Invitation

In a tavern somewhere in Kazdel, a group of people gathered around a table in one corner. Spread across it were all sorts of things: weapons and equipment, dried rations, liquor bottles, and even some firearms used by the Laterano.

Yet all these items shared one trait: each bore the mark of the Sarkaz Rebel Army. Clearly, they had been taken from the hands of those Sarkaz rebels.

On this land known as Kazdel, such things were perfectly ordinary. After all, the nation was in the midst of a civil war. Both sides followed their own ideals and believed in their own leaders, so naturally, those who had once been kin had turned their weapons against one another.

"Hey, Roy, get your hands on anything good again?"

Just then, a bartender made his way through the crowd and set a glass of Sarkaz tequila from his tray before Roy.

"Yep. Want anything? I can give you a twenty percent discount."

"Forget it. I couldn't afford any of this even if you gave me a ninety percent discount. This stuff isn't cheap."

Roy drained the contents of his glass in one gulp and spoke teasingly.

However, the bartender turned down Roy's generous offer, just as he always did.

The bartender did not know much about the man called Roy. As he recalled, half a month ago, this man had arrived here in a battered old vehicle. Now, he was already a well-known lone operator in the area.

He was powerful. Even the leaders of mercenary groups were no match for him. Yet despite his strength, he had refused every mercenary group's invitation. He always fought alone and returned victorious. Every time he came back, he ordered a drink. As for what he ordered, only Roy himself knew, since he had never ordered the same drink twice. Fortunately, the tavern where the bartender worked had a wide selection of liquor. Otherwise, this guy would probably have drunk the place dry already!

"You're really shortsighted. It's wartime. What will you do if the enemy comes and you haven't prepared anything? Expect these guys to protect you?"

"You bastard..."

Hearing Roy's words, the surrounding mercenaries wore furious expressions. Yet that was all they did.

It was not as if they had never tried attacking this man from Lungmen. During the first few times Roy had set up shop, some Sarkaz mercenaries had even tried to seize his goods by force. But after Roy killed several of them on the spot, they learned their lesson. They understood that this Lungmen man, whose race could not be identified, was not someone to provoke.

"What? Not convinced? Want to fight?"

"Forget it. If we fight here, Carter will tear me apart when he gets back!"

In the end, the mercenaries chose to back down. They obediently examined Roy's spoils and began haggling with him.

The firearms in particular drew their attention. To the Sarkaz, they were practically symbols of status. After all, they came from the Laterano, their sworn enemies who proclaimed themselves righteous.

The sale did not last long. Soon, aside from a small number of damaged items, most of the goods had been bought. Roy packed up what remained and headed toward the tavern entrance. Just then, a voice stopped him.

"Interested in taking a job, Roy?"

When Roy turned around, he saw a figure dressed in black and wearing a golden mask—a Sarkaz Confessor.

Roy was no stranger to people like them. He had encountered Confessors while fighting the rebel army, and when he had first faced them, their bizarre Arts had caught him off guard.

That was why Roy became wary the moment he saw the other's distinctive white horns and mask.

"There is no need for that. I do not serve Lord Theresis. I have come on behalf of Princess Theresa."

"I'm not interested in your Sarkaz disputes."

With that, Roy continued toward the entrance, package in hand. However, just as he was about to step outside, two armed Sarkaz blocked his path.

These two were not ordinary Sarkaz mercenaries. That much was obvious from their bearing alone.

Roy could still defeat them if they fought, but he would certainly have to pay a price. Besides, there was a Confessor nearby. If that man joined the battle as well, Roy's chances of victory would plummet. The Confessors' Originium Arts might be strange, but they were extremely effective.

Roy stopped.

"I have heard of you. You only take jobs you want to do, and you never care how much they pay."

The Confessor approached Roy and gestured for the two Sarkaz to lower their weapons. Then he continued.

"So I believe you would never stand by and watch a group of defenseless Infected suffer."

"Go on, then. What's the job?"

Roy lowered the hand that had already rested on his sword hilt. It seemed this Confessor truly had investigated him—or perhaps the force behind him had done so.

If what the man said was true, Roy indeed would not stand by and do nothing. He could not allow innocent people to remain trapped in this war-torn land. Even if they went elsewhere, life would not be easy for them, but at least leaving this place would give them a chance to survive—especially the Infected who possessed little talent for Originium Arts, or whose Arts had no use in battle.

"Very simple. Escort a target to a designated location. As for what exactly you will be escorting, that will not be disclosed for now."

"That vague nonsense really suits people like you."

With that, Roy walked out of the tavern and casually tossed the package in his hand beside the door.

He then looked at the Confessor beside him and said,

"I'll take this job for now. But if it doesn't match what you said, don't blame me for being rude."

"Rest assured, outsider. You will be satisfied."

With that, the Confessor took out a letter and handed it to Roy. Then, amid a crimson glow, the Confessor and the two Sarkaz vanished from before him.

After opening the envelope, Roy found a document inside. It listed not only the mission target, but also the meeting place and time. There was about a day left until the rendezvous, while traveling from Roy's current location to the meeting point would take roughly half a day.

It seemed they had not given Roy much time to prepare. It was time to leave this place...