In the middle of a vast plain, leaning against the Red Dragon Mountain Range, stood a massive fortress city surrounded on three sides by towering walls, no less impressive than those of the Asuran Royal Capital, Ars. That was Astraea, the largest and wealthiest fortress city in this war-torn land known as the Strife Zone.
However, compared to many centuries ago, it was now nothing more than a fading shadow of its former golden age.
A few hundred years prior, after Laplace was defeated, a kingdom was established. In just a few short decades, they managed to unify the entire vast and fertile land in the eastern part of the Central Continent. That kingdom was named Astraeus, founded by the dynasty of the same name, and quickly rose to become one of humanity's most powerful nations, rivaling even Asura and Millishion.
Yet, as philosophers often say, hard times create strong men, strong men create good times, and good times create weak men. After merely a few generations of wise and brilliant leadership, a weak man at first then became a tyrant took the throne and plunged the nation into misery. Taxes soared, laws became draconian, and the upper class squandered their wealth on depraved pleasures. Even the church had a hand in it, ushering in a dark age for the once-great power.
It was then that a hero emerged.
The people called him the North God, the hero who defeated the Emperor Dragon King Kajakut. Together with his mighty magic sword and his companions, he defeated the tyrant, greedy nobles and purged the corrupt priests.
For generations after, bards and minstrels sang the name of the North God as a savior.
However, to many historians, the North God's intervention was the catalyst for Astraeus's collapse, leading to the formation of the Strife Zone. What happened next is a history well-known to all.
Now, standing before the very walls he had turned his back on as a hero many years ago, the black-haired knight felt a myriad of indescribable emotions welling up within him. He was Sándor von Grandeur, a wandering knight. Or, at least, that was what he called himself. In fact, just a few individuals know his true identity, the North God in the story above.
Meanwhile, beside him stood a young girl, perhaps around fifteen or sixteen years old, with sharply cut fiery red hair. She seemed to pay no mind to the city walls or the guards eyeing them with apprehension. She simply walked forward, as casually as if she were strolling through a marketplace.
"Halt!" Naturally, she was stopped by a guard. "Who are you? State your names, your purpose for being here, and present your travel passes."
"Huh?"
The red-haired girl glared at the guard. But before she could speak or react further, Sándor stepped between them.
"We are adventurers," the wandering knight replied with an amicable smile, holding out a card along with a small pouch. "We have come in response to the Kingdom's call for mercenaries."
The card was an A-rank adventurer's card, bearing the name Sándor von Grandeur, swordsman.
That was likely the reason the gate guard raised an eyebrow. The supposed adventurer didn't carry a single sword. Sándor was armed only with a long metal staff, its usefulness highly questionable. If the red-haired girl, who reeked of the stench of rancid meat and blood, had been called a swordsman, it would have been more believable. After all, a swordsman must carry a sword.
However, the guard's primary concern did not lie with Sándor's identity. The object that drew those bored eyes was the small cloth pouch. He immediately took it, tossing it in his palm two or three times to weigh it. The clinking of coins indicated that even if it was filled entirely with copper, it was still a decent sum.
"Go on in." The guard jerked his chin toward the gate. "Through the gate, take a right, and head straight to find the Adventurer's Guild."
"Thank you very much." The black-haired knight tucked his adventurer's card back into his pocket and turned to the young girl beside him. "Let's go."
And just like that, they were allowed inside without needing any travel passes.
"Did you seriously just give them money?" the red-haired girl asked, deliberately making her annoyance known. Her crimson eyes gleamed like those of a hunting beast.
"We follow the rules of the house we enter, Eris," Sándor patiently explained to his companion. "That's just how things work around here."
Normally, in any other place, such blatant bribery would be highly condemned. But in the Strife Zone, it was common sense. Even if they had travel passes, the guards would have found some excuse to cause trouble. The laws here were even looser than in the scattered city-states of Begaritt. Therefore, Sándor found it simply better to pay up front.
Even though a single Asuran silver coin was quite an expensive toll just to enter a city.
