To get back sooner, Anastasia left in the middle of the night. Before she went, though, she gave Fenmu a thousand warnings to be careful of women knocking on the door at night when he was alone. They were all looking to replenish their nutrients, and Fenmu held on to his master for a long time before finally letting go.

The older girls in the settlement had been lovely too, but somehow they just didn’t quite measure up. Even after wandering around with a Coffin for so long, the finest woman Fenmu had ever met was still his master, Anastasia.

Ever since he’d seen her “commit suicide” by the stream that night, Fenmu had known she was the finest woman—well, the finest ass—around. Even now, he hadn’t changed his mind.

He took out the unfinished blade and unwound the cloth bandages wrapped around it. This was the gift he’d prepared—the best one he could offer. But it could still be improved. Maybe then it could serve as an engagement present?

Name: Funeral Blade

Quality: Absolute Tier

Sequence: Three

Lexical Trait: “Death Record: All souls reaped will become part of the scars of mortality (number recorded: ?)”

Everyone knew that every craftsman wanted their blade to become famous far and wide. Quality was the most important factor in deciding whether a blade would make a name for itself, followed by the story behind the weapon. Its name came last.

That might be true, but who didn’t want the name of their blade to sound as Dio-esque as possible? That way, you’d already have the upper hand just by trading weapon names.

Unfortunately, Fenmu wasn’t much good at naming things. He’d settled on Funeral Blade as a little memento of his coffin-dragging days. To be honest, when he left the settlement, he hadn’t thought he’d survive.

What could a kid under ten do? Other people were “Monster Hunters”; in Fenmu’s case, he was the “Monster-Hunted.” Though he’d ended up living pretty comfortably on bamboo rats later on.

“Let’s see if there are any flashy moves in the knowledge.”

After muttering to himself, Fenmu closed his eyes. His consciousness sank deeper into the cluster of purple light, but he was soon dazzled by the sheer ocean of combat techniques and witchcraft.

There were way too many!

There was no way he could learn them all. Not in this lifetime. At most, he’d pick one with a cool name. If it didn’t kill his opponent in one hit, he could always follow up with another slash. The important thing was to make an entrance—and, ideally, throw in all kinds of flashy effects, sword energy, and earth-shattering spectacle.

As he lost himself in browsing the techniques, the world around him fell into a kind of stillness. Ripples seemed to spread out around him, gradually changing his surroundings. Everything turned a bleak, ashen gray, veiled in the hazy dust of some ancient, distant age.

“Huh?”

He knew there was no danger. The energy in the air belonged to Anastasia. Could this be the “little gathering with the seniors” she’d mentioned?

“But there doesn’t seem to be anyone here. What’s going on?” Fenmu wondered aloud. All he could do was guess at the purpose of this space. His master hadn’t explained it in any detail, after all.

After a while, several graceful, distinctive figures emerged from the dust and walked toward him. Sadly, their faces and bodies were obscured by a haze, as if they were deliberately keeping themselves hidden.

“Is this to protect everyone’s privacy?” Fenmu wondered.

It was possible. Anastasia had no organization at the moment and didn’t plan to establish one in the future, so those who received the knowledge she imparted might belong to different factions. Some of the people here could even be enemies. This kind of identity-hiding “censorship” was probably necessary.

Fenmu gave the senior sisters’ butts a quick once-over... Yep, they all had the butts of good people!

Wait, why does that one look familiar?!

There were only five people here so far, Fenmu included. The figure he was staring at sat on the ground in a casual, almost slouching pose.

There was no mistaking that shape! It had to be Kashalia’s! Fenmu was a stickler for detail. He couldn’t be wrong!

That delusional female knight from the Church worshipped a false god too? She’d looked so proper and sweet back then, but it turned out she was a traitor within the Church!

“Looks like we have a new member. This dream is a lot ‘cleaner and more defined’ than before.”

The woman who spoke carried herself like someone of high standing. She wasn’t arrogant or overbearing, but an air of authority still shone through. The outline of clothes gradually appeared on her, resembling a ball gown. She sat in a chair, her delicate feet peeking out from beneath the hem.

“Hah. What a sudden meeting.” The speaker was probably Kashalia. She, too, pulled a chair out of the fog wall and sat down. Her eyes settled on Fenmu, then she suddenly fell silent.

Could she have recognized me too? That couldn’t be right.

“Lady Wrath isn’t here?” asked the third speaker. Her voice was soft, with a cautious, careful edge.

Fenmu didn’t know anything about this senior sister, but her powerfully muscled butt told him she was probably a formidable fighter, especially skilled in hand-to-hand combat. The word Ninja even popped into his mind without him meaning to.

Could there really be a Ninja school in this world?

While Fenmu remained silent, the fourth senior sister spoke in a bright, lively tone:

“Ninja, are you still thinking about that time you accidentally called Wrath a witch? Lady Wrath really does have a scary temper.”

So she really was a Ninja?!

“Samurai, that mess was your fault for tricking me. I never planned to call her a ‘witch’ in the first place,” Ninja replied, displeased. She’d somehow strung up a rope and was sitting on it in midair.

“You two friends from the East should stop arguing.” The elegant, dignified senior sister spoke up, lightly tapping the armrest of her chair. “Our newcomer hasn’t said a word yet.”

The group turned their attention to Fenmu. The more lively one, Miss Samurai, folded her arms across her chest and introduced herself first:

“For our new friend here, who’s built a little like a boy, I suppose we seniors should introduce ourselves first. You can use a code name here. You can call me Samurai. The one sitting on the rope is Ninja. Speaking of which, doesn’t that rope feel uncomfortable around you...?”

“Looks like you’re eager to find out.” Miss Ninja replied with a disgruntled look. She tugged on the rope in her hand and watched Samurai as if itching to make a move.