amidst a group of monstrous beasts. In his hand, a swaying lantern spilled eerie blue light.
“Who are you?”
“You may call me… Beast Tamer, Moen Campbell.”
The figure placed a hand to his chest and bowed mockingly, executing a caricature of an aristocratic salute:
“It is an honor to stand face-to-face with the legendary son of the Duke himself.”
“I expected the Banshee to come,” Moen replied dispassionately.
“The likes of this task wouldn’t warrant the esteemed Priestess herself. Just having me stationed here, waiting for you, is more than sufficient.”
“Oh? So confident of you?”
“Heh, confidence comes naturally with strength. I’ve studied you, Moen Campbell.”
“Studied?” Moen finally lifted his gaze slightly.
“That’s correct—studied.”
The Beast Tamer opened his arms, his lantern shaking as the bluish light flared to match his excited expression.
“Using your combat records at Santa Maria College, and through analyzing the techniques and skills you displayed when you slaughtered members of the Red Flame Gang, I’ve gained a comprehensive understanding of your abilities and your fighting style.
This is the very reason I’ve been assigned to here.
Moen Campbell, I am the one whose abilities most effectively counter yours.”
“Scared me for a second. I thought you were about to dramatically declare, ‘I’m your nemesis,’ or something equally laughable…”
Moen shrugged nonchalantly. “Counter my abilities? Pray, tell.”
“Kehehe...”
The Beast Tamer unleashed a textbook villainous sneer and explained:
“It’s simple. Your skills, your techniques—every one of them was meticulously crafted to combat ‘humans.’ Your two weapons alone speak volumes.
Therefore—
It is only fitting that the one chosen to confront you tonight is me, the Beast Tamer.”
The Beast Tamer waved his lantern, and silent commands rippled outward. Unknowingly, Moen had already been encircled by the Moon Beasts.
As creations tainted by lunar corruption, Moon Beasts were ordinarily mindless creatures. However, when commanded by a tactician, their purpose and lethality transformed entirely.
“I see now. I’m indeed not very adept at fighting monsters,” Moen admitted flatly.
This was the truth. From day one, every sparring partner Moen had fought—whether they be assassins or adventurers—had all been human. His weapons unequivocally weren’t suited for combat against gigantic abnormal creatures.
And now, faced with such sheer numbers, even if he did possess some proficiency in combating monsters, it would’ve been no surprise for him to perish, overwhelmed by the horde.
This Beast Tamer proclaimed he had “studied” Moen, but in reality, the tactics boiled down to sheer brute-force oppression through numerical superiority.
No matter the angle from which it was approached, for the lone Moen, this truly seemed like a death trap.
But—
“You truly think you've got me cornered?” Moen’s lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile.
“Kehehe, why not take a chance and find out?”
Licking his lips, the Beast Tamer's eyes shone with fervent anticipation.
“Moen Campbell, you’ll soon become one of my collections. Kehehe, I’ve never before possessed a specimen of such noble lineage—a prospect most thrilling indeed.”
“Collections?”
The Beast Tamer offered no reply.
From behind him, however, a grotesquely massive Moon Beast lumbered forward. On its malformed, indescribable body were faces—faces twisted in despair, embedded grotesquely into the creature's flesh, weeping sorrowfully.
Upon seeing those distorted, pleading faces, Moen’s expression suddenly hardened, as a terrible image flashed across his mind.
“It seems before you arrived, you failed to consult the Priestess thoroughly regarding past experiences,” Moen said coldly.
“Experiences?” The Beast Tamer frowned in confusion.
"Indeed," Moen nodded faintly, his tone sharpening. "Had you bothered to account for such experiences, you wouldn’t have wasted your time with studies, overlooking one fundamental truth.”
Moen’s lips pulled into a cold and humorless arc.
“As the son of a Duke, do you truly think I’d foolishly engage you and your monsters in close combat?”
From his sleeve, two round objects rolled down to the Beast Tamer’s feet, trembling faintly as an air of impending chaos emanated from within them.
Bewildered, the Beast Tamer glanced down, noting the two quivering spheres. Confidence drained from his expression in an instant.
“What... What are these?”
“Grenades—or rather, according to this world’s nomenclature, they’re accurately classified as Cluster-Type Explosive Magic Instant-Cast Arcane Missiles.”
Moen casually handled several more small spheres, a curious light in his eyes.
“You mean you haven’t encountered such items before? Well, anyway, they’re military gadgets designed for situations like tonight—against enemies in huge numbers. Expensive but, well, it's not hard for me to come up with a dozen or twenty of them at random.”
Saying that, Moen's lips pursed and teased:
“It's okay if you haven't seen it before, but now you did.”
Before the Beast Tamer could react, a thunderous explosion roared through the alley. Flames surged forth ferociously, devouring everything within their path—blood, flesh, everything was incinerated.
Hell was unleashed.
In the first wave of explosions, through quick reaction, the Beast Tamer let the monster beside him to absorb all the damage, and rely on one after another flesh and blood to resist, and finally survived the cluster burst magic instantaneous magic missile attack.
Looking at the "collection" turned into charcoal in the flames, his face suddenly fierce, vowing to make Moen Campbell suffer far more than this pain.
Haha, hoe about making him also become a moon beast, from the nobleman into a lowly disgusting monster? Thinking about it is exciting......
But even this fantasy had not yet come to an end, and in the aftermath of the explosion, he did not even have a chance to organize the remaining Moon Beasts to launch a counterattack ...... he just saw Moen take out something new.
Scrolls.
Magic scrolls.
Magic scrolls that he knew how precious they were, magic scrolls that would always have a price on the market, were being wildly thrown out by Moen as if they were free.
A magic spell was instantly triggered, and on this street, the fire, the wind, the thunder were intertwined chaotically, creating an overwhelming scene that looked like the end of the world.
As the Beast Tamer got hurt by the magic waves, and his hands were blown off, a scroll just happened to hit his head, instantly healing his injuries.
Moen Campbell was even throwing healing scrolls around!
But it wasn't over yet.
Magic crossbow.
Alchemy bombs.
Disposable magic guides.
Suppressed by the "power of money", the number of moon beasts the Beast Tamer used to have faith in killing Moen was cut down by leaps and bounds.
In the end, when he pulled out a magic guide cannon that scared every creature to the point of almost wetting their trousers, and skilfully manoeuvred it to blast three times in a row, nearly flattening half of the block before kicking the scrapped magic guide cannon into the river without hesitation at all......
The Beast Tamer, who was already a bare-knuckle commander, finally could not help but shed tears that did not dare to move at all.
You son of a...... It's not professional and it's not ethical!
