Round One: Omen

The rain fell like a curtain. The wooden watchtower and Old Tom both seemed older, giving off a desolate vibe in the downpour. Thankfully, they had patched the roof with some grass a few days ago… Old Tom stood on the tower, wrapped in an oilcloth cloak, shivering as the rain dripped through the gaps in the swamp grass. Heavy rain outside, light rain inside—worse still if it started windy. Over the years, Rain City had gone through much: from the era of the dwarf warrior Kegan Bloodaxe to the rule of the mage Mishima, who was a vassal of the Western Agus Empire. Independent or small-group adventurers became rarer, perhaps because the wars in the west grew fiercer, or maybe because the Great Swamp itself was losing its appeal to fools… But none of this concerned Old Tom. He no longer even bothered to go to the Blade Inn to hear those same old stories about Agus. What did Agus have to do with Rain City? He missed the old days—standing on the tower, yawning as adventurers left the city, guessing how many of them would return alive, maybe even betting on it. And when they were lucky enough to return from the swamp with loot, he could still get a few silver or even gold coins from those foolish grinners, rather than sitting here, disheartened by everything’s decline.

Suddenly, a wave of heat spread through Old Tom’s body, bringing warmth and dryness to his cold, damp frame, as if he were sitting by a blazing furnace—

Who would waste “Warmth Magic” on an old, mute militia man like him? Revitalized, Old Tom rubbed his eyes and looked around for the kind mage, only to see a female mage with tattoos on her face smiling up at him.

Who was she? She seemed familiar… Moriel? Old Tom wanted to shout in surprise, almost forgetting that his vocal cords had been ruined by a vile rotting wolf decades ago. Moriel didn’t stop to greet him but lowered her head again and walked toward the town with the strange, tall warrior beside her.

“If you’re willing to help even the sentries, can’t you use that magic on me too?” Forty-seven complained as they walked, watching Moriel, who seemed protected by an invisible shield that kept the rain at bay.

“Tom is a poor old militia man with rheumatism; you’re a heavily armored construct, armed to the teeth—why waste magic on you?” Moriel stepped only on the firmest, driest ground, barely affected by the harsh weather.

“You’re getting greedier. Before, you’d even give me some of that gray-black leather.”

“Shut up. I used to let youtransform yourself yourself however you wanted, but look at you now—didn’t all that money go to waste?”

“Hey, that’s not fair. That’s like telling warriors not to buy weapons, saying they can find better ones later.”

“Hmph. Stop arguing. Keep going. This is just the usual weather in Rain City.”

And so the two walked into Rain City—the place where the story began.

“Stop!” Just as they were about to enter the fortress complex, a warrior-like man dutifully blocked their way. He held an oilcloth umbrella in one hand and placed the other on the hilt of his curved sword at his waist. “I’ve never seen you before. Are you new adventurers? Come with me; you must register first… Dispel your magic, female mage! According to Lord Mishima’s laws, magic cannot be used freely inside Rain City—”

Forty-Seven reached out, grabbed this clueless fool as if he were a chicken, and threw him into the large wooden house he had come out of. Then he stared at it with blood-red eyes, his pupils like two burning flames—The chaotic shouts and curses quickly faded, and the half-step taken back was also withdrawn.

“Someone smart after all.” He turned away and quickened his pace to catch up with Moriel.

“Don’t waste time on these amateurs,” Moriel said, looking at the market amidst the heavy rain, still chaotic and crowded despite the changes around the fortress walls. “Let’s go see Kairo first. That’s the main reason I came back here.”

Kairo’s shop was still in the same place—but it seemed deserted.

The family magic spell that the little girl used to protect her door had been replaced by real chains and locks—such crude local-made locks could even be pried open with just a small nail.

Where had she gone? Moriel was puzzled. In her memory, Kairo wasn’t the kind of person who liked to run around. Although she was five or six years younger than Moriel, she had arrived in Rain City much earlier than her. Most of the time, she would stay quietly in her shop, studying magic or making potions. Often, she would rather beg Moriel to help her find ingredients than leave her warm little house… And after she was freed from Isabella’s prison by Mage Agus and joined them, she had also contacted Kairo. Her replies were filled with great joy, urging Moriel to come back and see her… What was going on now?

A hand covered in serrated scales reached out and grabbed the chains. Before Moriel could react, Forty-Seven had already broken the locks and carelessly broken in through the door.

It seemed no one had been here for some time. Looking at the few remaining magic items and medicines on the dusty shelves, Moriel felt an inexplicable sense of unease. Had Kairo left Rain City already? It was also possible that she never had the chance to inform Moriel, who was at the front lines of the Sleeping Forest… But why would she leave Rain City?

