Sword Bay.
"Kill!!"
"Kill, kill, kill!!"
The thief hidden within the shadows of the hillside.
Silently watched the brutal slaughter unfolding in the distance.
If a battle with a casualty ratio that did not even reach one to a thousand could be called a fierce battle rather than a massacre...
At this moment, as he witnessed the scene not far away.
His feelings were somewhat complicated.
Because he saw a shadow.
The shadow of every force in the vicinity being wiped clean by the Gith Army.
What did an average spellcasting standard starting at the Fourth Ring mean?
It was probably equivalent to surpassing more than ninety percent of the native Spellcasters in the World of Toril.
To put it bluntly.
In this world, where knowledge was relatively isolated.
To many people who dared call themselves Spellcasters after learning how to cast a few First-Ring Spells.
These Gith who had traveled from another world could truly be called spellcasting masters, every single one of them.
Whether it was a Spellcaster's professional discipline or practical combat skill, they left them several streets behind.
On top of that, there were their exquisite and comprehensive weapons and equipment, five-man combat formations, organized cavalry forces across sea, land, and air, mass-produced War Weapons...
After watching for only a short while.
The thief, who had always considered himself fairly capable, immediately felt profound despair.
Even the weakest and most useless of those Gith was far stronger than him...
No, that was not right. It should be said that any one of their mounts, picked at random, might well be stronger than him...
This realization directly shattered all the pride he had ever possessed.
As easily as smashing a pane of glass.
It made him question his entire life.
It was then.
Suddenly, the sound of