A man looked down at his mug of half-drunk ale. He lightly drummed his gloved fingers in a rhythmic beat on the tavern's wooden table. Then, looking up from his table, the man surveyed the interior of the building for the umpteenth time before hastily lowering his gaze.

"How long will I have to remain in this shithole?" The man murmured while taking a swig of the ale. The crude liquor tasted of wet cardboard and smelled stale. "Bleh," the man spat onto the floor, trying to remove the horrendous aftertaste.

Reaching into his inner cloak pocket, he recovered a crumpled piece of paper. Pulling at the corners, he managed to stretch out the yellowing paper and reveal its contents.

A well-done drawing, likely by a professional, showed a girl that appeared to be in her late teens. She had black hair flowing over her shoulders and big blue eyes. Her bust was of average size, and her features were unremarkable except for a petite nose compared to many.

At the base of the paper, Fay Karles, written in perfect calligraphy, could be seen. "Why would the Duke's brat even want such an average looking, noble girl?" In annoyance, the man crumbled the paper again and carelessly placed the paper ball back into his cloak's pocket.

He eyed his almost finished ale but couldn't stomach the idea of finishing it. He stood up with a huff, carelessly dropping three copper coins onto the table and turning to leave. An overworked barmaid appeared from the man's blindspot and skillfully swooped up the coins and mug. She gave the man a cheeky look, hoping for a tip but got a cold gaze in response. Dispirited, the barmaid left with a snort.

The man tightly pulled the cloak around himself, making sure to cover his face with the hood as best he could. He was a spy working for Duke Henson of Oshal. Due to centuries apart, humans from Kassinki and Oshal have slightly varying features. The man wished to avoid questions regarding why an Oshal man would be in such a remote area of the Kassinki Kingdom.

The poorly maintained wooden floor creaked as the man shifted his weight while walking across the room. The locals referred to this building as the 'guild', but the man scoffed at such a pathetic guild building. The one in the Oshal capital was five stories tall and constructed in lavish materials. Meanwhile, this 'guild' was merely a tavern with jobs written in chalk on thin stone slabs leaning against the far wall.

While walking towards the doorway, the man gave a brief glance towards the jobs board. As he suspected, they were all useless. The jobs weren't even divided by grades since they were all low-level jobs anyway.

A ragtag group of men huddled around the jobs wall while discussing their afternoon plans. The man had a wicked smile as he judged the men. They had inadequately maintained leather armour with various unpatched holes and broken straps, their weapons were rusted and chipped, and worst of all, their shoes were held on with bits of rope.

Compared to the man's newly made clothes, well-maintained chain mail and sword. This group of 'hunters' could be mistaken for bandits or pirates.

The most prominent man in the group seemed to be the only one capable of reading the jobs as he narrated their contents to his companions, "Aye this job h're lads sayeth we gotta killeth some gremlins. Three copper a pop, it says."

One of the other men groaned in protest, "Fkin hate the little buggers, too quick for me, aye."

A few others nodded in agreement.

The man watching from afar couldn't hold back a sneer. If these buffoons knew even a tiny bit of magic, gremlins would be a simple matter. But, alas, the uneducated and poor were cursed to forever scramble around for scarps in these backwater towns. Such was the way of life.

Feeling around, inside his trouser pocket, the man felt a cold, smooth stone amongst a couple of loose coins. With his fingers, he estimated he only had ten silver coins remaining. Although considered a small fortune out here, enough to buy the grandest house available.

"It's barely enough to purchase a horse ride back to Oshal." the man thought to himself. "I should leave tonight. I have been stuck here for a week already."

Cursing under his breath, the man muttered, "Why would a noble girl even venture out to such a wasteland anyway?"

Deciding he had wasted enough time in this backwater town, the man turned on his heel and ventured towards the door. But, before turning the handle to leave, the building suddenly shook from an impact.

The man's depressed mood vanished as his hardened battle instincts flared to life. As a wind mage, he knew enclosed spaces were his fatal weakness, so without delay, he swung the door open and dashed outside.

The fresh cold January wind surprised the man as he left the damp and dreary smell of alcohol and molding wood behind. Outside he promptly surveyed the situation while keeping his body moving.

The town had constructed the guild next to the front gate, so it didn't take long for the man to witness a bizarre situation. A guard who had haggled a few coppers as an entrance fee from the man a few days ago lay in a pool of blood. The sword beside his hand was shattered in two, suggesting combat had occurred between the guard and a third party.