Forty-Seven didn’t overthink it. He casually picked up a medicine bottle, pulled out the stopper, sniffed the remaining liquid inside, and then threw it into the corner.

“Don’t make a mess!” Moriel scolded him unhappily. “This isn’t your home!”

Forty-Seven shrugged indifferently. “What does it matter? Anyway, she’s not here—Well, let’s go home then.”

Morrill’s shop, “Stone of the Future,” didn’t seem to have changed much except for looking a bit older on the outside. But when they went in, they found it piled high with junk—broken great swords, pierced shields, tattered and incomplete armor—so messy that they didn’t know how to get in.

“Marcus! Marcus!” Morrill stood in the rain, holding a half-bar of iron and banging loudly on the closed blacksmith’s shop next door until Marcus angrily opened the door, raising the tongs on his left arm ready to deal a harsh blow to the reckless intruder outside—

But after a brief glare, Morrill was greeted with a hug.

“You’re back! The girl in red!” The old blacksmith grabbed her shoulders and examined her. “Hmm! You look a bit like a high mage now! Honestly, I was really upset after those Agus took you away! It’s a shame to hear your interesting construct was destroyed… Ah! I should have been more lenient with it and given it more parts!”

“It’s not too late yet, old blacksmith,” Forty-Seven interjected.

“Hm?” Marcus sized Forty-Seven up—not for long, as upon closer inspection, the perfectly fitted armor of the steel warrior and his statue-like head revealed his identity as a construct.

Marcus struck his chestplate with the tongs.

“Haha! Amazing! I’ve never seen such metal in my life! Truly incredible! You’ve managed to get such an awesome body? I don’t have to worry about you stealing things from me anymore!”

Morrill smiled, but then deliberately grew serious. “Don’t change the subject, Marcus. Can you explain why my house has become your warehouse?”

“Ah? Haha, well, come in, come in!”

After listening to Marcus’s complaints about those damned Agus collecting every magically charged metal object to create their abominable construct weapons, forcing him to make junk and ruining his business, and after he promised it wouldn’t happen again, the rain had eased by the time they left the blacksmith’s shop.

Even Marcus didn’t know where Kayro had gone, nor when she left… That was really strange.

“It seems impossible to clean up the house. Where should we go now?” Forty-Seven carried a spiked war hammer he had extorted from Marcus, deliberately stepping in areas with more water to make a splashing noise.

“Let’s go to the Blade Tavern first,” Morrill said, walking toward the familiar stone building ahead. “It’s getting dark anyway. Maybe we can get some other information there.”

Although the streets were deserted, the Blade Tavern was still very lively. Most of the people there were strangers, and a few even stared at Morrill shamelessly, assessing her figure hidden under her hooded robe, completely unaware of how terrifying and deadly a mage could be.

Idiots. Morrill didn’t even bother with them. She found a secluded spot to sit and ponder where Kayro might have gone.

The half-human bartender came over carrying the best wine in the shop, turned back to the chatterers with a fiercely angry expression to warn them to be quiet, then placed the wine jug on the table with a smile and said, “Miss Moriel, welcome back.”
Moriel placed a Agus gold coin on the bartender’s tray. “Business is still good here. I ask you… where is Kairo from South Street, that little girl who sells magic potions?”
The bartender shifted his gaze from the gold coin to Moriel, then looked up at Forty-Seven, trying to recall the name she mentioned—finally, he gave a puzzled look and shook his head.
Well, Kairo hardly ever came to the tavern; perhaps the bartender had never even seen her.
“Go and ask around among these people for me,” Moriel waved, and the bartender quickly picked up the gold coin from the tray, tucked it into his undergarment pocket, and ran off with his short legs.
Before the bartender could return, trouble struck. A burly, drunk warrior staggered over holding an iron cup; unknown to him what potion he had taken, he didn’t bother Moriel but stood squinting in front of Forty-Seven, who was leaning against the wall.
“Hehe… uh,” the warrior cleared his throat. “Nice armor… take it off and show me?”
Moriel immediately placed her hand on her forehead in a gesture of despair.
“They’re tricking you.” To her surprise, Forty-Seven didn’t strike—instead, he spoke to the warrior in a very gentle tone, “The person to your left kept patting your shoulder and pinching your arm; they were probably flattery, saying how strong you are. And the person to your right kept talking while looking at me; they were probably inciting you to cause trouble for me.”
“Go back,” Forty-Seven also seemed off-kilter. “Lie in bed, get some good sleep, and forget about me.”
“Nice armor! Take it off and show me!” The warrior, ungrateful, repeated loudly, so that everyone in the room could hear. Clearly, he didn’t realize what good fortune he had just rejected—Fortune herself had flown down from heaven to kiss him, only to be slapped roughly by him.
“Nice chin.”
Before the warrior could react to what that meant, Forty-Seven had already grabbed his chin and torn off his entire lower face like tearing paper.
“Take it off and show me,” Forty-Seven said calmly, watching the warrior roll on the ground, unable to scream, blood splattered everywhere.
Apart from the idiotic warrior knocking over the table beside him, causing the glasses on it to clatter to the floor, no one else in the Blade Tavern could utter a word. Though fights were a common occurrence here and deaths weren’t considered a big deal, such a bizarre and instant resolution was still quite rare.
Sigh, I thought this guy had suddenly changed his ways.
“Alright, control your temper. We’re not here to cause trouble!” Moriel frowned as she watched the warrior still convulsing on the floor and stood up.

