Though sea travel was still the preferred and most used method, transportation for longer distances, such as crossing continents or grand oceans, was done by planes. Though much faster than train or boat, planes were limited by many countries being complete no-fly zones limiting both destinations and possible routes they could take. A combination of this and some extreme weather conditions made the development of planes stagnant. One of the most used travels by planes was the east coast of Zabad since the great Athenian ocean was the second largest ocean in the world, separating Zabad from Milieu. The whole aviation field was centered around it and fortunately made the tickets slightly more affordable than other destinations.

It was the first time the three had gone on a plane. Though Orel and Andras hurried on board, the ride was surprisingly bumpy for the two. Diarmuid was thankfully prepared with medication for feeling sick, though he did not reveal they were just sleeping pills. Fortunately for the two, they woke up just in time to admire the scenery above the clouds. Orel and Andras could wait to hear the plane land while watching the white sand stretch to both sides on the horizon.

Orel stepped into the sun wearing cotton shorts and a loose shirt. Andras enjoyed his orange tank top and jean shorts since Tuja had made him, including fire-proof underwear, just in case. He followed behind Orel with a child-like glee, and Diarmuid followed along with mild amusement under his dark sunglasses and cap. The three could barely walk out of the terminal until Andras stopped to ask something.

"Aren't you hot in that?" He asked, looking at Diarmuid's jeans.

"I got a t-shirt, don't I?" Diarmuid raised his sunglasses.

"I didn't know you follow fashion," Orel said.

"What do you mean?" Diarmuid asked.

"Those are ripped jeans, aren't they?" Orel pointed.

"These are my usual jeans." Diarmuid tapped them.

"Oh," Orel remembered Diarmuid's financial situation.

"By the way, guys should use a hat." Diarmuid tapped his hat. "And remember to stay hydrated. Heatstroke is no joke."

"I'm good," Andras said.

"Orel, I can let you borrow mine, but you should buy one yourself." Diarmuid offered his cap.

"I'm fine." Orel pushed it away. "I'll buy one from a store."

"Also, keep your valuables safe and secure, especially wallets. Tourist attractions are full of pickpockets, swindlers, conmen, and alike."

Orel pointed at a pouch hanging from his neck with his phone and wallet inside while Andras shook his hips with a fanny pack.

"Those things are fine, but make sure not to lose sight of them," Diarmuid said. "Other than that, wasn't the plane a bit empty?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it." Andras scratched his chin.

"Maybe people changed their minds." Orel shrugged.

"That's what I'm thinking, but why?" Diarmuid thought.

"Hey, you three!" Someone's voice came from the front doors.

The group turned to a well-dressed man with suspenders and a wide-brimmed hard hat. Diarmuid could quickly figure out what the man was after.

"Yes?" Orel asked.

"Agent Cole Keibu, MIB." The man showed his badge.

The shiny badge had the letters imprinted on top of a world map, though one couldn't catch a glance as Cole put it back inside his pocket.

"Knew it. It's you," Diarmuid said.

"Men in Black?" Andras tilted his head.

"No, Mage Investigation Bureau."

"That's right. Come with me." Cole waved his finger.

The three followed the man back inside the airport, where he put them in an interrogation room. The workers gave the room immediately after Cole showed his badge.

"Your passports, please." Cole waved his finger.

As ordered, Orel, Andras, and Diarmuid slid their credentials to the other side of the table.

"Is there something wrong, officer?" Orel asked.

"You three are mages, am I correct?" Cole sat down.

"Yeah?" Orel didn't understand.

"Sorta," Andras said.

"Yup." Diarmuid nodded.

"What's your reason for coming here?"

"For work," Orel answered.

"Who is employing you, and where did you get the offer?"

"We got the offer from Guild. It's bodyguarding for a man named Oliver Spada."

"I see. Why come all this way to Puerta Blanca? The plane you were on was from Milieu."

Orel paused to think.

"We're here to see our friend and wanted to make some money along the way."