Eris said nothing more at that moment. Judging by her attitude, she was clearly dissatisfied. However, compared to her irritation with the guards, she seemed far more annoyed with her companion.
She was still heartbroken over what happened in Ars. Sigh...
There was nothing Sándor could do but accept that attitude. At the very least, if this had been the Eris from when he first met her, she would have flown into a rage long ago. The fact that she was reacting this mildly, and even accepting his protection after everything that had occurred, was a massive step forward.
He could only hope that this time, her family would be reunited peacefully.
Inside Astraea, a place touted as the wealthiest in the Strife Zone, the streets could hardly be considered crowded. There were people walking about, certainly, but they lacked the well-fed appearance of those in Asura, despite the kingdom in the western part of the Central Continent having just weathered a crisis. The citizens here dressed far less extravagantly, mostly in dark, drab colors like brown and white. The lively tunes of minstrels or the bustling noise of marketplaces were practically nonexistent.
To be fair, this was still leaps and bounds better than other cities in the region. To find anything more prosperous, one would have to travel to the nations in the southernmost reaches of the Strife Zone, where stability brought greater wealth. Shirone, for instance, was such a place. Although, in the knight's estimation, they weren't particularly wealthy or powerful either; their sole reason for survival was being a vassal state to the King Dragon Kingdom.
Even so, when comparing Astraea to its own golden age of the past, the city was truly nothing but an empty shell.
"The upper-class district is this way."
Sándor said, striding down the cobblestone path. They headed north, toward where the grandest and most magnificent mansions in the city were located.
It took them over twenty minutes of walking from the gates to finally reach the noble district.
This area looked indistinguishable from the wealthy districts typically found in Asuran cities. Perhaps this was partly because, when Astraea was first built, its founding king had modeled it after Asuran architecture. Some even claimed he originally intended to build a capital identical to Ars. Driven by admiration and gratitude for the immense contributions of the Asuran royal family during the Laplace Campaign, the people of this land had grown deeply fond of their neighboring kingdom's culture.
However, after a long period of development spanning several kings, and following the Secession Event triggered by the tyrant's death, this place gradually developed an identity distinct from Asura.
It was only recently that the Red Kingdom, Astraea's current ruler, had begun leaning back toward Asuran support.
One could say that this city and the homeland of humanity's heroes from the Laplace Campaign shared a long and intertwined history.
The upper-class district had its own guards, naturally. These men appeared much better equipped. The marching formation of a squad passing by Sándor seemed highly disciplined. Yet, there were still numerous flaws that were immediately apparent to a trained eye. The wandering knight had to exercise a great deal of restraint not to step in and correct them.
In any case, there were far more important matters to attend to.
"Don't move." They were ordered to stop once again.
But this time, it wasn't a guard blocking their path. It was a woman's voice coming from behind Eris and Sándor. The words were laced with murderous intent.
Eris immediately reached for the hilt of her sword but was a beat too slow. A sharp dagger was already pressed against her throat.
"Don't try anything funny." The woman's voice remained calm, yet it carried an immense weight. "Or else."
"Tch!"
"This is not the way to the Adventurer's Guild. What is your purpose here? Speak."
Unlike Eris, who was radiating pure hostility, Sándor—who also had a blade at his neck—did not seem surprised in the slightest. He had sensed they were being followed from the moment they entered the city. The only thing that piqued the knight's curiosity was why the nearby guards, who could clearly see this happening, acted entirely indifferent.
Perhaps she was someone from the Red Kingdom, Sándor deduced. He had heard rumors about a Sword King and a North Saint operating in this area. Judging by her movement and combat style, Sándor guessed this was the North Saint from the intel, a young woman probably no older than Eris herself.
Her abilities had already touched the level of a King rank. To be this young and this skilled was truly impressive!
However, this was hardly the time to marvel at such things.
"Easy now," Sándor spoke in a slow, measured tone. "We are just looking for—"
But before the knight could finish his sentence, Eris made her move.