“I don’t want to either.” Forty-Seven shrugged. “I gave him a chance, hoping he could reminisce in a peaceful environment… But why do only the dead understand silence?”
It seemed impossible to get any news here. Moriel waved at the nervous half-orc bartender nearby, who immediately rushed over, almost slipping in the process.
“A room.”
Moriel and Forty-Seven followed the bartender through the lobby toward the stairs—the people in the tavern wisely made way out of respect. They continued drinking and chatting, though in much quieter tones. The two guys who had encouraged the warrior to provoke Forty-Seven didn’t even dare lift their heads, afraid their chins might get snapped off like black bread.
“I’ve never stayed in a hotel before… Do we have to wait here for Little Red Riding Hood to return?” After washing her face in the basin, Moriel also washed her hands, and the water in the wooden basin quickly turned a dark red.
“Bring over the table.”
Moriel took out a small disc from her pocket. Its silver surface was as smooth as a mirror, surrounded by intricate magical runes. She placed it on the table brought over by Forty-Seven, then took out several small bottles and poured out some powder from each, mixing them in a specific way and order and applying them to the mirror-like surface of the disc. It seemed she was preparing a rather complex spell—Moriel usually tried to avoid using spell materials, let alone so many at once.
“I’m a bit uneasy,” Moriel said as she prepared. “I keep feeling like something’s wrong with Kayro… Damn, my instincts about bad things are always accurate…”
Forty-Seven stepped back a few steps and watched as Moriel began casting the spell.
She made several gestures above the disc, her gaze becoming deep and focused.
She was indeed using a quite astonishing spell, and she would fall into a state of unconsciousness for a while—without Forty-Seven by her side, she might not have dared take the risk. Searching for Kayro, whom she hadn’t seen in years, meant there were almost no clues to work with, and all that time had made Kayro’s fate extremely unpredictable. Even if she had left Rain City not long ago, it was the same—every fork in the road led to more forks, stretching endlessly. It was utterly impossible to track her location among countless possibilities; at best, one might get fragmented glimpses of her current state… Back in Agus, Moriel had tried using this spell to find Forty-Seven, with no success and almost destroyed by a torrent of meaningless information that rushed back like a tsunami.
Moriel’s mind gradually drifted away from her body and the physical world, entering the infinite realm governed by the magic network. It was a mysterious world, vast like an ocean. She moved cautiously, filtering out distractions, not daring to go too far in any direction, for the slightest carelessness could pull her into a realm of eternal screaming—neither life nor death, the terrible fate of many careless seers.

Mist. Thick, white mist covered the path ahead, alerting Moriel greatly. She sensed keenly that this was not the result of a failed spell, but rather some kind of omen.

Moriel cautiously stepped into the mist and indeed saw faint figures ahead. Strange… Wondering why such a vivid image appeared, she called out tentatively, “Kairo?”

The figure stopped and turned around. Moriel was stunned.

It was Kairo, yet not Kairo. The figure held an exquisitely beautiful necklace and smiled at Moriel, with white, icy mist pouring out of its mouth and silently rushing toward her—confusing mist also swirling in its eye sockets devoid of eyes.

“Kairo!” Moriel snapped out of her daze, stumbled backward, and fell onto the bed.

The disc on the table shattered with a crack.

“Hm?” Siqi Shi didn’t understand what was going on, as all he had seen from start to finish was the disc emitting wisps of smoke and Moriel standing there in a daze.

A necklace… A necklace? Recalling the only distinct thing in that mist that erased everything, Moriel suddenly seemed to understand something.

“Was I wearing a necklace when we entered the underground temple?”

“What?” Siqi Shi was taken aback.

“When we went to the temple in the swamp with Blood Axe! Have you forgotten?”

“No.”

“Are you sure? So after leaving the temple, I had a crystal necklace around my neck?”

“That’s right,” Siqi Shi replied firmly. He had seen quite a lot during that time.

“Damn it!” Moriel suddenly stood up, her expression grim.