Southern Region, Dratol…

  Mayhem tore through the streets as buildings exploded one after another, each detonation blooming into a fiery display of chaos. Shockwaves rippled outward, rattling windows and buckling stone as hundreds of civilians fled in blind panic, scattering through smoke-choked avenues.

  Amid the destruction, two figures clad entirely in black crouched atop a nearby rooftop, their silhouettes barely visible against the inferno below. They watched an otherwise unremarkable building half-concealed behind a burning market stall.

  “Sir,” one of them murmured, voice low. “The kid still hasn’t come out. Should we intercept?”

  “Hold your position,” the larger figure replied sharply. “Our orders are surveillance only. Let the guilds handle the chaos.”

  Silence followed. Neither moved as the explosions intensified.

  Minutes later, a window on the building shattered outward. A figure in Varidan uniform burst through, hitting the ground in a roll before sprinting east without hesitation.

  Both observers rose as one.

  “The target is on the move,” the larger man said. “Alert the others.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Their forms blurred—and vanished.

  A hundred feet away, Dotson and Decker concealed themselves within a narrow alley, the charred remains of a collapsed stall smoldering nearby.

  “Who do you think our enemy is?” Dotson muttered, eyes darting toward the street. “Those explosions weren’t random. Every one of our safehouses is gone.”

  “Speculation won’t help us,” Decker replied, peeling himself from the damp wall. “We need to prepare for war. We’re pulling out.”

  Dotson snapped his head toward him. “And the brat?”

  “With Varidan’s hounds watching him this closely, observation is impossible,” Decker said flatly. “You can stay if you want. I’m leaving.”

  He was already retreating before he finished speaking.

  Dotson lingered for a heartbeat longer, scanning the chaos beyond the alley—then sighed and followed.

  Southern Region, Dratol Outskirts…

  Under the pale glow of the triple moons, Adam walked along an abandoned dirt path, his pace unhurried. Wheat stalks brushed against his fingertips, their torn heads swaying gently beneath the night breeze.

  The wind carried a comforting aroma—malty and roasted, undercut by the richness of fresh earth.

  A farmhouse, he thought. Of all places.

  Lights glimmered faintly from a weathered structure in the distance.

  Vicar really knows how to pick them, Adam mused, quickening his steps.

  [Potential Source of Danger Detected!]

  He halted instantly.

  His gaze swept the surrounding fields. The wheat shifted lazily with the wind, but nothing else stirred.

  Still, Adam remained motionless.

  The system isn’t wrong.

  Where are you hiding?

  Footsteps cut through the silence.

  Adam sidestepped just as two massive figures emerged from the wheat. Bare-chested and broad-shouldered, they were dressed like executioners of an older age. Black hoods concealed their faces, save for narrow visors through which crimson eyes burned.

  One wielded a massive claymore. The other carried a double-bladed labrys.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  “Token?” the claymore wielder growled.

  Adam inhaled slowly and retrieved a blood-red amulet from his pocket.

  “Hand it over,” the labrys bearer demanded.

  Instead, Adam chuckled softly—and returned the amulet to his inventory.

  He stepped forward.

  The men reacted instantly. Their bodies swelled grotesquely, flesh warping as they transformed into monstrous shapes. Red eyes flared brighter as they lunged, weapons cleaving toward his throat and abdomen in perfect synchronization.

  “That’s enough. He’s one of us.”

  The feminine voice echoed from nowhere—and everywhere.

  The monsters evaporated like smoke, leaving the field empty.

  “You’re the first who didn’t fight back,” the voice continued. “How did you know they were illusions?”

  Adam turned toward the farmhouse porch. A woman stood there casually, yet her presence dominated the space between them. Though distant, her voice reached him as clearly as if she stood at his side.

  “And why aren’t you wearing the assigned mask?” she added.

  Adam narrowed his eyes.

  How does she know?

  His appearance—face, build, even voice—had been meticulously altered. Nothing remained of his true identity.

  Does the mask enforce a fixed persona?

  The theory fell apart just as quickly. She wouldn’t have stopped the test if she truly knew.

  Adam advanced in measured steps. Moonlight revealed her features more clearly; metallic hair shimmering silver, a figure sculpted with unsettling perfection, and a face capable of inspiring devotion or war.

  He stopped.

  She was beautiful, but dangerously so.

  “Finished staring?” she asked.

