Michael looked perfectly ordinary—on the surface, calm, even serene. But in Chris's eyes, a question lingered—how could someone remain so composed after knowing such an overwhelming truth? Michael's outward silence was a puzzle to Chris, hiding deep, unspoken pain within.
Though Michael appeared flawless on the outside, fragments of his past gnawed at his mind. Memories of the previous world—the vibrant chaos of daily life, financial stability, the laughter of familiar faces—rushed into his thoughts. He tried not to dwell on the old life, but memories clung silently like shadows on the back wall of his mind. Arriving in this new world had shaken him greatly, and the fear of starting over had been intense. Yet, there was hope—a chance to survive, to rebuild as a merchant, a path with paper, numbers, and far fewer risks.
Michael reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin—a large, dense piece, its polished surface marred by the marks of time. He examined it carefully, rotating it like a compass, his eyes locked on its surface. The composition intrigued him: eighty percent copper, ten percent platinum, three layers of hidden gold, and seven percent unknown metal. He wondered—could this coin represent the very essence of currency in this world? CR—the backbone of this economy? In his mind, the balance of this world rested on CR. It was everywhere, standard. There was another rare currency, CC, used only for intercontinental trade.
Suddenly, a thought struck him—"I'm an AA-rank Hunter. Why am I even considering becoming a merchant?" The ambition of his past stirred—leading a country, fulfilling personal desires—but fate had not allowed that. Meeting his family's expectations had been his true task. Quietly, he resolved to study the politics of this world. He might never be king, but perhaps he could rise to power or influence. To achieve that, he would need strength—power. Without it, nothing held value here.
He pondered silently—"Am I swatting a mosquito now, or am I the mosquito?" A small smile appeared on his face. He realized something peculiar—there were no mosquitoes in this world. Even the nights felt unusually calm. Yet, the greatest realization struck: survival required power. No matter the world, without it, everything was meaningless.
Meanwhile, in another corner of the Cromon Kingdom, a faint blue light shattered the quiet of a royal chamber. From the portal emerged two shadowy figures—familiar yet grotesque in form. Eliza, composed and expressionless, and Ito, slightly fearful and hesitant, stumbling as he followed.
Eliza grabbed Ito, and he murmured softly, "Yo, dhan lo…on"—a plea to go slowly. He tried to shake her off, saying, "Leiv…Leiv yo. E o se"—let go, I can manage. From Eliza's lips came a strange utterance in an unknown tongue: "Pe orsi. jiol be's pors..te haios nes quos lam espad.."—but she added firmly, "Quiet. We are on a mission. No stories now."
She stepped deeper into the chamber, noting the play of shadows and light. Slowly, she cast her magic. Shadows arose from the floor, spreading outward, soft and cold, lifeless yet eerily alive. Eliza paused, her calm voice commanding, "Yo nessz."—"Follow." Ito, without question, obeyed. He knew Eliza was strange, and in strange people, it is often wise to fear.
Together, they approached a vast hall, the gathering place of the kingdom's most powerful figures. Inside sat King Cross, the armored Cors, the crown-wearing ruler, and other senior dignitaries. Ito shivered as he entered, while Eliza met their gaze with disdain. Cors's voice boomed, "Ah, 'Black Eye' is here?"—his eyes sharp with suspicion and greed. If they captured Ito, their kingdom would gain immense power.
Eliza remained indifferent. She casually unleashed a shockwave, freezing everyone, including Cors. She moved forward, dragging a chair to sit, facing the crown-wearing king, and spoke in a calm but chilling tone: "Do es nek opei dehn…sei amoer."—"Hoping for what will never come is folly. I have words to say."
Ito's voice echoed, "De in koies vo's bol omes no."—"We want you to submit to our empire." His words swept the hall like a storm; all eyes, familiar and unfamiliar, fell upon Eliza.
King Cross stood silently, replying, "Ome Cros ne hos bei den as jo ni do to Black Eye…"—"I, Cross, will not sell this kingdom to your 'Black Eye'." Hearing this, Eliza's expression shifted. Rising, she raised her hands, summoning hundreds of blades in infinite forms, surrounding the room. Fear gripped everyone. The blades struck with a violent hum, cutting hands, yet when aimed at Cross, they suddenly froze midair, held by an unseen force.
Eliza's eyes blazed with frustration. She recoiled, and from the shadows behind, a figure began to materialize. As he approached, Eliza bowed her head instinctively. His face remained obscured, only two glowing eyes visible, piercing through the darkness. Cors, Cross, and everyone else trembled. The presence of this unknown entity filled the room with dread. Even Eliza felt a wave of unease, wondering—"What is this monster doing here? If I had struck, what would have happened?"
Ito, astonished, whispered, "Why is Eliza reacting to Arre like that?"—even though he had scarcely seen the figure before.
Arre silently stepped past Cross, fixing his gaze on Eliza, and said sharply, "Yo veno el ome hos…de hoin le ba ois ton bose."—"You are my legacy." The words pierced the air; even Cross understood the grave truth in silence. Eliza froze, feeling an unexpected calm as if an old flame had reignited.
Arre moved deliberately, passing Cross and taking his seat. Cors, enraged, shouted, "Yon jeolosa?…"—"How dare you?"—but before he could finish, his body split in two in an instant. The hall erupted into chaos. To witness the kingdom's strongest vanish so effortlessly was more than fear—it was incomprehensible.
Arre's voice, cold and emotionless, cut through, "Yo so dubbol…"—"You are weak."
Arre rise his head and say again-'You are weak'