The clash of blades sounded like a fast-paced melody in the simple courtyard. Two girls dueled at blinding speed, silver hair and golden curls whipping through the swordlight. They wielded live steel—weapons that could end a life. Yet neither showed fear. Instead, joyful smiles lit their faces.

An early-rising merchant woke to the clatter. He threw open his window to yell—but froze, stunned by the swordplay below. He’d traded in dangerous lands for years, hiring skilled guards. But this dance of blades? He’d never seen its like.

After a full hour of fierce combat, the girls finally broke apart.

"Alright, that’s enough!" Aimee sheathed her sword. "Time for a happy breakfast."

"Phew, I’m wiped," Mio wiped sweat from her brow. "What’s on the menu?"

"That crispy meat from yesterday was tasty."

"Fried bacon? I’m craving it too."

Moments ago, they’d fought for their lives. Now, they chatted cheerfully about breakfast. The merchant on the second floor couldn’t believe his eyes. He swallowed hard and quietly shut the window.

Sizzling bacon sent up steam, its mouth-watering aroma filling the air. Aimee grabbed the largest piece with her fork and chewed with gusto. Across from her, Mio nibbled on cheese-slathered bread, toasted just golden. Her mind wandered.

They’d stayed in Seralni for nine days. With only one day left before the ten-day deadline, she’d scoured the Great Library. No clues about the Godslayer surfaced. But she’d gathered plenty on this world’s culture and geography. This continent was called Anathom—"Land Blessed by Gods." Split east and west, humans dominated the west. The east remained unexplored. The north—where she’d first arrived—was known as the Northern Wastes. Endless seas surrounded the land. No records mentioned other continents.

Naturally. This world lingered at the tail end of slavery, inching toward feudalism. Sea travel was primitive. No grand voyages to map the globe. Human productivity stayed low for ages. Why? The environment differed sharply from Mio’s old world. Here, mana density ran extremely high. Absorbing too much mana twisted living things, birthing "magic beasts"—monstrous disasters. These weren’t mere animals. They were fused flesh and soul, savage and powerful. Humanity’s greatest enemy.

Plagued by beasts, early civilization dragged on. Humans turned to idols for strength. Gods emerged. They lent power in exchange for faith. Through this pact, humans grew strong enough to build their first civilization. In the Mythic Age, gods walked among mortals, fighting beside them, guiding progress. Then came the Godslayers. They banished gods to higher dimensions, making them unable to linger long in the material world.

The Mythic Age ended. Humanity plunged into darkness again. Yet the gods hadn’t abandoned them. Through faith, divine blessings still reached mortals. After millennia of struggle, civilization revived—but never regained its mythic peak. Now, the Empire reigned supreme. Smaller nations existed, but none could shake its dominance. This Empire-led alliance warred with eastern barbarians.

It was New Era 4793. Humanity pressed on, trapped in hardship.

Mio snapped back to the present. She sipped soup from a wooden bowl—vegetables and minced meat seasoned lightly with salt. The taste was bland. Food formed society’s bedrock, yet this world lacked culinary joy. Commoners ate coarse bread and cheese. Nobles added meat. Royalty’s feasts? Unknown. Still… she glanced at Aimee devouring bacon. Some found happiness in simple meat. A small blessing.

But expenses had soared lately. Food alone cost five silver coins daily. Mio budgeted carefully. Using dark clay to forge coins left her uneasy. What if it caused inflation? Still, a few fake coins wouldn’t shake the Empire’s vast economy. She calmed slightly.

After breakfast, Mio paid the innkeeper. The beaming woman took the silver coins. When Mio mentioned leaving soon, she warmly urged her to return. Mio felt a pang of regret. Though no assassins had struck during the Royal Selection, she knew this peace wouldn’t last. Delivering Rukhus’s ashes home was next. Then, the Imperial Capital. Six hundred miles south, on vast plains, it housed a million souls—a city rivaling small nations. Awe-inspiring.

Before leaving, she’d visit Rukhus’s home one last time. She planned her day: buy a light two-wheeled cart for the highway to the Imperial Capital. The industrial district had workshops. Perfect for a final farewell to Rukhus’s place. She led her ugly gray mare from the stable, dragging a bacon-stuffed Aimee along.

At the cart shop, all sizes lined the stalls. The owner, Odellias, wore the Empire’s signature white robe. Fluent in Imperial Common, he examined Mio’s mare. After checking its strength and pull capacity, he recommended a small two-wheeled cart.

Mio had wanted a four-wheeled carriage. But the mare’s stamina decided it. She paid eight silver coins for the lightweight cart. One flaw: it tipped without the horse. A clever stand fixed that. A rain canopy made it ideal for travel.

Harnessed, the gray mare snorted unhappily. But after clip-clopping a few steps, it perked up. Mio doubted any horse enjoyed pulling carts. Yet hers seemed an exception. She practiced steering, quickly mastering the reins. Driving back, she passed Odellias’s workshop—gates shut tight, soldiers patrolling.

"Excuse me," Mio asked a guard. "What happened at Master Odellias’s workshop?"

The soldier sized up the stunning silver-haired girl. No threat. He glanced at his distant captain and lowered his voice. "The whole family was wiped out. Even the slaves."

"What?" Mio gasped.

"My captain’s coming," the guard straightened sharply. "Run along, girl. Nothing to see here. Just blood. Shop elsewhere."

Mio bowed slightly and retreated to the cart as the captain approached.

"What’s up?" Aimee munched a meat skewer. "I smell heavy blood. At least seven dead inside. Maybe more."

"Odellias’s family was massacred," Mio sighed. "Slaves included. A brutal murder. City security’s involved."

"Those soldiers’ badges confirm it," Aimee said. "They’re city guards, not frontline troops."

Mio noticed the insignia. Her brow furrowed.

"Let’s go," Aimee urged. "This place reeks of blood—and something worse. Not safe."

"Something worse?"

"Apostles of fallen gods."

At "fallen gods," Mio gripped the reins tighter. Rukhus’s family had been slaughtered.

By evening, they’d bought travel supplies.

That night, terror gripped Seralni. At dawn, dozens of bodies surfaced—including a night patrol. Each soldier had been gutted, dying in agony. One man crawled ten meters clutching his spilled guts, leaving a horrific trail.

By morning, Seralni’s town hall declared a state of emergency. The gates sealed shut.

Rumors spread like wildfire. Panic took hold.