In short.
That was how things stood.
If things were too outrageous, they wouldn't be suitable for serving the big shots.
Aside from these relatively orderly organizations, most of the Supernatural World was a complete mess.
It followed the typical law of the Dark Forest.
You might walk out and come face-to-face with a smiling young woman who looked kind and gentle.
But there was no telling whether she had a knife concealed in her hand inside her pocket.
Ready to gut you at any moment.
After succeeding, she would stir-fry a plate of sizzling kidney slices, then pour herself a glass of penis liquor brewed with her ex-boyfriend.
Wouldn't that be just wonderful?
Flute Man claimed that when he entered the hotel, he had only been Sixth Tier.
Being Sixth Tier wasn't bad outside. He already counted as a minor big shot in his own territory.
But even so, he couldn't stay far away from conflict.
When a fight needed fighting, he had to fight.
When he needed to battle others, he had to battle them all the same.
Today, someone from a neighboring village might say that your villagers weren't human, that they had stolen his sow last night to mate with her, and demand compensation from you.
Could you compensate him?
For such a humiliating matter, you would certainly have to vehemently deny it and refuse to admit anything!
A gentleman used words, not fists.
But in the Supernatural Circle, if you could use your fists, you absolutely wouldn't waste your breath.
And then the fight would begin.
As a big shot within a certain faction, could Flute Man really refuse to step forward?
There were plenty of matters like this.
It was incredibly annoying.
The Supernatural World was a bitter, frigid land—a barren soil filled with