Septverden Calendar Year 950

Asura Continent, Mortal Realm

In the far south of Asura continent, formerly known as the Blue Earth continent, still within the Byron Kingdom, almost at the border of the forgotten lands, there stood a town of entertainment and gambling.

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A town where the lawless and criminals nestled, where thievery, prostitution remained as number one profession, where the dead and drunk loitered the streets as killings, rape, and gambling remained rampant throughout the day –– a carriage pulled by magnificent war horses processioned the cobbled street.

This carriage, albeit not fancy, remained eye-catching against the sharp contrast of the decrepit, dirty town. Everyone saw it agreed that whoever was on that carriage belonged to some noble family.

There is something different on this day.

The people thought as they eyed that carriage. Some felt to intercede and ambush the wagon for quick money, for it was such a rare sight for outsiders, especially someone rich, to stroll the town.

But no one dared to move a muscle when they saw the knights with emblems imprinted on their heavy gold and white metal armors, walking in front and behind the carriage.

Who didn’t know of that crest?

That circle-shaped crest with a lion protruding from its silver plate, ornamented with gold as the lion’s eyes glowed in a dazzling azure stone.

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It was the crest of the royal family of the Kingdom of Byron!

Everyone knew the power and influence held by the Byron royal family. They were not suicidal and knew if the situation was at a disadvantage. Especially at the sight of a bulky man leading the carriage, seated in a gigantic black horse clad in layers of silver metal plates with embossed gold strips outlining the edges. Azure color sheets with Byron’s crest intricately stitched on it were draped underneath its armors.

The man’s body was cloaked in heavy gold and white Mythril plates with an enormous broadsword on his back. He had a craggy face, stern and intimidating. With his muscular physique and sharp eyes combined with his terrifying aura that shrouded him like poisonous fog, everyone scurried at least ten meters away from him.

This intimidating man with boulders as muscles is known as Dozla, a great knight in the Kingdom of Byron, one of the many personal guards of the royal family.

Dozla didn’t give anyone a second glance as his whole focus was towards the ruined Colosseum, sticking out in the town center.

“M’Lady, we’re almost there.”

No one answered, not even a peep inside the carriage. Dozla didn’t mind. His eyes burned ablaze, observing the Colosseum.

Though the outside of the carriage remained simple with only some carvings and a royal family crest, the inside was luxurious and comfortable with top-grade quality fabrics and materials. Like it was made for a Princess.

A young woman, about nineteen years old with long wavy, light brown hair, freely flowing across her waist, was sitting on the soft cushioned leather seat. Her flawless face was blank, and her thick lashes fluttered whenever her light blue eyes caught something that picked her attention.

She was clothed in a body-hugging above the knee dress made entirely of arachnid silk, a material that was light, flexible, and at the same time, could resist physical attack. Flanking each side of her arms were materia armors that reduced magic damage to half. On her left and right middle finger were traveler’s rings that stored a hundred items each with no limit to weight and size.

Traveler’s rings were made of common metals or stones that were imbued with spells to held items. The cheapest cost one gold coin equivalent to one thousand silver coins that stored twenty items, and the expensive one that stored a hundred items required ten gold coins, enough to buy a one-story house.

This beautiful woman was garbed in the finest top-grade materials that put any nobles to shame. Her garments showed every woman’s asset, the cleavage of her full breasts, the slender shape of her legs and thighs on display. She excluded an air of nobility and heroism with just the simple gesture of sitting, holding one hand on her chin, elbow resting against the window. Her eyes were dropping a little, looking bored at the scenery from the tiny crevice of the window curtain.

She might as well be a Princess for just her looks alone. Her chivalrous countenance and eye catching figure were an added bonus. Heroic and beautiful pack in a single entity.

Cecily Byron

Granddaughter to the legendary Drago Byron, one of the renowned five heroes that led humanity to freedom fifty years ago.

“M’Lady, we’re almost at the Colosseum,” said a scrawny old man dress in a black magus robe. He smiled, showing his yellow stained teeth and wrinkles. His eyes squinted, looking amiable and kind while he rubbed his long white beard. “Are you excited to finally have your own contracted servant?”

This older man, who looked calm and gentle, was a great mage well-known throughout the Asura continent and was also one of the few who joined in the battle fifty years ago.

Mage Murok of the Kingdom of Ruk.

The kingdom of Byron was known as birthing grounds for powerful knights, while the kingdom of Ruk was known for its prowess in the arts of magic and spells. Both kingdoms were under the Asura Empire, making the whole Asura continent and the entire mortal realm.

Cecily glanced at the old man then stared at the window again.

“What is there to be excited about? I am confident in my strength. If it weren’t because of father and grandfather forcing me to have servants by my side, I wouldn’t travel for a month to get to this place,” Cecily said.

She then shot the older man a hard sidelong glance. “I can only hope that all this travel is worth it.”

Murok laughed, beard shaking. “Of course, of course. When did I ever let you down? You know that I, your teacher, only want the best for you in the entire Asura continent.”

Murok watched Cecily with a soft gaze. Even though she remained poise, calm, and indifferent with a natural aloof personality, he never minded it one bit. He treated Cecily as his granddaughter, considering that he didn’t have any family left due to the war that almost wiped out humanity fifty years ago.

Cecily was an outstanding mage knight, even just at a young age, a balanced character in magic and physical attacks.