  Adam offered a dry smile. “Almost.”

  [Potential Source of Danger Detected]

  He resisted the urge to laugh.

  “What makes you think I’m not wearing the mask?” he asked.

  She smiled. There was no warmth in it. Folding her arms, she leaned against a polished pillar.

  “Forget I mentioned it,” she said. “Welcome. Call me X. I’ll be your handler.”

  She turned toward the farmhouse door. “Come inside. The others have arrived.”

  X, Adam noted. A codename, then.

  He hesitated, staring at the open doorway.

  No matter how I look at it… I can’t see through it.

  Stepping forward, he crossed the threshold.

  Reality twisted. The farmhouse vanished, replaced by a vast, dimly lit chamber. His vision adjusted—and Adam froze.

  Hundreds—no, thousands—of figures filled the space, all clad in crimson hooded robes marked by interlocking black chains.

  A cult? he thought grimly. What the hell did I walk into?

  Eyes turned toward him, some curious, others openly hostile. Adam ignored them, scanning the crowd for X, but she was nowhere to be found.

  “Welcome, brothers and sisters!”

  A powerful yet sickly voice boomed throughout the hall.

  Just then, two pillars of fire erupted, illuminating the chamber and unveiling the cathedral-like interior in full.

  Adam snapped his gaze toward the raised dais at the far end of the hall.

  An elderly man stood there, draped in the same crimson robes as the others, leaning heavily on a black cane. His skin was a map of decay—black sores and writhing scars streaked across his face. A centipede-like creature, pitch-black and glistening, crawled leisurely along the lesions, feeding from them as if they were sustenance.

  But it was the man’s eyes that truly made Adam’s skin crawl.

  Slit pupils burned with a fiery red glow.

  A subtle shift rippled through the congregation as the man revealed himself. Some men clamped their mouths shut, fighting back screams. Several women trembled—whether in fear or rapture, Adam couldn’t tell.

  Yeah, Adam thought grimly. This is definitely a fucking cult.

  A triumphant symphony swelled through the hall. It was soon joined by the old man’s voice—raspy, yet powerful—as he began an ominous chant.

  “…populus autem cupiditas deseras vestra spe et coniungere nobis in paradiso…”

  Adam stiffened.

  Latin?

  The crowd echoed the words in unison, hands clasped to their chests, faces blissfully vacant as they sang in reverent harmony.

  Adam mirrored the posture, bowing his head—though he didn’t join the chant.

  “On this day,” the old man declared suddenly, his voice booming over the music, “the red moon dances in the heavens, and violet rain falls upon the world. Herald the coming, chosen of the people!”

  He raised his cane.

  “I ordain you as Priests of the Weathered Land—kings to pillage what the world has forgotten! Tonight, the moons bear witness to the birth of a new legion. The Three Hundred and First Order of Scavengers!”

  The chants intensified, swelling into a fevered chorus as the congregation lost itself to the moment.

  “I, Bishop Mikan,” the man proclaimed, “have witnessed your birth. Tonight, you are released into the world!”

  The chamber trembled violently.

  As one, the newly ordained priests collapsed to their knees, their voices rising higher—louder—bordering on madness.

  Adam followed suit, lowering himself while his eyes swept the hall.

  Vicar could’ve at least warned me he was sending me into a goddamn asylum.

  A whisper brushed his ears mid-thought.

  “Survive this round if you want to live.”

  Adam’s breath hitched.

  X.

  He turned subtly, scanning the kneeling mass—but she was nowhere to be seen.

  [Potential Sources of Danger Detected!]

  The notification had barely finished forming when a series of deafening roars shook the chamber.

  Luminous pillars erupted throughout the hall—intangible, yet dense with oppressive power. Adam instinctively braced for combat, only to realize the priests remained entranced, singing through the chaos.

  The pillars quivered.

  Then they split open.

  Hulking abominations poured forth—beasts of no discernible origin, malformed and nightmarish. Within seconds, Adam counted more than twenty.

  Screams replaced hymns.

  The creatures tore through the congregation in brutal swathes. Blood sprayed freely, its coppery stench saturating the air as mournful shrieks and bestial roars collided. Bodies fell, trampled and torn apart.

  Yet somewhere beneath it all, a hidden choir continued to sing.

  “The dawn of a new night approaches,” Bishop Mikan proclaimed joyfully. “From your remains, let a new order be born.”