Cole squinted his eyes tight while assessing the answer.

"Alright." He moved on to another question. "Do you have any magic items on or with you?"

"No," Orel said.

"Nope." Andras shook his head.

"If you count these." Diarmuid flexed his muscles with the rune tattoos.

"Do you have documentation for those?" Cole asked.

"I was expecting you'd ask that." Diarmuid took out a piece of paper.

"I see. Sorry to have bothered you, Mr. Cumhaill. You have full freedom to express your culture this way."

"No worries, I always have these papers for cases like this."

"I have concluded that you have no ill intentions for your visit. You are free to go. I am sorry to have bothered you." Cole stood up, offering the passports.

"Is there something going on?" Orel asked as he took his passport.

"I can't disclose the details, but almost everyone has already heard of it."

"About what?"

"A notorious criminal gang called the Avus has been quite active lately, and there have been talks that some big dons are meeting up. It has made many tourists turn away."

"So that's why the plane was so empty." Diarmuid realized.

"They rarely bother themselves with tourists, but you should reconsider your options."

"We're fine, thank you," Orel said.

"It's your choice. Just make sure I won't have to find you dead somewhere."

A vision of a large bleeding man hurdling before him in the dead of night made Orel's skin crawl. His vision blurred, and his legs barely kept him straight. A similar sight of a powerful foe living in agony and anger of betrayal gave Orel short breaths. Andras could hear him breathing and tapped his shoulder. It made Orel jump but also return to reality.

"You okay?" Andras asked.

"Y-yeah." Orel took a deep breath.

Cole watched Orel's pale face with care. He had seen it numerous times during his investigations. It is the face of someone who has seen death before their own eyes for the first time. By how shocked Orel was, whatever he must have seen was either fresh or something he had not come to terms with yet. Whichever the reason was, Cole felt pity for people such as Orel to have witnessed something at such a young age. Still, Cole was not a therapist; thus, he could only offer the meager and unhelpful prize of pity.

"Take care of yourselves, and may all-mother bless you," Cole walked to the door and held it open.

"Thanks." Orel walked out.

"Ditto." Andras waved.

As Diarmuid was about to walk out, Cole grabbed his shoulder.

"You, you're from the ADF, aren't you?" He asked.

Diarmuid chuckled and took off the hand.

"You can't run from your past, after all. Is there a problem?"

"No, just that my uncle used to work there."

"What did you hear?" Diarmuid was intrigued.

"A machine is how he put it. Precise, cold, and elitist. He didn't end up staying there for long."

"Heh, then he was smarter than me."

"I got interested in ADF, you see? It's just that my uncle refuses to speak about it anymore."

"I'm not sure if you'd want that. ADF rarely leaves nice memories."

"I don't know about that, but maybe you could tell more about it over some drinks," Cole smirked.

"I don't mind telling my stories, but you can't complain if you find them boring. We'll be staying here for a while." Diarmuid took out his phone. "Here's my number. You choose the place."

"Hmph. I know a good place, but finding the time is another thing." Cole copied the number.

"Well, I better keep going." Diarmuid walked from the door. "So long, detective."

Orel and Andras were already waiting for him outside with anticipation.

"What happened?" Andras asked.

"Was there trouble?" Orel followed.

"No, just some chat between two government slaves," Diarmuid said.

"Then let's go." Orel pulled his luggage.

The three wandered on the sun-scorched streets between the towering skyscrapers and casinos. They had already rented a room in advance, though it was different from their usual get-up.

"What was it called again?" Andras asked before the building.

"A SeaB&B They rent full houses instead of rooms," Orel explained.

"Sounds good to me." Diarmuid nodded. "As long as the price is reasonable."

Orel checked in to fetch the keys while Diarmuid and Andras were left alone.

"Andras, do you think that boy fits the job?" Diarmuid asked.

"You're the only one who has any experience in this." Andras shrugged.

"True, but you at least have a sturdy body."