Cecily didn’t react. Her pretty face remained unmoved. They traveled for a month in search of this . . . creature, that would be her servant. So, of course, her expectation of this soon-to-be servant of hers was high.

Murok was a mage with top-notch skills in divination. He divined that a powerful being who’s tied to be Cecily’s servant was here, in this unknown town in the far south.

It wasn’t really necessary for one to have a servant, but it became a custom ever since the humans droved the invaders from their lands years ago.

In these times where the six realms were at a standstill, where fear of war between the realms could break out at any moment, it was essential to have someone watch their back –– loyal servants that would take the killing blow for them.

Cecily took a peek at the silent purpled skinned woman sitting beside her teacher. The woman was a beauty. More beautiful than any ordinary mortal. But . . . she was no mortal –– she’s a demon.

The servants were those alien races that invaded the mortal lands. Those who were captured, chained, toured, and enslaved. In every realm, killing, capturing, enslaving, and torturing different races were legal. In fact, it was encouraged.

The demoness had dark obsidian dilated eyes, purple porcelain glossy skin, a voluptuous physique that could seduce any man, and a single horn. A small horn pointed out from her forehead, signifying her rank and power.

Agatha, Murok’s servant.

For demons, the longer, the more prominent, and the more they have horns, the more powerful they were and the higher their rank. Same with the barbaric beastfolks.

Agatha only wore minimal clothing and armor, showing more skin than necessary. It was part of their allure and weapon –– seduction.

Not that they needed armors in the first place. Demons’ skin could regenerate like an immortal same with the angels. It would take a tremendous devastating injury to kill them, like disintegrating them in one blow, leaving no body parts behind, or directly attacking their soul.

Only the angels and demons were gifted with regeneration in the entire realm, but it was not entirely infinite. As long as they had mana, these races’ limbs could regenerate without conjuring healing spells. However, if they ran out of mana, like every other race, they would disappear into dusts.

On the other hand, the beast realm, a race loved by nature, could use mana to heal wounds directly and repair broken limbs without the help of magic.

In contrast, the Spirit, Elfen, and Mortal realms rely on magical incantations to heal and regenerate themselves. If they were not a mage and weren’t a magic practitioner, then forget about broken limbs they might not even heal a scar.

But what was common for these races, once they used their entire supply of mana –– they would be left for the dead.

Thus, it was imperative that every platoon or group should have at least one to two mages during adventuring.

Cecily eyed the demoness’s seal at the center of Agatha’s cleavage, a master-servant seal.

There were two ways to make one a servant, by using a master-servant scroll which cost one gold bar equivalent to one thousand gold coins that could buy an entire village or, with the help of a mage, to conjure the binding spell.

And that was why Murok came, to help Cecily bind the servant to her.

Cecily retracted her eyes as they met with dilated dark obsidian ones. She frowned when Agatha curved her lips in a mocking smile, but then the woman jolted and grunted as the white seal on her cleavage glowed in faint azure light.

“Keep your eyes to yourself,” Murok hissed at the demoness. Gone was the amiable man as an ugly scornful expression replaced his kind look.

“Y-yes . . . mas . . . ter . . . ,” Agatha mumbled in pain, still being tortured by the seal.

When the master-servant seal was established, the master had total control over the servant, not just with the servant’s life but also the servant’s soul. Though the servant could choose not to heed the master’s direct command, no servant was willing to go through the painful punishment made by the master for disobedience.

Thus, most of the servants followed the master’s orders without question, and when the master dies, the servant dies as well. Hence, the servants didn’t have any choice but to protect their master with their life.

However, the same couldn’t be said about the master. Once the servant dies, the master-servant seal would be broken, but nothing would happen to the master.

The master could also kill or inflict pain upon the servant. It was not just any ordinary pain; it was a pain worse than death as the pain was inflicted directly on the soul –– like the soul was forcefully being ripped apart.

Cecily didn’t have any ounce of sympathy towards Agatha’s suffering as she withdrew her eyes and looked at the scenery once more.

Cecily and all the other humans were not to blame for this lack of sympathy. Their cold and ruthless attitude towards these foreign races, towards these creatures who killed half the human population during the wars. Their rage and fury were warranted given the four centuries worth of suffering and slavery they received from the other realms.

Their hatred and impulse for revenge were so intense that no amount of time could diminish. Even though Cecily was not born during those difficult times, but just the stories she heard from the elders, from her teachers, from her peers, from her family, were enough to make her fume in indignation.

“We’re here.”

Cecily took an intake of air as the door of the carriage opened. The pungent smell of decay, sweat, and death mixed in the air that she couldn’t help but breathe through her mouth.

Cecily, Murok, Dozla, Agatha, and some guards all went into a secret door of the Colosseum. Even from the outside, Cecily heard the cheering and angry curses from the crowds.

As they were nearing the light at the end of the narrow hallway, the nauseating smell of blood intensified tenfold as the loud noises made the whole place trembled.

The glare of the morning was the first to greet them at the end of the hallway. Then the view of the inside of the Colosseum where thousands of rowdy spectators boomed in a wild frenzy from the adrenaline battle below.

While Murok and Dozla scanned the unruly crowds and the surroundings for any danger, Cecily held a gasp when her azure poles met with golden ones.

A halfbreed?!