Upon closer reflection, Chaos City could be considered a colossal prison. Given the likely scarcity of women within its walls, the men's reactions to Castorice's beauty were, perhaps, not entirely unreasonable.
Could I be the only girl in this entire city, surrounded by nothing but crude criminals? Is this some bizarre manga trope? she muttered inwardly.
Finally, after fending off her sixth groping assailant, Castorice reached the edge of the city wall. She scanned the area and spotted a narrow gap about thirty centimeters wide. Turning sideways to gauge the space, she realized it might be too small for an adult man, but it was more than adequate for a young girl like her.
However, as she squeezed sideways into the crevice, halfway through, she discovered a serious problem: her chest... seemed to be stuck.
Castorice blinked her large purple eyes, her gaze filled with bewilderment. After a moment's hesitation, she took a deep breath, sucked in her stomach with all her might, and finally managed to create a narrow gap between her chest and the wall. She pressed her hands firmly against her chest and awkwardly squeezed through the remaining distance, successfully entering Chaos City.
So, I'm still a little envious of Aria's figure, Castorice thought silently. She could probably slip through a place like this without any trouble. She surveyed the city before her.
Unlike the squalid tent district outside, Chaos City retained at least the semblance of a proper urban center. A main thoroughfare ran between rows of stone buildings, though many were missing walls or roofs, and all appeared ancient and dilapidated.
Castorice began walking forward, unaware that at the narrow gap through which she had squeezed into Chaos City, a few small stones had dislodged from the wall where her chest had rubbed against it, falling to the ground.
After all, the city wall was ancient. It was perfectly normal for small stones to crumble and fall after being scraped. But these pebbles, once they landed, slowly turned transparent and vanished into thin air.
The perspective shifted back to Castorice. She noticed that the dilapidated houses were completely deserted, and there wasn't a single pedestrian on the street. Yet the pervasive stench of urine and the occasional piles of excrement along the roadside proved that this place was, or had been, inhabited.
Castorice had to watch her step constantly to avoid the filth. To be honest, she felt like a child hopping across a tiled floor, treating the grout lines as treacherous traps to be avoided.
Except now, the "traps" on the ground were very real.
Had someone else been there, they would have seen a girl in a black cloak, her head bowed, taking tentative steps forward, pausing after each one to peer at the ground. When the "traps" grew too dense, she would bend slightly at the waist and hop over them. With every measured stride, her high heels clicked crisply against the pavement, a sound that was utterly charming.
Finally, after Castorice had been skipping and hopping for nearly two minutes, a cacophony of voices reached her ears. Her pointed elven ears twitched slightly as she turned toward the source of the commotion. At a crossroads, two groups were facing off in a tense standoff.
No wonder the streets were deserted, she thought. Everyone's gathered here.
The two factions were easily distinguishable. One group consisted entirely of muscular, bare-chested men clad only in shorts, their glistening skin reflecting the harsh light. The other group was uniformly draped in black cloaks, varying in size from voluminous robes that completely concealed their wearers to tattered scraps of black fabric tied haphazardly around their foreheads.
One of the muscular men growled, "Enough talk! Our boss has his eye on this guy. Whether he likes it or not, he's coming with us!"
The leader of the cloaked group retorted, "You think we'll just hand him over on demand? We'd lose all face!"
"Looks like you prefer the hard way, huh?" the muscular man sneered.
"Who's afraid of who?" Black Cloak shouted. "Brothers, grab your weapons!"
The target of their dispute? A slender young man, about 1.6 meters tall with delicate, almost effeminate features, stood huddled among Black Cloak's group, clutching his buttocks in panic. "B-Boss," he stammered, "you have to save me! If they take me, I'm dead!"
Castorice stared in stunned disbelief.
The scene was utterly bizarre. As tensions escalated between the two factions, Castorice noticed several burly men from the opposing side pulling white flower petals from their pockets and stuffing them into their mouths, chewing vigorously.
Within moments, their skin visibly flushed crimson, frothy white foam bubbled from their lips, and their eyes glowed with a bloodthirsty red light. They roared in unison, "Aaaaaaaah—!!!!"
Upon witnessing this transformation, Black Cloak cursed loudly. "Holy shit! Barbarians! Run for your fucking lives!"
The very word "Barbarian" conjured images of savagery, yet it was indeed one of the twelve recognized classes.
The barbarians had just consumed a plant native to the Far North, which possessed mild hallucinogenic properties. By ingesting this plant, they could induce a unique state of "Rage."
This was a skill exclusive to the barbarians. Upon entering Rage, their strength and speed were drastically enhanced, their bodies became as tough as stone, and they could ignore pain.
(More skilled barbarians could enter Rage without external aids, even without consuming the white flower petals.)
It was no exaggeration to say that even an ordinary person with no combat experience could tear apart a basic-trained militia member with their bare hands while in Rage.
Among Bronze Adventurers, a warrior of equal skill stood no chance against a barbarian. The most terrifying aspect was that every inhabitant of the Far North, regardless of age or gender, possessed the ability to enter Rage, effectively making the entire population soldiers—a truly horrifying prospect.
This ability was the cornerstone of the Far North's status as one of the Three Great Powers.
However, Rage also has its drawbacks. In battle, Barbarians lose all rationality, attacking anything in sight and smashing everything within reach—hence their name.