"Don't worry. I'm sure he has some plan in mind."

"Does he have an idea to find Norman?"

Andras raised his finger to lower it down.

"Uh-huh." Diarmuid thought so. "I might have an idea."

"Really?"

"If we find another B or A rank adventurer here, we could raise our rank and find a quest from Eden's gate. I'm still against barging in there unannounced."

"Well, that's something we were thinking about, but we don't have much time to find one." Andras shrugged.

"Hmm." Andras stroked his sideburns. "What if we just hire someone?" He asked.

"What do you mean?"

"We find an adventurer or anyone competent enough, and we pay him to join us for one quest."

"So, like hiring a temp?"

"In our case, it's more like hiring an expert." Diarmuid laughed.

What are you two talking about?" Orel walked in.

"Oh, we were just thinking about our options," Diarmuid said.

"What about it?"

"I was thinking we should hire someone to our party."

Orel crossed his arms and thought for a moment.

"That could work, but I had another idea."

"Really?" Diarmuid dropped his chin.

"Let's go inside." Orel rolled the keys around his fingers.

The house was not too grand in either design or size, but enough for three people to live in. Orel sat around the dinner table in the kitchen.

"So, what is it?" Diarmuid asked.

"We could try to recruit someone from the bodyguards." He suggested.

Diarmuid blinked.

"That's- That could work." He said.

"And I was thinking about another idea."

"What exactly?" Diarmuid was too thrown off to function.

Orel stood up from the chair with a smirk.

"I will pose as your manager!" He made a pompous pose with his hands stretched and chin up.

Andras and Diarmuid looked at each other. The sternness in Diarmuid's gaze confirmed Andras's fears. It was his turn to speak.

"Um, where did you get that idea?" He asked with a worrisome smile.

Orel's smile fell as he sat back in his seat.

"We both know that you two are a better fit for this than me." He sighed.

The two shared another glance. They were worried Orel had heard their conversation, but it was almost as concerning that he had concluded it himself.

"Well, yes, but how would they believe that?" Diarmuid asked honestly. "I mean, it's not that easy."

The following day the three gathered at the meeting point in a rented-out machine hall around the outskirts of the city. However, before they could enter, they had to prove their business to a well-dressed woman with sunglasses guarding the door.

"You shouldn't be trespassing here. What is your business?" She asked with a cigarette in her mouth.

"We're the Voyagers, here for the bodyguarding business." Orel showed their information from the Guild app.

"What is a shrimp like you trying to work for us?" The lady sneered.

"I'm the manager of these two. Andras here is rank B and Diarmuid A," Orel tapped Andras and Diarmuid with a smile.

The woman looked at the two burly men standing between Orel. She looked with care through their details, both physical and any traces of magic.

"Alright. Come in." She opened the door.

The three passed inside and, once there, sighed with relief.

"It was that easy..." Diarmuid blinked twice.

"I can't believe that worked," Andras shook his head.

"It's not over yet," Diarmuid reminded. "We just got in the evaluation part."

The dimly lit hall was both damp and stale, but it wasn't the greatest concern.

People from all backgrounds were gathered, yet united by one thing that was the lack of fear of taking dubious work. Around them were groups of adventurers, mercenaries, and the like. Some wrapped in clothes and shadows, some petty and small, some grand and striking. Weapons, from firearms to bows, swords to staffs, seemed to be allowed, but some stayed unarmed or hid their guns well. Standing out was the norm, which paradoxically made the most normal stand out.

After a bit of waiting, the woman from the front entered the room, closing the door behind her. A muscly beast standing on two legs bound by a tuxedo walked to a stand with a microphone in his large hand. A great sideburn-like mane popped out of the collar, and a small fuzzy tail slipped under the coat. The fur led to a short, scarred snout and two sharp eyes as attentive as the pointy ears with tassels at the ends.

"Alright." He coughed. "I'm the representative of Mr. Spada, Zorina. Let's get right down to the point. Miss Faraday?"