With just a slight shift of her elbow, the young girl gathered momentum and drove a vicious strike directly into the ribs of her captor. Even though the opponent was a North Saint bordering on the skill of a North King, that incredibly fast and powerful blow was entirely outside her calculations.
The girl holding the dagger intended to swing her blade and deliver a fatal strike immediately after taking the critical hit, but she was too slow. Eris instantly capitalized on a moment of carelessness to break free. Meanwhile, Sándor had smoothly disarmed the dagger at his own neck without anyone noticing exactly when he did it.
Blonde hair, blue eyes. An Asuran.
Sándor recognized the traits immediately. People in the Strife Zone typically had darker hair, usually dark red or brown, and their eyes were mostly brown or black. Of course, there were those of Asuran descent or mixed heritage who possessed the traits of the western kingdom. But with his sharp intuition, the knight was certain she was not a local.
Not to mention her accent, it's clearly from Asura.
"Hah..." The North Saint drew a ragged breath after taking the blow. "What the hell are you—"
Before she could finish her sentence, a crimson blur that had been five meters away was suddenly right beside her. The blonde girl was forced to immediately spring backward, swinging her remaining dagger in her left hand to parry.
*Clang!*
The sound of clashing metal and sparks violently erupted. Sándor could see that this blonde girl was no pushover. But he had no intention of intervening. After all, something of this level would hardly be enough to trouble his disciple.
"Hah!"
Thus, another swing was unleashed by Eris. A faster, heavier slash. It didn't even utilize any flashy techniques. It was a simple, standard strike, but packed with the strength and destructive force of something inhuman. It was like a bolt of lightning striking its target head-on.
"Tch."
The blonde girl retreated again, leaping and backflipping to evade the slash by a hair's breadth. A split second later, she watched as the slash connected with the perimeter wall of a nearby mansion, cleaving right through it and causing it to collapse as if rammed by a monster.
"What the hell is going on? Someone is actually giving Lady Triss a hard time?"
"Someone inform the Sword Kings!"
The nearby guards now realized that Eris and Sándor were no ordinary folk. Naturally, they called for backup. From their position, the duo could easily intercept and slaughter anyone attempting to leave. But obviously, their goal was not to fight and kill.
"Don't hurt anyone," Sándor felt compelled to remind her. "You know why we're here. Let's not make an enemy out of an entire kingdom."
"At the very least, let me break that brat's arm. She dared to put a knife to my throat."
"About that, how about just..."
Sándor was about to negotiate further. But Eris clearly couldn't care less. She was still mad at him anyway; there was no way she would listen as obediently as before. Well, a broken arm could still be healed with healing magic. A place like this surely had a healing mage, hopefully.
And so, Eris charged at the blonde girl once more. The two engaged in a frantic battle. To the eyes of ordinary people, they looked like two forces of nature, two natural disasters colliding. Every punch, kick, and slash unleashed carried overwhelming might, surpassing the strength of hundreds or even thousands of men.
That was the power of Battle Aura, a state achievable only by swordsmen who had surpassed the Advanced rank. But witnessing those in the Saint or King tier fight like this was truly a once-in-a-lifetime spectacle for most.
However, as Sándor had foreseen, although the girl named Triss possessed quite decent combat experience, she was undeniably outmatched by Eris in terms of pure power. After merely five minutes of crossing blades, Eris managed to close the distance, fully intending to do exactly what she had declared: snap the left arm that had held the blade to her throat.
But right at that moment, another figure appeared, delivering a slash so fast that no one could even track it.
Longsword of Light.
It's fast, but for the level of the North God, Sándor could easily intervene but he decided not to. Because even though the Longsword of Light is dangerous, it wasn't aimed at anyone's vitals; it struck directly at the sword in Eris's hand, knocking it away.
"What the—"
Eris spat out violently. But almost immediately, both her scowling face and the bloodlust radiating from her vanished without a trace.
Because the person who had just struck her was someone she had always deeply respected. A beast folk woman, silver of hair with a long black sword in her hands.
"Ghislaine?"
"Young Miss?"
It seemed Sándor's mission was finally complete.