Wind and sand were the only eternal constants on the Demon Continent.
The wind blew from the far reaches of the ancient wasteland, sweeping over red sandstone unchanged for hundreds of millions of years.
It stirred up crimson dust with a howling cry.
The sun hanging in the sky cast its light over the jagged rocks, staining them a disquieting reddish purple.
The smell of sulfur hung in the air.
Rujierd Superdia went about his day as he always had.
Walking... walking across this seemingly cursed land, searching for people who needed help and children who needed saving.
How long had he been walking like this?
Ten years? Fifty? A hundred?... Or four hundred?
Time had long since lost its meaning for him.
"Superd Race"-the name of a race that had once terrified the world.
The stigma that had endured for centuries, the horrifying legends of the "demon spears."
They bound him like heavy shackles.
Rujierd Superdia had long since grown used to solitude, and to the looks of fear, loathing, and contempt people gave him.
Saving children, helping others.
This was the path of atonement he had chosen for himself, a path that might never end.
Rujierd would spend the rest of his life clearing his race's name.
He tightened his grip on the three-pronged spear in his hand.
This weapon had accompanied him through endless years.
It was his only companion, the witness to his path of atonement, and his son.
Just then, an utterly unnatural surge of magic power suddenly came from high overhead!
A moment later, the shrill whistle of something tearing through the air at tremendous speed shattered the silence!
"Hm?"
Rujierd snapped his head up, a hunter's cold vigilance flashing instantly through his ice-blue eyes.
His racial gift granted him vision far beyond that