The woman stepped forward and walked to the stand. Anyone smart enough gave space for her, though some brutish ones decided to stand in her way.

"Get out of the way." Faraday looked up to the brutes.

"We have to prove we're strong, don't we?" The braided brute smiled. "How about we do it right here and now?"

Zorina smiled. "How about it, Faraday?

"Fine." Faraday rolled her eyes. "You can go first, big guy."

"That confident, huh?" The brute cracked his knuckles. "Don't come crying if I break your pretty little face."

The man swung his fist, coated with a true strike. Faraday could see with her glasses that there was no blocking it. Instead, she gripped his wrist, and the man fell to the ground. The brute's henchmen stepped back in terror as his mouth foamed and limbs twitched. Faraday had defeated the man in an instant.

"Is that enough?" She asked, crouching down to his level.

Though she got no answer, Faraday released her grip and let the man return to his senses.

"How was that, sir?" Zorina asked.

"That was playing dirty." The brute claimed.

"If you expected anything else, you weren't fit for the job anyway," Faraday said, kicking him on the balls.

"It is just as miss Faraday says. Please take this man and his posse out of here." Zorina said.

As the men carried their leader out, led by Faraday, Zorina continued his speech while walking off stage.

"Now, this is going to be simple. Please form a line to this door. I don't care how." He arrived at a steel door. "Whoever is first in line can come in once called. You are also free to walk out of the door behind you." Zorina stepped inside and closed the door.

All the groups exchanged hasty glances, fingers reaching for their weapons. Diarmuid was worried, not for himself but Orel. The two could protect themselves, but Orel was prone to both bullets and magic.

"Alright, everyone!" Someone shouted. "Let's get this over peacefully, and everyone will walk away here unscathed!"

A small man in floppy clothes that one could not even spot if they did not make room had raised his voice. Few took him seriously, but even less wanted to take risks, so they listened.

"Let's make some system to see who goes first." The man suggested.

"And what would that be?" A doubtful person from the crowd asked.

"How about rock-paper scissors?" The man shrugged.

Upon hearing such a suggestion, the few that listened rolled their eyes and returned to thinking about other options. All but three people were back grasping their weapons, but those three were not bothered and walked over to the man.

"Sure." Orel walked over with a fist. "We win, we go first, you win, you go first, right?"

"Y-yeah." The man raised his fist. "Ready?"

"Ready," Orel said.

"Rock-paper-scissors!" The two shouted.

Orel used paper, while the man used rock.

"You win." The man shrugged with a laugh. "Geralt, nice to meet you."

"Hi, Geralt. I'm Orel."

"Alright, Orel. You go first." Geralt turned toward the door.

A tall gentleman in a red suit walked over to them after listening to their conversation. The man covered his face with a festive mask of a frowning jester. While usually, a person would find that unsettling, he strangely fit along with the rest.

"Not so fast. We need more volunteers, don't we?" The man said.

"Okay." Orel took up his fist again.

The three played another round, ending with the man and Orel at a stalemate.

"Looks like I'm out again." Geralt said.

"Alright. If you win this round, boy, you go first. If I win, you go second."

"That's alright." Orel was ready.

This man always kept a close eye on his opponents. Analytical to a fault, a machine of flesh. He had the insight that most people used rock, especially when anxious or hasty, yet Orel was calm like a lake. That left with two options and based on his theory on the last two attempts, Orel had used paper, which meant that he was most likely going to use something else, meaning scissors. Rock seemed the best option, yet the man could test his theory by choosing scissors and having the match be a draw. Then he could use the knowledge gathered from that match to gain the upper hand in the next one.

"Ready?" Orel asked.

"Oh, yes." The man came back to reality.

To be safe, the man chose the option that had the best chance of winning, scissors.

"Rock-paper-scissors!" The two chanted.

The man watched as Orel's fist laid down, but something was wrong. The hand did not open to scissors or paper but stayed as a rock.

