Whether it was the sun-drenched Surface World or the Demon Realm beneath the Twin Moons, whether peaceful with songs and dances or turbulent with unrest, all carried on as they always had—busy, and mediocre...
Almost no one knew that, for this mediocre, bustling world, and even more for the guardian in his heart, a man who looked as ordinary and unremarkable as anyone else was trying to carve a path through the fog with his own two feet.
Crossing the sea nearest to death, wading through desolate deserts, passing nightmare-like volcanoes... his footsteps still never ceased.
Perhaps there was no destination at all. He was only searching for the direction of his heart.
Time flowed like water, and before anyone realized it, two years had passed.
Under the brilliant sunlight was reflected a sea of blood.
Even the originally warm radiance had turned icy cold.
"Bang bang bang..."
Black barrels rapidly spat flashes of death, swiftly reaping lives one after another.
Magic firearms.
Compared to two years ago, magic firearms had become far more advanced. These high-damage weapons capable of rapid fire had already seen widespread use, greatly changing the form of battle. Even those without magic or talent for ranged combat could use firearms to deliver powerful long-range strikes. Of course, firearms were likewise restricted by ammunition, range, accuracy, and their own firepower, among other factors. And against experts above a certain level, they could not pose a genuine threat.
The popularity of magic firearms had dealt a heavy blow to archers, the traditional ranged combat class. Many archers had switched careers to become magic gunners—even the elf race, renowned throughout the world for its archery, was no exception. Naturally, this referred to ordinary marksmen. At their current stage, firearms were ultimately dead objects, incapable of wielding power beyond