Debris of stone that once belonged to the town's gate surrounded the guard's body in a scattered circle. The man knew this was a quiet and backwater town, so combat was a rare occurrence. Apart from the occasional drunken brawl during the early hours, this was considered a peaceful town.

Although the man had judged the hunters earlier, he considered himself a novice wind mage at best. However, the unknown opponent must be a powerful combat mage judging from the destruction of the town wall.

The man muttered a spell and felt his body lighten considerably. Then, putting strength into his legs, he effortlessly jumped onto a walkway that was overhead. For once, he was glad that Blackthorn had such unorthodox architecture as it gave him a solid vantage point without needing to balance on a slanted roof.

Finally, he was able to observe the entire situation. Surprise was his initial reaction as he noticed an elf in a butler uniform. Those prideful elves would never willingly serve anyone with low status, even if they had money.

The man then looked behind the elf and noticed the black carriage, "No horses? It must be one of those magitech carriages called a car. The occupant must be a Royal or Archmage then." The man thought to himself.

The man's nerves skyrocketed as he realised the severity of the situation. Being caught was not an option. Escape would be hopeless if the opponent were an Archmage.

The wall-breaking seemed to have attracted a crowd from the surroundings. Within moments a man radiating a notable aura appeared.

"So the Mayor has arrived. It must be serious if he arrived so fast." The man's breath quickened from anxiety. Reaching into his pocket, he rubbed the smooth communication stone to calm himself.

The Mayor had a shocked expression as he took in the situation. Before the Mayor could protest, the elf stated in a cold tone, "This land is now under the jurisdiction of Duke Nightshade."

"Comply or Die."

The surroundings exploded in anger. The man noticed the hunters, from earlier, rushing towards the gate with hateful expressions. The Mayor also frowned and spoke with a voice that seemed to drown out the rest, "Nightshade? Who would dare use such a forbidden name? Stop hiding in that carriage and explain yourself."

The Mayor put on a strong front with his hands clasped behind his back, but from the man's vantage point, he could see the Mayor's hands shaking in fear.

To mundane people without power, mages were aloof and dangerous beings that lived above the rest—especially in a backwater town, ignored by the crown. If a mage wished to take over this town forcefully, the people would be helpless to resist.

Before Walter could defend himself from a hunter trying to thrust a dagger through his neck, the carriage door swung open with a speed that suggested the occupant was in no hurry to resolve the situation.

The man observed as Damien left the comfort of his carriage and turned to face the angry mob of peasants. The man's back broke out in a cold sweat. Mages had an instinctual way to detect those stronger than them. The butler elf gave off a slight feeling of danger but nothing life-threatening. However, the surroundings around Damien seemed to shudder from his mere presence.

"Silence."

With a single word from Damien, a massive mystical force descended from the heavens upon the people of Blackthorn. The man's face paled as his knees buckled from the pressure. As a C grade wind mage, he felt the psychic mana surrounding him, locking him in place. He didn't dare resist and allowed the mana to complete its intent. Resistance would only lead to his pathetic death.

The previous shoutings from the crowd had vanished, and an eerie silence had descended upon the area.

The man turned his head with great effort and saw over a hundred people's heads pressed onto the mud floor, unlike him, who was only reduced to his knees. He could see a hunter's neck veins bulging in protest against the pressure, but it was futile.

Only the Mayor was spared from the pressure as Damien casually walked past the peasants towards him.

"Mayor Leon O'Neill, it's a pleasure to meet you. I hope we can work together for the brighter future of Blackthorn." Damien said with a grin, showing his fangs to the Mayor. "Let's discuss important matters at the town hall, shall we?"

Leon was practically shuddering in fear, and he answered, "Y-yes, sir."

Damien smiled, "Excellent." he said. Then, turning on his heel, he waved towards Walter, "Bring the car along, Fay, come with me."

The man's ear's perked up at the mention of Fay. There were very few people with that name. He watched with anticipation as a black-haired noble girl gracefully left the carriage and joined Damiens side. She coldly gazed at the peasants on the floor with her icy blue eyes as she passed by.

The man couldn't believe it. The girl he had been looking for had appeared in such a dramatic way before him. Using his mana to resist the pressure, he reached into his pocket and grabbed the communication stone. Bringing it to his mouth, he shakily tapped the stone three times and quietly said, "Duke Henson, I found-" but before he could finish, a metal card caused a sonic boom as it cleanly sliced through his neck.

Damien looked at the corpse falling forward from the walkway with a cold gaze, "Tsk, a rat was observing us."