"Looks like I win." Orel laughed.

"Seems so." The man straightened himself. "But if I may ask, why did you use rock?"

"I don't know. I was too nervous to think." Orel shrugged.

The man stepped back. There was no indication of doubt or nervousness on his face or hand. He had never met a person so hard to read, even though he had interrogated more people than the police.

"Thanks for playing." Orel reached his hand. "My name's Orel."

"...Oakley." The man shook hands. "It was my pleasure."

Others saw the exchange, and Geralt knew to use that to his advantage.

"See? The earlier you join, the better chances you have!"

Though some remained skeptical, some groups decided to join. They played with Geralt, Orel, and Oakley. Though Orel lost their position, the gathering made more and more join in. Geralt knew if they could get half or more to join, the rest must follow along. Soon enough, most people had joined and the line formed naturally. Orel had some luck, as they were in the first ten to enter even after all the games. What bothered him now was what happened beyond the doors. No one had come back from there, and it only took a few minutes for the door to open again. Even if Orel, Andras, and Diarmuid were a group, they each entered separately. Diarmuid entered first, and the door opened after a moment of silence. Andras was next. Orel, or rather, everyone expected silence, and then the door exploded.

"...Next," Zorina said.

Orel entered the room, covered in a thin layer of ash and the smell of smoke. Zorina was inside, neatly dressed and trying his hardest to seem unbothered.

"Could I say something?" Orel raised his hand.

"Yes?"

"I'm the manager of the earlier two. You can confirm it if you want."

"I see." Zorina raised his long eyebrow.

"So, do I need to do something here?" Orel looked around.

"You don't need to, but you can if you want."

"Sure." Orel readied himself.

After the presentation, Orel was sweating from head to toe. Even when his legs barely kept him up, Orel had only one question.

"How was that?" He asked while heaving.

Zorina breathed in slowly and held his hands together before opening them to reveal a pile of crushed coins, with more lying around his feet. He took one between his sharp claws to inspect its quality.

"If I wasn't careful, I might have lost an eye on this one." He admired the coin. "But that was one of a hundred and seventeen, and you can barely stand after that."

"So, do I pass?" Orel repeated the question.

"I apologize, but your skills aren't aligned with our standards." Zorina shook his head. "But," He continued. "Your workers passed with flying colors."

Orel couldn't help but feel disappointed, even with the good news. His legs finally gave out, and he fell to the floor, barely holding in tears.

"The exit's that way." Zorina pointed.

Orel dragged himself out, utterly defeated in both combat and mind. He could barely walk out before passing out from exhaustion, where Andras and Diarmuid rushed to his side.

"Orel, stay with me!" Andras tried opening his eyes.

"I'll call an ambulance!" Diarmuid took out his old phone.

With the swing of a door, the next applicant could enter. Zorina yelled them in, and a small girl in patched overalls walked in with a teddy bear clutched in her tiny arms.

"Little girl, are you lost?" Zorina had to ask.

"Will you be my pet?" She asked.

Zorina could not shake an eerie feeling that made his back hair stand up. Without Faraway's knowledge, no one should have entered here, meaning she must be one of the participants. Zorina was not beyond accepting such a young person to bodyguard, but it felt as if she was not after that at all.

"What is your name?" Zorina asked.

"Mel." The girl answered.

"Mel, you don't look like you from around here. Where are you from?"

"Swadia."

"Then how did you end here?"

"...It's complicated."

"How was your family?"

"Daddy was a surgeon. He liked healing people, but mommy did not like him. One day she left me in the woods; said I was a bad girl."

"Oh, what happened then?"

"First a couple let me stay, but they left me too. Then I wandered in the slums, but I found new friends."

"You know, there's a lot of bad people there. Did you perhaps meet this super evil guy. Does Nakki ring any bells?" Zorina glared. "You know, the same guy that uses that emblem on your pants."

