After accepting the mission, Roland and the others didn’t leave right away. Each ordered a beer and settled into a quiet corner of the hall, the three of them looking pleasantly relaxed.
“Ah~ On a scorching day like this, nothing beats sipping an ice-cold beer under the AC!”
Thuke downed half his glass in one gulp.
Roland sipped slowly, an earpiece in his left ear, listening to recordings pulled from earlier dog tags.
The tags automatically activated upon detecting severe injury—evidence preservation. A measure to curb mercenary infighting and indirectly safeguard lives. Still… mercenaries remained among the top three deadliest professions yearly.
“They’ve already set off.”
Peering through the corner window, Autumnwater spotted Tina leading the other three across the intersection.
“No intention of regrouping with us at all.”
“What a lady—so aloof yet gentle. Impossible to read her mind.”
Thuke let out a heavy sigh.
“But back when we saw the Deity… I literally caught my breath. Never felt pressure that terrifying in my life.”
Autumnwater chuckled. “Hehe. Following this young lady might bring more opportunities.”
“Whoa—definitely not a good thing!” Thuke shuddered at the thought.
Roland looked up. “What weapons are you proficient with?”
“Hm? Weapons? I use a halberd.”
Thuke pulled his weapon from his Spatial Storage Ring without hesitation. Two meters long, red shaft, silver blade—high quality, impeccably maintained. Unexpectedly meticulous for the usually careless Thuke.
“What?! Why that ‘I can’t believe you actually maintain your weapon this well’ look?!”
Thuke had practically voiced Roland’s unspoken thought.
Autumnwater drew the twin crossbows at his waist.
“The Yin-Yang Crossbows. Accuracy stays above ninety percent, even mid-intense combat.”
One blue, one red—exquisitely crafted, stamped with the “Imperial Made” insignia. Military-issue.
“Served in the army?” Roland asked, mildly surprised.
Autumnwater smiled. “Fourteen to twenty-two. Retired. Luckily kept my custom crossbows—they fit like a glove.” He turned to Roland. “Your turn. Show us your weapon.”
“A sword.” Roland retrieved it from his Spatial Storage Ring.
“Though I can handle nearly any weapon if needed. Sword’s just most comfortable. Now… about races.”
A halo shimmered above Roland’s head; his left eye flared crimson.
“I carry Demon, Deity, and Human bloodlines—and can fully wield each’s innate talents.”
Autumnwater’s eyes bled scarlet, a hint of fang peeking at the corner of his mouth. The gentle man now seemed uncanny. “I am of the Demon race.”
Thuke raised a hand. “Beastman-Human hybrid.”
“You have Beastman blood?” Roland blinked. “Thought you were just ordinary human.”
“Ordinary human?! Sure, ordinary humans are great—but that stings! Listen up: I am a Divine Beast, descendant of the Vermilion Bird clan!” Thuke planted hands on hips, chest puffed with pride.
Autumnwater and Roland exchanged a glance. Silent.
After all, the Vermilion Bird bloodline had long faded—the weakest among Divine Beasts. And Thuke’s lazy, carefree vibe hardly screamed “Restore our clan’s glory—it is our sacred duty!”
“Can you use Crystal Fire?”
“Of course! …A tiny bit.”
Thuke raised his index finger. A flickering ember sparked at the tip.
*Elemental power, cast without incantation.*
True Divine Beast talent.
But…
“With that Vermilion Bird flame, you’d struggle to boil water,” Roland deadpanned.
The Vermilion Bird descendant flushed crimson. “I’m still growing! Wait till I’m full-grown—you’ll see true conflagration! Nirvana Sacred Flame!”
Autumnwater: “Oh.”
Roland: “Oh.”
Thuke flustered. “Don’t be so indifferent!!”
…
…
In a world where Elves claimed ninety percent of the land, the Human, Demon, Deity, and Beastman races saw their territories crushed, their people slaughtered without mercy.
At last, the four races set aside ancient grudges. On this final sliver of earth—named the [Pure Land]—they stood united against the endless Elf tide.
Thus, angels, demons, and humans strolling streets like brothers, laughing together, became utterly ordinary.
Why no Elves where Roland’s group stood?
This was the Inner Circle.
Tiny—only one-seventh of the [Pure Land].
True war raged solely in the Outer Circle.
Vividly put: the Inner Circle was a greenhouse. The Outer Circle, a raging storm.
P.S.
That “circle”? Not a floral wreath’s circle. A pigpen’s circle.
…
…
“Three adventurers—confirmed teleport to the Black Forest?”
At the Black Sun Association’s private teleport station, a staffer double-checked their target.
“Your objective: Rank-A Magical Beast [Lionbite Shark]. Confirm?”
“Yes. Confirmed.”
Roland’s reply prompted the staffer to log their dog tags and return them.
A vertical crimson beam split the dark platform—a teleport gate.
Teleportation spanned vast distances, but costs were astronomical unless you were a mission-bound mercenary.
So steep you’d rather spend days on a train… or splurge on a passenger airship.
Only the truly rushed, wildly wealthy—and shipless—would bother.
They stepped inside.
A crimson corridor stretched ahead; forward was the only way.
Roland kept listening to the recording:
“That Lionbite Shark moves terrifyingly fast. Even a Wolf-rank agility-specialist mercenary couldn’t evade its strike. Strength dwarfs Heaven Rank High Martial practitioners. One strength-focused Heaven Rank High Martial lasted under three seconds—then got fully encased in the Black Forest’s mutated red crystals. Any documented weakness? Meaningless against this beast.”
