After walking for ten minutes, Dion finally arrived at his hideout—an abandoned house, its walls corroded by time. The floor was filthy, covered in dust. Cockroaches and other insects crawled across the walls, giving the place a haunted, eerie look to anyone who saw it.
Without caring about the house's condition, Dion walked toward the entrance. He pushed the door open, revealing a single room inside that was even filthier. Water dripped from the ceiling, and cobwebs clung to nearly every corner. Near the door, an old gasoline can lay for reasons unknown. Ignoring it all, Dion walked straight toward a pile of wood in the middle of the room.
Once he reached it, he tossed the wooden planks aside one by one until a small chest came into view. In stark contrast to the decayed house, the chest looked like something from a noble's mansion, faint traces of gold glinting along its edges.
On the front of the chest was a keyhole adorned with the engraving of two serpents facing each other. Dion reached into his pocket, retrieved a small key, and slid it into the lock. With a twist to the left, the chest clicked open. Inside lay a small knife, about ten centimeters long. At first glance, it looked like a simple kitchen knife, but the serpent sigil carved into its blade marked it as something far different. Strangely, the sigil on the chest vanished the moment the blade was revealed.
It was a *Relic Crude Rank tier-3*. A weapon of this level was far beyond anything Dion could normally afford. Even if he sold every possession he owned, he might only have been able to purchase a tier-1 relic. But fortune had smiled on him—he had acquired this blade for free, after forcing its former owner to hand it over by kidnapping his family. Of course, Dion had released them alive afterward.
The relic was called the *Serpent Knife*. Its ability was simple yet deadly: every strike carried poison as long as the serpent sigil remained etched into the blade. Once the sigil faded, the knife had to be returned to its chest to recharge, requiring three full hours to restore its venom. Dion carefully placed the chest inside his belt pouch, while the knife he slipped beneath his cloak.
Since Dion had not yet undergone *Creation*, he could not access his soul-sea to store relics inside. For now, he had to carry them manually. After taking what he needed, Dion picked up the gasoline can that lay near the door, poured it around the house, and set it ablaze with a match before leaving. The Black Wolf Gang had promised him not only a relic, but also a new identity—one free from any criminal record.
Once again, Dion gazed up at the crimson moon. He whispered to himself, "Sacrifices must be made to survive in this cruel world." That was the price he had chosen. Without looking back, Dion disappeared into the darkness.
The next morning, Dion headed to the old hideout that had once belonged to Hosen's gang, now taken over by the Black Wolves. When he arrived, the place resembled an inn. He pushed open the door. Once filled with cheer and laughter, the inn now radiated only a heavy, oppressive atmosphere.
A faint change crossed Dion's face. He slapped his cheek lightly, the sound echoing in the tense air. A tall, muscular man—around 179 cm in height—approached him and asked, "State your name, boy." The man looked at Dion, whose height was not much different from his own.
Dion smiled politely and replied, "My name is Dion."
The man smiled and spoke in a polite voice. "So you're Dion. The boss told me to tell you—head to the room that used to belong to that loser, Hosen. It's on the third floor. I don't need to tell you where it is, do I?"
Dion placed a firm hand on the man's shoulder and said, "No need. But don't insult the dead."
The man immediately felt a suffocating pressure and quickly apologized. Dion added coldly, "Don't apologize to me. Apologize to Hosen." The man lowered his head and muttered an apology toward Hosen's memory. Dion walked away, though truthfully, he had the urge to kill the man. Still, he was in a good mood and decided to let him live. He stepped into the elevator, pressed the button for the third floor, and walked straight toward Hosen old room once the doors opened.
Dion knocked. "It's me," he said.
"Come in," a voice answered from inside.
Dion entered and saw a fat man with black hair streaked with white. He was Ernst, the leader of the Black Wolf Gang—a powerful figure in the city where Dion lived.
"Where are my relic and new identity, Ernst?" Dion asked.
Ernst opened a drawer, pulled something out, and replied, "Here they are."
Dion looked at his new identification papers and the Refined Rank Tier-2 Relic*. The relic looked like a talisman. After inspecting it, Dion turned to leave. But before he reached the door, Ernst called out:
"Hosen gang had 142 members. Excluding you, that leaves 141. But when we counted the corpses, there were only 140—including Hosen and Fang."
Dion paused. "So someone survived my plan after all." Without another word, he walked on. Ernst muttered quietly to himself, a faint smile on his lips, "I hope you're lucky, Dion."
As Dion approached the inn's entrance, he saw the same muscular man still kneeling, apologizing to Hosen. Dion said calmly, "That's enough. Hosen must be satisfied with your apology."
The man lifted his head and said, "Thank you for sparing my life." Dion gave no reply and simply walked out of the inn.
He headed straight to the shop where he had ordered supplies—items that would allow him to bring objects from the real world into the trial. Fortunately, he had placed his order long ago, so all he needed to do was pick them up. Afterward, he checked into a five-star hotel.
Inside his room, Dion showered, dressed in clean clothes, then lay down on the bed. Closing his eyes, he suddenly heard a voice—one that sounded both male and female at once.
"Welcome, Dion," the voice echoed. "You have been chosen to claim your right to the world of Helzon."