It was a simple and easy thing to miss, but any proficient criminal knew what a hook with the rune F for wealth running through meant. It was the signature of Pohjola's greatest criminal empire, centering around drug production and distribution, Mortar. They manufactured a popular new drug called black ice, popular even as far as Zabad.

Mel pouted with plumb cheeks and dropped her bear. "I wanted a pet, but the boss told me to make you my toy."

Zorina pushed out his claws and entered a battle stance. "Oh? Then try your best. I won't go easy even against a kid like you."

"If you don't, you will die." A vile smile crept on Mel's face.

The teddy bear suddenly grew in size on the floor as if doused in water or, more likely, blood. Its weight crushed the floor, and the mouth growled full of sharp nail-like teeth. Its legs grew veins as it stood up, towering over the ceiling. Zorina could feel the warm breaths it made. The feeling was strangely reminiscent of his earlier days as he fought against his older brother, though even he was not that monstrously large.

"A manipulator?" Zorina guessed.

"Dad taught me to make so many friends..." Mel smiled.

"Let's see if the stuffing is still there." Zorina smiled with his teeth out.

"I won't let you do that!" Mel yelled with anger.

The bear attacked with a broad sweep of its claws. Dodging was out of the question, but that was not what Zorina thought about. He concentrated magic on his claws to the point it was more potent than a true strike. It was his special move, Skirmish Nails. It cut through not just the claws but the hand and arm, from muscle to the bone. The bear did not growl, even though its arm was reduced to chunks of meat. Zorina licked his paws clean with a smile.

"Tastes like shit." He spat the blood out.

His smile turned sour as the bear's arm grew back. Small tendrils of blood searched for the pieces of flesh and joined them together like a patchwork rug.

"It's always about taking out the controller with manipulators, isn't it?" Zorina lunged at Mel on four feet.

"You won't get here, ever." Mel grinned.

Dodging the strikes and swipes of the enormous bear, Zorina made way to its controller. That was until Faraday jumped in front of Mel with open arms. Zorina stopped himself, grinding his claws along the concrete floor.

"Faraday, what are you doing?" He yelled in confusion.

Zorina looked into her eyes, but they were blank. Faraday's head twitched unnervingly. He realized it too late, as a giant bear claw snatched him in its grip. Mel walked over to the Zorina, kneeled over, and held a sinister smile on her face.

"I'm not letting you have my soul, manipulator! My ancestral spirits will block your witchcraft!" Zorina growled whilst trying to escape.

"Silly little cat." Mel shook her head. "I'm no manipulator, and I'm not going to kill you."

"Torture me all you want! I would rather die!"

"That's funny!" Mel giggled. "That's what they all say, but in the end, you always bed to die."

An inescapable dread surged through every fiber of Zorina's being, yet try as he might, the paw held him captive with an spiky iron grip. He finally understood the meaning in those devilish words. Truly, there were other ways to extract information.

"This will hurt." Mel reached her tiny arm to Zorina's forehead.

"No, stop it!"

"You will make a great toy." Mel said with a wide grin. "Troya Dala."

The most horrible, skull-wrecking, searing headache followed, one so immense that before Zorina could even roar, he passed out on the spot.

Outside, Oakley was waiting for his turn but could not wait longer. He knocked on the doorframe before walking in.

"Hey, is something going on?" He asked.

"Sorry, we were cleaning up." Zorina stood in the middle of the room.

"Oh, then let's get this over with."

Oakley could smell the blood in the air but paid it no mind. After all, he was dealing with criminals, not that he was different from them. To be safe, Oakley also made sure not to give away his spells and try to impress him through other means. He could feel something off about the situation or the person standing before him. Whatever it was, it kept Oakley on his toes until he left the room, having satisfied Zorina enough to pass. He made sure to walk to a secure place before taking out his phone and making a call.

"Gab, I got the job. I'll be busy for a while, so don't try to call me."

"Sure, sure. Better to just turn off the phone entirely."

"Alright. Next time I call, I'll have that girl's head on a plate." Ocham ended the call.