In truth, the term "Barbarian" wasn't originally used to describe this profession. It began as a derogatory term hurled at the Northern Barbarians. Over time, though, it gradually became the official name of the class.
Moreover, the rationality-dampening effects of Rage make Barbarians deeply fearful of control magic. Bards like Dio, for example, find their spells consistently effective against them, their control over Barbarians as complete as a Paladin's dominance over him.
Returning to the battlefield, the first Barbarian to enter Rage charged toward a Black Cloak. As terror gripped the cloaked figure, the Barbarian seized his shoulders. With a sickening tear of flesh and bone, he ripped both arms clean off the man's body, sending blood spurting everywhere.
"Aaaaaaah!!!"
Hearing the man's agonizing scream, the other Black Cloaks ran even faster, their escape route leading them straight toward Castorice's position.
As they fled, the scrawny man whined, "B-Boss, didn't you say you were going to crush them?"
The Leader of the Black Cloaks snapped, "Crush them my ass! You didn't tell me there were Barbarians on the other side! Who the hell can beat those rabid bastards?!"
Despite having been at the forefront of the group during the confrontation with the burly Barbarian, these two should logically have been bringing up the rear as they fled. Yet they ran with astonishing speed, bickering as they overtook all the other Black Cloaks and soon spotted Castorice standing not far away.
The Leader of the Black Cloaks' first thought was, Why is there another deserter here? He immediately shouted, "Hey, you! What the hell are you doing standing around? You ran this far when we were facing those Northern Barbarians, didn't you?!"
Clearly, the Leader had mistaken Castorice, clad entirely in a black cloak, for one of his own subordinates.
Castorice paused, then tilted her head slightly, revealing a delicate chin beneath her black hood. In a cool, ethereal voice, she asked, "Excuse me, do you know where the Black Hand is?"
Unlike her interactions with Cipher, where she had completely let go and behaved as her true self, Castorice felt it best to maintain her "persona" for now.
Unsurprisingly, the moment the Leader of the Black Cloaks heard Castorice speak, he froze, his escape slowing almost involuntarily.
If Cipher's voice was playfully cute, like a mischievous kitten—her words like a feather lightly tickling the heart—Castorice's voice was that of a slightly ditzy noble lady, exuding both refinement and endearing charm.
Listening to Castorice speak was like receiving a gentle massage for the ears—a pure delight in itself.
The Leader of the Black Cloaks' first thought was, "Holy crap, where did this little beauty come from?"
As he spoke, the man's right hand lunged for Castorice's shoulder. "Don't be afraid, I'll take good care of you..." Thud!
Without hesitation, the moment his hand touched her, he collapsed into a deep sleep, as if a switch had been flipped. For some reason, witnessing this utterly familiar scene left Castorice completely unmoved.
She turned her gaze to the frail man beside her. "Excuse me..."
But the instant she looked at him, the man crumpled to the ground in terror. "N-no... please don't kill me! I'll do anything! I'll warm your bed, anything you want... I..."
In this life-or-death race, those at the front were the slowest. Before Castorice could finish two sentences, the other Black Cloaks had caught up. Staring at the scene before them, they were utterly bewildered, but seeing their Boss lying unconscious on the ground, they instinctively steered clear of Castorice.
Soon, the hulking, red-eyed berserkers arrived. Castorice frowned slightly. Her right hand emerged from beneath her black cloak, and a massive scythe materialized in her grip.
Contrary to expectations, the berserk giants didn't attack Castorice. Instead, they halted a short distance from her, shook their heads violently, and the red glow in their eyes faded, clearly indicating they had exited their enraged state.
Many believe that Barbarians lose all rationality when enraged, but that's not entirely true. They retain a shred of awareness; otherwise, they'd butcher their own allies in their frenzy.
Their true target was clearly the frail man beside Castorice. With the other Black Cloaks having fled and their prey standing right before them, there was no need to maintain their Rage any longer.
After exiting his berserk state, the leader of the giants steadied himself with one hand on his forehead for nearly half a minute. He glanced at the corpse of the Leader of the Black Cloak on the ground, then at Castorice and the scythe in her hand. "You... you're not one of Black Rat's people, are you?"
"Black Rat?" Castorice tilted her head slightly, then realized this must be the Black Cloaks' nickname. "No, I'm not."
The giant stared in astonishment. "A woman?"
Just as Castorice braced herself for the crude harassment she'd heard countless times before, the burly man surprised her by speaking with surprising calm. "Judging by your expression, you must be new here. This place isn't safe. If I were you, I'd leave as soon as possible."
For some reason, Castorice felt a surge of relief. Finally, a normal person!
The man gestured toward the emaciated figure sprawled on the ground. "Miss, could you hand over that guy next to you?"
Castorice sheathed her scythe, folded her hands primly over her skirt, and adopted a demure posture. She nodded slightly and asked, "Excuse me, but do you happen to know where the Black Hand is?"
While his men dragged the terrified skinny man away, the burly man stroked his chin thoughtfully. "The Black Hand? Honestly, I have no idea. In fact, no one in Chaos City knows where he is. He's like a phantom, appearing and vanishing without a trace. Quite the mystery."
He pointed to a towering spire at the heart of the city, the tallest and most conspicuous structure in Chaos City. "See that? That's the Black Hand's headquarters. All his underlings are stationed there, but whether he himself is present... that's anyone's guess."