Beast Rat Street.
A dark, foreboding place teeming with all sorts of shady characters.
True to its name, it crawled with rats—a filthy, stinking den.
But the filth wasn’t literal; it described the people here. Utterly untrustworthy and dangerous.
In Beast Rat Street, all kinds survived and traded.
Treacherous slave merchants lurked. Ruthless mercenaries cared only for coin. Cunning magicians toyed with minds and tricks.
And many more lived in the world’s shadows.
They seemed like ordinary folks chatting, drinking, and partying together.
But touch their hidden agendas, and they’d bare fangs beneath sheep’s skin. Striking straight for your throat.
“Tsk. This damn place!”
General Baiyi strode down the gloomy street in his immaculate uniform. His face twisted in disgust.
Gloom reigned because a massive canopy blocked all sunlight and rain.
People here endured constant damp darkness and dry torment.
Only when rain fell outside did the air grow slightly moist.
Most men wore black work clothes or battle armor.
Women dressed flamboyantly—seductive, alluring—to squeeze silver coins and powerful artifacts from passing men.
Baiyi frowned slightly but ignored them.
People glanced at his unusual uniform, then turned away.
To them, he was an outsider. A first-timer.
How laughable—no one recognized the Grand General’s uniform of the Great Empire.
Of course, Baiyi rarely wore it in public.
“Found you. Black Bar.”
Soon, he stood before an elegantly designed bar.
Inside, mercenaries from all nations gathered.
They’d risk their lives for money.
Their creed: pay enough, and they’d do anything. Once paid, they delivered.
“Hmph. This place still reeks.”
Baiyi clicked his tongue and pushed the door open.
A wave of strong liquor and heavy perfume hit him. He grimaced.
Inside, bright lights and noisy chaos reigned. For someone used to the clean Imperial Palace, this was no paradise.
Black Bar operated 24/7—a haven for mercenaries to unwind.
It was always packed with rowdy drinkers singing and arguing.
“Excuse me. Are you General Baiyi?”
Baiyi sat at the counter and ordered Black Feather Brandy.
A waitress in black-and-white uniform approached.
She was well-dressed and strikingly beautiful.
“Yes. That’s me.”
Baiyi showed no interest. He grabbed the glass and gulped the liquor.
It burned; he managed only half before setting it down.
“Call Steissain out now. I’m not here to waste time.”
The liquor flushed his face. His breath reeked of alcohol.
“Y-yes, General Baiyi. Right away.”
Even this waitress, used to dangerous men, couldn’t endure his oppressive aura long.
“Tsk. Damn fool. Making me come here. Doesn’t he know I hate this place?”
“Hmph. He’ll be here soon. I’ll deal with him later.”
Baiyi watched mercenaries at round tables, drinking and swapping intel. He instinctively disliked them.
Steissain managed this Black Bar. Though only in his twenties, his power was undeniable.
Young, he’d carved his territory here using knowledge from Arcane Academy.
Back then, Beast Rat Street was even more chaotic.
He’d crushed rivals with sheer strength. No one dared challenge him.
After all, he was Arcane Academy’s top graduate.
“Well, well. If it isn’t Grand General Baiyi! What brings you here?”
A familiar, grating voice sounded before the man appeared.
From the back door emerged a young man in neat black-and-white attire.
White gloves covered his hands. A monocle sat over his left eye. Sharp nose, handsome face, tidy hair—he radiated polish.
He looked utterly out of place in this messy tavern. Nothing like its chaotic manager.
“Hmph. Cut the crap. You know why I’m here!”
Though powerful, Steissain dared not protest Baiyi’s blunt words.
After all, he couldn’t beat Baiyi. Nor afford to anger him.
